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Bargaining
by Tasha
Bargaining
Wilson walked into his office and there House was, on the couch. His face gleamed with sweat, the many layers he wore didn't stop or hide his shakes, and Wilson, who had just returned from the bedside of a vomiting 15 year old with metastatic lung cancer, wondered why the world wasn't fair.
"I don't have anything you want in here."
"You don't know that."
House rose unsteadily on his cane. His voice was gruff and as he spoke, he glanced nervously from the floor to Wilson.
"What do you want?" Wilson shifted, closing the door behind him and stacking his armful of folders and charts on the desk.
"This is more of a matter of what you want."
Wilson rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I don't know what you're talking about."
House glanced suspiciously out the balcony window, the movement lacking House's usual hunched over finesse. If you didn't know him, Wilson thought, you'd think he'd got his cane yesterday morning. He sighed, anger suddenly flaring in the pit of his stomach. "Look," He said, striding across the room and yanking shut the blinds. "Sit down before you pass out."
House sat, but with a look of determination on his face. "I'm not going to crack."
"Oh, great." Wilson said, clenching his jaw. A million things jumped into his mind but he refused to say any of them. "Great." He managed and sat in the chair across from House, folding his arms over his chest.
"Don't you want to know why?"
"Sure, what's your secret weapon?"
"My secret weapon is they..." He gasped, lowered his head, and shook it. "They don't..." He continued. "They don't think I have anything anybody wants."
Wilson cringed, rolling his eyes skyward. "You don't have anything anybody wants." He said bluntly, dropping his arms to his sides. "They're watching your bank accounts. They're watching all new painkiller prescriptions. All of your friends are on Tritter's side." Wilson leaned forward. "Take the deal." He said, slowly and deliberately.
House grabbed his wrist.
Wilson's breath hitched.
House was holding his hand.
They both breathed deep.
"I have something you want." House said the look in his eyes positively feral. His hand tightened. "Something you've wanted for a long time."
"House..." Wilson began. The feeling in his stomach and changed from anger to fear. "I don't think..."
"Don't give me that!" House leaned forward. Wilson could feel warm breath on neck. "I see the way you look at me." House reached for him with shaky hands.
Oh.
Wilson saw clear aching blue eyes inches from his own. He tried to focus on anything else, but couldn't. People should not have eyes like that, he thought, it's the look of dogs smelling blood.
House pulled him forward, meeting lips with lips, tongue writhing. Wilson groaned, deep in his throat, his mind racing to memorize every bit of this. The ache. The way his hands fell to his knees unsure what to do. The firm pressure of House's fingers on either side of his neck. House tasted like vomit masked by scotch but Wilson didn't care.
"House..." Wilson whispered between kisses. He felt House's lips curl up into a smile. Wilson shut his eyes, breathed deep, and struggled to control himself.
"It's okay." House said. "I want it too."
Wilson fell forward between House's legs, hands clinging on the dirty blue jeans that covered them.
"No." Wilson said, shaking his head. "No. You want pills."
House shrugged. "Yeah, so I want pills." He leaned over Wilson's head, speaking low. "You could give me something I want. I could give you lots of things you want." House pressed his lips against Wilson's ear. "I could let you do anything you want to me."
Wilson jerked back.
"What?" He asked, pushing House's hands away from him. "How could you think...?" Wilson scrambled to his feet, sputtering. "I wouldn't ever..."
"Wait." House reached for him, anxious fingers fumbling for Wilson's belt. "Wait..."
"No. House." Wilson grabbed his hands and slowly lowered them. "Not like that."
House sighed, his eyes trailing slowly down, his shoulders falling. He brought both hands to his cane and lowered his face into them.
Wilson reached out, his hand hovering over House's hair. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it abruptly. The hand fell. He turned to the door and tried to remember what he'd come here for. He couldn't. "I'm gonna go check on your patient." He said, crossing the room and reaching for the door.
"Wilson..." House said.
Wilson paused, his hand on the open door. "What?" He asked.
"It...it hurts."
Wilson turned in the doorway.
House looked up.
"It hurts. So much. You can..." House coughed, his body shaking harder. "You can make it not hurt...if you love me...you can..."
And this must be it, Wilson thought, this is what they mean by heart breaking.
"No, House." Wilson said with a small shake of his head. "I can't. You can make it stop hurting. If you love..." He heard his voice break on that word. He clenched shut his eyes and when they opened again they looked just as desperate as House's. "If you love me," He said. "Please God, take the deal."
Then he turned and left, shutting the door behind him.
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Legal Disclaimer: The authors published here make no claims on the ownership of Dr. Gregory House and the other fictional residents of Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. Like the television show House (and quite possibly Dr. Wilson's pocket protector), they are the property of NBC/Universal, David Shore and undoubtedly other individuals of whom I am only peripherally aware. The fan fiction authors published here receive no monetary benefit from their work and intend no copyright infringement nor slight to the actual owners. We love the characters and we love the show, otherwise we wouldn't be here.
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