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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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