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sick_wilson2011-06-24 05:38 pm
sydpenguinbunny.livejournal.com) wrote in sick_wilson2011-06-24 05:38 pm
Entry tags:
Us Against the World, Chapter Nine
So I ended up using the secret word (well not the word itself, but the theme of it) before knowing it was the secret word :D I feel kind of proud of myself... and slightly psychic.
Title: Us Against the World
Author:
Rating: R
Pairing: Wilson/Amber, House/Cuddy, Wilson/House, maybe House/Amber
Spoilers: Up until the end of Season 6.
Warning: Nothing major.
Summary: Wilson is kidnapped by someone who holds a grudge against House. House is told to come out and play, and Amber refuses to stand by. Time is running out...
Chapter One: A Shot in the Dark
Chapter Two: Empty Chairs at Empty Tables
Chapter Three: Photograph
Chapter Four: Private Eye
Chapter Five: Purity
Chapter Six: Nowhere to Go
Chapter Seven: Nightmare
Chapter Eight: Throwing It All Away
Chapter Nine: Anyone for Tennis?
“And Fate is setting up the chessboard
While Death rolls out the dice
Anyone for tennis?
Wouldn't that be nice?”
Wilson awoke, feeling his heavy eyelids open slowly, and he couldn’t remember where he was or what had happened – who he was, even, for a few moments until little scraps of information drifted out of his sub-conscious. He was James Wilson, he was a doctor, he was…
“Amber…” he heard his voice whimper, for this had to be his voice – there was no one else here, was there? He realized he was terrified but couldn’t remember why or what had happened, and he realized that his wrists hurt badly, and his arms too. He heard his voice whimper the name again but he couldn’t connect it to a meaning for a few more moments – then slowly, slowly she was in his head, her soft hair, her smile, that way that she’d walk… Where was she? She needed to come get him…
But from where? He couldn’t remember. There was sweat all over his body and he couldn’t remember why, but it smelled like… like salt, almost, and he wanted desperately to take a bath. And get his hands free, because he couldn’t feel them anymore now, which was probably worse than them hurting.
He raised his head as much as he could and he saw eyes, looking into his – dark eyes, angry eyes. There was a hint of sadism behind them and Wilson’s terror increased tenfold, flaring up behind his eyes and against his throat.
“Amber,” he pleaded again, desperately.
“Interesting,” the man before him said in a low voice. “You’re pleading for Amber, not for House anymore. Good choice – it’s not like House ever really helped anybody.”
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
House and Amber were silent for the entire drive back to House’s place. There was nothing to say, and Amber was focused on the road, on making sure that House didn’t run them both into a ditch. He was staring off into space, acting on auto-pilot maybe, and she let out a quiet sigh of relief once they finally pulled into his driveway.
She didn’t really remember him opening the door, nor how they got into the upstairs. Tiredness, stress and the need to sleep and hope that this was all just a nightmare and something that would be forgotten and non-existent in the morning were overtaking her, and she needed a bed. She felt relief when House showed her the guest room, realizing the wisdom in not returning to she and Wilson’s home – sleeping in that same bed would bring with it the realization that Wilson should be there, next to her, and he was not, and might never be again.
She tried to remember what the last thing she’d said to Wilson had been. What had it been?
That morning she’d woken up early and went in to take a shower. She’d gotten sidetracked and taken too long; he’d knocked on the door, told her he’d be late. She’d hurried up but she’d growled at him while she was doing it. They’d bickered.
“James, we need an extra shower if you’re always going to kick me out of it!” she’d said to him.
“Well, I need to use it, too,” he’d fired back. “And I don’t take nearly so long!”
“Yeah, well, it’s easier when you’re a guy, I figure. Why don’t you go use House’s shower next time? You’re over there enough.”
They’d made up and he’d gone to work… Or had they? Had they made up, had Wilson given her a kiss as she’d gone out the door, or had they left in a huff for both of their works, not speaking to each other?
Why couldn’t she remember?
House broke her out of her thoughts.
“Everything should be right here. Bathroom’s down the hall,” he told her, and disappeared down the steps. She stared around, knowing she needed sleep, needed it desperately but couldn’t chase a feeling of guilt for sleeping in a nice bed while Wilson was chained to… Oh, God.
Amber lay down in the bed and shut her eyes, pulling the covers over her head like she was a little girl again, six or seven and afraid of things coming to get her in the night, so utterly unlike the persona she exuded now.
She felt sleep overtaking her and she fought it, fought the loss of control but she lost.
She was on the phone, the phone in her apartment that was now also Wilson’s apartment. The big red phone that she’d jokingly thought looked like one of those phones that people in movies used to call in nuclear strikes.
She was talking to her parents; to her mother to be exact while her father listened in, she must have been on speakerphone.
She was telling them about what had happened to Wilson.
“I’m terrified… He’s been kidnapped. I don’t know what to do.”
“Well, why are you surprised, Amber?” her mother’s voice intoned, disembodied on the receiver of the blood red phone, “Everything you touch gets destroyed. Everyone you love gets destroyed. You leave a path of destruction in your wake because you just don’t care.”
She jerked awake and had to stop herself from screaming out. She lifted one leg off of the bed and on to the hardwood floor. There were things in her head, voices in her head and she wanted them out. She didn’t want to sleep again.
She started walking out the door of the room, heading downstairs, not knowing what she was looking for – but once she reached the bottom of the stairs she swallowed hard and opened her mouth, wondering if she could escape to the top before she was noticed. Because this wasn’t good.
In House’s living room, he was standing, leaning on his cane, gesturing – and she couldn’t quite hear what he was saying, not yet, but she could see he was talking to Dr. Lisa Cuddy, who was leaning against House’s doorframe. And she had just turned her head.
And she had just spotted Amber.
Oh, fuck.
Title: Us Against the World
Author:
Rating: R
Pairing: Wilson/Amber, House/Cuddy, Wilson/House, maybe House/Amber
Spoilers: Up until the end of Season 6.
Warning: Nothing major.
Summary: Wilson is kidnapped by someone who holds a grudge against House. House is told to come out and play, and Amber refuses to stand by. Time is running out...
Chapter One: A Shot in the Dark
Chapter Two: Empty Chairs at Empty Tables
Chapter Three: Photograph
Chapter Four: Private Eye
Chapter Five: Purity
Chapter Six: Nowhere to Go
Chapter Seven: Nightmare
Chapter Eight: Throwing It All Away
Chapter Nine: Anyone for Tennis?
“And Fate is setting up the chessboard
While Death rolls out the dice
Anyone for tennis?
Wouldn't that be nice?”
Wilson awoke, feeling his heavy eyelids open slowly, and he couldn’t remember where he was or what had happened – who he was, even, for a few moments until little scraps of information drifted out of his sub-conscious. He was James Wilson, he was a doctor, he was…
“Amber…” he heard his voice whimper, for this had to be his voice – there was no one else here, was there? He realized he was terrified but couldn’t remember why or what had happened, and he realized that his wrists hurt badly, and his arms too. He heard his voice whimper the name again but he couldn’t connect it to a meaning for a few more moments – then slowly, slowly she was in his head, her soft hair, her smile, that way that she’d walk… Where was she? She needed to come get him…
But from where? He couldn’t remember. There was sweat all over his body and he couldn’t remember why, but it smelled like… like salt, almost, and he wanted desperately to take a bath. And get his hands free, because he couldn’t feel them anymore now, which was probably worse than them hurting.
He raised his head as much as he could and he saw eyes, looking into his – dark eyes, angry eyes. There was a hint of sadism behind them and Wilson’s terror increased tenfold, flaring up behind his eyes and against his throat.
“Amber,” he pleaded again, desperately.
“Interesting,” the man before him said in a low voice. “You’re pleading for Amber, not for House anymore. Good choice – it’s not like House ever really helped anybody.”
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
House and Amber were silent for the entire drive back to House’s place. There was nothing to say, and Amber was focused on the road, on making sure that House didn’t run them both into a ditch. He was staring off into space, acting on auto-pilot maybe, and she let out a quiet sigh of relief once they finally pulled into his driveway.
She didn’t really remember him opening the door, nor how they got into the upstairs. Tiredness, stress and the need to sleep and hope that this was all just a nightmare and something that would be forgotten and non-existent in the morning were overtaking her, and she needed a bed. She felt relief when House showed her the guest room, realizing the wisdom in not returning to she and Wilson’s home – sleeping in that same bed would bring with it the realization that Wilson should be there, next to her, and he was not, and might never be again.
She tried to remember what the last thing she’d said to Wilson had been. What had it been?
That morning she’d woken up early and went in to take a shower. She’d gotten sidetracked and taken too long; he’d knocked on the door, told her he’d be late. She’d hurried up but she’d growled at him while she was doing it. They’d bickered.
“James, we need an extra shower if you’re always going to kick me out of it!” she’d said to him.
“Well, I need to use it, too,” he’d fired back. “And I don’t take nearly so long!”
“Yeah, well, it’s easier when you’re a guy, I figure. Why don’t you go use House’s shower next time? You’re over there enough.”
They’d made up and he’d gone to work… Or had they? Had they made up, had Wilson given her a kiss as she’d gone out the door, or had they left in a huff for both of their works, not speaking to each other?
Why couldn’t she remember?
House broke her out of her thoughts.
“Everything should be right here. Bathroom’s down the hall,” he told her, and disappeared down the steps. She stared around, knowing she needed sleep, needed it desperately but couldn’t chase a feeling of guilt for sleeping in a nice bed while Wilson was chained to… Oh, God.
Amber lay down in the bed and shut her eyes, pulling the covers over her head like she was a little girl again, six or seven and afraid of things coming to get her in the night, so utterly unlike the persona she exuded now.
She felt sleep overtaking her and she fought it, fought the loss of control but she lost.
She was on the phone, the phone in her apartment that was now also Wilson’s apartment. The big red phone that she’d jokingly thought looked like one of those phones that people in movies used to call in nuclear strikes.
She was talking to her parents; to her mother to be exact while her father listened in, she must have been on speakerphone.
She was telling them about what had happened to Wilson.
“I’m terrified… He’s been kidnapped. I don’t know what to do.”
“Well, why are you surprised, Amber?” her mother’s voice intoned, disembodied on the receiver of the blood red phone, “Everything you touch gets destroyed. Everyone you love gets destroyed. You leave a path of destruction in your wake because you just don’t care.”
She jerked awake and had to stop herself from screaming out. She lifted one leg off of the bed and on to the hardwood floor. There were things in her head, voices in her head and she wanted them out. She didn’t want to sleep again.
She started walking out the door of the room, heading downstairs, not knowing what she was looking for – but once she reached the bottom of the stairs she swallowed hard and opened her mouth, wondering if she could escape to the top before she was noticed. Because this wasn’t good.
In House’s living room, he was standing, leaning on his cane, gesturing – and she couldn’t quite hear what he was saying, not yet, but she could see he was talking to Dr. Lisa Cuddy, who was leaning against House’s doorframe. And she had just turned her head.
And she had just spotted Amber.
Oh, fuck.
* “Anyone for Tennis (The Savage Seven Theme)” – Cream, Strange Brew: The Very Best of Cream, 1983.
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