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sick_wilson2011-11-01 04:24 pm
sydpenguinbunny.livejournal.com) wrote in sick_wilson2011-11-01 04:24 pm
Entry tags:
Us Against the World, Chapter Fifteen
Title: Us Against the World
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sydpenguinbunny
Rating: R
Pairing: Wilson/Amber, House/Cuddy, Wilson/House, maybe House/Amber
Spoilers: Up until the end of Season 6.
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...
Notes: Remember this story? Yep. It's back. Comments are loved.
Warning: Torture in this chapter. Not super-graphic, but still.
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?
Chapter Ten: Turn the Page
Chapter Eleven: The Game
Chapter Twelve: Domino
Chapter Thirteen: Runaway
Chapter Fourteen: Dreaming While You Sleep
Chapter Fifteen: Mama
“It's hot, too hot for me mama
but I can hardly wait
my eyes they're burning mama
and I can feel my body shake…”
Lucas could still smell Lisa Cuddy’s scent on him, when he focused on the thought. He could still hear her voice, see her face in his mind.
Sometimes, when he thought about her, he wanted to hold her – wanted to woo her back, show her that he was caring, gentle, compassionate. Just the man who she needed. Tell her that he would never hurt her, never leave her, that he adored her.
But those times were rare.
Far more often, when he thought of Lisa Cuddy, he wanted to kill her. To destroy her, shatter her like a ceramic plate. Show her what he thought of her bizarre decision to toss away a relationship that had seemingly meant so much to chase a man she had always said was incapable of actually loving another human being. To be with Greg House of all fucking people.
A person Lucas had considered a friend.
Maybe House had “liked” Lisa first – Lucas could see the sense of that particular argument. Finders keepers, losers weepers.
But she hadn’t been engaged to House. Never would; that relationship was doomed before it even began.
Just the indignity, though. To be basically left at the altar.
But Lisa didn’t deserve to be punished for it, as much as Lucas might have wanted to. This sin was on House’s conscience, if he had one; on his soul, if he had one.
The problem with punishing House was that, Lucas knew, House didn’t really care what happened to him. The man was in pain every day anyway, what was some more added on to it? Most of all, it was unlikely that he would ever give in, even if he wanted to. He would never apologize to Lucas for stealing away his Lisa.
However, House also had a weak spot, as stealthily hidden as Achille’s heel had been. His weak spot was Wilson, the only person who truly held House’s heart. Sure, the doctor might think that Cuddy was vital to him, but Lucas knew – Lucas knew.
House cared about Wilson because Wilson was the only person who could ever tolerate the man on a daily basis. The only person who could stare into the void that was there, into the pit, and find a good person.
And Lucas was going to drive Wilson so crazy that he’d curse the day he had ever met Gregory House. And make House watch, besides – who cared if it was digitally? He didn’t have to see the reactions to picture them in his mind.
And eventually, he would contact House – when the time was right, he’d usher him in and apply his coup de grace.
A lingering sense of doubt, of shame and of pity for Wilson crept up his spine, and he swallowed it down. He’d lost it all, lost the woman who he was prepared to spend the rest of his life with. This was no time to be decent, to be merciful – and anyway, he already had Wilson kidnapped, if he let him go now he would be identified and arrested. He had no choice but to follow this through.
Wilson thought of how House would save him if he could.
He would burst in, with his cane turned into some sort of huge bazooka-gun, and he’d blast holes in the walls and pull Wilson to safety. But no one, not even the lunatic keeping him locked up here, would be hurt in the process.
Wilson never liked revenge fantasies; they made him sick and worried, frightened about what they would become if he let them get out of hand. It was part of why he let House get away with as much as he did – he had never believed in holding a grudge.
Wilson’s parents had held grudges. They had, in their fifty-year marriage, always, always kept score, never let anything pass. He could remember sitting between his two brothers, listening to them argue and scream at each other about who had screwed up that time, could remember wishing that they could just let it go.
He’d then grown into the man who let everything go if it was from someone who mattered vitally. That had destroyed his three marriages, because letting everything go bred resentment like cultures in a Petri dish.
He was jerked out of his thoughts by the determined tap, tap, tap of boots, must be steel-tipped boots, against the cellar’s floor. His breath caught in his throat and his eyes squinched shut as he pleaded silently please, no, go away. Not this again. What did I do to you?
His eyes were still shut as hands clamped around his wrists, pushed him back against the wall. They popped open, however, when Wilson was shocked to feel cold metal against his chest.
Wilson’s mind raced ahead of him and realized what they were only a split second before he felt what they were – what they did – what their function –
If he had to give it a sound later, he’d say it sounded like a hiss. But maybe that was only in his head, as he tried to focus on something other than the current that was running through his body. He was hunching, jerking – something – he didn’t know.
He couldn’t find his voice, his thoughts, or his pleas. He could only grapple desperately, try and get his hands out of the handcuffs, but it wasn’t working.
Time stood still, frozen solid. He couldn’t even recall his name or the name of the man he’d been hoping would save him.
Which of course meant he was not conscious of the man standing before him, one finger on the trigger of the electroshock unit as the other hand held the camera steady.
You made me do this, House, Lucas reminded himself. The reassurance rang hollow, but it didn’t matter.
There was no turning back. Not for him. Not now.
* Genesis – “Mama”, Genesis, 1983.
Author:
sydpenguinbunnyRating: R
Pairing: Wilson/Amber, House/Cuddy, Wilson/House, maybe House/Amber
Spoilers: Up until the end of Season 6.
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...
Notes: Remember this story? Yep. It's back. Comments are loved.
Warning: Torture in this chapter. Not super-graphic, but still.
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?
Chapter Ten: Turn the Page
Chapter Eleven: The Game
Chapter Twelve: Domino
Chapter Thirteen: Runaway
Chapter Fourteen: Dreaming While You Sleep
Chapter Fifteen: Mama
“It's hot, too hot for me mama
but I can hardly wait
my eyes they're burning mama
and I can feel my body shake…”
Lucas could still smell Lisa Cuddy’s scent on him, when he focused on the thought. He could still hear her voice, see her face in his mind.
Sometimes, when he thought about her, he wanted to hold her – wanted to woo her back, show her that he was caring, gentle, compassionate. Just the man who she needed. Tell her that he would never hurt her, never leave her, that he adored her.
But those times were rare.
Far more often, when he thought of Lisa Cuddy, he wanted to kill her. To destroy her, shatter her like a ceramic plate. Show her what he thought of her bizarre decision to toss away a relationship that had seemingly meant so much to chase a man she had always said was incapable of actually loving another human being. To be with Greg House of all fucking people.
A person Lucas had considered a friend.
Maybe House had “liked” Lisa first – Lucas could see the sense of that particular argument. Finders keepers, losers weepers.
But she hadn’t been engaged to House. Never would; that relationship was doomed before it even began.
Just the indignity, though. To be basically left at the altar.
But Lisa didn’t deserve to be punished for it, as much as Lucas might have wanted to. This sin was on House’s conscience, if he had one; on his soul, if he had one.
The problem with punishing House was that, Lucas knew, House didn’t really care what happened to him. The man was in pain every day anyway, what was some more added on to it? Most of all, it was unlikely that he would ever give in, even if he wanted to. He would never apologize to Lucas for stealing away his Lisa.
However, House also had a weak spot, as stealthily hidden as Achille’s heel had been. His weak spot was Wilson, the only person who truly held House’s heart. Sure, the doctor might think that Cuddy was vital to him, but Lucas knew – Lucas knew.
House cared about Wilson because Wilson was the only person who could ever tolerate the man on a daily basis. The only person who could stare into the void that was there, into the pit, and find a good person.
And Lucas was going to drive Wilson so crazy that he’d curse the day he had ever met Gregory House. And make House watch, besides – who cared if it was digitally? He didn’t have to see the reactions to picture them in his mind.
And eventually, he would contact House – when the time was right, he’d usher him in and apply his coup de grace.
A lingering sense of doubt, of shame and of pity for Wilson crept up his spine, and he swallowed it down. He’d lost it all, lost the woman who he was prepared to spend the rest of his life with. This was no time to be decent, to be merciful – and anyway, he already had Wilson kidnapped, if he let him go now he would be identified and arrested. He had no choice but to follow this through.
Wilson thought of how House would save him if he could.
He would burst in, with his cane turned into some sort of huge bazooka-gun, and he’d blast holes in the walls and pull Wilson to safety. But no one, not even the lunatic keeping him locked up here, would be hurt in the process.
Wilson never liked revenge fantasies; they made him sick and worried, frightened about what they would become if he let them get out of hand. It was part of why he let House get away with as much as he did – he had never believed in holding a grudge.
Wilson’s parents had held grudges. They had, in their fifty-year marriage, always, always kept score, never let anything pass. He could remember sitting between his two brothers, listening to them argue and scream at each other about who had screwed up that time, could remember wishing that they could just let it go.
He’d then grown into the man who let everything go if it was from someone who mattered vitally. That had destroyed his three marriages, because letting everything go bred resentment like cultures in a Petri dish.
He was jerked out of his thoughts by the determined tap, tap, tap of boots, must be steel-tipped boots, against the cellar’s floor. His breath caught in his throat and his eyes squinched shut as he pleaded silently please, no, go away. Not this again. What did I do to you?
His eyes were still shut as hands clamped around his wrists, pushed him back against the wall. They popped open, however, when Wilson was shocked to feel cold metal against his chest.
Wilson’s mind raced ahead of him and realized what they were only a split second before he felt what they were – what they did – what their function –
If he had to give it a sound later, he’d say it sounded like a hiss. But maybe that was only in his head, as he tried to focus on something other than the current that was running through his body. He was hunching, jerking – something – he didn’t know.
He couldn’t find his voice, his thoughts, or his pleas. He could only grapple desperately, try and get his hands out of the handcuffs, but it wasn’t working.
Time stood still, frozen solid. He couldn’t even recall his name or the name of the man he’d been hoping would save him.
Which of course meant he was not conscious of the man standing before him, one finger on the trigger of the electroshock unit as the other hand held the camera steady.
You made me do this, House, Lucas reminded himself. The reassurance rang hollow, but it didn’t matter.
There was no turning back. Not for him. Not now.
* Genesis – “Mama”, Genesis, 1983.