Disclaimer: I do not own anything of House, M.D. nor do I make any profits from the writing of this work of fiction.

For Love of House

"Dr. Cameron. May I have a word?" The young doctor, who had been in the process of making her way to the clinic, paused. She hoped that she had imagined that soft, masculine voice beckoning her to what she was sure would be her doom.

"Cameron." It was a command now where before it had been a request. She swallowed and turned to face him even though every part of her DNA was screaming at her to turn and run away as fast as she could. She met his eyes briefly before staring at the hard lines of the floor. What she'd glimpsed in those perceptive orbs had set her heart to racing, her palms sweating, her stomach clenching and her legs tensing with the desire to flee. But that would only make things worse. Still, she hoped to avoid this encounter all together if she could. Only when she was alone, and safe, would she count her blessings and allow the carefully erected wall to crumble, freeing her tears and anger.

"Ah, not right now. I've got clinic duty and - "

"Is that all? It can wait for an hour or so don't you think?" She inhaled slowly, quietly, slowing her heart and steeling herself. There was no use in fighting him as he would have his way no matter what the parties involved wanted. If you didn't believe her, you could ask his best friend.

"I...I guess so. Sure." He smiled in such a charming manner that she almost could believe she would come out of this okay. But that was the foolish part of her; the part that wanted to believe in the goodness of others and in right and wrong. A larger part of her shivered in fear.

He lead her down the busy hallways, twisting and turning down passageways she hadn't even known existed, pulling her into an ill-used hallway and into a small elevator. He gently maneuvered her into the left corner of the elevator, his lithe body preventing her from seeing what button he pushed.

She bit her lip, her throat burning with the urge to say something, anything, to the man in front of her, but self-preservation said wait - wait until she knew where she was or had more room to flee. And plus...the disarming sound of his soft, cheerful humming scared her more than anything he'd yet done.

A soft pinging. The doors slid open with a faint hiss. He kept the doors from closing by pressing his hand against the crevice they'd slid into and smiled patiently at her.

"After you, Dr. Cameron."" Her wobbly legs barely had strength enough to carry her weight. The hallway she stepped into was dimly lit but as clean as the rest of the hospital. There was a sense of loneliness and despair lingering in the still air. It was so quiet.

"This way." He lead her through a maze of hallways, and the confident way he walked told her he'd been through here before. She could only wonder whom he'd been with and what might have become of them. They ended up in what looked like an old office except that, instead of a desk, a hospital bed dominated most of the room. The sheets on it looked fresh, and the leather straps attached looked well tended. There was a small box-shaped device squatting sullenly next to it on what looked like a bedside table. On the opposite side of the bed was a fold-out chair. There were no windows.

The sharp fear she'd been feeling since he'd stopped her transformed into a dull, throbbing terror. Why weren't there any windows?

"Have a seat, Dr. Cameron." She reached for the chair.

"On the bed, Dr. Cameron." She sat on the very edge of the bed, her entire body poised to flee, but he chuckled and locked the already closed door. His approach was slow, and she could almost pretend he wasn't even moving. His hand on her leg startled her out of that wishful fantasy. By the time she thought to struggle, he already had her legs and right arm strapped down; her left arm soon joined them. With a slight sigh, he sank gracefully into the chair. The dim light played on his handsome features.

"This used to be where the Oncology Department was housed. The rooms down here are a lot nicer than the ones upstairs, but the equipment's better. In rooms like these, the terminal patients who didn't want to see the sun were housed until they died. All that changed about ten years ago when Cuddy finally got the funding to build up that whole new wing." She absorbed the knowledge quietly.

"Why have you brought me here?" When the genial light disappeared from his eyes to be replaced by coldness, she wished she'd kept quite. He stood quietly and went to the device. He patted it calmly, a strange smile that was still somehow handsome stretching with unnatural slowness across his face.

"Have you seen one of these before? No? Well, they used them all the time in mental hospitals back in the day. We use them now, in fact. This, however, is a cruder version of the ones upstairs. It's going to help me today." The terror, the horrible throbbing, increased at how matter-of-fact he sounded, how detached. The bindings prevented her from struggling, indeed they even felt like they were tightening themselves, expanding with excitement. He attached wires and clamps to the small metal clamps she hadn't noticed in the leather. Tears were welling in her eyes.

"Why are you doing this? Wilson, please!" She screamed and cried, all thought of caution gone. Someone had to hear her, had to help her. Without pausing in his work, he slapped her. Her teeth rattled and blood filled her mouth; she thought her nose might be broken. The easy, graceful strength in the oncologist's body stunned her. This was something she would have expected from House or maybe Foreman but not the calm, ever-patient and kind Wilson. That, as much as the actual blow, shocked her. The tears mixed with the blood dribbling down her cheek. Wilson took a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped the mixture away with his usual gentleness. The smile on his face was now slightly sad. He returned to readying the machine. She noticed that his hands were trembling slightly, and there was a feverish tint to his eyes and face. He licked his lips quickly and pushed his hair out of his eyes.

"You brought this on yourself, Cameron. I told you. I warned you not to play with his emotions, and you did it anyway." He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. Her heart stopped. "I'll just have to teach you the lesson I've been trying to teach House for years. You can't play with people's emotions, Cameron." His hand slowly rested on the on/off switch, the trembling now having settled to a deranged calm.

"No, Wilson! Please don't do this! I won't do it again, I promise, just please don't do this!" For a moment, she thought he might relent, but he shook his head.

"No. I'm sorry, Cameron, but you have to learn. This is the only way." He turned the switch on.

This was pain such as she'd never felt before. It was epic, the stuff of the deepest, darkest most evil fairy-tales. She hadn't known people could hurt like this, ever. She found that she could see herself lying on that bed, her body jerking this way and that in restrained movements, her mouth open wide around a terribly silent scream. She could see Wilson nest to her, his eyes wide and glassy with tears spilling out of those soulful brown depths and down his handsome face as he murmured something. There was a sizzling sound whenever a tear dropped onto the metal clamps. He turned the device off; granted her a respite, and she could hear what he'd been murmuring the entire time.

"Oh God. Oh God. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry...oh God. House I - oh God I'm sorry, I'm sorry, House. Please..." He went on that way for what seemed like hours but still nothing compared to the eternity in which he'd left that cursed machine on. She swallowed hard.

"Wilson." Her voice was so raw and hoarse, and she could barely hear it over Wilson's sobbing, but he heard her and quieted.

"Wilson...why are you doing this? Do…you do this to House?" He shook his head slowly; moving it like it weighed a ton, and buried his face in his hands.

"No...I've tried reasoning with him because I..." He trailed off and looked at her, really looked at her. The dawning horror and shame in his eyes when he saw what he'd been doing to her went further into soothing her than any balm.

"Why did you do this to me?" He sighed.

"He wanted me to."

"What?"

"House...he wanted you to hurt, so I..." he vaguely gestured at the room and everything in it. Somehow, she understood.

"You love him." A sob escaped him, his shoulders - his entire being - shaking with the force of emotions too long suppressed and denied.

"I do."

And that explained everything.

-End-