Disclaimer: [H]ouse is not mine and never will be.
Beta: The awesome yarroway.
It's almost Halloween, and I couldn't resist weaving canon into the Blood Brothers 'verse. Enjoy!
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"Your fist packs quite a wallop," House said as he massaged the left side of his jaw.
"Actually, I pulled my punch." Wilson flexed his fingers before he gripped the wine glass. The candlelight showed off the ruby liquid to advantage. "I couldn't risk a blow with my left. It might have knocked you through the window."
House shrugged. "I leaped from four floors before. Besides, a fall can't kill me."
The glass returned to the table top with an angry thump. "There's one big difference, House. No swimming pool. For every action, there must be an explainable reaction." He shook his head. "This isn't going to work out. You're not ready."
"It's been a year." House's agreeable demeanor peeled away. "You promised."
Wilson stiffened at the harsh tone lacing through the words. "Almost a year. You're still experiencing episodes." Exerting his alpha status, he stared House down until he saw an almost imperceptible blink. "I don't know why I let you talk me into returning to the hospital prematurely."
"Because," House leaned forward, "Foreman needed a win to blot out Cuddy's shadow, a non-blood spewing patient was the ideal case to entrust to me, and you were spending too much quality time brooding over your pet patient. The planets had their ducks lined up in a row. The timing couldn't be better." House indulged in a self-satisfied smile. "We followed the script as planned. Convinced everyone that you and I were out of touch while I was incarcerated. We deserve Emmys."
Like an eclipse, a dazed, hollow expression replaced the grin. "Besides, I had enough of prison. I don't want to go back."
House's confusion tugged at Wilson's soul. He said softly, "You're not in full control yet, House. Your faulty memories prove it. You only spent a few days there in order to fool Foreman ."
"I did thirteen months. There was a riot. Mendelson ordered Sullivan to take me out."
"The sentence, the time spent in prison. All illusions, House." Wilson touched the back of House's hand, speaking slowly and patiently. "Think back. Who was your cellmate?"
"Asofa."
"Was it?"
Wilson attentively watched House mull over the question. The Cuddy debacle had been planned down to the last detail. It excused House's adolescent rages and the need to hide him for a year. Payoffs between powerful men in high places had made the charges go away, leaving Wilson the freedom to oversee House's year of "therapy" without anybody poking around.
The results were gratifying, but Wilson was worn to the bone. Not quite through with his freshman year as a vampire, House still had lapses in temper as well as residual Swiss cheese moments like this. Wilson closed his eyes and concentrated on visualizing the true reality. "Think, House."
The silence ate at his nerves until he heard House drawl, "Fuzzy."
"That's right." Wilson smiled. "Fuzzy was with you, watching your back."
"You called?" The hulking frame of Vernon Fosse towered over the table. His massive hands held a fragile decanter. "More blood? The Godfather sent it with his compliments."
After the glasses were refilled, Wilson nodded his thanks. "Leave the carafe, Fuzz. House and I are celebrating tonight."
When Fuzzy had vanished, Wilson raised his glass. "To us, House."
"To us and our very long futures, Wilson."
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