A/N: This idea came to me out of nowhere today and I just had to type it out. I have no further justification for this one's existence. (smirks sheepishly)
WARNINGS: WRITTEN WITH SLASH IN MIND. Mentions of domestic violence. Violence. Adult themes. Language. (glances around) Anyone out there…?
DISCLAIMER: Pfft, if only…! But the series is about as mine as our beloved team is real. (pouts) But hey, a girl can always dream.
Awkay… I've really gotta get going before I chicken out soooo…. I really, truly hope that you'll enjoy the ride!
Toxicity
Gregory House was exactly a minute from his boredom reaching a destructive level when the office's door finally opened. Weary steps walked in, pausing only for a second when the arrival noticed him. "Sorry", James Wilson's familiar voice sighed. "I'm not going to be your lunch provider today. I forgot my wallet at home."
House shrugged with very little care, observing lazily how Wilson moved towards his desk and slumped down heavily. A frown appeared while a predatory gleam took over his eyes. Another dead patient? A bad date?
"No need to feel bad about it", House assured his best friend. "I already had Foreman pay for my food." He raised an eyebrow at the dark circles around Wilson's eyes and the bags hanging underneath them. "Someone didn't get their beauty sleep."
Wilson snorted. The look darted his way was deeply irritated and disbelieving. "Thank you for those kind words."
House filed that comeback away. His curiosity wasn't satisfied yet. "You must've had one hell of a date. She kept you up pretty late, didn't she?"
Wilson's eyes narrowed. It was impossible to name all the emotions flashing in them. Well, at least it was for House. "None of your business", the oncologist bit out.
House lifted his hands in surrender. "Hey, easy! Whoever pissed into your cereal this morning it wasn't me. Even for me that'd be just too gross."
Wilson sighed. "Sorry." The younger man looked at him with a equal degree of curiosity and annoyance. "I assume that there's a reason why you're camping on my couch."
House groaned, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He was thrilled to discover that the ache hammering in his skull had subsided to a far more tolerable level. Goodie. How there was just the throbbing of his leg left. "The Ducklings and I needed a break from each other", he muttered.
A thin trace of amusement flickered on Wilson's face. "I see."
With his curiosity only aroused further by his friend's earlier hostile reaction House was planning on poking further, most likely too far, until he noticed something that caught his attention. A burn mark on Wilson's left hand. Nothing too severe but rather large and most definitely painful. House refused to admit that he would've been worried but he did frown for the second time in five minutes. And whistled. "Woah. That had to hurt." Seeing the younger man's questioning look he nodded towards the hand, rising to a sitting position. "How did you manage that?"
Wilson shrugged. "A cooking accident." Quick. Almost too much so. "The frying pan and I had a disagreement."
House nodded slowly. He didn't like the ball forming in the pit of his stomach. "I'd say that your hand lost that round."
House would've wanted to pry more but a text message interrupted him. It was from Foreman. The diagnostician groaned. He should've known that Foreman would be useless at babysitting duty.
'991', was all the message read.
"I've gotta go before the kids end up killing the patient." House sighed dramatically as he pushed himself up, beginning to limp towards the door. "Stay out of the kitchen."
"Bye, House."
The current case wiping Wilson's suspicious injury from House's mind the older man barged into his own office, not even trying to hide his irritation. "So, children… Any guesses I can laugh at?"
Alone in the security of his office Wilson spent about five seconds just breathing, his fried nerves lulled by the sense of familiarity and safety.
In. Out. Easily. Effortlessly.
For a few stolen moments of bliss everything was completely, absolutely right in the world. Breathing didn't hurt. His heart wasn't hammering and his blood wasn't boiling hot with adrenaline or cold with dread. He couldn't even feel the pain that'd been gnawing his burned hand mercilessly.
That serenity, of course, wasn't allowed to last forever. His phone bleeped uncomfortably loudly, screaming that he'd received a new text message. Wilson knew who it was from long before he ever looked. His moves were stiff and reluctant as he took the item and opened the text.
His heart was hammering once more. His hand was hollering out of sheer agony. He didn't have to see a mirror to recognize the look on his face.
'I went too far. I'm sorry. Come home.'
Wilson didn't have even the faintest idea of how long he remained behind his desk, his face buried into his hands and trying desperately to control his breathing. The control anything. He knew that House was still in his own office, plotting something he felt much more comfortable with not knowing intimately. He could've gone there instead. Could've…
Another bleep. Wilson sighed. Counted to three before opening the message and swallowing the poison.
'Please. You can't do this to me. I love you. I'd die without you.'
Wilson's eyes blurred for the briefest of moments, the blur seeming to spread absolutely all the way through him. His mouth opened, then clasped tightly shut once more. With his jaw tightening the oncologist walked out of the office, locked the door without daring to look back and moved on.
Wilson's heavy feet led him out of the hospital.
-O-
A/N: (sighs) Poor Wilson, no? 'Wonder just how deep of a trouble he's in.
To be perfectly honest I'm not entirely convinced that story is over. What do you guys think? Was this any good, at all? How would feel about chapter two?
In any case, thank you so much for reading! I really hope that I'll be seeing you again.
Take care!
