A/N: I had this idea a while back. It's based on the song "The Spanish Train" (Chris de Burgh) where God and the devil play poker and chess for the souls of the dead. So this fic belongs to the song inspired stories I started with "The old apartment".
I just wrote this part tonight and the fic is not ready yet. I would just like what you think about this and if it's worth going on.
Disclaimer: House and Wilson are not mine … the devil isn't mine, either. O.o
Gregory House woke up shivering. Still half asleep he reached lazily for the blanket and pulled it up to his shoulders. It was freezing cold in his bedroom. He tucked the blanket tightly around his legs and pulled his arms close to his body, but the icy air still crept through the thin fabric. Letting out a low tired growl he opened his eyes and pulled at the blanket once more. Why the heck was it so damn cold? House blinked into the darkness, more to clear his mind from his last dream than to see something. He suddenly realized that the room temperature had dropped drastically. It had been a very hot late August night in New Jersey and he had neglected his blanket when he had gone to bed. Now his breath came out in small clouds.
House reached out to the small lamp on his bedside table. He tapped the switch a few times, but nothing happened, the lamp stayed dark. His tired growl turned into a much louder protest. Something was wrong here. But House didn't know what it was.
The damaged muscle in his right thigh seemed to burn from the pain and it took House a few minutes to massage his leg and slowly lift it out of his bed with the help of both of his hands. The pain always got worse in the cold and House had been happy with the high summer temperatures the last few days. Again he wondered why it turn so freezing cold within … within what? It had felt like seconds. The hair on his forearms stood up on end and he had goosebumps. House rubbed his arms to warm them.
He was still waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, when he noticed that the familiar light from the street was missing. Leaning on his bedside table he got up and slowly shifted his weight a little more to the right side to see if his leg supported him. Again the pain struck him and he quickly put his weight back on his left leg. Cursing under his breath House limped over to the window and glanced out no the street. The lamps were all dark, the street dead. A dark cloud covered most of the moon that hang white and full in the sky.
House raised an eyebrow. The empty street reminded him of his dream. He just could not remember what it was that he had dreamed about. All that was left was a hollow and dead feeling.
With an erratic gesture he tried to wipe that dream and the gloomy mood away. It had just been a dream and the street looked dead, because the power went out. No big deal, he told himself.
House hobbled out of the bedroom. Before he reached the hall, he started another futile attempt to turn on the lights, but the room stayed dark. Earlier tonight he had left his cane in the livingroom, now he leaned against the wall with his right hand to relieve his leg. The pain seemed to be worse than before and House longed to take some pills. .
A strange light came from the livingroom and there was something else. House blinked, he rubbed his eyes, but it was still there: a light mist was hovering above the floor. He looked down to his bare feet, his toes dug into the carpet and a little cloud above them. A yellowish cloud.
Suspiciuosly he glanced through the door, the moon was now right above the window, casting a bright beam of moonlight across the room. In the shadows on the piano stool sat a figure, wrapped up in a dark cloak.
"Who are you?" House snarled. His hand was reaching out to his cane that leaned against the wall, ready to smack whoever the intruder was.
A low cackle came from the shadows. "The great Dr. Gregory House finally came out to play." The figure got up from the piano stool and House clutched his cane, ready to strike.
"I am known as The Devil." Another malicious cackle. "But you can call me Lucifer."
"Great! I'm God. You can call me Lord. Glad we settled that," House growled. He was annoyed. Not only that this guy broke into his apartment, he also had the nerv to play stupid games with him.
"Sceptic and crotchety as always," the figure sounded amused, but the voice still sounded threatening to House and let the hair at his neck stand up.
"Get outta here." House pointed his cane to the door.
"I cannot go now. We haven't played yet." The figure stepped into the light and seemed to grow larger by the second. House cocked his head to one side and squinted. Where there really two small horns on his opponents head?
The hovering mist seemed to emerge from under the cloak of the figure. House sniffed, a light sulfurous smell hung in the air.
"Cool special effects," he admitted, putting his cane back down on the floor and leaning onto it. "Who sent you?"
"No one sent me. I heard about you … - down there." The devil pointed a long finger towards the floor.
"People talk behind my back in the basement?" House lifted an eyebrow in amusement. "Come on, who sent you? Cuddy? Wilson? Oh no, I got it! It was Foreman!"
"Shut up." Angrily the devil stepped towards House. He lifted one hand and turned off the moonlight with a swift movement of his hand. With another motion he produced a faint greenish light around himself.
"Wow!" House laughed. "That was amazing."
The devil turned around wordlessly and sat down at the table. He reached into his cloak and pulled out a set of cards. "Sit down."
Leaning heavily on his cane, House limped over to the table. This could be a very enjoyable situation, he thought, if only his leg wouldn't hurt so bad.
One glance at the orange Vicodin bottle on the table told him, that it was empty, so he hobbled on to get a new one from the kitchen.
"Sit down," the devil hissed at him.
"Need my pills first." House barely turned around and just headed straight on to the kitchen. An ice cold hand grabbed his arm and swirled him around.
"Sit down!" The dark figure spit again, two rows of rotten, yellow teeth bared.
House swallowed hard. The sulfurous breath made his head spin and he fought against the urge to throw up.
"God, try and brush your teeth before visiting someone in the middle of the night." He waved his hand before his face, trying to get rid of the foul smell. But the firm grip on his arm made him sit down anyway.
"We will play. If you win, you will get rid of your pain."
House wanted to throw in a witty comment about that stupid ante, but the devil hushed him. With another movement of his hand he brushed over House's leg. The pain was gone. Startled House grabbed his leg. The scar was still there, he could feel it through the thin fabric of his pants, but the pain was completely gone. He dug his fingers into his thigh, massaging it, but there was no pain at all.
"How did you do that?" House looked up and for the first time he noticed the devils face. He was young and rather handsome looking, but his eyes had a red shimmer and his face color was greenish, his lips dark green, stained with yellow saliva.
"Do you believe now that I am indeed The Devil?" His eyes were narrowed to slits.
House did not answer. He looked down at the table. The cards had been dealt without him noticing it. This guy sure was quick with his hands.
"What's at stake?" House asked as he picked up his cards.
"Your pain."
"What if I lose?"
"You got something I want. Something I cannot get my hands on as long as it belongs to you."
House looked at him questioningly. "I got nothing. What do you want?"
"The soul of James Wilson."
Please review! Thanks :)