House froze, staring at the younger man for a long moment, barely daring to move or speak.
There was a frightening coldness, a predatory gleam in Wilson's eyes, that made House feel like a lame gazelle being stalked by a panther. His hand tightened instinctively on his cane, in preparation for a confrontation, although he was still not sure if he could bring himself to actually fight back. Feeling at more than one definite disadvantage, House steadied himself with the cane and began to stand up.
Wilson's sharp eyes darted toward the slight tell-tale motion of House's hand. He stood up smoothly from his chair, moving into House's space, his hand resting over House's on the top of his cane in a harsh, restraining grip that prevented House from gaining enough leverage to rise. With a cool, knowing smile on his face, Wilson met House's apprehensive eyes.
"No need to get up."
Wilson's other hand ran through House's hair in a deceptively gentle motion that suddenly turned harsh and controlling. He jerked House's head back slightly, forcing House to look up at him. His smile never faltering, he added, "I asked you a question."
House maintained eye contact with Wilson as he reached up and gripped the other man's wrist, forcefully guiding his hand away from his head. Wilson looked startled, disbelieving, as House replied in a calm, even voice.
"And the answer is none of your business."
Wilson let out a soft huff of surprised laughter, his eyebrows raised incredulously as he pulled his hand away from House's. He tilted his head slightly in a calm, speculative manner.
Abruptly he drew back his fist, backhanding his former friend and knocking him backward onto the mattress. While House was off guard, he jerked the cane out of his hand and tossed it across the room, ensuring that he would be effectively immobilized, unable to escape Wilson's attack, as Wilson struck him a powerful, dizzying blow to the face with his fist.
"Everything you do is my business!" he snarled.
Dazed, House struggled to pull himself up into a sitting position with one hand, while trying to fend off Wilson's next blow with the other. He managed to haul himself up against the headboard, taking one blow to the stomach before catching Wilson's wrist and pushing the younger man away from him, sending him stumbling a few steps backward.
Wilson's eyes narrowed in fury at the unexpected resistance. Coming at House again before he could get off the bed, he drove his fist into the older man's chest, momentarily knocking the breath from him. For a few chaotic moments, they were a tangle of flailing, frantic limbs and bodies as Wilson used the opportunity to climb onto the bed, attempting to pin House down against it.
House fought back as well as he could, struggling to push Wilson off of him, but the younger man's greater strength and leverage soon had him firmly pinned against the bed, Wilson straddling his chest and arms so that he could not defend himself.
"Get off me!" House snarled in outraged fear, still struggling futilely. "Let go!"
Furious, his teeth clenched in an expression of vindictive determination, Wilson grabbed a pillow from the head of House's bed and pressed it down over his face, hard. Panicked, House struggled, uselessly writhing beneath the weight that held him down. Wilson seemed determined to end House's futile attempts at self-defense – one way or another.
Confirming that thought, Wilson leaned down, his face level with House's ear, and snarled in a warning voice, "Stop…fighting me. Stop fighting me, House, or I swear to God, I will kill you right now!"
Lack of oxygen made House's head swim, flashing fireworks of color dancing before his closed eyes. He knew that his only option in that moment was surrender. He tried to force himself to go still, even though his entire body was taut and trembling with the effort of controlling his instincts, screaming at him to fight for the life he was on the edge of losing.
As he ceased his resistance, just as he began to black out, Wilson eased the pressure he was applying to the pillow, pulling it back just enough that House was able, with great effort, to draw breath again. However, he kept the pillow close to his face, muffling any possible cries or attempt at speech.
"So, are we done with the stupidity for the night? Or should I just finish what I've started?" Wilson's voice was cold, contolled…and terrifying.
House knew that if he fought back right then, Wilson would kill him.
He shook his head weakly, trying to relax, to allow the easing tension in his body to communicate to Wilson that he would submit, would not struggle anymore.
"Good." House heard the smirk in Wilson's voice, even before the younger man pulled the pillow away and allowed him to see it on his face. "Just settle down," Wilson advised. "It didn't have to be like that, House. All I asked was a simple question."
Gasping for the breath that had been withheld from him for too long, House managed to get out a hoarse whisper, designed to appease Wilson long enough to give him a chance to do…something.
"I'm sorry…I'm sorry…"
"You should be," Wilson reminded him, and the disdain in his voice made House wince to hear it. "Now…I'm gonna ask you again…and you're gonna answer me. Unless you need another lesson…"
"No," House whispered, shaking his head, his eyes closed. "I don't…"
"Where were you?"
House felt his stomach lurch at the hard, dangerous tone in Wilson's voice. He swallowed hard, weighing his words, his voice still breathless and halting as Wilson leaned across his torso, limiting the air he could draw in. "Just…went to get…something to eat…sorry…thought I'd be…back…before you got here…"
"Well you were wrong, weren't you?" Wilson snapped, utterly unsympathetic.
He gripped House's hair, jerking his head back again, much more roughly than before, in a deliberate attempt to reassert his power in the wake of House's resistance. He lifted himself up only long enough to plant his knee painfully against House's sternum. Pressing down slowly, his smile widened when House gasped in pain and fear.
"Now, do you think you can behave yourself long enough for us to have an adult conversation about this? Or do I need to treat you like the pathetic, rebellious child you keep acting like?"
Wilson's tone was scathing, full of contempt, and House fought against a rising sense of shame at his words, reminiscent of words he had heard many years ago. He shook his head rapidly, his one free hand rising in a pleading gesture.
"Good." Wilson nodded, finally backing off. He stood on the floor beside the bed and glared down at House with an expectant look. "Sit up and look at me," he demanded.
House struggled to pull himself up to a sitting position on the bed, his chest heaving with deep, desperate breaths as he struggled to return his breathing pattern to normal. Hazy spots of color danced around the edges of his vision. Carefully, he let his legs fall over the side of the bed as he sat up to face Wilson, who was beginning to look impatient.
Wilson gave him a grim smile and nod of approval, and took a step backward to give him room before ordering, "Stand up."
Not sure if he even could stand up, not sure if his shaking legs would support him, only sure that he had no choice but to stand, or risk another violent outburst from Wilson, House cautiously rose to his feet, feeling vulnerable and unstable without his cane. His anxious gaze darted past Wilson, mentally calculating the possibility of getting to it before Wilson could stop him.
The possibility was…well, basically nonexistent.
"Hey!" Wilson snapped, and House's eyes quickly returned to his face in alarm, realizing that he had momentarily stopped listening. "I'm talking to you!"
Wilson slapped him hard, an open palm against his cheek that made him stumble. Before he could fall back onto the bed, Wilson caught his arm, using his free hand to deliver a brutal punch to his stomach, then releasing his arm to allow him to fall to his knees.
Immediately Wilson was crouched in front of him, gripping the hair at the side of his head and slamming his head backward. House winced, preparing for the impact, his mind racing with fears of another coma – one from which he might not awaken, this time.
Fortunately, the only thing behind him was the mattress.
Still, the impact was dizzying, and Wilson's grip on his hair, shaking him, his snarling face inches from House's own, all served to make him feel dazed and disoriented.
"You will listen to me when I talk to you!"
Wilson's voice was low and trembling with rage, sending a shiver of apprehension down House's spine. Moving closer, his other hand at House's throat, Wilson pushed his head back – not quite choking him, but tight enough to be frightening.
Although House's hands were free, he now knew better than to fight back. Utterly unarmed, and too dizzy from the blows he had taken to the head and lack of oxygen to trust his own reflexes in a fight, he focused for the moment on appeasement, on getting Wilson to back off enough to give him a chance. House nodded quickly, silently indicating his submission.
"Now let's try this again, shall we?" Wilson's voice held a nasty streak of menace cloaked with a deceptive gentleness. " You're gonna get up, and we're gonna go in the living room and have a nice little chat. There's something I want to show you. Does that sound good to you, Gregory, huh? You think you can behave yourself long enough for that?"
House nodded as best he could against the cruel hand at his throat, and the other still fisted painfully in his hair, his eyes closed to shut out the nightmare image of his former friend, glaring at him through dark eyes glittering with hate. The use of his first name was not lost on him; it brought to mind one of few people who ever called him by it – as did the harsh, authoritative tone and words Wilson used.
"I…I'm sorry," House whispered, barely mouthing the words, unable to draw breath as Wilson's grip on his throat tightened. "Please…I'm sorry…"
"Too late," Wilson snarled, though he finally released him with one last shove against the mattress behind him, before rising to his feet.
House cringed, knowing that Wilson was referring to more than the incident at hand, and that there was nothing he could do now to undo the damage that had been done – no way to bring back either Amber… or Wilson as he had once known him. Wilson had lost it, crossed more than one line over the past few weeks – and all at once, House knew beyond any doubt that he could not allow him to cross the next.
Outside of this room, he knew that there would be a host of potential weapons at Wilson's disposal. Whatever it was that Wilson wanted to show him, he was fairly certain he did not want to see. He had to somehow regain some control over the situation.
He had to find a way to survive this.
"Get up," Wilson ordered. "Now."
His voice hoarse and soft with pain, still gasping for breath, House kept his eyes down, his tone submissive, carefully, uncharacteristically humble as he presented a reasonable request to his quite unreasonable friend.
"I…I'm not sure I…I can. Can I…can I please have my cane?" He hesitated, swallowing hard, his voice trembling with emotion as he added, barely a whisper, "Please?"
It was that final word in that tone so foreign to House's voice, that made Wilson consent to the request. Staring down at his kneeling friend through hard eyes, black as onyx, Wilson allowed a slight smile of approval to cross his lips. He crossed the room and picked up the cane, slowly approaching House, his mouth twitching slightly as he smirked in satisfaction.
"Now you're starting to get it," he remarked with a nod. "You'll speak to me with respect, or you won't get anything from me, House. You're gonna learn to watch your mouth."
As he spoke, he held the cane out by its handle, the gesture almost imperious as he stood, tall and towering over House, still huddled by the bed on his knees. House reached up tentatively, glancing uncertainly into Wilson's eyes, before gripping its base in both hands and pulling it down, placing the end of it on the floor and rocking it slightly, as if to steady it, testing its weight in his hands.
"I…I think…" he began, his voice still halting and hesitant, his eyes still downcast as Wilson released the handle of the cane and just watched him, waiting for him to go on with a single raised brow. "…I think…you should know by now…"
House looked up then, his head still lowered, solemn, piercing eyes locking onto Wilson's with a sharp gaze that was the only warning the younger doctor got.
"…you should worry more when I do watch my mouth."
As he spoke, House shoved the cane upward at an angle with all his strength, its handle connecting brutally with Wilson's groin, and doubling him over in agony. Wilson dropped to his knees on the floor, holding his hands protectively over his injuries. House drew the cane back in a double-handed grip, swinging it like a bat, this time connecting with Wilson's face.
Wilson collapsed to the floor, still conscious, moaning with pain, but incapacitated – for the moment.
Trembling violently with the emotional and physical impact of what he had just done, House pulled himself shakily to his feet. It took longer than usual, and a much greater effort, but between the bed beside him and the cane in his hand, he finally managed to get to his feet.
By the time he did, Wilson was already stirring, his hands clenching and unclenching on the floor as he tried to summon the strength to rise.
Gotta hurry…might not have much time…
House made his way as quickly as possible toward the bedroom door, the living room beyond…and the telephone waiting there. As he slipped out of his bedroom and the phone came into sight across the room, he heard Wilson's groan of pained fury from the floor of his bedroom. The younger man raised anguished, angry eyes to glare at him and snarl out a menacing warning.
"I'll kill you, House…I'll kill you!"
