Disclaimer: Not mine or ever will be.
Beta: Thanks to my betas, leakey_lover and bookfan85, excellent as always. And a shout out to alemyrddin for the Italian lesson.
Thanks for following along. :D
Arms and legs flailing into empty space, House tried grabbing onto thick air. He saw his clothes burning away and felt his skin blistering and dropping off. "Wilson!" he yelled, but immediately regretted it. He didn't want his lover anywhere near this.
He felt ironic relief. Such an impulse would never happen again. He no longer had a mouth to speak, or flesh for that matter.
He was in agony. Slag heaps of it. His thigh had taught him that pain came in different languages, but now he understood that disintegrating nerves could sing and dance, and come in more colors than in a Crayola box.
The pain kicked and screamed like a cowboy tied to a bucking bronco and was endless, like the fall. House made one last effort to claw the air, but scarcely had the strength or muscle to fight.
That's when he noticed the updraft.
The heat created a current that was suspending him in mid-air. He was descending, but slowly.
"House! Oh my God, Hooouuse!!! Help! We need help here!"
Wilson. How in hell could he hear Wilson through the din and clamor of this unearthly firestorm?
Feathered flares stroked him.
The connection….
"Hold on, House!"
"Hold on to what? Wilson. You. Idiot."
But House's freefall slowed almost to a stop. He was suspended among billowing smoke and bursting sparks that bit through his organs.
He could feel Wilson around him, within him….
"Ugh!" There was a bounce, and House moved an inch upward.
The Idiot was rescuing him.
Wilson. Don't do this. I'm…dead.
No! No you're not!
House heard another voice. One with a husky sing-song.
"Move over, Bubbeleh. Let me help.
"Irving!"
"Irving?!!!"
Now, a real idiot was helping.
"Both of you. Go away!"
House pictured Wilson plummeting past him in his failed effort to help.
All he wanted was to be left to roast in his private inferno.
But miracles do happen.
Another mental tractor beam locked onto his body….
House was rising faster and faster. He found enough energy to twist his head and see the light from the doorway silhouetting two men.
The fiery heat at the top of the furnace felt like a cooling breeze.
His rescue was not complete until Wilson's hands pulled him over the ledge and laid him tenderly onto the marble floor.
"House. Speak to me."
Wilson draped his cloak over House, who looked into worried brown eyes.
"Impossible. I can't be alive."
"Yes, you can." Wilson raised one of House's hands so he could see he had skin. Not so much as a sunburn.
"You were in a virtual hell in a virtual world, but you're not in the real Hell Pit until you hit bottom."
"I'll remember that for next time," House croaked. "I heard Irving. Where is he?"
"You survived, but your clothes didn't. He's gone off to find you something to wear."
Wilson ran a caring hand through House's hair, chuckled, but caught himself. "How are you feeling? Can you stand up?"
House nodded, and Wilson gave him a hand.
As he watched House secure the cape around his waist, Wilson asked, "How the hell did you fall in? How strong was the Godfather's bourbon?"
House checked to see if anyone was listening, but no one was near. Just like the rest of the evening, the vampires kept a healthy distance from the Borgia's study and what House now called the sucking Pit of Hell.
"I was shoved."
"Impossible, House. No one would pull such a stunt here, in front of witnesses."
"And smacked on the head. Take a look." House bent down, ruffling his hair to show his bruise.
Gentle fingers inspected the bump.
"Christ. Why would anybody do this?" Wilson's voice cracked.
"The entertainment committee was desperate after Black Sabbath canceled their reunion show, and Joe Versus the Volcano was out of stock," House quipped.
Wilson snickered, but it didn't lessen his anxiety. His eyes roamed over House's face, but when they reached his hairline, Wilson bit back a grin.
"What?" House demanded.
"Nothing," answered Wilson, as he became absorbed in the tips of his shoes.
"Here, Bubbe." Irving had waddled back from the main crowd, shoving a bundle of riotous clothes at House. "This was all I could get."
The men looked over the choices, selecting the best of the lot: black ruffled bloomers that only a woman or a gay toreador might wear, a red silk waistcoat shot through with gold thread, and for House's bare feet, a pair of mismatched slippers. One black and one green. Wilson shrugged off his jacket, trading it in return for the cloak.
As an afterthought, Wilson snatched the tiny gold vial from his jacket and transferred the bottle into his own slacks. "Just in case."
House was about to thank Irving, when the man said, "So are you enjoying yourselves? Did you get yourself a drink?"
Both men kept a straight face, as Wilson whispered, "I don't think he remembers anything that happened."
"We came, we saw, we drank, my lord, and now we're leaving." House answered.
The old vampire beamed and patted them on their backs as they made their way to the staircase.
House's odd raiment garnered no strange looks.
In the hallway, Wilson wrapped his cloak around them, and their sandy cheeks rubbed together….
They were outside. The limousine was huffing clouds from it's tailpipe and giving off heat. They slid into the back seat, and Wilson said to the driver, "Home."
Little was said on the drive back. Minion and vampire were wrung out from the evening.
House and Wilson sat next to each other, arms and legs pressed close.
They yearned to cap off the night with their limbs entwined around each other like puzzle rings.
Before and after they had hot sex.
House looked at the clock embedded into the paneling. One o'clock, and they were more than forty-five minutes from home.
He crankily asked, "Why didn't the Godfather make arrangements to transport us directly to the apartment?"
"The transportation committee handled arrivals and departures." Wilson shrugged and patted the package next to him. "Maybe the book doesn't travel well."
They sat in companionable silence for another five minutes until House became bored and demanded to see the tiny container of gold dust.
Also curious, Wilson obliged, shaking the vial, speaking his thoughts out loud. "Not much in there. What is it supposed to do?"
Plucking the bottle out of Wilson's hand, House scrutinized it while he asked, "How much do you know about the Godfather's ring?"
"The stone is ancient, the gold is pure. The Borgia never lets it out of his sight." Wilson shrugged, picking up the package next to him,."This book may give some answers."
"After you get a degree in linguistics. Latin, Romanian, and a dash of Sanskrit. Isn't that what your grandpappy said?" House's mouth twisted mischievously.
"Yeah. I'm screwed. Zehava will ride my ass for another decade-and-a-half."
"No, she won't. I called dibs first."
Wilson rumpled House's hair in affectionate agreement, but he stopped mid-rub and once more was fighting back a smile.
"Hey, what's up with you and the way you keep looking at my hair?"
A shirtsleeved arm flipped down a mirror from the limo's ceiling.
House peered into it. "Oh. My. God."
"Bad news: you don't have any more than you used to, but the good news: now it's all the same color." Wilson smirked.
All of House's hair had turned white.
Running his hand over his scalp and pulling on tufts of hair from different sections, House could not find a trace of gray or brown.
"Don't worry. The salon around the corner can fix you right up."
"Sonofabitch. I look like Malcolm McDowell." House slapped at the mirror, snapping it back into place. He began fidgeting with the vial.
"Sonofaslayer, and more like Malcolm's much younger brother." Wilson corrected, as he nuzzled the hair at the back of House's neck and mumbled, "Mhmm. Your hair is kind of sexy this way."
Idly popping the cap from the gold filigree container, House felt his cock strain at his soft cotton pantaloons. He thrummed the elastic waistband. "We could start here."
"Not while a Nosferatu is driving and spying on us."
"Damn," House grumbled. "I wish we were home."
Forgetting he was holding the open vial, House jumped as a puff of yellow smoke exploded from the container.
The limo sailed up to the curb and parked in front of their apartment house.
"What the fuck just happened?!" House exclaimed.
Grabbing the bottle out of House's hands, Wilson promptly replaced the stopper and checked the gold dust. "Damn it, House! Over a third of it is gone. The gold powder must contain a wishing spell." Wilson rubbed the back of his neck, trying to control his temper. "This had to be the most expensive ride ever."
The guard opened the door for them.
House saw it as a chance to escape Wilson's shredded nerves, and got out. "At least we learned what the gold dust does and how it works," House said. Wilson scooted out right behind him.
The chauffeur revved the engine and the limo lit out with a roar.
Two weary men trudged single-file to the steps.
They heard footsteps. Several.
Five Halloween revelers, each dressed as Dracula, converged upon them.
They were drunk and looking for trouble.
"Hey, Grandpa. What are you dressed up as?" The leader was holding a near-empty bottle of whiskey and was checking House's costume. The other four swayed and giggled.
House looked down at his clothes. Shit. He growled, "I'm Patch Adams's worst nightmare. Get away from me!"
The gigglers became quiet and circled him. The leader snickered. "You're not impressing me, Old Man."
Wilson sidled up to House, managing to sound like the voice of reason. "You're messing with the wrong guy, fellas. He's not old. He's a doct—"
The second-in-command stuck his nose into House's face. "Oooh. You know all about knives and scalpels and what to do with them, do you, Fagdad?" He laughed like a hyena.
The youth moved on to Wilson, and spoke in a sibilant voice. "You can't possibly be interested in this old guy. Someone as pretty as you?" He brought out a switchblade and popped it open. Placing the blade under a button on Wilson's shirt, he sliced it off. The knife climbed upward from one button to the next, until the sharp edge was cutting into the shirt fabric on Wilson's chest.
"Come into the alley with me Sweetcakes, and if you're as entertaining as you look, I won't draw blood. Whaddya say?"
Standing with his head down, fingers strumming at the tear in his ruined shirt, Wilson was quiet, absorbing every word the lieutenant said. "I don't think so."
Another button popped off the shirt, close to Wilson's neck. "What was that, Peaches? I didn't hear you."
Wilson's hand reached out and grabbed House's arm, shoving him out of the way. "I said…I've had enough entertainment tonight to last me two lifetimes, and…." Wilson raised his head, his eyes circles of blazing red, his voice a thunderous roar as he mouth opened and he displayed fangs."You haven't the slightest idea how to draw blood, but I'd be delighted to show you."
The five members screamed, pissed in their pants, and scattered like junk mail in the wind.
Standing in the middle of the living room dressed in a robe, House waited for Wilson to return from his trip to the dumpster where he was ditching the fashion disasters from the ball. Apparently, he also shed his youth. Wilson returned looking his chronological age.
Shaking his head, Wilson lamented, "I can't believe how I lost it with those jerks."
"I can. After dealing with Nosferatu, your sire, and His Holiness tonight—
"—and you with your damned curiosity. " Wilson wagged a finger, but abruptly stopped.
"I almost lost you." A thousand sorrows waltzed in the vampire's eyes.
"But you didn't." House pulled Wilson close and kissed him until they both ran out of air.
When they let go, House trilled in a falsetto voice as he steered his partner to the bedroom, "You're my cavaliere in shining armor! My hero!"
Wilson smiled, but furrowed his brow. "I'm never going to hear the last of it, am I?
"What do you think, Sir Wilson of Oncology?"
After they had their fill of raw, passionate sex, Wilson fell asleep, but House stayed awake.
Lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling, he was thinking about the night's events and mulled over one troubling question.
If there was a virtual hell, was there a virtual heaven?
He turned on his side, spooning against Wilson. Resting his hand on his lover's chest and covering the cool leg with his own, House felt Wilson wedge closer to him, and he fell asleep knowing the answer.
tbc...and so ends House's tale. Next part: a return to the future.
Thank you for reading. All comments welcome anytime.