damigella: (sad_thoughtful_wilson)
[personal profile] damigella
Drabble Prologue
Chapter 1, warnings, and stuff.
Chapter 2

ETA: I just noticed I haven't thanked anyone for their comments on chapter 2. I often forget, but not in such a total way. Sorry. All your comments are always very, very gratefully received.

Chapter 3



IF HE GETS TIME YOU'RE BOTH DEAD.

House must have placed the sheet of paper on his dish as he set up the table for dinner.

Wilson didn't comment, just slid it in a plastic envelope without touching it with his fingers.

"I'll bring this to the police tomorrow. Where was it?"

"In the mailbox, and it's pointless. The letters are newspaper cuts."

"Maybe they can find fingerprints."

"Mine, probably. You're so stubborn."

"So are you. You refuse to give therapy a try."

"It isn't helping you either. I can hear you crying every night."

Wilson wished the walls were thicker, but House was right: therapy and drugs weren't working. The Deputy Oncology Head, hastily nominated while he was hospitalized in the immediate aftermath of the assault, was clearly going to become permanent, since he was still working half-time almost two months later.

"At least I'm trying." Wilson passed his fingers through his hair, in an attempt to clear his thoughts. "I think I'll go for a walk."

"If I could do that, I wouldn't need therapy at all."

The truth in the last statement was almost physically painful, and Wilson tried to forget it as he walked out of the house. He didn't even make it to the corner; he turned around and headed back. He felt way too vulnerable alone on the sidewalk.
_____

House had been dreaming of being back in prison, as he often did. It took him a few seconds to figure out the clanging sounds weren't a guard trying to wake him up in his dream, but broken glass in the living room.

A shriek chilled him through: Wilson. Hoping he was not too late, he hurried as much as he could, grabbing his medical emergency bag.

The sight was frightening: there was blood everywhere, and a very pale, unconscious Wilson on the floor in the middle of it, while the largest window had been shattered inside - he should have walked carefully because he was barefoot, but he didn't, hurrying to crouch near his friend, relieved when he found a steady pulse.

The dark eyes were opening. "Don't move, now, Wilson. It's okay, I'm here, they're gone."

A quick exam revealed that the blood all came from a rather deep gash on the inner surface of the upper left thigh. Not life-threatening, he thought as he staunched the wound, but they should be heading for the ER anyway, and Wilson would be in pain for some weeks. Better in an ambulance, he thought, and went to grab the phone.

"I woke up when they broke the window. It was four of them again, the faces covered. I don't know if one or more were the same."

House shushed him with a gesture, quickly explained to the 911 operator what had happened, and hung up the call once he was promised an ambulance soon. He kneeled near Wilson again, cradling the sweated head in his arms.

"It all went so fast. They held me down on the floor, opened my legs wide, and stabbed me in the thigh." Wilson's eyes seemed empty. Like no one lived inside any more. "They said if either of us testifies they're going to castrate me."

The doorbell rang, and a heavy hand knocked at the same time. "Police!"

There was no fun at all in Wilson's laughter. "They added that being under police watch would mean that when the cops arrived my balls would still be warm."

____

"You really want to go through with this?"

Wilson was walking almost normally as he approached House to adjust his tie. Luckily his wound was going to leave no permanent physical traces. Physical.

"Yes. What is right is right. Plus, there has been no further menace. I think if Mendelsohn gets stuck in for a really long time even his pals will forget him."

House felt very nervous. He wasn't sure whether he disliked more the classically elegant suit that Wilson had insisted on having him wear, or the anklet he seemed to feel all the time, even when he slept, although it wasn't heavy. He didn't like the idea of a trial, even if he wasn't the accused one this time.

He shot Wilson a pleading look, but he got a very firm one in return. He nodded.

"I'll do it."

He didn't add 'for you' but he thought it so intensely that he suspected Wilson could hear him. On his way out he looked with hate at the iron bars Wilson had had mounted in front of all the windows.

______

"See, House? We did the right thing. Mendelsohn realized he had no hope, took a bargain deal in exchange for naming his accomplices, and we're safe."

"You're right, I just wish you didn't have to suffer so much. You've lost tons of blood, have a variety of scars, and the PSTD symptoms haven't improved at all. What does your therapist say about this?"

Wilson just lowered his eyes in silence and House felt very, very worried.

"Maybe you should go spend some time with your parents. It's their fiftieth wedding anniversary soon, right?"

"How do you even know that? Anyway, there will be a huge family reunion to celebrate them next July, it's hard to get people to travel in winter. I should call them more often, but I can't go now. I never told them what happened, they would be upset by seeing me."

That was true. Wilson had lost more than twenty pounds, and his eyes were those of a trapped animal.

"Are you talking to anyone at all? I haven't seen your therapist in a while."

"I'm talking now."

House wasn't completely happy with the answer, but didn't know what else to say.
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November 2011

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