At The End Of The Tunnel

[damigella]

Summary: House and Wilson take a short train trip while vacationing, and Wilson gets a claustrophobia-triggered panic attack.
Rating: NC-17 for sexual thoughts plus one swearword. [Any suggestions on the rating welcome.]
Warning: My first (and probably last) attempt at Self Insert (With Bonus Kids). 
Word Count: ~1700.
Note: Written for the Have Wilson - Will Travel Challenge proposed for Camp sick_wilson  by menolly_au.
Disclaimer: as usual.


"House, how long have we been inside this tunnel?"

"Almost ten minutes. What's the problem? You're paler than usual. Are you sick? Toilet's behind us."

Wilson looked around like a trapped animal. "No, I'm… uh, a bit claustrophobic. Some friends played a prank when I was a teenager: we went to explore a cave, then they dared me into remaining behind alone and blocked the entrance with a few big stones. They opened it again when they heard my screams, but I got so sick I had to spend the night in a hospital. It… it all came back to me now."

House sighed and tried to change topic. "Wilson, it was your own damn idea to visit Italy without renting a car. The train is just the most sensible way to go from Venice to Florence and then to Rome - cities you chose to visit, not me."

He was relieved to hear Wilson answer in an almost normal tone. "You lost the bet on whether I could talk Thirteen into seducing Cuddy and bringing back photos, not me. It was your idea that the winner choose the destination."

"Let's not go into what you did to win that one. But yes, you won."

Wilson smiled: he seemed to be getting calmer, focusing on the bet and forgetting the fact they were embedded deep in a mountain. House hadn't even known Wilson had claustrophobia problems - but then, there were no tunnels or mountains near Princeton. And the train was actually a good idea, European towns were mostly unfit for driving anyway, and although he hadn't ever been in Italy himself he still remembered what other military parents had said about Italians and their total lack of respect for traffic rules.

The vibration of the engine stopped abruptly, together with the A/C humming and all the lights. The train slowed down, then stopped, a few faint lights from the tunnel being the only relief from an otherwise complete darkness. Shrieks could be heard everywhere, as well as frightened voices asking unanswered questions in several of the languages House knew and some he didn't.

House noticed that the family sitting across the corridor, a mother with three kids, seemed to react very calmly. The girl, obviously the eldest, had taken the smallest of the boys on her lap, and since they could no longer read they were watching something on the mother's laptop. House recognized David Attenborough's voice, a surprise since Italians dubbed absolutely everything.

Since she had reacted so competently to the sudden loss of light, he decided to ask the mom for information. The answer came in reasonably fluent English, heavily accented but still easily understandable even in the noisy carriage - under normal circumstances he would probably have found her voice unpleasantly loud. "I guess there's something wrong with the electrical system. It happens sometimes, this train is an old model anyway. We're close to the next station, so I'm sure they'll replace the locomotive soon. It's good we're in the tunnel, otherwise it would get hot fast."

"Thank you," was all House managed to say before he had to turn to Wilson. He could only guess his profile in the faint light, but there was a shivering hand desperately clutching his arm, and a ragged breathing that seemed proof of a full-fledged panic attack.

"Calm down, Wilson. Have you heard? There's no problem. We're safe."

"I… I can't breath." House felt Wilson's pulse, and got seriously worried. It was rushing way too much. They may be safe, but this was not a good place or moment to have a heart attack.

"Calm down, Wilson. I'm here. Breath in deeply, then out, then in again." House started caressing one of Wilson's hands, concentrating on the palms and the fleshy part of the fingers where most nerve endings were, hoping that the sensory stimulation would help take his brain's attention away from the millions of cubic yards of stone enveloping them on every side. He was surprised to find that he enjoyed the sensation himself, indeed found it almost arousing. Arousing? What's come over me?

He forced himself to concentrate on the effect his strategy was having on Wilson, and noticed with satisfaction that it seemed to work. It probably helped that by now many people had pulled out cellphones or other electronic equipment, so the carriage was no longer plunged in darkness, and the shrieks had died out. Wilson's heartbeat was going back to normal, even though his breathing rhythm was still irregular. He had closed his eyes and was leaning back in his seat.

"Wilson? Do you mind if I explain what's going on to the Japanese tourists sitting in front of us? They're getting desperate."

"Sure. Just… don't let go of me, okay? I don't care how much you mock me afterwards." Wilson's voice was little more than a whisper, but House felt reassured. He explained to the two couples sitting in the two rows in front of them the little he knew, and received generous thanks as well as compliments for his knowledge of Japanese.

And then there was a very loud bang, and the whole carriage shook. Wilson's hand in his went rigid, the heartbeat skyrocketed.

"House, help me please. Do… do something."

Touching Wilson's hands seemed to have no effect whatsoever. House had no medicines within easy reach, and none appropriate anyway. He forgot the people around them and focused on Wilson's heartbeat, and suddenly realized his best friend may die while holding his hand if he couldn't come up with an intelligent idea. Or any idea, anything to snap Wilson's brain away from the irrational fear that was preventing it from working properly and sending his heart in a dangerous overdrive.

House's own brain, unfortunately, seemed also to be in trouble: he was so busy worrying that he couldn't think. He made an effort to focus not on what medications he would have needed, but on what he could do with none. Finally, he decided that sensory stimulation had worked once, so he may as well try something more in the same direction. He took a deep breath, then pressed his lips on Wilson's and pushed his tongue in.

Wilson's body tensed and his pulse reached frenzy levels, but just as House was mentally kicking himself for screwing up, he felt two warm arms circling his shoulders, two hands holding the back of his head and pushing him so that he couldn't move away anymore. Not that he wanted to: Wilson was now kissing back and, boy, the man could kiss. He suddenly started believing that Bonnie's description of her ex-husband as a sex god wasn't only the product of her lack of experience. Wilson's tongue was eager without being overpowering, and could perform some interesting tricks.

House found himself wondering what it could achieve elsewhere, and grew very uncomfortable, and not because his legs were too long for the crammed seating arrangement (although they were). A small part of his brain still managed to check that Wilson's heart rate, while not yet within normal range, was no longer life-threatening. Wilson's right hand was still holding House's head firmly in place, but the left was slowly sliding down along his back, sending shivers all through his spine that significantly worsened the already crammed situation his crotch was in.

There was another loud bang, then the A/C resumed its whirring and the lights went on. The loudspeaker hummed, then started pouring words in Italian he could almost understand because of his good Spanish - something about apologies and the train starting again soon. Finally, Wilson let go of him. They both blushed hard, especially as a look at each other's midsection showed that they shared the same source of discomfort.

Behind him, a voice commented quietly "I hope your friend feels better now. We should be in Florence in fifteen minutes."

House turned around to four pairs of curious brown eyes fixed on him and on Wilson.

Soon two of the children resumed reading. The youngest boy went back to his seat between his mom and the window, but he kept looking at House and Wilson. He whispered something in his mother's ear pointing at them, and she nodded.

House stammered a very brief "Sorry". In his concern for Wilson, he had completely forgotten about the kids. Damn.

The woman looked at House and smiled. "Don't worry, my son just told me your friend was sick and you cured him by hugging him tight, like I do with his brother when he has tummy-ache. Enjoy your vacation!"

She put her laptop in her backpack, and all four went back to reading while the train emerged out of the tunnel, revealing a stunningly beautiful, sun-drenched landscape, very different from the grey clouds they had seen on the other side of the mountains. Wilson's hand squeezed his own, and he turned around, almost afraid of what would happen now. Would Wilson be angry? Would he want to end their friendship, or kiss him again? Each prospect seemed equally terrifying.

"House, thank you. You probably saved my life." Wilson's voice was so low it was hard to hear above the train's noise. He was still very pale.

"Any day. Are you feeling better? You still don't look your best."

Wilson stared at him, and there was a strange shine in his eyes which, of course, couldn't possibly be impending tears. "House, I just hope… hope you didn't only do it for medical reasons."

House gulped. There was no way they could avoid discussing what had happened now, but at least he could gain some time. "Wilson, let's continue this discussion once we can have some privacy."

Wilson nodded, but didn't let go of his hand. House wished he knew how to calm down his own fast-beating heart as he realized that in about thirty minutes they would be alone in a hotel room. With a bed.

Comments

[damigella-314.livejournal.com]

I'm sure a kiss of House would do wonders for your claustrophobia. I actually think it might relieve even other less important ailments, like annoyance at home inspections or embarrassment at bathing suits mishaps. Or just brighten an already sunny day :).

My SI is... kind of different from yours :). And not just because kids cramp my style ;).

[chocolate-frapp.livejournal.com]

I have this sudden mental image of House making Monk come in and clean my apartment, haha. And he probably would kiss me in more than one place after a bathing suit problem. :)
of course your SI is different from mine. the world would be a boring place if we were all the same.

[damigella-314.livejournal.com]

the world would be a boring place if we were all the same.

This needs to be engraved over the entrance to every school :).
Too bad you don't get along with kids, you would be an awesome educator. Maybe you could write kids' books :).

[chocolate-frapp.livejournal.com]

there is one type of kid I actually get along quite well with, but the rarest kind, the intelligent, polite teenager.