Chapter Text
Six-year-old Faith Morse died at 11:08 p.m. on Monday, February 5th, 2007.
The sound of the flatline rang in House’s ears as he watched, stunned, while his patient died before his eyes.
The team and the nurses backed away from the bed heavily, and a shocked, numb silence swept over the room. The girl’s father — a single father, House dimly remembered from the file — walked up to the bed and fell to his knees next to his daughter, sobbing.
House couldn’t move, frozen in place even as his team and most of the nurses left the room to allow the man to say goodbye. Cameron, seeing House’s expression, placed a supportive hand on his shoulder as she walked by.
When the father’s raw grief began to subside, he turned his head towards House, and the vindictive glare he fixed on him made a chill run down House’s spine.
———
Wilson rubbed House’s back absentmindedly, looking at him tenderly from where he was curled up next to him on the couch, and House couldn’t help but smile. Wilson had been determined to make him feel better since he lost his patient, and although it hadn’t really helped, he was touched by the effort.
They’d been dating for three weeks now, having gotten together the day after House’s trial. House’s heart fluttered at the memory of Wilson’s shy, radiant smile when he came to pick him up from his night in jail. They had gone out to breakfast, and Wilson made one too many teasing remarks about how nice House looked in his suit while House gave Wilson one too many meaningful looks. When Wilson took him back to his apartment, they walked in together, and something hung in the air between them. Wilson had moved in closer, murmured how grateful he was for House’s apology, and House had reached out to rest his hand on his shoulder.
Once they had kissed for the first time, it was all over.
No one knew about them yet, but House secretly liked it that way. It made him feel like his relationship with Wilson was something personal, something special that the two of them shared. Not that it wouldn’t be special once they told people, but House just thought it felt more intimate this way.
Wilson had moved in a week ago, and House couldn’t be happier. Even though he had loved to bitch and moan about Wilson’s habits the last time he’d stayed with him, he loved having him there with him more. Wilson, for his part, had made it clear that he loved living with House, especially since he didn’t have to sleep on the couch anymore — a change they were both thrilled by. House loved cuddling with Wilson, loved holding him while they slept, loved waking up next to him in the morning…
He just loved Wilson. He always had.
He’d never forget the first time Wilson had told him that he loved him. They had just had sex for the first time, and they were holding each other close, breathing hard, and Wilson had gazed into his eyes, wrapping a hand around the back of House’s neck. “I love you, House,” he whispered, his eyes full of wonder as he pulled House into a kiss.
House’s eyes had welled up with tears as he lovingly kissed him back.
Over the past few days, Wilson had tried his best to comfort him about Faith Morse’s death. The day after it happened, his tactic had been to convince House that it wasn’t his fault, but he gave up on that when they got home that night and House had hit play on the answering machine.
It was a fucking blood clot! a man’s irate voice had screamed, and House went pale. You missed a fucking blood clot, and now my daughter is dead because of you!
Wilson had reached him just as his knees started to buckle, and gently guided him to the couch to sit down, holding him steady. House felt sick, blood roaring in his ears as he avoided Wilson’s worried gaze. “I’m sorry, House,” Wilson murmured softly, and pulled him into a hug. The warm presence of Wilson began to ease his guilt ever so slightly, and House relaxed into the embrace, resting his head on Wilson’s shoulder. Wilson hummed happily, pressing a kiss into his hair as he held him tighter.
Since that night, Wilson had comforted him with hugs, kisses, and sweet, gentle touches. He didn’t have to say a word; House knew what he meant. And although he had grumbled once or twice about the excessive affection, Wilson knew him well enough to know that he didn’t mean a damn word of it.
He loved it.
House felt the warm pressure of Wilson’s hand on his shoulder, squeezing it gently, and he suddenly realized he’d been falling asleep. He turned to see Wilson smiling at him fondly, still rubbing his back.
“I don’t think your leg can handle a night on the couch,” he teased, leaning in to kiss House on the cheek. “C’mon,” he coaxed softly, pulling a reluctant, sleepy House off the couch and guiding him towards their room — their room, House thought in awe. The idea never got old. As they slowly made their way down the hallway, House let out a small tired noise, leaning his head on Wilson’s shoulder. Wilson pulled him in closer, nuzzling his cheek into House’s hair.
Once House was safely under the covers, Wilson went to turn off the lights in the living room, and House was almost asleep by the time he got back. Wilson padded across the room quietly before crawling into bed. As House started to drift off, he felt Wilson snuggling up against his side, draping an arm over his waist. House melted into the mattress, reaching down sleepily to take Wilson’s hand and bring it up to where he could cradle Wilson’s arm in the crook of his own, still holding his hand.
Wilson sighed, kissing the side of House’s neck gently. “Goodnight, Greg,” he murmured, and House squeezed his hand in response.
———
A warm hand caressed his cheek, and House groaned in protest, distressed at having his Sunday morning beauty sleep disturbed.
“Sorry,” Wilson whispered, gently rubbing his thumb over House’s stubble. “I have to go in for a while, there’s a situation with a patient.”
“Stay,” House mumbled, still half-asleep, and Wilson chuckled.
“I’ll be back before you know it,” he said softly. “Don’t sleep all day, okay?”
House made a vague noise of affirmation, and Wilson leaned down to kiss him before pulling his hand away.
House missed the warmth.
He finally got up after a couple of hours, and sat on the couch watching TV for a couple more. It felt alarmingly lonely to be there without Wilson. House knew it was stupid; he’d been living alone for years, after all, but he couldn’t help it. It just didn’t feel like home without him anymore.
While House pondered over that idea, TV long forgotten, the phone rang. House grimaced as he reached over to grab it, the movement straining his leg.
“House?” Chase said warily, no doubt fearing the wrath House would bring down upon him for disturbing him during the weekend. “Cuddy wants you to look at a case.”
———
Hours later, the patient was stable, tests were being run, and House was trapped at his desk with the dreaded paperwork. He heavily suspected that Cuddy was making him finish it tonight because of his latest analysis of her outfit (he had been grumpy about being dragged into work, after all), and he was so bored and tired that he couldn’t focus. He huffed at the papers, resting his chin on his fist.
His head snapped up as he heard his office door open, but he immediately relaxed when he saw Wilson. Wilson grinned at him, and House saw his face melt a little, the way it always did when House wore his reading glasses.
“Did you think I was someone else?” he teased, walking up to the desk.
“Thought maybe Cuddy was back for round two,” House grumbled, burying his cheek further into his fist. “She’s punishing me for her taste in clothes.”
“Right,” Wilson said fondly, deeply amused. “You want me to wait for you? We could just take your car back and I can take mine home tomorrow.”
House checked his watch. It was just after 6:15, and as much as he would enjoy Wilson’s company, he didn’t want to keep him there any later than he’d already had to stay.
“You go ahead,” House said reluctantly. “You’ve been here way longer than I have anyway, and it’s gonna take me a while to finish.”
Wilson smiled at him, and House felt the paperwork burden start to lift. “I’ll see you at home, then,” he said softly, walking around the desk and up to House.
“You have your key, right?” House asked with a smirk. Wilson’s key had gone missing earlier that week, and when neither of them could find it anywhere, Wilson had gone to get another copy made the day before.
Wilson rolled his eyes affectionately. “Remarkably, I haven’t lost this one yet,” he retorted, his lips curling up into a smile. He leaned down and plucked the reading glasses off House’s face with one hand, cupping his cheek in the other and kissing him sweetly. When he pulled away, he carefully set the reading glasses back over House’s nose and ears. “I love the glasses,” he whispered into his ear, and House shivered.
“I know,” he said with a mischievous grin, and Wilson laughed.
“Goodnight, House,” he murmured, kissing him one last time before he turned to leave.
“Goodnight, Wilson,” House called after him quietly, and his smile lingered even as he returned to the paperwork.
———
By the time House left over an hour later, the sun had gone down completely. All he could think of was going to sleep, and he idly wondered if Wilson would be in bed already while he fumbled for his key. As he walked in, he found the TV off and the couch empty.
Asleep or reading, then, he mused. He put his stuff away quietly just in case before heading down the hallway. The bedroom light was on, and House smiled to himself, wondering if Wilson had stayed up to see him. When he reached the doorway, he froze.
The bed was empty.
No…not quite. House’s eyes locked on a piece of paper in the middle of the bed, propped up against the pillows. A chill ran down his spine.
“Wilson?” he called uncertainly, his stomach dropping when no answer came.
He swallowed as he slowly moved closer to the bed. His first thought was that maybe Wilson had gone out somewhere and left him a note, but he quickly realized that he’d just seen Wilson’s car sitting outside. When he got close enough to read the note, a wave of fear rushed through him.
Hurts, doesn’t it? it read in deceptively calm handwriting.
House’s heart pounded alarmingly as he picked it up with shaky hands, panic beginning to sear through his chest. It’s a prank, he thought frantically, even though deep down, he knew that Wilson’s handwriting was far too messy for it to be his. He’s just messing with me. He must be.
“Wilson?” he called desperately, hoping he would hear the terror in his voice.
The phone rang harshly from the living room, and House jumped violently before launching himself out of the room and down the hallway, moving as fast as he could without falling and breaking his neck. He grabbed for the phone, heart racing.
“Wilson?” he asked shakily, his voice strangled.
“Not quite,” a smug, chilling voice responded, and House’s heart stopped.
He couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t think. As his mind began to process the situation against his will, he started to feel like he couldn’t breathe either.
“Don’t remember me?” the man taunted, and the familiar edge in his voice made House’s throat clench in realization. “How quickly we forget…”
“What the hell did you do to him?” House asked brokenly, eyes welling up with tears.
“Tell me who I am,” the man demanded, smugness having given way to anger.
“Morse,” House whispered, tears starting to roll down his cheeks as the reality of the situation crushed him. Wilson was gone. He was with him. He was probably hurt, or…or worse.
“Right,” the man said, sounding more controlled. “Joseph Morse. And yes, I have your…friend.”
House’s stomach turned over. “Let him go,” he choked out. “Let him go, I’ll do anything-”
“I know you will,” Morse sneered. “That’s why you’re gonna carry out some tasks for me at the hospital. And just so you don’t get any ideas, all your phones are bugged, your cell phone, car, and motorcycle are being tracked, and I installed cameras all over your apartment and the hospital.”
He paused for dramatic effect, and House could just feel him smirking as he stood frozen in horrified silence. It made him sick. “Oh, and I’ll also need you to put in that earpiece next to the phone after we’re done here, so I can make sure you’re not cheating,” Morse added casually.
House picked up the tiny device, his hand shaking, and held it in his palm.
“You will not tell anyone about this,” Morse threatened. “Anything you say or do, I’ll know about. You don’t go anywhere except the hospital. And if you break our agreement…” For a moment, there was only dead silence.
“I’ll kill him.”
House’s knees gave out just before he fell onto the couch, barely registering Morse’s mocking snort. The horrible numbness that had settled over him at the start of the call did nothing to cover the crushing pain in his chest. He was vaguely aware that he was gasping for breath, but he had no reason to care anymore.
“I know you wouldn’t want that,” Morse continued smugly. “See, I know your little secret. Saw you kissing in the parking garage last week.” House’s heart dropped, and the tears came faster as he remembered it — the comforting warmth, the loving look in Wilson’s eyes…
“How do I know he’s not already dead?” House croaked faintly, and the corners of his vision blurred with more than just tears at the thought.
“Oh, I’ll let you talk to him,” Morse said coldly. “But first, I want you to understand why I’m doing this.”
“Why?” House whispered, with a sinking feeling that he already knew the answer.
“You let my daughter die,” Morse snarled. “You took away the one person in the world that I loved!” House felt a jolt of fear at the raw fury in his voice, realizing that this unstable madman was armed — with a gun, probably. At least.
In the same room as Wilson.
“So I thought I’d return the favor,” Morse continued, eerily calm once more. “Make you understand what it feels like to lose the person you love most in the world.”
House’s throat closed up, and he gasped painfully around the hollow space in his chest.
“You want to talk to him?” Morse asked mockingly.
“Yes,” House choked out. He didn’t care how pathetic he sounded, he just wanted to hear Wilson’s voice, had to know that he was okay.
For a moment, all he heard was silence and vague rustling.
“House?” Wilson asked softly.
House burst into tears, sobbing violently as the sound of Wilson’s voice stripped away the numb shock, leaving only the searing, tearing pain in his chest.
“House, it’s okay,” Wilson pleaded, and House’s heart lurched when he heard him crying. “It’s gonna be okay.”
“Wilson,” House sobbed. “I’m so sorry…”
“It’s not your fault,” Wilson said gently but firmly, still sniffling and breathing raggedly. “Don’t you dare think that,” he murmured, exasperation and fondness creeping into his voice.
“I love you,” House whimpered. “I-I love you so much, Wilson...”
“Oh, House,” Wilson whispered sadly, his voice quavering. “I love you too.”
“Awww, how sweet,” Morse mocked, and House heard him take the phone back.
“Put the earpiece in,” he demanded. “That’s how we’ll communicate from now on.” House carefully slid it into his right ear, his fingers trembling. “Now remember,” Morse continued coolly. “You fuck up at any point, I mean any, and you’ll never see James Wilson again.”
The line went dead.
House sat on his couch, the couch that Wilson had once slept on, had once pranked him back with, in his empty, lifeless apartment.
Alone.
He threw the phone at the recliner before breaking down into uncontrollable sobs.