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Stay Away From The Glass: Tales of Petty Crime and Self-Punishment

Chapter Text

It wasn't very often that there was a black tie affair being held at Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. It was even less often that House actually showed up to one. When he did, it was usually the result of being bribed, or the temptation of an open bar.

This particular night was no exception.

But even though the drinks flowed freely, and his guilty conscious sat on his left, as he looked around the room at all the candlelit tables and his colleagues in suits and dresses, he could feel his lunch creeping up into his throat.

"I've changed my mind. I'm going home." House pushed his chair back from the table and reached for his cane. Wilson grabbed it first and placed it just out of reach.

"You think I won't limp out of here?" House stood up and took a step over towards Wilson, reaching for his cane once again.

"House! You said you'd come with me. Sit back down. This is a big night for me."

"You're preaching to the wrong choir. I don't really care." House set a foot down, hard, on Wilson's polished Oxford. Wilson yelped and jumped up, but didn't hand over the cane. "It's going to take more than that." Wilson took a few deep breaths, trying to breath through the pain. "Besides...you owe me."

House rolled his eyes. "Owe you for what?"

"There's not enough hours in the day, House. Now sit down."

House just stood there, hand outstretched for his cane.

"You know there's also an open bar." Wilson raised an eyebrow at House, sighed and pointed towards the empty chair. "And I'll pay for your next hooker."

With that, House promptly sat down. "You should have thrown that in from the very beginning." House looked around for a waiter. "Sorry about your foot."

"I'm sure."

Wilson watched as House managed to obnoxiously flag down a waiter, and then threaten his life for the entire carafe of Scotch he was pouring. "I just saved you fifty trips. You should be thanking me!"

Wilson reached for the carafe to pour himself a glass. House smacked his hand with a fork. "Get your own!"

"House, you really don't think you're going to drink all of that -"

"You're right. I know I am."

"House-"

"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, IF I COULD PLEASE HAVE YOUR ATTENTION."

Wilson jumped and covered his ears with his hands, and House screamed up at the stage. "You don't have to yell with a microphone in your hands! This is the prom, not the WWF!"

Cuddy shot House a look, and then tried again. "Thank you, Dr. House." She cleared her throat and smiled out at her audience. "Ladies and Gentlemen, I'd like to thank you all for being here tonight on this very special occasion. As you all know, this hospital has been in dire need of an updated Children's Oncology wing for some time now, and we have happened to come into some good fortune. I would like each of you to put your hands together for Mr. Bruce Wayne, from Wayne Industries, who has read about our need and has donated to us a generous three million dollars. Mr. Wayne?"

Cuddy stepped to the side of the microphone, clapping her hands together.

House set his glass of Scotch down. "You didn't tell me he was the one giving you all that money."

Wilson continued to clap, but turned his attention towards House. "I honestly didn't know. And I have no idea who that even is...I take it you do?"

House just huffed and grabbed his glass, downing the remaining Scotch, and then poured himself another glass. Wilson watched as an incredibly young looking man walked towards the stage.

When the man was finally up on the stage and under the spotlights, Wilson finally got a good look at him.

He was tall, much taller than Cuddy anyway, and was wearing a black three-piece suit. His hair was perfectly sprayed into place, and Wilson almost felt a tinge of jealousy then, but quickly swallowed it down. His smile was wide, and his perfectly aligned white teeth seemed to sparkle under the spotlights, like one of those lame toothpaste commercials.

Wilson didn't really know how else to describe him, other than perfect.

Bruce Wayne walked across the stage and shook hands with Cuddy, leaning in and kissing her cheek. Wilson could see her cheeks grow red. Bruce then took the microphone, and nodded at her. She flashed him one more smile before turning on her heels and walking off to the side of the stage. Bruce eyed her every movement as she walked away from him, and Wilson could have sworn that he had seen Bruce lick his lips.

The applause continued until Bruce held up a hand, and smiled wider (as if that was possible.)

"Thank you. Please, you're all far too kind." He smiled that perfect smile once more, and waited for the applause to die down once again before he continued to speak.

"The Wayne Foundation seeks out charities that thrive on helping people live happier and healthier lives. We have staff whose sole position is dedicated to researching charities that need our help for the good of the American people. When we heard of Princeton-Plainsboro's need for a new Children's Oncology center, there was no question that we would want to contribute in any way that we could. Today's children are our future, and the Wayne Foundation is here to help them thrive in today's world, and overcome any difficulties that may stand in their way of living a fulfilling life."

More applause, and once more Bruce smiled, held up a hand, and waited.

"However, I do have a bit of a surprise for Princeton-Plainsboro. We are also going to be donating one million dollars to the hospital's Diagnostic's department. We are confident that the work of Dr. House is work that needs to be funded, so that he can continue to help those that no one else can."

Cuddy stood wide eyed and open mouthed at Bruce. Wilson sat wide eyed and open mouthed at House.

"You do know him!"

House rolled his eyes. "So what? We went to college together or something. Haven't seen him in years. He moved to Gotham or somewhere else just as obscure."

Wilson made a face. "Gotham? Where's that? I've never even heard of it."

House shrugged and took a sip of his Scotch. "I don't know. Chicago or somewhere."

Wilson sat back in his chair. "Chicago..." He mulled that thought over a bit before his thoughts were interrupted by Bruce calling both he and House up to the stage. Wilson stood up and finally handed House his cane.

"Well now I don't want it."

Wilson shoved it into his chest.

House hesitatingly took his cane and swallowed down the rest of his Scotch, before standing up and reluctantly heading up towards the stage. Wilson walked up first, shook hands with Bruce, and then stepped to the side so House could have his turn.

After the introductions had been made, Cuddy came to the front of the stage with a giant check, made out to Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital from Wayne Industries for four million dollars. Wilson hadn't received a donation quite so grand from anyone, ever, so as they all huddled around the check to get pictures taken, his smile was genuine. The same couldn't be said for House.

The next day, when Wilson would see the paper, he would see that House had as big a scowl on his face as ever.

The bastard was never grateful for anything, ever.

Cuddy walked back up to the microphone, and smiled towards Wilson. "Once again, I'd like to thank Mr. Wayne for his generous donation to our hospital. Now, I'm sure Dr. Wilson has a few things he'd like to say." She stood to the side, and Wilson took to the microphone. While he was rambling on, Bruce and House stepped off to the side, behind the curtains.

Bruce ran a hand down House's lapel. "You look good, Greg."

"Why are you here?"

Bruce looked beyond House, and saw Wilson still at the microphone. "Why must you always assume I want something? Can't I do something nice every now and again?"

House scoffed. "It's never that simple with you. You're up to something."

"Maybe," Bruce took a step closer to House, so that House could smell his overly minted breath against his skin. "Or maybe I just wanted to see you."

"You could have tried, oh I don't know...calling me? This is a bit extreme, don't you think?"

Bruce threw his head back and laughed. "I think we both know you wouldn't have answered if I had called."

"Yeah, well that was sort of the point." House leaned heavily on his cane, and turned to look at Wilson, who was still jabbering away, now off of index cards. He sighed and reached into his pocket, grabbing his bottle of Vicodin.

"What happened to your leg?" Bruce watched, brows furrowed in concern, as House popped two pills into his mouth.

"Nothing Batman could have saved me from, don't worry. No reason to feel guilty." House shoved the pill bottle back into his pocket and looked at Bruce. "Are we done here?"

Bruce placed a hand on the side of House's face, leaned in, and placed his lips softly against House's. He slid one of his business cards into House's front pocket before pulling away. He smiled at House and patted the pocket he had placed the card in.

"I'm going to be in town to see this project through. You should call me sometime, we could do lunch." He winked and pointed a finger at House, then walked back towards the middle of the stage.

House sighed. He had a feeling his life was about to become at least five billion times more ridiculous than it already was.

Wilson should have let him stay at home.

Chapter Text

After his long winded speech, Wilson took his seat next to House and slowly drummed his fingers against the table.

"So," he said after a few moments hesitation, "I didn't realize that you and this Mr. Wayne knew each other?"

House reached for his glass of Scotch, and finished it off in one gulp. "I hardly remember him."

Wilson raised an eyebrow. "I'm not sure I believe you."

"And I'm not sure that I care what you believe." House reached forward for the carafe of Scotch, topping off his glass, almost emptying the carafe.

"Don't you think you've had enough?"

"The more you talk, the more I drink." House raised his glass to Wilson, and took a long sip. "My fate is in your hands."

Wilson rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Are you ready to go?"

House widened his eyes. "What? No. There's a magician."

"Yeah...for the kids."

"I'm a kid trapped in a man's body. Same difference."

"No, you're not. You're just drunk. Big difference."

"Shhhhhh!" House put a wavy finger in front of his lips. "It's starting."

Wilson sighed, and sat back in his chair, crossing his arms.

He watched as Cuddy introduced "A Magician named Gob." And Wilson could tell by the look on her face, that she too, had no idea what kind of name that was. And as soon as all of the lights in the ballroom went out, Wilson knew they were in trouble.

"What kind of magician performs in the dark?" Wilson whispered.

"The talented kind, obviously."

Wilson wasn't so sure.

He was even less sure when some of the kids in the audience started crying out of fear. He sighed and shook his head.

It was ridiculous, really. You'd think a person who specialized in children's performances would know better than to turn the lights out.

Wilson leaned back over towards House. "See? This is bad news already."

"Shhhh. The lights will come back on any second. You're ruining this for me."

The lights did indeed turn back on. But only after a loud display of hospital inappropriate pyro-technics and Europe's "The Final Countdown" began blaring out of what Wilson could only hope was a stereo, and not the hospital's PA system. He was sure that 'The Final Countdown' was the last thing people wanted to hear on their death beds.

It took Wilson's eyes a few seconds to adjust after being temporarily blinded by the display, but eventually he was able to make out this Gob character.

And he was, indeed, a character.

Instead of actually performing any magic tricks, Gob had thus far managed to spend the first five minutes of his show shamelessly erotic dancing around the stage, tossing cards and scarves every which way. A lame attempt at entertainment, in Wilson's opinion. But when he turned to look at House, he noticed that House was nothing short of completely entertained.

Whatever. He was drunk.

Wilson sighed and took a look around the room. The children all appeared to be having a fun time watching the display of what Wilson could only hope would turn into a magic show eventually, so that was good at least. He could not say the same about the parents, however. Most of them looked far from amused.

Fortunately, Gob eventually stopped thrusting his hips and announced that he was going to turn his pants into a rabbit.

Wilson reached up and pinched his nose. "I certainly hope he brought an extra pair of pants for this trick."

Yeah, not so much.

Gob reached down, and in one fell swoop ripped his pants off of his body. He began to dance again, and Wilson thanked the Gods that the boxers this freak had chosen to wear had a buttoned closure in the front.

Gob set the pants down on a small table in front of him and started waving his hands over the heap of fabric. As soon as the music started again, a puff of smoke appeared, and where the pants were a rabbit now was.

Okay, so maybe he wasn't so bad after all.

Gob held the rabbit up by the scruff of its neck for the audience to see.

Wilson gasped loud enough for House to take notice.

"What's your problem? Don't think the rabbit is real?"

Wilson let out a small laugh and shook his head. "No...no, I definitely think the rabbit is real. I just also think that the rabbit is dead."

House turned to look, and realized Wilson was right at almost the same time as Gob, who, with a huge grin, tossed the rabbit to the side of the stage, where it slid until it came to a halt at Cuddy's feet. She jumped back in fear, almost toppling off the stage.

House laughed uproariously. Wilson pinched the bridge of his nose.

"And now for my final illusion...," Gob took a large object from a man behind one of the curtains. "I'm going to saw someone in half!"

He held the object above his head, and Wilson watched in fear as Gob unsheathed a very large, and very dangerous looking jewel encrusted sword.

Gob began swinging it around wildly, dancing all the while. He was having a wild time going at it as well, until the blade took an unfortunate detour from the floor to above his head by way of his leg.

He tossed the sword to the side (Fortunately missing everyone) And collapsed to the stage, screaming in something that was well beyond agony.

Wilson wanted to roll his eyes at the dramatic display, but the doctor in him took precedence, and he stood up, ready to go on stage and help the poor soul. (Fortunately) Cuddy got there first, and Wilson reached down for House's hand.

"I hope that was worth it."

House looked up at Wilson, grinning like a fool. "Oh, it was. There is definitely something wrong with that guy."

Wilson nodded in agreement. "You're telling me."

"No, like something seriously wrong." House took Wilson's hand and stood up, grabbing his cane off the back of his chair.

"Yes. I know. He made that very apparent." Wilson looked amidst all the chaos Gob had caused, and was more than a little anxious to get home. "Come on, I'm sure they'll replay this again on the news tomorrow morning and you can relive this all over again, as much as you want."

House turned towards the stage and watched Cuddy try to calm down Gob. The man had somehow managed to get down to wearing nothing but his boxers. His shirt, shoes, and socks were piled beside him. It served no purpose, and House grinned. A pool of blood was quickly forming under his leg by now, and Cuddy was making sure not to get any on her heels. She seemed more agitated than House had ever managed to make her.

House had a new hero.

He turned to Wilson, and nodded towards the door. "I certainly hope so."

Chapter Text

Wilson kicked open the door to House's apartment and squeezed both himself and House through the doorway with as little difficulty as he could possibly manage. This turned out to be a larger challenge than originally anticipated, since House was well beyond intoxicated and could hardly walk. Wilson cringed as the antique lamp on the small table beside the front door fell to the floor with a crash.

"You don't have to hold on so damn tight! I can walk just fine."

"Really? Because I'm fairly certain you couldn't even get your ass out of the car, much less walk up the front steps."

"I'm a cripple. Stairs are a challenge eight days a week."

"Eight days, huh?"

"Shut up, and let go, already. I can do this myself."

House grabbed at the arm Wilson had wrapped tightly around his waist and tried to pry it off. When he couldn't get it that way, House began to resort to pinching.

"Ow! What the fuck is your problem? You know what? Fine. Suit yourself."

Wilson let go of House and walked over to the couch, where he plopped down and crossed his ankles on the coffee table. "Well? Come on." Wilson patted the empty seat beside him.

House straightened himself up, and took one defiant step forward. Wilson tried not to care as House's cane shot out from under him, and the man went tumbling loudly down to the floor.

"Little help here!"

"Help? I thought you could walk perfectly fine on your own?" Wilson smiled to himself.

"Yeah, I can walk perfectly fine. But getting up from the floor is something different entirely!"

Wilson sat on the couch and flipped on the television. "Maybe in a second. I want to see the weather."

"Oh okay. I get it. You're jealous because you think I fucked Bruce Wayne a billion years ago."

"What? No!"

"You are so jealous. You think I slept with him!"

"...Did you?"

"I knew it! You were asking me all sorts of questions about him on the way home. So either you're jealous because you think Bruce and I had a salacious past, or you're jealous because you want a salacious present with me and saw me flirting behind the curtains with him."

Wilson felt his ears go hot. "Whatever, House." He pushed himself up from the couch and walked over to where House was sprawled out on the floor and held out his hand.

House grabbed it, and made little to no effort to help get himself off of the floor.

"Christ, House. How are you this heavy?"

"Oh you know, my massive cock-"

Wilson closed his eyes and tried not to think about House's massive cock. Instead, he concentrated on using all of his weight to help lift House off of the floor, and focusing on not breaking his back in the process. Once he was back on his feet, House placed a hand on Wilson's shoulder to try and keep himself steady. "If you want me that badly, you could just say something."

Wilson let out a nervous laugh. "I don't know what you're talking about. Let's...let's just get you onto the couch, and I'll get you some water."

Wilson turned to walk away, but House tightened his grip. "Wilson, seriously-"

"House, seriously. I'm not interested."

"I don't believe you."

"Not surprising. You never believe anything I say."

House reached down and grabbed the erection Wilson was sporting through his Tuxedo pants. "I think this is proof enough."

Wilson looked down at House's hand, both embarrassed, annoyed, and terribly turned on. It was quite possibly the most awkward situation he had ever been in. He reached down to remove House's hand, but House grabbed his chin in his hand, and pressed his lips to Wilson's.

Wilson stood there, stunned, not entirely sure what to do. He would never admit it to anyone, but House was right. He did want him, he always had. But he never really had any reason to believe that House would reciprocate those feelings at all, so he had never tried anything.

House pulled back and ran his tongue along Wilson's bottom lip, evoking a moan from Wilson when he took it between his teeth.

"House-"

"Shut up."

House tossed his cane to the side and clumsily stepped forward, causing Wilson to step backwards down towards the hallway.

"House...you're drunk."

"And horny. Get on the bed."

Wilson turned and started to walk down the hall, with House gripping onto the back of his shirt. He could feel his nerves begin to take over when the bedroom came into view, and as he reached up to start unbuttoning his shirt, the shakiness of his hands made such a simple task incredibly difficult.

House reached around Wilson and grabbed both sides of his tuxedo pants, pulling them down forcefully, then reached around to wrap a hand around Wilson's cock. Wilson tilted his head back and let out a moan. "God, House..."

House let go and gave Wilson a push, sending him face first into the bed. "Want to get fucked?" Wilson nodded into the comforter and made an incoherent noise.

How long had he been waiting for this? It hurt to think about, but tonight...tonight he was done waiting. Wilson spread his knees and arched his back, his ass fully exposed to House, who quickly rummaged through his bedside table for his lube. He haphazardly squirted the cool gel over Wilson's ass and then tossed the bottle off the side of the bed and positioned himself over Wilson.

"Tomorrow you can thank me for getting so drunk, because I can't feel my leg right now. Otherwise," House thrust his hips forward, slowly entering Wilson. "You'd have been doing this on your own tonight."

Wilson winced in pain as House entered him inch by inch. He was inexperienced when it came to being with men, and hadn't known what to expect.

Well, he had expected it to hurt, sure. But not like this, not like-

"House...," Wilson clenched his fists around the surrounding blankets and closed his eyes tight, feeling the tears fall slowly down his cheeks.

House stopped for a second and leaned down, kissing the back of Wilson's neck. "You okay?" He ran a shaky hand through Wilson's matted down hair, and when Wilson began to nod furiously, picked up his pace again. "Just relax. Everything's fine."

Wilson let go of the blanket in his left hand and slowly moved it down the length of his body, wrapping it around his cock. He pulled on it slow and steady, matching House's movements.

A few minutes later when House collapsed on top of him, Wilson released years of tension onto House's comforter, and collapsed himself.

House rolled off of Wilson and onto his back shortly thereafter, and Wilson turned so that he was facing House. He watched his friend carefully, nervous that somehow this had screwed something up. Sleeping with your best friend usually did make things awkward, and -

"I can hear you thinking," House pulled the comforter up to his chin.

"House, I-"

House reached out and placed a wobbly hand over Wilson's mouth. "I'm sleeping. If you really need to dissect what it means to have sex with an intoxicated friend, we'll do it tomorrow after you've made me breakfast."

Wilson rolled his eyes, but smiled, relieved, that House was still at least acting like House.

"Goodnight, House." "Mmmngh."

Chapter Text

Wilson was disappointed, but not the least bit surprised, to wake up the following morning completely alone.

After showering, heading to work, and grabbing a quick breakfast at the cafeteria, Wilson was walking towards the elevator when the sound of some sort of..something was coming up from behind him.

Fast.

He started to walk faster, gripping the handle of his briefcase tightly as he did so. Whatever it was, however, was catching up. He slowly turned his neck, to see what was going on, just as House zipped by him on some sort of contraption two seconds later and crashed into the wall next to the elevator.

Wilson sprinted over to help him, dropping his briefcase and bending down, extending a hand.

"Are you...okay?" He furrowed his brows and gave House the once over to make sure he wasn't bleeding.

House swatted Wilson's hand away. "I'm fine!" He attempted to get up on his own, but the pain in his leg proved this to be a more difficult task than he had anticipated, and he eventually gave in and held his hand out for Wilson's help. "Thanks," he muttered as he got off the floor and straightened out his clothes. "Damn thing is harder to control than I thought."

"What is it, exactly?" Wilson bent down to pick the machine up as House struggled to open his bottle of pills.

"A Segway. Just the most advanced way to get around. Easy on the leg, too. I can finally outrun my patients and my team."

Wilson scoffed. "You've never needed a Segway to escape from them before."

"Yeah, and they've always managed to catch up with me. This thousand dollar machine is not so easy to catch up with." House shoved the pills back in his coat and took the Segway back from Wilson. "Unless you run into a wall or something."

Wilson couldn't help but smile. "A thousand dollars? You can't even buy your own lunch, but you can shell out a thousand dollars for this...thing?"

"I didn't buy it." House raised his cane and tapped at the black pouch attached to the front of the Segway. "I'm borrowing it."

Wilson pressed his lips together as he realized the pouch said "GOB".

"The magician, Gob? How did you get it?" He brought his hand up and rubbed the back of his neck, not entirely sure he cared to hear the answer. "Did you...meet up with him or something?"

House grinned. "Why? Jealous? AGAIN?" He reached forward for the Segway and got back on, hooking his cane over the handle. "You sure you aren't a girl?"

Wilson frowned. "You should know that I'm not. But, no. I'm just...genuinely curious."

House seemed to ignore that first comment, and just kept grinning. He leaned forward, pressing the button for the elevator. "Don't worry Wilson. Gob may be a great magician, but he won't make your best friend disappear."

House was mocking him.

Wilson felt his ears turn red.

House segwayed into the elevator. "Coming?"

Wilson stepped into the elevator and pressed the button to their floor. "That thing is ridiculous."

"This thing helps me get around. It's like I've got two good legs again. You should be happy for me."

"I'm sure Gob will want it back."

"Maybe. But he won't need it back anytime soon. I admitted him."

"You...admitted him? For what?"

"I think he has some sort of neurological disorder. I can't be too sure without further testing."

"Did it ever occur to you that he might just be an idiot?"

"Well I know that. But the rest of the world doesn't need to know that. The Alliance definitely doesn't."

"What the hell is the Alliance?"

"It doesn't matter. What does matter is that you keep your mouth shut. He needs to stay here, until this passes."

"This? What's this? No, you know what, nevermind... House...I refuse to be any part of this."

"But you owe me."

"For what!?"

"For something, I'm sure." House maneuvered the Segway and headed for his office, just barely missing the plate glass wall. He turned and hollered down the hallway, "You owe me for taking advantage of me!"

Wilson cringed and turned, heading towards the lounge for a cup of coffee before heading towards his office.

Chapter Text

"A neurological disorder, Gob? Really?" Michael Bluth shook his head as he listened to the nonsense his brother was feeding him from the other side of the cellphone, and country for that matter, since twenty four hours ago, he had been in perfect health.

"That's what the doctors tell me. I'm probably going to die. I'm on my death bed right now."

"Well, you're in the cafeteria. That's what you said five minutes ago. And I don't know...Dr. Wilson led me to believe that your animated personality has possibly confused some of the doctors around here."

"Come on, Michael! Dr. Wilson is an idiot. What does he know about anything anyways? He's not even a doctor. He a zoologist or something." Gob reached forward and grabbed the hamburger off of the tray in front of him, taking a huge bite. "Dr. House is my doctor. You should talk to him. This burger is delicious!"

Michael made a face of disgust as Gob chewed loudly into his ear. He held the cellphone a few inches from his face."Maybe I should. And maybe...maybe you should start eating a bit healthier, you know? You want to live as long as possible right?" Michael smiled awkwardly as George Michael turned a worried look towards his father. Gob, always desiring his brother's attention, decided to milk this for what it was worth. "I'm just so scared, Michael. I mean, didn't your wife die young? It's in the family, death. This needs to be taken seriously, I could be next."

Michael pressed his lips together and took in a breath, twirling a finger around his temple to let George Michael know his Uncle was acting up. "She was in our family strictly through marriage Gob, so let's not think about that, okay? And death isn't contagious. Lets just focus on getting you better."

"Thank you, Michael." Gob smiled and brought the burger back up to his mouth, taking an overindulged bite, some of the mayonnaise smearing onto the phone.

"Sure thing, buddy. I'm going to go call this Dr. House."

Gob closed the cell phone and handed it back across the table to Bruce Wayne. "Thank you."

Bruce smiled and took the phone, wiping the mayonnaise off with a brown cafeteria issued napkin. "You're welcome. I'm glad to see you're alright. That was quite a performance you put on the other night."

Gob ignored him and just continued to stuff his face. Bruce picked up his styrofoam cup of coffee and took a sip. "You seemed to catch Dr. House's attention, that's for sure."

Gob looked up, taking a long sip from the straw sticking out of his plastic Coca-Cola bottle. "Good thing. He's going to save my life. I didn't even know I was dying."

Bruce leaned back and smiled, crossing his arms. "Mmm. You don't say. Well then, consider yourself lucky he was paying such close attention to you."

Gob went back to eating.

Chapter Text

Bruce found House a few minutes later, standing on Gob's segway in the middle of the main lobby, arguing loudly with Dr. Wilson.

Bruce approached them casually, somewhat unsure of what he was about to walk in on, although he could probably guess.

"Greg?"

House maneuvered the segway around so he was faced Bruce, and managed to smack a nurse with his cane in the process as it swung out from the handle. She muttered an obscenity as she walked off.

"That depends. Who's asking?"

"Don't be an idiot." Bruce reached out and pointed to the pouch on the front of the segway that said GOB. "Playing with your patient's toys already, I see."

Wilson placed his hands on his hips, and raised an eyebrow at House.

House rolled his eyes. "Don't tell me you're jealous too. There's enough of me to go around ladies!"

"House!" Wilson shook his head, and looked apologetically at Bruce. "Ignore him. I think it's safe to say it's obvious who has the real neurological disorder here."

Bruce glanced up at House. "I just want to talk about what's wrong with him. Dr. Wilson suggested that perhaps you confused his blatant idiocy with a neurological symptom of some sort. I can completely understand-but I'm not giving your department a million dollars to get you laid."

"Wilson's not his doctor. Look, I know it's nothing you want to hear, because it's not dramatic enough for you, but there's something wrong with that guy. I'm just trying to figure out what."

"Look," Bruce straightened his tie. "I guess I'm just curious as to how riding on your patient's scooter will help you figure anything out. Call it simple curiosity."

House didn't miss a beat. "To understand my patients, I have to become my patients."

Wilson rubbed his face with his hand. "This is absurd." Bruce nodded. "I have to agree."

House narrowed his eyes at Bruce. "Well, we all have our own methods of getting stuff done. Not everyone has to know everything. Isn't that right?"

Bruce just looked at House, his facial expression unchanged.

"So, are we done here?"

Wilson stepped forward, "Wait-"

"Great. It's been fun." House turned on the segway and headed off down the hall.

Wilson sighed and shook his head. "Mr. Wayne-"

"Please, Bruce."

"Bruce, perhaps you can see if there's a hospital somewhere else that you can donate your money too. Because House is House. And unfortunately, he's probably just captivated by that idiot, because normally he could care less about his patients."

Bruce forced a smile at Wilson. "I know."

"Oh?" Wilson looked up at Bruce, who appeared to be staring off into space. "...Bruce?"

Bruce shook his head and smiled. "Sorry. I'm still recovering from last night. A bit too much champagne, you know?"

Wilson knew all too well, but he also knew that Bruce was lying.

"Yeah. I know."

Chapter Text

Things were rather quiet at Princeton-Plainsboro over the next few days. Wilson had been kept too busy by his own caseload to worry too much about what House was up to, although the fact that House had not come to bother him in days always stuck in the back of his mind. Bruce had been nonexistent in the hospital since the incident with House, but Wilson was okay with that. He was secretly hoping he had gone back to Gotham anyways, wherever that was.

He had been hearing the rumors though, that House had a thing for his patient, and when the blinds in the room were drawn, it wasn't his temperature that House was taking.

Wilson tried to ignore them, but it gnawed at him anyway. And he didn't doubt that the rumors were true. Bruce had seemed convinced, and the fact that Wilson's wallet still had money in it led Wilson to believe he was getting it from someone else.

The afternoon Wilson fell apart started off rather quiet. He had finished with his patients before noon, so he had rewarded himself for a job well done with quick trip to Starbucks. When he got back to his office and opened the door, Gob was sprawled out on his couch, arms wrapped tightly around House, fingers intertwined in his hair.

Wilson tossed his coffee cup into the garbage, and balled his fists. "You are unbelievable! I...I can't even comprehend what you're doing. And I can comprehend even less why you're doing it in my office!" He waited for some sort of response, but all he got was a guttural moan from House.

"That's it! I'm signing that moron out of here, before you lose your job and this hospital loses all the money Bruce Wayne so generously donated!"

Gob ignored Wilson's tirade, but House pushed Gob off of him, sending him flying backwards into Wilson's end table, knocking over the framed photo of Wilson and ex-wife number three.

"Wilson-"

"No. This...is ridiculous. You're...ridiculous. Both of you!"

Wilson turned and stormed out of his office, down the hall towards the elevator. He could hear House's cane behind him, so he picked up his pace.

"Wilson! Stop being such a baby!"

"House!" Wilson turned around and pointed a finger at him. "I did my very best to keep my displeasure of this whole situation at bay...and for what? So you can rub it in my face and get a good laugh at my expense? Fuck you, House!"

House moved forward, stopping only about a foot away from Wilson. He pushed the tip of his cane into Wilson's shoulder, giving it a push. "No. Fuck you, Wilson. You slept with your patient once before, too. Just because you're jealous of Gob-"

"Jealous? Of...of Gob?" Wilson let out an aggravated laugh. "I'm not jealous of Gob. As far as I'm concerned, he can have you. Matter of fact, I pity Gob. He's a fool if he thinks you want him for anything beyond your selfish inhibitions."

House narrowed his eyes. "You're no prize either Wilson. Three divorces, always cheating on your wives...clearly you were the better option of the two of you!"

Wilson could feel his ears start to burn up. House continued.

"And Gob was at least man enough to ask for it. He didn't have to wait until I was drunk."

Wilson could feel the rage continue to build up in him until he couldn't think straight any longer. He was sick and tired of House demeaning him and taking advantage of him all the time, and this was the absolute last straw. Before he could even stop himself, he pulled back his fist and went to punch House in the face.

Fortunately for House (and unfortunately for Wilson) House ducked out of the way right before impact, sending Wilson's fist square into Gob, who had at some point during their argument, decided to join them.

"What the hell!?" Gob brought his hands up to his nose, crying out when he pulled them back and saw they were covered in blood.

House just shook his head. "Assaulting my patients, Wilson? That's a new low, even for you."

House slipped off his jacket and mashed it up into Gob's face. "And you think Gob's the one getting kicked out of this hospital?" He smirked at Wilson, and then turned back down the hall.

Wilson just stood there, watching the two of them walk off. House's arm was wrapped comfortingly around Gob's shoulders, and the sight of the two of them was enough to make Wilson vomit.

So he did.

Chapter Text

Cuddy's office seemed somewhat intimidating with its oversized mahogany furniture and it's dark drapes drawn shut. It was even more intimidating when Wilson realized he was in it because he was probably about to get into a whole mess of trouble.

"Dr. Wilson, I assume you know why I've asked you in here?"

Wilson slumped down in the chair across from Cuddy's desk and sighed. "Look, I-"

"Wilson, I want to punch those two just as much as you do, they've been doing nothing but distracting my entire staff since he was admitted. But in the eyes of everyone but me, assaulting a patient is completely unacceptable and, as you know, there has to be repercussions for such behavior."

Wilson looked down at his hands which were folded nervously in his lap. "I understand."

Cuddy looked at him with pity in her eyes. She knew just as well as anyone that House had a way of getting under Wilson's skin. And quite frankly, she was surprised that he hadn't tried to punch him in the face years sooner. She opened the file that was set out in front of her, and sighed before she continued on.

"Initially, the board wanted to fire you from this hospital and revoke your license to practice medicine. This, as you know, would have been a fair response to such an action, since under no circumstances should a doctor ever assault a patient." She tilted her head and smiled slightly. "Fortunately, and not surprisingly, when I assured them that you were actually aiming for Dr. House,and Mr. Bluth was just unfortunately in the wrong place at the wrong time, their hearts softened. Apparently you are not the only doctor in this hospital who wants to punch House."

Wilson allowed himself to perk up a bit. "What's the decision, then?"

"Well, you aren't fired. You will instead be suspended from this hospital until you have completed a predetermined amount of community service elsewhere. Also, you have to attend anger management courses, to convince the fellow board members that your patient assault was a one time thing. Once you've finished your community service, and can provide proof that you have successfully completed your anger management course, you will be allowed to resume your work in this hospital."

Wilson sighed. "That's the better option?"

Cuddy began to impatiently strum her fingers on her desk. "Dr. Wilson,If you would be more satisfied with the original proposal, I have no problem revoking your license and firing you on the spot. Perhaps Dr. House would get some work done then." She raised an eyebrow at him.

Wilson shook his head and mumbled. "I'm not the one distracting him."

Cuddy pressed her lips together. "As soon as Gob is out of here, you will be. Surely that must provide you with some sort of comfort?"

Wilson sighed, and raised his gaze to meet Cuddy's. "Fine...that's fine. Where are you sending me for the community service? The Rescue Mission or something?"

Cuddy pressed her lips together and pulled open her desk drawer, sliding out a file folder. "I wish I could say I was. Actually, you will be going to Arkham Asylum. You'll be administering medications to the less than appealing members of society."

Wilson took the folder from Cuddy and opened it up, glancing over the pamphlets and thumbing through some of the patient information.

"I've never even heard of the place." He thumb through some more papers and then laughed with disbelief. "Scarecrow? What kind of name is that?"

Cuddy sighed and shook her head. "I have no idea. Just take it in stride, and I'm sure you'll be fine."

Wilson scoffed. "Yeah, I'm sure. We both saw how well I dealt with the last insane person to come around me. And now you're shipping me off to work with hundreds of them?"

Cuddy reached across the table and took his hand in hers. "I'm sorry Wilson. If I could have done things any differently I would have."

He nodded. "Yeah, I know."

Chapter Text

Cuddy's office seemed somewhat intimidating with its oversized mahogany furniture and it's dark drapes drawn shut. It was even more intimidating when Wilson realized he was in it because he was probably about to get into a whole mess of trouble.

"Dr. Wilson, I assume you know why I've asked you in here?"

Wilson slumped down in the chair across from Cuddy's desk and sighed. "Look, I-"

"Wilson, I want to punch those two just as much as you do, they've been doing nothing but distracting my entire staff since he was admitted. But in the eyes of everyone but me, assaulting a patient is completely unacceptable and, as you know, there has to be repercussions for such behavior."

Wilson looked down at his hands which were folded nervously in his lap. "I understand."

Cuddy looked at him with pity in her eyes. She knew just as well as anyone that House had a way of getting under Wilson's skin. And quite frankly, she was surprised that he hadn't tried to punch him in the face years sooner. She opened the file that was set out in front of her, and sighed before she continued on.

"Initially, the board wanted to fire you from this hospital and revoke your license to practice medicine. This, as you know, would have been a fair response to such an action, since under no circumstances should a doctor ever assault a patient." She tilted her head and smiled slightly. "Fortunately, and not surprisingly, when I assured them that you were actually aiming for Dr. House,and Mr. Bluth was just unfortunately in the wrong place at the wrong time, their hearts softened. Apparently you are not the only doctor in this hospital who wants to punch House."

Wilson allowed himself to perk up a bit. "What's the decision, then?"

"Well, you aren't fired. You will instead be suspended from this hospital until you have completed a predetermined amount of community service elsewhere. Also, you have to attend anger management courses, to convince the fellow board members that your patient assault was a one time thing. Once you've finished your community service, and can provide proof that you have successfully completed your anger management course, you will be allowed to resume your work in this hospital."

Wilson sighed. "That's the better option?"

Cuddy began to impatiently strum her fingers on her desk. "Dr. Wilson,If you would be more satisfied with the original proposal, I have no problem revoking your license and firing you on the spot. Perhaps Dr. House would get some work done then." She raised an eyebrow at him.

Wilson shook his head and mumbled. "I'm not the one distracting him."

Cuddy pressed her lips together. "As soon as Gob is out of here, you will be. Surely that must provide you with some sort of comfort?"

Wilson sighed, and raised his gaze to meet Cuddy's. "Fine...that's fine. Where are you sending me for the community service? The Rescue Mission or something?"

Cuddy pressed her lips together and pulled open her desk drawer, sliding out a file folder. "I wish I could say I was. Actually, you will be going to Arkham Asylum. You'll be administering medications to the less than appealing members of society."

Wilson took the folder from Cuddy and opened it up, glancing over the pamphlets and thumbing through some of the patient information.

"I've never even heard of the place." He thumb through some more papers and then laughed with disbelief. "Scarecrow? What kind of name is that?"

Cuddy sighed and shook her head. "I have no idea. Just take it in stride, and I'm sure you'll be fine."

Wilson scoffed. "Yeah, I'm sure. We both saw how well I dealt with the last insane person to come around me. And now you're shipping me off to work with hundreds of them?"

Cuddy reached across the table and took his hand in hers. "I'm sorry Wilson. If I could have done things any differently I would have."

He nodded. "Yeah, I know."

9

While Wilson packed up his office, House had stopped by. Wilson wasn't entirely sure why, since all House did was sit on his couch and watch Wilson throw things into boxes, but his presence provided Wilson with some twisted sense of comfort so he said nothing. When the last box was packed, and he had buttoned the final button on his coat, he walked over in front of House.

House looked up. "So. Rumor has it you're going away for awhile."

"They're sending me away for awhile, yes. But I'm sure you'll be fine. You have Gob to look after you now."

"You say that like I'm helpless or something."

"Aren't you?"

The corner of his mouth turned up in a smile, and after he had managed to get himself up from the couch, House placed a hand on Wilson's shoulder briefly, before walking away.

Wilson felt himself get angry. It had hardly been the goodbye he had hoped for. "You know...you're a real piece of work, House!"

Chapter Text

Wilson sat in his car, strumming his fingers on the steering wheel, contemplating what he was about to do. After a few brief minuted of inner turmoil, he decided to go for it.

Wilson stepped out of his car, and into the steady rainfall that had started since he had arrived. Shit weather for his shit mood, that was for sure. He lifted the back of his jacket up and pulled it over his head,trying to keep the water away from his hair as he quickly made his way up the sidewalk. He knocked furiously on the door, and started to hop from foot to foot, in a sorry attempt to keep warm.

"Give me a fucking second, cripple here!"

WIlson grinned as he heard a loud crash and more swearing come from behind the door. By the time the door finally swung open, his jacket had been completely soaked through, and he'd started to shiver.

House almost looked happy when he saw it was Wilson, but wiped the smile off his face almost as quickly as it had arrived.

"What? Come to punch the other side of Gob's face?"

"He's...here?"

"Of course he's here. How can I nurse him back to health in the hospital? Glass walls, Cuddy...makes it kind of difficult to suck on-"

Wilson held up a hand. "That's...more than I needed to know."

House just stood in the doorway, smirking rather mischievously, leaving Wilson out on the porch to get rained on. "Okay. So, if that's not why you're here, why are you?"

Wilson hesitated. "I...I need your help with something, that's all. Can you kiss the Mrs. goodbye for a half hour or so? Or is that asking too much?"

House rolled his eyes and slammed the door. "I'll be right out!" He yelled from the inside of the apartment. A few minutes later, House swung the door back open and pushed Wilson out of the way as he stepped out onto the doorstep.

Now it was Wilson’s turn to roll his eyes. “Was that really necessary?”

House looked up and glared at Wilson, motioning his hand back and forth between them. “Was this really necessary? I was busy.”

“Watching lesbian porn with Gob hardly classifies as being busy.”

“I work hard when I watch that stuff, I’ll have you know.”

“House...” Wilson shook his head, and House gave him a large grin as they made their way towards his car.

"What do you need help with anyway?" Wilson's car had started to steam up and House was drawing nudes all over the inside of the passenger side window.

"Just....something. It's not a big deal, I just can't do it alone." House leaned forward, drawing a nice pair of breasts on the windshield. Wilson tried to ignore him.

A few minutes later they arrived at Wilson's hotel and House sighed. "Is your TiVo broken again?" He pushed open the door and stepped out; not ignoring the fact that Wilson hadn't answered him. House loudly placed his cane on the cement floor of the parking garage. "You dragged me away for this again?"

"It's not like you were doing anything important!"

"Observing the mannerisms of lesbians in their natural environment, the college dorm, is very important."

Wilson threw his hands up in annoyance and proceeded to walk towards the main entrance to the hotel.

The elevator ride and the walk towards Wilson's room were done in silence, and House couldn't help but begin to feel a little uncomfortable. In the back of his head, he began to wonder if maybe Wilson has lured him here, only to murder him for "borrowing" all that money over the years and never paying him back.

Stupid. He's obviously here to kill you because of Gob.

"Hey, Wilson?"

"Hey, House?"

"How about we grab lunch tomorrow. You know, on me. For once?"

Wilson stopped once they arrived at his room number, and he turned to face House as he reached into his back pocket for his keycard. "House, that’s so...nice of you?" It was more of a question than a statement, but his smile seemed genuine enough to slow House's heart rate down a bit. If he agreed to lunch tomorrow, then he surely wasn't going to kill him today.

Wilson started to look annoyed as he slid they keycard through the lock. "But you know just as well as I do that they're shipping me off to the looney bin tomorrow, because of you."

House gripped his cane tightly as he heard the lock beep, and Wilson push open the door. House followed him inside, not really knowing what to expect.

Wilson flipped on the lights and walked over towards the bathroom, and stripped down to his boxers as he did so, leaving a wet trail of clothing behind him. House brought a hand up over his face, pretending to avert his eyes from Wilson. He only took it down once Wilson was in the bathroom.

He heard the shower turn on and Wilson start to sing.

House made a face. Tone-deaf, times a million.

He sat down on the bed and set his cane down beside him. He looked around the room. Overall, the room looked pretty generic. Generic furniture, bland carpet, wallpapered walls...framed paintings of the ocean. House slid further up on the bed, and rested his back against the wooden headboard as he continued to scan his eyes around the room. His eyes settled on Wilson’s desk.

There was a bottle of House’s favorite whisky (half gone) on top of what appeared to be a doily of some sort.

House snorted. Leave it to Wilson to own a doily. Two glasses were set on either side, and there was some sort of chocolate, or something of equal or lesser romantic value beside it all.

The water in the shower turned off then, and a few minutes later, the bathroom door opened. Wilson reached outside the door, feeling along the wall for the light switch and dimmed the lights. He then walked out of the bathroom wearing what appeared to be a silk robe, and nothing else by the look of things.

“Wilson...” House sighed heavily, “What are you doing?”

Wilson smiled in a way House could only assume is his attempt at being seductive, and stepped forward, untying the robe. “I’m...giving you what you want.”

House quickly grabbed for his cane and pressed the tip of it into Wilson’s abdomen, trying to prevent the robe from swinging open. “Are you high?”

Wilson just grinned and lifted a hand, swatting House’s cane out of the way. House made no real effort to fight back, as Wilson’s robe swung open, and House got a good reminder of what Wilson had to offer. House spoke to Wilson's groin, "Besides, I've already had it. And once was more than enough. You weren't that good."

Wilson noticed House staring and a smirk slowly graced his lips. Two steps were all it took, and Wilson was beside the bed, lips pressed harshly against House’s. House was caught somewhat by surprise, and for a moment remained completely still as Wilson’s tongue slowly moved across his bottom lip.

"Wilson-"

Wilson ran his hands delicately through House’s hair for a moment, ignoring him, then grabbed a handful as he deepened the kiss. He began to suck on House’s tongue and a low moan escaped House’s throat.

Wilson knew that he had House right where he wanted him.

“Slide over,” he whispered, and slowly pulled away from House’s swollen lips. House complied, trying to hide a grimace as his thigh screamed in opposition. Wilson noticed and hesitated, which House managed to notice.

“Don't back out now you idiot. Get on the bed.” House grabbed a pillow and placed it under his leg.

Wilson raised an eyebrow. “Eager now, I see. What about poor little Gob?” “Shut up.” House started to work on his own clothes, trying to get them off as quickly as possible. Wilson crawled up on the bed, rested on his knees, and slowly started to stroke his cock.

“Hey...hey, no reason to be rude.”

“If you don’t shut up, I’ll make you shut up.” House narrowed his eyes at Wilson, and slid his jeans down. He kicked them off onto the floor.

“...I like the sounds of that.”

House reached forward and grabbed Wilson’s arm, pulling him down into a kiss. He clumsily smacked Wilson's hand away from his cock and replaced it with his own, an action which caused Wilson to take in a deep breath.

“House..,” he exhaled and leaned in, running his tongue slowly up House’s ear, “I want you.”

House grunted, and pushed Wilson down so his back was on the bed. He slowly started to stroke his own cock, almost getting off on how pathetic and desperate Wilson looked sprawled out on the bed. "Yeah? You want this?"

Wilson nodded eagerly and spread his legs further apart. He placed his hands behind his knees, and pulled them up to his chest. House leaned forward, and slowly rubbed the tip of his cock against the crack of Wilson's ass, when his pager went off.

He hesitated for only a minute, and then reached off the side of his bed for his phone.

"You've got to be kidding me." Wilson covered his face in his hands, and listened as House made a short phone call.

"I have to go."

"Of course you do."

"Look. I can fuck you, and then go. Or I can just go. Your choice."

Wilson sat up, and pointed angrily at the door. "Just go."

"Are you sure? This seems to be important to you, getting me one last time before you lose me forever."

"Now, House!"

House shrugged and slid off the side of the bed, clumsily throwing his clothes back on. As he buttoned up his shirt, his back turned to Wilson, he spoke. "I'm not going to stop seeing Gob. If that's what you were hoping for here, that is."

Wilson felt infuriated. He looked down at the bedside table, ripped the alarm clock out from the wall and tossed it in House's direction. It missed, hit the wall, and left a very visible dent. "Fuck you, House. Seriously."

House didn't bother to turn around, he just picked up his cane and walked out of the room, leaving Wilson completely naked and completely alone.

Wilson felt very vulnerable, and as he pulled the comforter up over his exposed body, he was almost grateful he was being shipped to Arkham. He had a feeling he'd end up there anyways at this rate, sooner or later.

Chapter Text

The next morning, after an incredibly unsatisfying continental breakfast, Wilson stood outside his hotel, suitcase in hand, and waited for his cab to show up. He hated to admit it, but he was nervous. He had never been to a mental institution before, and he had been perfectly content with that fact. But, as he had learned all to well recently, things change whether you want them to or not, and as he stood there now, the cool breeze whipping his tie around wildly, all he could do was silently hope that it wouldn't be nearly as bad as all the other unwelcome changes in his life.

The tiny bit of hope he had was quickly squashed, however, as an old beat up van covered in more rust then white paint, pulled up in front of him. The words "Arkham Asylum" were painted on the side, blue and fading, almost indistinguishable amongst all the dents and..

Bullet holes?

Wilson swallowed down as much of his fear as he could, but when an incredibly large, scarred, and muscular man rolled down the passenger window and told him to get inside, his fear returned ten fold.

"Dr. Wilson, it's safe to assume?" The man put the van into drive and pressed on the gas, hard, sending Wilson flying back against his seat. He rubbed the back of his neck.

Whiplash was imminent.

"Uh...yes. And you are?" Wilson fumbled with his seat belt as the man took every turn extremely sharp, and extremely fast.

"Lyle Bolton. Head of Security at Arkham." He slammed on the brakes as they came to a red light. Wilson held out his hands, which fortunately stopped his head from smashing against the dash. "Head of...Don't you think you should stay at the Asylum? Surely I could have driven myself?" Wilson was almost embarrassed by how terribly shaky his voice was.

Lyle Bolton threw his head back and laughed uproariously. Wilson gripped his seat tightly as they swerved all around the road, now that Lyle's eyes were shut in all his amusement.

"We can't have too many people knowing how to get to Arkham these days. Too many escapes in the past. Not on my watch though. Not. On. My. Watch."

Wilson laughed, un-amused. "I'm not blind, I'll know where we are just by looking out the window."

Lyle slammed on the brakes. "Not true." He quickly reached into his breast pocket, stabbing Wilson in the side of the neck with the syringe before Wilson had a moment to even react.

"What?-" He couldn't even get out a complete thought before the world went black.

Chapter Text

When Wilson came to, he was sprawled out on an old, dusty brown velvet couch with more holes in it than any couch House had ever owned, which made him nervous that the holes were the result of giant rats. He slowly sat up, hand plastered to his forehead, breathing slow and steady until his head stopped spinning.

"What did you give me?" Wilson looked up at Lyle, and graciously accepted the bottle of water that was being shaken about in front of his face.

"Just something of my own creation. It comes in handy around here, I'll be sure to give you some."

Wilson stared at him, wide-eyed and eyebrows raised, as he gulped down the entire bottle in one shot.

Lyle laughed. "You have no idea what you're in for here, do you? Poor guy. Well, welcome to Arkham Asylum. Gotham's home for the criminally insane." He pulled open his desk drawer and dug around for awhile, eventually waving a set of keys in front of Wilson's face. "Ready for a tour?"

Wilson shrugged. "I guess so."

"Good. Here's a map, and a flashlight. Oh, and the keys of course. You'll probably get lost at first, but it's better to learn your way around now, when there's actually someone here to come find you." Lyle flashed Wilson a grin and patted him on the shoulder.

"You...you aren't coming with me?"

"God, no. It's time for me to leave. Jeremiah Arkham, he's the owner, he should be here in an hour or so. Just. In. Case." He gave Wilson the once over. "You know what. Stay put for five minutes, I'll be right back."

Wilson nodded slowly, and watched as Lyle walked off. He took this opportunity to look at the map Lyle had given him. "You've got to be kidding me." Wilson shook his head as he looked the map over. It was nothing more than a classical labyrinth. There were no markings for doors, and Wilson wished he had been given a crayon so he could have at least tried to figure his way around before he stepped foot into the place.

"Here."

Wilson jumped. "Shit!"

Lyle laughed again, and Wilson was glad he was leaving. He laughed too much, and Wilson had concluded as soon as the van had pulled up that this was not a laughing matter. "Sorry, didn't mean to startle you. Here, I got this for you. Just in case you need it." Lyle held out a gun. A .22 by the look of it, and Wilson took a step back.

"A gun? You...th-think I'll need a gun?"

Lyle stepped forward, sliding the gun down into the waist of Wilson's khakis. Wilson was too shaken to stop him.

"You never know, Dr. Wilson. Not around here. It's better to be armed than not armed. And don't be too afraid to shoot them. Noone'll miss 'em." Lyle patted Wilson on the shoulder once more, and then grabbed his badge from the top of his desk. "See you in the morning."

Wilson watched him go, hoping that he really hadn't heard him say "I hope," before he locked the front door behind him.

Chapter Text

WIlson stepped out into the long cold hallway-to-nowhere of Arkham Asylum. The ceiling, the walls, the floors...they were nothing more than cement blocks. The only color being the discoloration caused by years of leaky ceilings dripping down walls. There were no windows to bring in any natural light, just spontaneously placed fluorescent bulbs hanging from frayed wires. It was cold in there, too cold for comfort, and Wilson stuck the flashlight into his back pocket and wrapped his arms tightly around himself. He could hear his map crinkle with every shiver. Since the map seemed utterly useless anyway, Wilson let it fall to the ground and continued on without it.

The main corridor he was traveling along seemed never-ending. Drops of water occasionally hit the top of his head, and only when the feeling of Chinese water torture became unbearable, did Wilson decide to venture off from the main hallway.

A few feet after making the decision to venture off the main corridor, Wilson came to an old, rusty, iron door. He pushed on it, but it refused to budge. He sighed and pulled out the keys that Lyle had given to him. He fanned the keys out in the palm of his hand, looking for one that might appear to fit.

Lucky for him, they all appeared to be exactly the same.

Wilson tried one at random and the door creaked open. He stepped inside, using the light from the hallway as a guide. He stepped forward and he heard the door began to close. He panicked and sprinted back to it, slipping the flashlight out of his back pocket, and placed it between the door and the wall. The light switch in this room glowed ominously halfway down the long wall, and Wilson slowly began to walk forward. A few feet in the large iron door slammed shut and he was submerged in darkness. So much for the flashlight being of any help.

Wilson started to shake again, only this time it was purely from fear. He hated the dark, though he'd never admit it.

"Slow and steady James. Slow and steady...you're. Almost. There."

He continued to reassure himself the entire way down the hall, towards that small orange light. His one beacon of hope.

He ran his hand along the wall as he walked, trying to ignore the fact that every so often the texture became cool and smooth, instead of cool and rough. When he finally reached the switch he breathed a sigh of relief and ran his fingers over it happily before flipping it up.

He pressed himself flat against the wall as soon as the room filled with light. It was now that he was made aware of the fact that he had not been in a hallway at all, but what appeared to be rows of prison cells of some sort. Cells without bars, just smooth glass walls, but cells none the less. Each cell was separated by a few feet of cement blocks. Some of the cells were empty, but enough of them weren't to set Wilson on edge.

The cells that weren't empty, well, all of their occupants were in straightjackets. None of them were standing, they were all either slumped over on the ground or on their beds. Wilson could only assume they'd been given whatever he'd been given on th evan ride earlier. Only in a (hopefully) much higher dose.

He walked along the hallway, stopping every so often to read the names of the occupants.

"Alberto Falcone...Julian Day...Dr. Jonathan Crane?"

Wilson stopped in front of his cell and looked at the poor soul, slumped over in the corner of his cell. "What are you doing here?" Wilson ran his hand down the glass. He had been a big follower of Dr. Crane's published articles on the future of psychiatric care while he was in medical school. He had been somewhat of a positive influence on Wilson, being one of the youngest psychiatrists to have anything published before even getting out of medical school. Wilson had almost gone into Psychiatry because of him. Almost. And seeing Dr. Crane now...well maybe Wilson had made the right decision after all.

Wilson continued on past a few empty cells. He counted ten and was almost feeling calm again when he came across a cell plastered with signs.

Stay Away From the Glass.

Wilson stepped back and looked over to the name plate of the occupant.

Name: Unknown Alias: Joker Age: Unknown Hometown: Unknown

He scanned over the rest of the patient information, but everything about him said the same thing. "Unknown." He glanced back into the cell.

As were his whereabouts, apparently.

He looked back down the hallway towards that big iron door. The urge to run suddenly came over him, and just as he was about to make his move, the lights went out.

Wilson froze as a light mist began to blow into his face. It smelled almost like hairspray. Almost.

He fell to his knees.

Chapter Text

"Good morning, sunshine. Time to WAKE UP!"

Wilson was rolled over onto his back by a swift kick to the ribs. He groaned, and tried to blink the blurriness from his eyes.

"Get up, Get up, Get up!"

Wilson heard the sound of bedsprings and closed his eyes for a few seconds. He was completely disoriented, and hoped that his vision would hurry and clear up.

It wouldn't.

And it was then, and only then, when Wilson tried to rub his eyes that he realized he was restrained. He flailed around, trying to break free, but stopped abruptly when he heard high pitched maniacal laughter coming from the other side of the room.

"I'll consider letting you go.....if you consider calming down."

Wilson continued to squirm around, trying to free himself. He gave up after a few more fruitless attempts and finally opened his eyes and looked down. He was in a straightjacket.

"It did say to stay away from the glass. You should have paid better attention."

The man stood up and walked over to Wilson, wrapping his hands around the straps in the front of Wilson's straightjacket and pulled him to his feet.

"Now, calm down," He gave Wilson a swift kick to the stomach, sending him flying backwards onto the other empty bed. "So we can get down to business."

Wilson breathed through the pain, then glared up at the man. He swallowed back a mixture of vomit and fear.

The man was standing against the wall opposite Wilson. Tall and lean, wearing what appeared to be Wilson's clothes. Upon noticing this, Wilson glanced down to see what he was now wearing, and saw that he was now wearing an Arkham issued orange jumpsuit.

Great.

He glanced back up. His clothes hung off the man's body as though they were at least two sizes too large. The belt was tied around his waist, and double knotted, just to keep the pants from falling down. He had the sleeves on Wilson's shirt rolled up above his elbows. Wilson assumed they were probably too short.

The man's face, however, was the worst of it all. He had deep scars coming out from either side of his mouth; a sort of glasgow smile gone terribly wrong, if that was even possible. His face was smeared unevenly in white greasepaint, with black paint fading from around his eyes, and red smeared carelessly over his mouth, exaggerating that creepy smile. Greasy curls, carelessly died green, hung haphazardly around his face.

So this was the Joker.

He looked filthy and probably smelled filthy, by the looks of things. Wilson made a mental note to burn those clothes at the very least, if he ever got them back.

"Wh-What do you want from me? Money? I have money-" Wilson cursed himself for sounding so pathetic. Why couldn't he sound like an unintimidated asshole? Why couldn't he be more like House?

The man laughed. "I don't want your money. No, nononono. What I want, is a favor."

Chapter Text

With every sharp turn the stolen van took, Wilson was sent flying into the back of the van. He was still confined to the straight jacket and he began to cramp up. He looked up at the Joker, who stood at the opposite side of the back of the van, holding on to a handle. He did nothing but grin at Wilson.

"What do you want from me!" Wilson furrowed his brows, and flung himself around, trying to free himself from the jacket. The Joker just laughed.

"You might as well stop. If it was that easy to get out of that thing, I would have been far from Arkham long ago." He laughed and kicked the back of the driver's chair. "Hurry up!"

The man obliged, naturally, and Wilson was once again sent flying into the back of the van.

The Joker tilted his head at Wilson and skipped forward. Somehow this lunatic was capable of moving around the van with no problem. Wilson hated him more already.

The Joker crouched down in front of Wilson and took his face in his hands, tightly. So tight, that Wilson's mouth was smashed in an awkward way, and his eyes were forced into a squint. It hurt.

"You have something I want. And I can take care of something you don't want." He released Wilson's face, and sent his head flying backwards, hitting it against the metal wall. "I think we can help each other."

"What can I possibly have that you want?" Wilson was taking deep breaths, trying to calm himself down.

"The Batman."

Wilson raised an eyebrow, and then started flailing himself around again. "I have no idea what you're talking about!"

The Joker grinned. "Mmm..true. But your friend, Dr. ah, House...he knows him."

"Then why don't you go kidnap House!"

Joker reached into his jacket and pulled out a gun, cocking it and pressing it up against Wilson's forehead. "Well where's the fun in that?"

Wilson frowned and tilted his eyes up towards the Joker. "You won't shoot me if you need me that badly!" He leaned back against the back of the van and sent his foot flying up into the Joker's crotch.

The gun went flying and the Joker bent over, hands on his crotch, laughing through what Wilson assumed, and hoped, was pain.

"Just because I can't shoot you, doesn't mean I can't have any fun with you." He stood up and stomped down on Wilson's leg. Wilson cried out in agony and pushed himself away from the Joker the best he could with what strength he had left in his cramped legs.

"If I...if I help you. What will you do for me? Will you let me go?" Tears were streaming down Wilson's face. His leg hurt, his arms were numb, and he felt sick. Giving in seemed to be the best option. The only option.

"Mmmm, that's more like it." the Joker grinned and nodded. "I'll do one better than let you go. I'll take care of your little problem. I'll get rid of Gob."

Wilson raised his eyebrows. "How do you know about Gob?"

The Joker grinned. "Not important. What is important is that we got off on the wrong foot, and we need to get on the right foot."

Wilson watched as he stood up, and walked to the front of the van. "We're here." He pulled a gun out of his jacket and shot the driver in the head. Wilson watched in horror, as the man's brain matter slipped down the windshield. The Joker watched it as though he was in love.

Chapter Text

Wilson didn't even want to know where 'here' was. And it was probably best that way, as he would never find out. The Joker wasn't big on sharing much of anything, let alone his hideout.

Wilson sat on the edge of the cot he had been tossed onto, rubbing his wrists from where the straightjacket had held his hands in place. He was now showered and dressed in some oversized pajamas that were either made out of wool, or insects by the way that they itched. But it was better than the Asylum jumpsuit, and he almost felt human for the first time in twenty four hours.

The Joker had left him in the room, trusting him not to try anything funny while he took a shower of his own. The Joker had showed him about fifty violent reasons on why he shouldn't attempt an escape prior, and truthfully that was enough for Wilson to sit and wait.

Wilson glanced around the room. It basically looked like a college dorm. White walls, gray tiled floor, dim lighting. A dresser was pressed up against the same wall as the bed, it's drawers so jam packed with weapons that they wouldn't shut. The closet door hung off most of its hinges, but the closet itself was surprisingly organized with green and purple clothing. Wilson was almost tempted to walk over there and see if it was organized by article as well, it sure looked like it, but he was sure the closet was probably bear trapped in one way or another, and certain death was probably imminent. He stayed put.

Wilson's thoughts were disrupted when he heard the shower turn off, and the bathroom door creak open. The Joker walked out, towel around his waist, hair matted against his head, falling in ringlets right above his shoulders.

Wilson though that he almost looked attractive without all of the makeup on. But Wilson cursed himself for even thinking it after all the psycho had put him through.

Wilson watched as the Joker moved about the room, getting dressed. His motions were far from fluid, and he seemed to twitch with every movement he made. He almost seemed nervous, but Wilson couldn't even begin to fathom what a madman had to be nervous about. He was what made people nervous, not the other way around.

Wilson saw him grab the van keys off of the top of his dresser.

"Where are you going?"

"You mean where are we going?" The Joker put his tie on around his neck and tied it perfectly. "We are going to your old job, to pay Dr. Cuddy a visit."

Wilson frowned. "Cuddy? Why?"

The Joker smiled his devious smile and threw some clothes on the bed towards Wilson. "I have something to give her. And I thought you might like to see your old friends again."

Wilson thought about that, but concluded that it didnt really seem like something a madman would offer a hostage.

"...I dont know."

In one quick movement, the Joker was on top of Wilson, a gun pointed at his forehead. "Yes, you do know."

Wilson nodded vigorously, trying to breathe. "Okay...okay," he managed to choke out.

The Joker smiled and uncocked the gun. "Good, now get dressed. You have to play doctor for awhile." The Joker hopped off the bed, tossing the gun towards the dresser. Wilson cringed as it slid off and hit the floor, the sound echoing off of the walls.

Chapter Text

Once in Princeton Plainsboro, Wilson sat himself down at his desk and picked up the phone. The Joker raised an eyebrow at him, waiting impatiently. "Call her. Or I will kill you."

Wilson swallowed and dialed her number. Cuddy was yelling so loudly that he had to hold the phone away from his ear to make out her words. When she was done, he hung up the phone and looked weakly up at the Joker.

"She'll be right up."

The Joker grinned.

It was only a few minuted before Cuddy stormed into Wilson's office, looking incredibly annoyed.

"Wilson, you better have a good reason for being here. You know your license is on the line and I highly doubt that-"

Cuddy stopped when she noticed that Wilson was not alone. She turned her attention to the man sitting in the chair across from Wilson, and smiled apologetically.

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize that there was anyone else in here."

The Joker smiled and waved her apologies off. "That's...alright."

Wilson hated the way his voice practically purred every word out. It made him sick.

"I just wanted to stop by and thank you for sending Dr. Wilson to Arkham. You see, it's been quite some time since we've had anyone volunteer their services with us as you can probably imagine, and he's been such a great help already. I just wanted him to bring me here so I could extend my gratitude to you."

Cuddy forced a smile. She looked uneasy, not that Wilson could blame her. Even without his makeup on, the Joker seemed to carry around him at all times an aura of intimidation.

Her uneasiness did not go unnoticed by The Joker, either.

"Oh, I'm sorry. You look nervous," The Joker stood up and took a step closer to Cuddy, smiling as innocently as he could force himself. "Is it the scars?"

Cuddy forced her own smile, and shook her head, taking a conscious step backwards.

The Joker smiled. "Unfortunately, working with the criminally insane has it's...consequences." He ran a finger slowly down the side of his face.

Cuddy brought her hand up to her mouth and gasped. "That's horrible!" She looked over at Wilson, who was looking down at his desk. "I'm sorry, Mr...Im sorry I don't think I got your name."

The Joker held out a gloved hand. "Arkham. Jeremiah Arkham. My Grandfather built the asylum. I, fortunately or unfortunately, have the task of running the place now."

Cuddy smiled a bit more warmly. "A pleasure, meeting you. I, too, appreciate you helping out Dr. Wilson with his situation. However, I really do have to get going now. Was there anything else?"

The Joker held up a finger, and then turned around, grabbing a box off of Wilson's desk. It was wrapped in purple paper and topped with a big, green bow. "A token of my appreciation. I'll take good care of your Dr. Wilson, don't you worry. Not one bit."

Cuddy took the box and smiled, before turning her attention to Wilson. "Dr. Wilson, I think you should go now."

Wilson pressed his lips together and nodded. He wished that he shared some sort of telepathic bond with Cuddy, because then maybe he would had a chance at surviving this madness. Alas.

"Okay."

Cuddy smiled and turned on her heels, clamoring away down the hall.

"Time. To. Go." The Joker tilted his head towards the door, and Wilson complied.

Once back in the van, and handcuffed to the door handle, Wilson inquired about the present. The Joker smiled as he slathered on his greasepaint.

"Ahhh. Well, that's just a, uh...message for the Batman."

Wilson raised an eyebrow. "So why not just give it to House, since apparently he knows who that is?!"

The Joker laughed while he smeared some black paint over his eyelids. "Because. I'm not done with him just yet."

"Done with him?" Wilson furrowed his brows, and the Joker kicked the back of the driver's seat. The driver took off so fast, Wilson was thrown back against the van, the handcuffs digging into his wrists.

"Wait..." Wilson's eyes widened. "What was in the-What did you just-"

Wilson was interrupted by a bright light and a loud explosion coming from the direction of the hospital.

"What did you do!? What did you do!?" WIlson started pulling frantically at the door handle trying to break free.

The Joker laughed and skipped around the back of the van, hunched over and maniacal. "You ask stupid questions with obvious answers. Instead you should be asking..what am I going to do next."

Wilson could feel his eyes well up with tears, he felt sick and angry and confused. The Joker bent down in front of him, tilting his head. "No? You don't want to know?" He reached out and grabbed Wilson's chin in his hand. Wilson closed his eyes, and tried to hold back his cries. "ASK ME!"

Wilson tried to get his chin out of the Joker's grip, but the man was stronger than he looked. "Wh-what are you going to do?"

"Next? It's a surprise!" The Joker pushed Wilson's head back, sending it forcefully into the van's door. He made his way back to the front of the van and sat down next to the driver.

Wilson had a feeling he would hate whatever it was.

Chapter Text

"Ahhh, home sweet home. You're really going to like it here, eventually." The Joker ran a finger across the top of his television, admiring the thick dust that had built up since he'd obviously been away. "Not that you have, uh, much of a choice." He laughed and started to strip out of Wilson's clothes. It wasn't hard, they all sort of fell off of him.

Wilson tried not to stare. It was hard not too though. The Joker was tall and lean, with defined muscles. His body type almost reminded Wilson of House, something that Wilson quickly shut out of his mind. He was covered in scars, which didn't come as much of a surprise considering his face. But besides that, he was beautifully defined.

Everywhere.

"I'll be back. Try anything funny and I'll kill you."

Wilson didn't doubt it, so he stayed put. He walked over to the wall and slowly crawled down it until he was sitting on the floor. He heard the water turn on in the bathroom and soon the Joker was singing and having a fine time, and Wilson felt himself growing annoyed.

He was starving, he was exhausted, and this asshole had just killed one of his friends, and god knows who else. And now he was in the shower, as though nothing had happened. Wilson couldn't wrap his mind around it for a multitude of reasons, probably because he wasn't insane, himself.

Wilson glanced at the clock on the wall. The Joker had been in the shower for over a half hour. Wilson sighed, aggravated. He had a feeling that the Joker preferred being dirty. In fact, Wilson would have put money on it, had he anyone to bet with, that the Joker was the kind of guy that would come out of the shower looking grungier than he did before he had even gotten in.

Twenty minutes later, the Joker emerged from the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist. It looked stiff and old, and it was stained with God only knows what. Wilson didn't want to think about it.

"See something you like?" The Joke made a lewd hand gesture and then walked over to Wilson and reached down, pulling him back up to his feet by the shirt collar.

"You're turn. Make it quick."

"I just took a shower."

"Take another one. I don't like hospitals."

Wilson looked down and sighed. "Fine."

"Good. Come on, you have three minutes." The Joker shoved him into the bathroom and turned the water on.

Wilson slipped his hand into the shower stall, and under the stream of water. It was freezing, but this wasn't much of a surprise to Wilson consider the long shower his captor had just taken.

He glanced around the bathroom for anything resembling soap when he saw it.

His cell phone was sitting on top of the sink. He reached for it and pulled it into the shower with him, hoping the sound of the water would drown out his voice, and also hoping that the iPhone was as amazing and as waterproof as he had heard, because it was about to get submerged.

He quickly pressed House's speed dial and waited for the phone to ring.

He counted each ring in his head, praying House would just answer. "Wilson?"

"House!" Wilson was relieved. "House, you have to listen to me. I need your help."

Just then the shower curtain was flung open and the cell phone was ripped from Wilson's hand. He heard the sound of it being tossed it into the toilet, and then heard the toilet flush.

The Joker then reached back into the shower and wrapped his hand tightly around a handful of Wilson's hair and smashed Wilson's face into the wall of the shower.

"I told you no phone calls." He pulled back on Wilson's head again and sent him flying into the shower stall once more. Wilson felt his nose break, and it was only confirmed by the stream of blood dripping down the tile walls and forming a pool at his feet. He wanted so desperately to remind the Joker that he actually hadn't said that, but changed his mind, as the side of his face met shower tiles for the third time.

"You think House will save you, but he doesn't even care that you're gone."

Wilson coughed up some blood. "You're wrong..."

"Am I?" The Joker laughed and pulled on Wilson a third time, only this time it was towards him and out of the shower. "I'll show you just how much he misses you."

Wilson was tugged out of the bathroom completely naked. The Joker didn't let up on his grip on Wilson's hair, and Wilson could feel his hair practically being pulled out, and he cried out. The Joker pulled him over towards the bed and pushed him face down into the mattress.

He walked over to the television that was hooked up right at the end of the bed and flipped it on. He pressed play on the video player and cursed when only gray fuzz appeared.

If Wilson wasn't bleeding all over himself and in agonizing pain, he would have wanted to laugh.

The Joker stepped back and started punching the television, until finally a video appeared. "Ahhh, that's much better."

Wilson raised his eyes up towards the television. Whatever show it was, it was starring House, and Gob was on top of him. They were both fully clothed, but by the looks of how things were going between them, Wilson could only assume that this wouldnt be the case for long.

"Mmm. He really misses you." The Joker turned to look at Wilson's reaction, only to see that Wilson had turned away. The Joker kicked the bed frame. "LOOK AT THAT! Is that the face of your savior? IS IT?"

Wilson turned his blood stained face back up towards the television and watched. House had his head tilted back and Gob was now between his legs. House's hands were intertwined in Gob's hair, guiding his lover's movements.

The Joker grabbed his crotch through his pants. "I can, ah, see why he likes him so much." He grinned at Wilson.

Wilson turned away for a second time. "Fuck you."

The Joker laughed. "Fuck me? Fuck ME? Oh no, no, no. NO. I think I'M going to fuck YOU." He hummed to himself as he started to slowly unbutton his shirt. Wilson caught him out of the corner of his eyes and started to scramble off of the bed.

"Oh no you dont!" The Joker leaped and caught Wilson between the edge of the bed and himself. He reached in between the mattress and pulled out a pair of handcuffs and slapped one cuff around Wilson's wrist and the other around the bed frame. He flipped Wilson over onto his stomach and crawled on top of him, pining him down with his weight. He reached forward and grabbed a handful of Wilson's hair, while using his other hand to unzip his own pants. He pulled out his cock and leaned forward. He pressed his mouth up against Wilson's ear and ran his tongue up it. He bit down on the cartilage so hard that Wilson cried out.

"That's it," the Joker pressed the tip of his cock against the crack of Wilson's ass. "I'm going to pretend you're Gob, and you're going to pretend that I'm House." He leaned forward and in one painful thrust his entire cock was enveloped in Wilson's ass. Wilson cried out in agony. There was no lube, no spit, nothing. Just flesh against flesh and it burned. The Joker seemed to get off on Wilson's pain and it was only a matter of minutes until he was spilling himself into Wilson.

He pulled out and looked Wilson over. He was covered in sweat, semen, and blood. The Joker scoffed and tossed his shirt at him. "Clean up, you're filthy. We have work to do."

Wilson jumped as the door slammed upon the Joker's exit. He looked around the room before slowly crawling off of the side of the bed and onto the cold cement floor. His sobs were loud and uncontrollable. For the first time since this whole mess started, he let himself go. His body shook with every wail. He cried until he couldn't anymore and then he reached up for the mattress, pulling himself up off the floor.

He glanced at the mattress. It was covered in blood. His, and god knows whose else. He gripped at the mattress and cried out.

He eventually calmed down enough to crawl back up onto the bed and he sat up against the wall and hugged his knees to his chest. He rocked back and forth, slowly, trying to process the misery that had befallen him.

He kept silently asking himself why this had happened. What he could have possibly done to deserve this madness.

Preoccupied with his own self-pity, Wilson didn't even hear the Joker come back in to the bedroom. Only when the Joker sat down on the bed and grinned at him wickedly did he even speak.

"I can't take this anymore!" He brought his hands up over his face and held them there. He didn't want to look at anyone or anything, especially not the Joker.

"Aw, Shhh, shhshhh shhh. Something the matter?" The Joker was taunting him, and WIlson could take it no longer.

"Yes something is the matter! I'm losing my mind!" He put his hands down and glared at the Joker.

The Joker rolled his eyes. "Well, get rid of it then." He set a gun down on the bed in front of Wilson. "One second and you can end all of this." He leaned back, eyebrow raised, waiting.

Wilson felt himself become angry. He reached out for the gun and cocked it, pointing it \at the Joker, however, and not himself.

The Joker seemed pleased. "Mmmm, that's more like it."

Wilson let out a small choked laugh of exasperation. "More like it? More like it!?"

The Joker continued to smile. "You're finally, ah, getting it. In order to get anything in this ca-razy world, you have to reach out and take it. You have to act. And you...you never act. You just sit on the sidelines and let every single person you know walk all over your pretty little head." He bopped Wilson on the top of his head as he spoke, and then hopped off the bed and started moving around the room, talking wildly with his hands.

Wilson felt as though he was suffocating in confusion. He set the gun down on the mattress. The Joker noticed and walked back over to the bed, sitting down beside him and taking him in his arms. He ran a shaky hand down Wilson's face a few times in mock sympathy. "I'm only trying to help you. Once I get what I want, you'll get what you want. With Gob out of the, uh, picture...there's only you left. He wont be able to refuse you then. No, nonono. No. He. Won't."

The Joker leaned back and looked Wilson over. "You still don't seem convinced. Perhaps, ah, you'd prefer we take care of Gob first?" He jumped up from the bed and skipped over to his dresser, rummaging through his drawers. "Get dressed. Tonight. Is. The. Night."

Chapter Text

By now, Wilson was used to being drugged and handcuffed, so when he finally awoke in a groggy state in the middle of a dim lit room, he was far from surprised.

He was surprised, however, when he finally came to his senses and realized that he was not alone. He was in a room with the Joker and-

"Gob?"

"You have a choice." The Joker grabbed Wilson by the throat and pushed him back up against the wall, interrupting any possible conversation between Wilson and Gob. Though that would be difficult considering the poor fool's mouth had been duct-taped shut.

The back of Wilson's head hit the wall with an audible thud. Wilson cringed in pain, but did not look away. He knew better by now.

"You can choose to kill your lovers' boyfriend-" The Joker ran a tongue along his lips, smacking them together loudly before continuing. "Or, ah, I can kill both of them for you." He reached into his coat pocket with his free hand and pulled out a knife. He held it up against Wilson's throat and dragged it along just hard enough to draw blood.

Wilson swallowed. "B-Both of them? House is here?"

The Joker smirked and snapped his fingers, causing a light at the far end of the room to turn on. Wilson stared, in horror, as he saw a large glass window, with House standing on the other side. He was being held up against the window by two very large men, who had stockings over there face.

House looked at Gob, and then up at Wilson. He looked fearful, and was shouting something, but Wilson couldn't hear him.

The Joker reached into his jacket and pulled out a gun. "Kill him." He pressed the gun against Wilson's chest. "Go on, do it." He pushed Wilson away from him, towards Gob, and Wilson stumbled backwards, just barely regaining his balance before falling.

He walked shakily towards Gob, stopping about half a foot away. He cocked the gun and pressed the barrel against his forehead. Wilson could see Gob start to cry, and his muffled screams through the duct tape were almost too much to take. He glanced up at House, who looked more distraught than he had when he couldn't get his Vicodin refills. Wilson removed the gun and turned around. "I can't."

The Joker 's playful demeanor dissipated almost instantly. "Yes. You. Can." He started to walk over towards Wilson. Wilson shook his head, "No. I can't. I can't...I-"

The Joker grabbed the gun out of Wilson's hand and threw it behind him. "YES YOU CAN!"

Wilson broke down. He began to cry loudly, snot and tears dripped down his face, and fell in audible plops on the floor. He struggled to catch his breath, and had an even harder time once the Joker had wrapped his gloved hand around his throat. He squeezed just hard enough for Wilson's head to start hurting.

"Shut. Up." He narrowed his eyes and pointed Wilson's face up towards him. "You're going to kill him. There's no way out now. And-" The Joker reached into his jacket and pulled out his switch blade. "-and since you've wasted so much of my time, now you can waste theirs." He put the blade between his teeth and let go of Wilson's throat. Instead, he grabbed Wilson's wrist, twisting it hard. Wilson cried out, and bent his knees, trying to twist his body in a manor that would prevent his wrist from breaking.

"Kill. Him. Slowly. Or I will make sure your, ah, precious Dr House has a very painful death." Joker placed the knife in Wilson's hand and backed up, laughing. He took a slight bow, extending his arm towards Gob, who was now huddled back against the corner in fear.

Wilson glanced up at the glass window separating the room he was in from the room House was in. House stood close enough to watch what was going on, but Wilson wasn't sure if he could hear them or not. He looked down at the knife he was holding, and then back up towards House.

House just watched him intently, but completely motionless. Wilson wished for House to give him some sort of sign of what to do, but of course that was pointless, wishful thinking.

He took a shaky step forward, towards Gob.

Gob's eyes widened, and muffled cries started coming from behind the duct tape that the Joker had applied to Gob's mouth a bit too generously. Wilson looked away but kept inching forward slowly, the grip on the knife tightening. When he was only a few inches away from Gob, he looked back up at House.

House looked away.

Wilson turned and faced the Joker. "I...I just can't do it."

The Joker shook his head, that stupid grin disappearing once more. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his cellphone, flipped it open, and dialed a number.

"Kill Dr. House."

Wilson turned towards House, watching wide eyed as the two garishly large men turned on House. One of them took House's cane and snapped it over his knee while the other took House down into a headlock.

"House!"

Wilson ran up to the glass and started pounding on it. This seemed to only egg the two men on, and as one held House down the other began to hit him.

"Wait!"

Wilson turned his attention back to the Joker. "I'll do it. I'll...I'll kill Gob. Please...just don't hurt House anymore." His eyes were fighting back tears, and he slowly turned his attention back to House, breathing a silent sigh of relief when the two men released him. They didn't leave the room however, but stood against the back wall. Watching, intently, with crossed arms. Waiting for the opportunity to kill, Wilson was certain.

"You have ten seconds." The Joker took a step towards Wilson. "Or next time I won't be so nice. One."

Another step.

"Two."

Another step.

"Seven."

Wilson should have known better than to think the Joker would play fair. Or know how to count for that matter.

Joker was right in front of Wilson now, and he reached out, brushing Wilson's hair off of his forehead and slowly running his hand down the curve of his face. "I suggest you get to it....NINE."

Wilson turned and walked over to Gob, standing over him, knife at the ready. His knees were weak with fear, and it was taking everything in him to keep from passing out. He looked up at House, whose eyes were locked on his.

"I'm sorry," Wilson mouthed the words, unsure which of the two men he was apologizing to. Then, without a moment's hesitation so he wouldn't change his mind, Wilson reached down, grabbed a handful of hair at the very top of Gob's head, and pulled it back so his throat was fully exposed.

The Joker began to loudly hum the Final Countdown.

Oh, the irony.

Gob's muffled screams were getting louder now, and Wilson just wanted to scream at him to shut up, to make this easier on him. But that was ridiculous, this whole situation was ridiculous. And this was the only way to put an end to it. With one smooth, precise movement, Wilson ran the blade deep across Gob's throat from one ear to the other. He knew where to cut, to make it as fast as he possibly could, and it was all he had to be grateful for at that moment.

He could hear the Joker's maniacal laughter behind him, and could hear him bouncing around, clapping. "Well played. I knew you could do it!"

Wilson closed his eyes and released his grip on Gob, swallowing back his urge to vomit as he heard the man fall to the ground with a sickening thud. He slowly lifted his eyes to look at House, but he was gone. Matter of fact, the entire room was empty, except for the pieces of House's cane.

"Where is he?" Wilson spun around, fists balled. "Where's House? You said you'd let him go if I did that!"

The Joker shrugged, his grin spreading widely across his face. "I, uh, lied." He stepped forward, cupping Wilson's face in his hands. "You should know me better by now." He leaned in, so close that Wilson wondered if he would kiss him. Instead, he tightened his grip on Wilson's face, and forced him to look at what he'd just done.

Wilson could feel the color drain from his face. Gob lay lifeless in a pool of his own blood. And Wilson...he had put him there.

Joker brought Wilson's attention back to him, and he smiled wide. "Feels good doesn't it?"

Wilson felt his knees go weak, and then the world went black.

Chapter Text

"Hey! Wake up! What's the matter with you? Ya kill your best friend's lover or somethin'?"

"Shake! Come on now. As if he hasn't had a hard enough time as it is, without you rubbing it in his face."

"Well he should have thought of that before he did it."

Wilson moaned and brought his hands up over his ears. His head was pounding and this shouting wasn't helping. He slowly opened a throbbing eye to see what was going on. What he saw was a giant talking milkshake, a floating box of fries, and a glob of meat standing around him. He sat up faster then his protesting head would have liked, but he fought back the urge to pass out, and he kicked his heels frantically against the cool cement floor, pushing himself as far away from whatever those were, as fast as possible.

The meatball slid his way over to Wilson, and extended some sort of arm (Wilson wasn't sure) and patted Wilson on the shoulder. "Awe, it's alright boy. Let it out. That's what I did when my friend, Ol' Drippy, got ran over by a truck saving Shake. Or the time Shake kidnapped Dewey and-"

"I did not kidnap him. I saved him from a life of suffering. How can you provide for him when you can't even cross the street?" Master Shake started to laugh.

"Shake!"

"No, no, Frylock. He's right." Wilson watched as the meatball dropped a gun in front of him on the floor. "This'll help."

"Meatwad!" Frylock flew over to Meatwad and pushed the gun away with one of his fries. "There are other options. He might not even want to kill himself."

"Woa-ho!" Shake laughed and shuffled over to the gun and picked it up. He waved it in front of Wilson. "Do you want to kill your-self?" He bent over and looked Wilson in the eyes. "Do you even have anything to live for anymore? I'm sure you want to die, don't you?"

Wilson just looked up at him, drawing his knees up to his chest, and wrapping his arms around them. He shook his head furiously. "N-no."

Shake straightened himself back up. "Oh, I think you do."

"Shake!" Frylock floated over to Shake and positioned himself in front of Wilson. The crystal in the back of his body shone brightly, and hurt Wilson's head even more.

"Fine. Whatever. Let him suffer. I, myself, could never be so cruel." Shake tossed the gun behind him, where it hit the ground and promptly exploded.

"That's ok," Meatwad slid over to Wilson and held out a paper cup tied to a stick. "I have another one."

Shake erupted with laughter. "Oooh, ha ha. Priceless, yet again!"

Frylock looked annoyed. "Okay, you know what. I've had enough."

Wilson watched in absolute horror and two lasers shot out of Frylock's eyes and caused the makeshift gun to explode with a loud bang. Shards of Meatwad's stick-gun fell ontop of Wilson, they felt good, almost...cold...

Chapter Text

Wilson woke suddenly, only to find himself naked at the bottom of a shower The water that fell upon him was ice cold, and his bottom lip was quivering. He had no idea where he was, or how he had gotten there. He was, however, happy to see that there were no giant talking food items in his general vicinity. Just the Joker, but he had grown accustomed to that.

He struggled to stand up, sure that the red water pooling around the bottom of the shower was blood. And just like that it was all coming back to him. The way Gob had looked at him as he sliced his throat, the look House gave him right before he killed his lover.

A pleased grin spread across the Joker's face when he realized he had finally broken him. Wilson fell to the floor and heaved, but nothing came up. Nothing but regret and what if's and a million other things that could never be changed.

"A ha ha ha." Forced laughter. Never a good sign. "I was just like you the first time I killed someone too. Don't worry. You. Get. Used. To. It." He kneeled down next to the shower and grabbed Wilson's hair. He lifted his head just enough so they could look at each other.

"There won't be a next time." Wilson spat in the Joker's face.

"So ungrateful." The Joker pushed Wilson back down into the shower. "You wanted Gob gone, he's GONE." He started to pace the bathroom floor, talking wildly to himself, and twitching like the madman he was.

"I didn't want to kill him! I didn't want him to die!"

The Joker laughed uproariously. "Then why did you want ME to help you?"

"I didn't. I just didn't have any other choice."

"Ahhh, now that's where you're wrong." The Joker moved fluidly over beside the shower and grabbed Wilson's hair, hoisting him to his feet. "You always have a choice. You still do."

Wilson shook his head, tears beginning to spill. "No. No...I don't."

The Joker tilted his head, amused. "No?"

Wilson leaned in and grabbed the Joker's face in his hands, and mashed his mouth up against his scarred lips. Wilson could feel the Joker struggle to get away. Probably because he wasn't in control of this, and Wilson got the feeling he always needed to be in control.

Wilson slowly reached down and grabbed the Joker's hands firmly, tearing them away from his own body, and pushed him back against the shower wall. He closed his eyes tightly, and fought back the inevitable tears, and for a brief moment, as he opened his mouth, he swore he felt the Joker give in to his temptation, though just as soon as it had began, the Joker stopped it.

Realizing defeat,Wilson loosened his grip and the Joker pushed Wilson off of him into the shower wall.

"Try that again and you're dead."

Wilson could only hope that would be true.

Chapter Text

When House stepped into the restaurant, he instantly stood out among all of the three piece suits and ball gowns. If it had been for any other reason besides Wilson, House would have instantly regretted his decision to come here and went home.

The restaurant had never been on his speed dial, but had been on Wilson's. It was the oldest French restaurant in all of New Jersey with quite a bit of fame attached to it. A fact that House had learned only from Wilson, who had to frequent it quite often, as all of his wives had had expensive taste. ( A fact that Wilson would finally realize upon each and every divorce, each and every time.) It had only gotten more upscale as the neighborhoods around it deteriorated, and as House's cane clicked loudly off of the marble floors, he could not even begin to imagine how it had managed to stay in business in a shitty place like Jersey.

"Excuse me Sir, can I be of assistance?"

House turned around as a short young man grabbed him by the elbow. House looked down, grabbed the boys hand rather firmly and pried it off of his arm. "Touch me again and the only thing I'll be eating tonight are your balls on my plate."

The boy back up, wide eyed and fearful. "Y-yes, Sir." He walked away rather quickly and House shook his head in annoyance. "Moron." He continued on into the dining room, scanning the room for Bruce.

It wasn't very hard to find him. All House had to do was look for the table surrounded by young, beautiful, and extravagant young women. They were all wearing so much makeup, that if their dresses hadn't appeared to be so obviously expensive, House easily could have assumed at least one of them had to come to his door in the middle of those long lonely nights.

He made his way as swiftly as he could manage with a cane through the maze of tables, and loudly set his cane on the floor when he arrived at Bruce's table. The women turned their attention from Bruce up towards the intruder, and looked at him, rather annoyed.

Bruce, however, leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, grinning wide. "Dr. House, what a nice surprise." He motioned for one of the girls next to him to get up. "Please, have a seat."

House grinned deviously at the woman who had to give up her seat, and she scowled at him as she grabbed her coat and stormed off.

"Can you do that with the rest of them?" House sat down and hooked his cane over the back of the woman's chair next to him, getting him another rather annoyed look in his direction. Bruce laughed. "Anything you can say in front of me, you can say in front of these fine ladies."

This resulted in numerous giggles and blushing cheeks and House grew irritable.

"I think you may want to reconsider giving me such liberties. Because I will take them." House reached into his jacket pocket and pulled something out, slapping it down loudly in front of Bruce.

Bruce picked up the picture and looked at it, his carefree demeanor becoming serious. It was a picture of Wilson, but it had been defaced. Scribbly black circles had been drawn around his eyes, and a large red grin had been placed over his mouth.

"Joker," Bruce mumbled softly. He grabbed the photo and slipped it into his breast pocket, and stood up. "Ladies, it's been fun." He pulled out his wallet and tossed a couple hundred dollar bills onto the table and then motioned towards front door with his hand. "Dr. House, if you would be so kind as to come with me."

House rolled his eyes at Bruce's faux professionalism,and stood up, grabbing his cane off the back of the redhead's chair. It hit the back of her head, and he casually ignored her as she started to fuss.

Once outside the restaurant, Bruce gave the valet his card and waited quietly with House until his limo pulled up in front of them. They both got inside

House tossed his cane into the limo and climbed in after Bruce. "A little eccentric for Jersey don't you think?"

Bruce waved House off. "Only the best for you, Greg." He smiled brightly and House grimaced.

"Stop calling me that. It's House, or else don't even talk to me."

Bruce snorted and turned his attention back to the picture of Wilson that House had given him. "Where did you get this, anyway?"

"It was on my desk."

"And you didn't see who put it there?"

"You say that as though you think I actually go to work."

"Right. Forgive me, I forgot who I was talking to."

House looked out the window. "I would assume that it was given to me by one of the two assholes that forced me to watch Wilson slice Gob's throat open."

Bruce widened his eyes, and placed a hand on House's knee. "I'm sorry, House. I didn't know."

House pushed Bruce's hand off. "It's not important. There's nothing you can do about that now. But I was hoping that you could do something to save Wilson. Put on your super-hero suit or something, I don't care."

Bruce turned the photo back over before slipping it back into his pocket. "Up for a drive?"

"That depends."

Bruce raised an eyebrow.

"Is that bar over there fully stocked?"

Bruce smiled and handed House a champagne glass. "Now I think it's you who forgot who you're talking to."

House raised his glass in appreciation, and silently took a drink for Gob.

Chapter Text

Wayne Manor was just as House had always remembered it. Too large, too expensive, and too flamboyant.

"Master Greg! It's been awhile. And to what do we owe this pleasure?"

House tossed his jacket over Alfred's head. "Christ, you're still alive?"

Alfred removed the coat from his head and forced a smile. "Always a pleasure to see you, Sir."

Bruce came up the stairs just a few seconds later and smiled, patting Alfred on the shoulder. "Alfred, could you get some drinks for my guest and I?"

"Cyanide, Sir?"

Bruce raised an eyebrow. "Behave. Scotch if we have any left. I assume you haven't let House wander about on his own just yet."

"Wouldn't dream of it, Sir."

"Very good, Alfred."

Bruce turned his attention back to House who was gaping wide eyed at the flat screen television that took up the entire wall of Bruce's living room.

"Big enough?"

Bruce laughed. "Alfred's lost a bit of his vision."

House scoffed. "He spotted me out right off the bat."

Bruce walked up behind House and put a hand on his shoulder. "Are you doing okay?"

House pressed his lips together and looked away. "I'm fine."

Bruce gave House's shoulder a squeeze. "I'll find him. You know that."

House shrugged Bruce off of him. "Well, then maybe you should go do that. I'll turn the other way if you want to change into your Bat suit or something."

Bruce let out a laugh and wrapped his arms around House from behind, resting his chin in the crook of House's neck. "Oh come on. You know you like it when I wear that thing."

House snorted. "I'm too old for that shit now."

Bruce slowly started running one of his hands down House's stomach, over his belt, sopping to give his hardening cock a soft squeeze. "I think you're lying to me."

"Ahem." Alfred cleared his throat. "Your drinks, Sir."

Bruce let go of House and walked over to Alfred, taking the tray. "That'll be all."

Alfred raised an eyebrow, and shook his head disapprovingly. "Very well, Sir."

"Now," Bruce set the tray down on the coffee table and repositioned himself behind House. "Where were we?"

House turned his head and smirked. "I think you were just about to take advantage of me in my time of need."

Bruce smiled and kissed the side of House's neck, sucking gently on the flesh. "Don't I always?"

House dropped his cane on the floor and turned around. "I don't want to...minimize our chances of saving Wilson."

Bruce ran his tongue up House's throat. "Joker won't do anything until he makes a production of it first. My Bat senses aren't tingling just yet, don't worry."

House leaned in and pressed his lips against Bruce's. "Oh I think they are." He reached down and unzipped Bruce's pants, pulling his cock out in one fluid movement.

"You're fast for an old man."

"And you're well hung for a rodent. Now shut up and fuck me."

Bruce growled approvingly and pushed House up against the back of the couch. "I'll give you something for your leg later. You'll just have to suck it up for me now."

"If it's Morphine," House gasped as Bruce pushed into him. "Count me in."

Bruce reached out and grabbed the back of the couch, hands on either side of House's shoulders, thrusting himself deeper into House with each movement.

The pain in House's leg was so fierce it was almost numbing, and he was biting so hard on his bottom lip that he tasted his own blood. The price you pay for a good fuck, he thought.

"Yeah," Bruce threw his head back and moaned. "You like that, don't you?"

House rolled his eyes," Shut up. Shut up....GOD shut UP!"

Bruce grinned and removed his hand from the couch and instead wrapped his right hand around House's cock, pulling on it in perfect rhythm with his movements.

House groaned in euphoria and turned his head to the side. "Keep that up and I'm going to ruin this billion dollar sofa."

"I'll just buy another one." Bruce worked House's cock harder and faster, and it took only seconds before House was spilling himself all over the back of the couch.

Bruce felt House's warmth drip down his hand and he too, went over the edge, collapsing on top of House in a warm, sweaty heap.

House let out the breath he was holding. "I'm flattered you want to cuddle, but the leg."

Bruce sighed and pulled himself out of House, and helped him to his feet.

"That was amazing." He leaned in and kissed House on the mouth.

"Some things never change, I guess." House looked down at his pants which were pooled around his ankles. "Except for my leg. Can I get those drugs now?"

Bruce shook his head, smiled, and placed a hand on House's shoulder. "Sure."

Chapter Text

House stirred as he heard his phone start vibrating against the cold marble end table's in Bruce Wayne's living room. Without opening his eyes he felt around for it, eventually managing to wrap his hands around the phone and bringing it up to his face. He opened his eyes a bit.

House stared at the screen on his cell phone, the bright red back lighting giving the small area around him a pink glow. He just stared as Call from Wilson flashed across the screen, until eventually it stopped. For some reason he was almost afraid to answer it.

It started to vibrate again and this time he flipped it open and moved over towards the side of the bed away from Bruce. "...Wilson?"

"House..."

Wilson sounded scared and pained and any ounce of anger House had harbored for what Wilson had done to Gob went away. "Wilson, where are you?"

Wilson started to cry. "House...I can't tell you where I am. But I know where the Joker will be tonight. I know...I know you know the Batman. He tells me all the time you do. Please just tell him to go get him. I'm scared House. I just want to come home."

Wilson started bawling and House pushed the blankets off of him. "Fuck that. Tell me where you are, and I'll come get you. If he's not even with you then what's the difference?"

Wilson sniffed and tried to speak through his sobs. "I'm sorry, House. I'm so sorry. Goodbye."

House sat there listening to the dial tone for what felt like forever. He punched Bruce in the shoulder.

"Get up! I know where the Joker is."

Chapter Text

Bruce poured himself a cup of coffee as House started telling him what Wilson had said.

"I don't know, House. Things are never that clear cut with the Joker. It's not like him to confide in anyone with what he's planning. Especially not a hostage."

House slammed his fist down on the table. "How can you just sit there and do nothing?!"

Bruce sighed and shoved a cup of coffee over towards House. House looked at it and pushed it off the edge of the table, sending it crashing down to the floor. "I'll go myself then!"

Bruce scowled and slammed his own fist down on the table. "You listen to me! I've been dealing with this psychopath for years. I know how he thinks, and this doesn't sound right!"

House was not convinced.

Bruce stood up and removed his tee shirt. "I'll have Batman go find his real whereabouts."

House stood up, but Bruce pointed at him. "You stay right here! If Wilson calls again I need to you tell Alfred so he can contact me!"

"Im not going to sit here, while that asshole tortures my best friend!"

Bruce almost looked hurt for a brief moment, but continued to yell. "You're going to get yourself killed! Your best friend will want you alive, let me handle the Joker!" House stood firm for a few minutes, watching Bruce as he moved about getting himself ready. Eventually, he realized that Bruce was more capable than an old, drug addicted cripple, so he sat back down. "Fine. Want me to write down the address?"

Batman snorted. "He won't be there." And with that, he was gone.

House waited a few minutes waiting for Wilson to call back. When he heard nothing, he decided to go to the address himself.

Chapter Text

The Joker stood back and admired his masterpiece. "It won't be long now." He smeared some more paint across Wilson's mouth and skipped around, gleefully. "I wish you could see how good you look. Oh, wait!" He walked back over until he was right in front of Wilson. "See? You look amazing. Splitting, ah, image." He leaned down and pressed his lips harshly against Wilson's. If Wilson could move he would have head butted the bastard.

"And don't be scared. I won't be too far away." He grinned, and at the sound of the door handle turning he skipped off, far too happy.

Wilson sat helpless, with his back to the door. This was the end for him. He knew it, because he knew House. House would not be thinking rationally. He would want revenge most likely, and nothing else. The man always played games when it was most inappropriate, and most dangerous.

The door swung open and Wilson heard House cock the gun he was holding. It was only a matter of time now.

"I should kill you right now." House's voice echoed off of the walls.

"You don't have the guts."

Wilson began to panic. That was the Joker's voice. He sounded like he was right there, next to him. Close. Too close.

"I should leave you here for Batman to deal with. He'd probably do a better job."

"But we both know that he won't kill me. And don't I deserve to die after what I made Wilson do to Gob? And...for what I did to Wilson."

House narrowed his eyes, and took a small step forward. "What did you do to Wilson?"

"Wellll, first I showed him the off colored things that you did with Gob. And then...then I fucked him. Although..." the Joker was grinning. Wilson could hear it in his voice. "He was crying and screaming in agony the entire time. So maybe it's fair to say that he didn't want me too. I can still taste his tears."

More laughter.

"Don't worry though. I'm sure he was thinking of you the entire time. Not that he had much of a choice. You were right there on the television. Right in front of us the entire time."

The Joker ran his tongue over his scarred lips and grinned deviously. "If you miss him that badly, you can always come suck my dick now. I'm convinced I still taste like him. This had become a, uh, daily affair."

The Joker's laughter filled the room.

House limped forward, bringing the gun down hard against the side of Wilson's head. Wilson fell forward, as far as he could go. If he hadn't been strapped to the chair, he would have been on the floor.

The Joker went on, laughing all the while. "You can't hurt me. You're too weak. Just like everyone else. Too afraid to do what you really want."

House looked down at the gun in his hands and pressed the barrel of it against Wilson's temple.

"Pathetic," the Joker purred. "I should have killed you all those years ago."

House removed the gun from Wilson's temple and instead aimed it down towards Wilson's side. He pulled the trigger, sending the bullet straight into Wilson's side. Thick blood started pouring out of the wound, dripping down the purple shirt and onto the floor.

"Well I'm glad you didn't. Otherwise I wouldn't have had the honor of watching you bleed to death. And trust me, its going to be a painful process." House took his good leg and kicked the chair over. Wilson fell to the floor, his head making a loud noise against the concrete. House limped over to where Wilson lied, pressing his sneaker against Wilson's cheek, ready to take a look at his face. "And I'm going to watch the life drain from your face."

He turned Wilson's head and fell to his knees.

"Wilson?"

He looked down at the pool of blood forming around Wilson and the blood on his own hands. He was covered in it. Wilson's blood. "No...no. Wilson!" He started slapping Wilson's face, trying to get him to wake up. He slipped off his suit jacket and pressed it against the bullet hole in Wilson's side.

"Wilson! Wilson!"

Wilson groaned and his eyes tried to flutter open.

"Oh god. Wilson," Tears fell from his eyes, and off of his cheeks, falling onto Wilson's face. "I'm sorry. Im so, so sorry."

Wilson tried to speak. "House-"

"Don't talk, I'll get you out of here." House went to help Wilson up, but Wilson reached up and touched his cold hand to House's cheek.

"No, House. It's ok. It's ok. Just...stay-" He smiled as much as he could up at House and House brought him up against his chest, holding him tight. "Wilson, I'm so sorry..."

He kept repeating it over and over until Wilson's body went slack in his arms. He pressed his finger against the side of Wilson's neck, feeling for a pulse.

Nothing.

He slowly lowered Wilson to the floor and closed his eyelids. So this was it.

It was over.

He picked the gun up from the floor and pressed it against his head. In two seconds he was lying in a heap beside Wilson, with the Joker looking over them, grinning furiously.

Chapter Text

Wilson was awoken by the harsh tugging of the IV in the top of his hand. He slowly opened his eyes, and tried to focus, but the nauseating feeling of someone toying with the line in his hand, made him shut them again, in an attempt to fight the nausea which was quickly building up in him. Finally, with one last, forceful tug, the IV pulled out of his flesh and he heard an all too familiar laugh.

"Get up, get up, get up. We don't have much time."

Wilson took in a painful breath as a duffel-bag was tossed onto his torso. That laugh once again, and then the feeling of pure agonizing pain as a catheter was pulled out of his urethra. The Joker leaned over Wilson, his grin wider than Wilson had ever remembered seeing it.

"It's, ah, time. to. go." He glanced up at the clock.

"House..."

The Joker grinned. "Dead." He leaned down and placed his mouth against Wilson's ear. "And guess what? You killed him." The Joker laughed and pressed a knife firmly against Wilson's throat. "You have three minutes."

Wilson felt his eyes tear up. "I...killed him?"

The Joker pressed the blade harder against Wilson's throat. "Two minutes. Tic Tic Tic. There's nothing here for you anymore, come on, come on, come on."

Wilson turned his head towards the empty bed next to him, feeling the blade cut through his flesh as he did so. "House..." The Joker leaned down, pressing his cheek up against Wilson's, so he was looking at the empty bed as well. "It's all very sad. But if you don't hurry, you'll be just. as. dead. There's going to be a, uh, explosive conclusion to all this madness."

Wilson reached up, grasping a hand over the Joker's, holding the knife firmly down. "I already am." With one quick motion, he quickly turned his head the opposite direction, dragging the knife along his throat as he did so.

"Ahhhh," the Joker licked his lips and grabbed Wilson's wallet off the top of his bedside table. "So you are." He slipped the wallet into his jacket pocket and grabbed his knife off of Wilson's chest, wiping the blade on his pants, and slipping that away as well. He turned and skipped out of Wilson's room and down the hall, humming to himself until he ran into something.

"Where are you going, Joker?"

Joker looked up, grinning when he realized who he had just run into.

"Not without a helmet."

Batman brought House's motorcycle helmet down upon the Joker's head, watching with no remorse as he fell to the ground with a sickening thud. The Joker laughed wildly. "Come to save the day?" He turned onto his side, placing his hands on the floor, trying to get up. "I'm afraid you're, ah, a little too late."

Batman glanced towards the room that House and Wilson had been in, then kicked the Joker in the side, sending him flying back down to the tile floors.

The Joker reached down, wrapping his arms tightly around his torso, but still laughing all the same. "Going to kill me too?"

"You've just killed yourself." And with that, he was gone.

The Joker laid there on the ground, gasping for breath and looked at the clock on the wall.

So he had.