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[athinfacade.livejournal.com]

Title: Haunting House
Author: athinfacade
Rating: PG to PG13 for now
Summary: House gets haunted. Takes place currently.
Characters: House/Wilson friendship, possible to likely slash later.
Disclaimer: I do not own House, Wilson, or any other characters on the show House. I don't own the show, either. I don't even have a video camera.
First chapter here: http://community.livejournal.com/house_wilson/3013468.html?#cutid1
Second: http://community.livejournal.com/house_wilson/3013892.html?#cutid1

Third:

House woke up peacefully, and for that he was immediately grateful, even before he fully realized that he was awake. He let his eyes roll around behind closed lids for a minute and then slowly opened them, expecting his vision to be flooded with the light of morning, but all it was flooded with was the red-eyed glow of his alarm clock. Four-oh-nine a.m.

“Great,” he groaned, sighing. Still, it was nice not to wake up covered in cold sweat.

“House.”

“Crap.” He looked around, but he didn't see anything. He looked toward the bedroom door and there was Amber, a shadow against the light he'd left on in the hallway. “Shouldn't you be more...glowy?”

She came in to the room and sat on the edge of the bed. “Nah. You've seen too many movies.”

“Yes, and in addition to having a calming glow, the movie ghosts are also far less annoying. You could stand to take some notes.”

“Obviously you're not a horror buff. Things could be far worse.”

“What do you want tonight, fair specter?” House asked, sighing. He took the opportunity to fluff up his pillow, hoping he'd be getting back to sleep within the next five minutes.

“I just wanted to tell you that I'm glad you've decided to listen to me.”

“As if I had another choice.”

Amber considered this and nodded. “True. But the prospect of torment has never deterred you from anything before. Seems like sometimes it has the opposite effect. I wasn't expecting such fast cooperation.”

House shrugged, tugging at the blanket.

“It's James, right?”

“Wilson? The reason why I'm obeying you? No. I'm doing it so that I can get some sleep. Though clearly I should find new motivation.”

“House, I know you're doing it for him.”

“Ooo, you've seen the altruism in my soul. Can I go back to bed now?”

“Sure. I just wanted to let you know that I'm glad you're doing this. And to remind you that I'm watching. And that I'm doing this for James, too.”

“Before you go...” House began as Amber stood up. “...can you tell me what my mother has to do with all this?”

Amber didn't say anything. House grimaced. “Please?”

“Not yet, I told you. You'll find out, believe me.” She stepped away from the bed. House reached for her wrist, and felt nothing but a warm pocket of air, like a gulf stream in an ocean. Amber walked back toward his bedroom door. “'Night, House.” She disappeared in to the hallway.

“Why me?” House groaned. He'd resigned himself to the extreme likelihood that this ghost of Amber existed and was indeed haunting him, but he still held on to the hope that he was experiencing some kind of temporary anomaly or Vicodin side effect which would go away. On it's own and soon. He was supposing that hadn't quite happened yet. Maybe tomorrow night. He rolled over and fell quickly back to sleep.

***

“You ignored clinic yesterday, House,” came Cuddy's voice from behind him in the hallway. “You owe me hours. You can do two today.”

House pushed open his office door. “Can't. Things to do.” He let the door close behind him, but Cuddy caught it and followed him in. “Gotta do something about that door,” House muttered. He sat down. Cuddy stood mid-room, hand on her hip, looking at him.

“What do you have to do that's more important than clinic?”

“Well, let's see.” House swiveled his chair toward his computer screen. “Consulting my shed-yule. Ah, here we go...number one, cure mysterious illness...”

“You don't have a patient right now.”

“Number two: masturbate to Cuddy's breasts. Perfect timing.” House reached for his fly.

“House!”

“I understand. Later. Let's see, number three: plan my vacation. Oh, number four: tell Cuddy I'm taking a vacation. See, all these are things that preempt clinic duty.”

“I see. When did you think you were going to take vacation?”

“Ooh...I don't know...Wilson was available the day after tomorrow.”

“Wilson's taking vacation, too?”

“Of course. We do everything together, you didn't notice? Vacations, lunch, potty...”

Cuddy sat down across from House and brought out her notepad. “Whatever. Listen, take a vacation. God knows you have enough time. How long?”

“Nice to know I'm indispensable. A week.”

“Fine. One week starting the day after tomorrow. You are indispensable, that's why you're going to be tied to your cell phone the entire time, do you understand? And I want six clinic hours from you before you go. Three today and three tomorrow. Got me?”

House hesitated, but nodded grudgingly. “Fine.”

“Does this sporadic vacation have to do with your mother?”

“Nah. I'm taking Wilson on a honeymoon getaway to Bora Bora.”

Cuddy stood up. “Use protection.”

House almost grinned. “Touche.”

***

“Did you get it?” Wilson asked later. House had paged him...”In the hole. Three hours. Visit.” Wilson took a break and came down to the clinic, where he attempted to distract House from his misery for a few minutes.

“Yup,” House nodded. “One week. At the expense of my dignity, of course.”

Wilson shrugged. “You won't miss that.”

House slammed a file shut. He turned to Wilson. “Well, whatever is left I will probably find in the sore-laden vagina of the sixty year old patient I am supposed to see now. Care to join?”

Wilson held up his hands. “No-o-o...I'll take a pass on that, thank you. Find me later for lunch. If you have the stomach for it.”

“Sure. Great.”

***

House tossed the cordless from hand to hand. He had been sitting on his couch, watching Soap TV and playing with the stupid phone for an hour. He didn't want to call his mother, but he figured that showing up with Wilson and surprising her might end up badly for all of them. He didn't know much about his mother's life, pre- or post- father. He didn't know of her hobbies or what she might be doing. Maybe she wouldn't even be there. He wondered, if perchance his mother was away, what the expiration date on this “deal” with Amber was. If he couldn't complete his “duties” for reasons beyond his control, well...oh who was he kidding? She literally could wait forever. He sighed and hit the speed dial. Everyone he had on speed dial, he never called. The only person he called was Wilson, and he always dialed that number.

“Hello?”

Shoot, he thought. So much for extenuating circumstances. “Hi, mom, it's Greg.”

“Greg! Well, this is a surprise. Are you alright?”

If he was the type to get choked up, he thought he might choke up at how happy she was to hear from him. As it was, he was irritated at the whole situation. He hated having his hand forced. “I'm fine. How are you?”

“I'm alright. Keeping busy. The usual.”

There was a silence on the phone. He didn't know what to talk to her about.

“Are you sure you're OK, Greg?”

“I was thinking of coming for a visit, mom. Is that alright?”

House heard his mom let out a surprised little gasp. “Of course it is! When did you want to come?”

“How about...I'll be there Thursday. Oh, with Wilson.”

“How is James?”

“He's fine, mom.”

“Well, I'd be happy to have you both. I can't remember the last time you actually visited. Well, except for the funeral, which isn't quite the same. Um. When was the last time before that? I can't remember...”

House was trying to follow the closed captioning and listen at the same time. He didn't really want to listen, so he was concentrating more on the television. “I don't know, mom. It's been a while. I'll see you Thursday, then. We'll see you Thursday.”

“OK. Drive careful, Greg. See you then. Love you.”

“You too mom. Bye.”

“Bye.”

House let out a large sigh of relief as he hung up the phone. One conversation over with, only several more hugely awkward ones to go. He had considered telling his mom the reason for his visit, but that was one surprise he chose to keep as such. She had no reason to want to discuss it, and had never brought it up on her own, so he felt it was reasonable to assume that she wouldn't welcome the topic. Fake, abusive daddy versus biological, “family friend” daddy. House was sure this would be a charming getaway.

***

“How come you're not driving?”

It was seven in the morning and their trip was underway. Barely underway, after a coffee stop, but nonetheless.

“Because this was your idea. And we're going to visit your mother.”

“I'm detecting a bias.”

“Indeed you are.”

“Not much of a vacation if I can't relax in the passenger seat, bringing abject misery in to your driving experience.”

Wilson sighed. “Knowing you, you'll find a way to dispense plenty of misery along the way, House. Foot on the gas or not. So, what are you going to say to your mother?”

“God. It's too early for this conversation.”

“It's Wilson, to you, and no, it's not too early. We'll be there in a few hours and I have the sneaking suspicion you haven't given this any thought.”

“It's called avoidance. You should try it some time.”

Wilson looked at him. “Believe me, I'm familiar.”

House glanced away from the road for a second. “No heart to hearts, please. I only have enough heart for one of those, and I have to save it for mom.”

“I wasn't going to say anything.”

“Good.” House sipped his coffee. “I don't know what I'm going to tell her. I'm thinking of leading off with sarcasm. Oh, and I brought the dna test results, to cut any disputes off at the pass.”

Wilson glanced over. “Are you angry at her?”

“No.”

“That was way too quick. You are angry! Maybe you should've held off on this trip until you...”

“Until I calm down? Believe me, I'm in a valley of calm. This is the best it can get.”

“House...”

“Please, in the name of this pain in the ass trip, Wilson, don't start.”

Wilson became incredulous. “Don't start what?”

House glanced over. “With anything resembling optimism. Please don't pretend to be so naïve that you couldn't possibly understand my anger. Which, you'll note, has been sufficiently suppressed and tamed and shall remain so. I won't traumatize you by screaming at my poor, put-upon mother.”

“This is going to be fun.” Wilson rolled his eyes, folding his arms across his chest.

“Are you becoming petulant? Don't make me turn this car around!” House wagged a sarcastic forefinger at Wilson.

“House...I wasn't going to sully your day with optimism. I was merely going to suggest that I'm sure your mother had a good reason for...”

“Upp...upp...shut it...there it is. No sentence containing the words 'I'm sure your mother had a good reason' could possibly be misconstrued as pessimism, even by the biggest moron. No, you were about to impart some words of optimism about my family. I don't want to hear it. I...love my mother, alright? Keep that in mind.”

“I don't know how you expect to get through this trip, House. Why did you even want to do this?”

House debated how he could answer that. The problem was, he couldn't. I don't want to do this. I'm doing it for a ghost I'm not certain really exists and, apparently, in some twisted way that your dead ex-girlfriend won't tell me about...I'm doing it for you. Damn you, Amber, he thought to himself. He sighed and glanced at Wilson again. “I don't know.”

***

By the time they hit the first rest stop, about an hour and a half later, they had resumed conversation on a safer topic...patients.

“...right...and the guy refused treatment...”

“Because he was an idiot.”

“No, House, on principle. Do you ever listen to anything I say?”

“Only if it validates my standing opinion.”

Wilson nodded knowingly and held the door open for House. “I've long suspected as much. Split some nachos?”

“If you pay.”

When they sat down to eat, House reached in to his pocket and broke out a lumpy, badly folded map. He unfurled it on the small table and began tracing a long blue line with his fingertip.

“You don't know where we are?”

“I know where we are. We're at...” House looked up. “Taco Bell.”

“Which Taco Bell?”

“The one where...Julio works.”

“House, where are we?”

“You go up there right now and ask for Julio and I guarantee you they'll find you one. Relax, Wilson, I know where we are.” House looked down at the map again. “I just don't know where we're going.”

“Did you not grow up in this house as a child?”

“I was very sheltered.”

“How long has it been since you visited you parents? Or...parent...”

“Is this counting the time you dragged me there against my will to 'pay my respects' at the funeral of my fake father, a man I despised?” House raised his eyebrows at Wilson.

Wilson shoved a nacho in to his mouth. “That doesn't count.”

“Ah. OK. Well, then, it's been...a really, really long time. Anyway, you can stop wringing your hands now, I've figured it out.”

“I don't wring...forget it. Why do I let you draw me in to these things?”

House pulled the nachos over to him, the map now safely out of the way in his pocket. “Because you enjoy it.”

“Seriously, House, I think you should give some thought to the way you want this visit to play out. Do you even know what you want to get out of it?”

House sighed. “You're not going to let this go, are you?”

“How can I let it go, House?” Wilson lowered his voice. “I don't want to see you...” He let the sentence die, shrugging.

“Get hurt? I can't get hurt, Wilson.”

“Whatever. Hurt, disappointed, regretful. All those things you're incapable of expressing.”

House rolled his eyes. “Can't express what you don't feel, Wilson.” House offered what he could of a smile. “Relax. All I want to do is...” House faltered. He tried to take a deep breath, but he felt like he couldn't. “All I want to do is...all I want...” Sweat beaded on his brow.

“House? Are you alright?” Wilson's eyes widened. He reached across the table and grabbed House's wrist, pressing down with two fingers. “Jesus. House? Can you hear me? Are you OK?” Wilson was off his chair and kneeling next to House's chair in seconds. House's one hand was still palm up on the table, the other was clutching his bad leg, but moved to cover his stomach. He was sweating, breathing hard, distress contorting his face. “Wilson...” he huffed.

“House...I think you're having a panic attack. Just try and take deep breaths. It's OK.”

Nearby diners, curious, stood up to watch. “It's fine,” Wilson told them. “He's fine. I'm a doctor.”

“You're...an...oncologist...” House puffed.

“Still a doctor.”

“Specialist.”

“Shut up.”

In a couple minutes, it had passed. Wilson dragged his chair around and took House's pulse again. House shooed him off. “Stop. I'm fine. I need my Vicodin. That was half of it. I'm in pain.”

“Your pain gets worse with stress.”

“All the more reason for Vicodin. Let's go.” House stood up. Reluctantly, Wilson followed, tossing the rest of the nachos in the trash.

“You can rest, you know. Your mother will wait.”

“I'm OK, Wilson. Just don't bring up the 'how I want the visit to go' conversation again. I'm pretty sure that whole incident was your fault.”

“Lovely. Yes, let's get you your pills.”

TBC