Ficlet: "The Crossroads"
Aug. 3rd, 2008 03:25 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
beeinmybonnet
Title: The Crossroads
Author: Anna
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Angst
Pairing House/Wilson
Wordcount: 474
Disclaimer: I don't own House MD or any of the characters; I'm just playing around a bit.
Summary: House sells his soul to the devil.
Author's Note: I have no idea where this came from. It's rather strange and not fluffy, at all. But, anyways, please enjoy!
~*~*~*~*~*~
He is standing by the crossroads, waiting as the sun is setting. It's almost crimson, and casts long shadows on the ground. In the distance he sees a figure walk along the west road, and he doesn't look like he's in a hurry.
When the devil finally stands eye to eye with House, he grins. He isn't red-skinned with horns and tail; he's tall, pale and has short-cropped copper hair. He looks just like any other man you'd meet in town.
"So what brings you here, mortal?" the devil asks, his voice light and smooth. He digs out a pack of cigarettes as he waits for House's reply.
"I want to sell my soul," House says and the devil takes out a cigarette and lights it. He takes his fair time.
"What do you want in exchange?" he asks after a while, taking long drags of his cigarette.
"I want my leg to function properly again," House says and his grip on his cane tightens. The devil nods slowly and continues smoking, staring off into the distance. It's utterly windless and the air is chilly. The disappearing sun offers no warmth at all.
After several minutes, the devil says, "Are you sure?"
House nods curtly. The devil turns his head and looks at him in a scrutinizing way, and then offers his hand.
House shakes it, and the world goes black.
When House wakes up, he is in his bed and his thigh isn't hurting. He lifts the duvet to look at it. The scar is gone; only healthy thigh muscles are there.
House goes to work, and there's a bounce in his steps that he hasn't had for years. Everyone asks him what has happened, where the damaged thigh is, but House just grins and says nothing.
But things have changed.
When he drives his motorbike on the open roads, breaking the speed limit by far, he doesn't feel the usual exhilaration and sense of freedom.
When he plays the piano, or the guitar, or any other instrument, he doesn't feel the music flood through his veins.
When he's occupied with a case, he is just as obsessed as always, but feels no thrill or excitement when he solves it.
When he argues with Cuddy, berating her for preventing him to save his patient, he feels strangely indifferent.
When Wilson says the words House has longed to hear for seemingly forever -- "It's you. It's always been you. I don't need anyone else." -- and kisses him, House kisses back but feels nothing.
Later, when they're in his bed, the air hot and filled with the sounds of gasps and moans, House still feels nothing. He can feel the pleasure of the flesh, the satisfaction of his orgasm, but he's numb. When Wilson rolls off him and lies down beside him, burying his face in House's neck and placing lazy kisses there, House feels no warmth in his chest, no all-consuming emotion.
He's empty.
Author: Anna
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Angst
Pairing House/Wilson
Wordcount: 474
Disclaimer: I don't own House MD or any of the characters; I'm just playing around a bit.
Summary: House sells his soul to the devil.
Author's Note: I have no idea where this came from. It's rather strange and not fluffy, at all. But, anyways, please enjoy!
He is standing by the crossroads, waiting as the sun is setting. It's almost crimson, and casts long shadows on the ground. In the distance he sees a figure walk along the west road, and he doesn't look like he's in a hurry.
When the devil finally stands eye to eye with House, he grins. He isn't red-skinned with horns and tail; he's tall, pale and has short-cropped copper hair. He looks just like any other man you'd meet in town.
"So what brings you here, mortal?" the devil asks, his voice light and smooth. He digs out a pack of cigarettes as he waits for House's reply.
"I want to sell my soul," House says and the devil takes out a cigarette and lights it. He takes his fair time.
"What do you want in exchange?" he asks after a while, taking long drags of his cigarette.
"I want my leg to function properly again," House says and his grip on his cane tightens. The devil nods slowly and continues smoking, staring off into the distance. It's utterly windless and the air is chilly. The disappearing sun offers no warmth at all.
After several minutes, the devil says, "Are you sure?"
House nods curtly. The devil turns his head and looks at him in a scrutinizing way, and then offers his hand.
House shakes it, and the world goes black.
When House wakes up, he is in his bed and his thigh isn't hurting. He lifts the duvet to look at it. The scar is gone; only healthy thigh muscles are there.
House goes to work, and there's a bounce in his steps that he hasn't had for years. Everyone asks him what has happened, where the damaged thigh is, but House just grins and says nothing.
But things have changed.
When he drives his motorbike on the open roads, breaking the speed limit by far, he doesn't feel the usual exhilaration and sense of freedom.
When he plays the piano, or the guitar, or any other instrument, he doesn't feel the music flood through his veins.
When he's occupied with a case, he is just as obsessed as always, but feels no thrill or excitement when he solves it.
When he argues with Cuddy, berating her for preventing him to save his patient, he feels strangely indifferent.
When Wilson says the words House has longed to hear for seemingly forever -- "It's you. It's always been you. I don't need anyone else." -- and kisses him, House kisses back but feels nothing.
Later, when they're in his bed, the air hot and filled with the sounds of gasps and moans, House still feels nothing. He can feel the pleasure of the flesh, the satisfaction of his orgasm, but he's numb. When Wilson rolls off him and lies down beside him, burying his face in House's neck and placing lazy kisses there, House feels no warmth in his chest, no all-consuming emotion.
He's empty.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2008-08-03 02:59 pm (UTC)Great Job!
(no subject)
Date: 2008-08-03 03:01 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-08-03 03:42 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-08-03 04:00 pm (UTC)Thank you for reading.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-08-03 05:59 pm (UTC)This brilliant, I've never read this outline before and I love it.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-08-03 06:05 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-08-04 12:24 am (UTC)However I enjoyed, thank you
(no subject)
Date: 2008-08-06 12:57 pm (UTC)I'm glad you enjoyed reading it. *g*
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Date: 2008-08-06 02:59 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-08-06 03:03 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-08-04 12:33 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-08-06 12:58 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-08-11 05:04 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-08-11 05:35 pm (UTC)