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Distress Call 3.1: Minor Details

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Distress Call 3.1: Minor Details

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Mare littlemoon
TITLE: Distress Call 3.1: Minor Details
SUMMARY: There may have been something House neglected to mention.
CHARACTERS: Wilson, House
RATING:
R for language and themes (gen fic).
WARNINGS: This is a very alternate universe. Adult themes and adult language.
SPOILERS: No.
DISCLAIMER: Don't own 'em. Never will.
NOTES: The stories from this ficverse are numbered by chapter and scene. Links to all chapters are here.



In his imagination, he picks up a large, heavy object -- perhaps the chair -- and smashes the living hell out of the console. Acrid smoke wafts up from the sparking innards of the computer; shards of glass and Novaplast rain down across the floor.

Those violent fantasies are attractive, but the part of him that knows better is always in control.

He's been trying to get the navigation system working, but the monitor is asking him to Enter diurnal cycle. Instead of a starchart he has a bunch of squares. Four colorful icon boxes show a sun, a half-sun above a simple horizon, a moon, and another half-sun.

This fucking thing is -- wait. Day; dusk; night; dawn. I can set the shiplights to approximate the turn of a planet. We can have days. The relief blindsides him; he had no idea just how deeply he needed this familiar rhythm. His fingers tremble as he keys in the hours. When the computer asks, he tells it that the current time is ... four in the afternoon. That, he decides, is what it feels like.

The lights don't change, but they're bright already. It'll be three more hours before he knows if what he's just done has actually worked.

It occurs to him that House slept through lunch and Wilson forgot to eat, so whatever the arbitrary hour might be, it's time for food. For House, it's also time for more antibiotics and pain meds.

Without meaning to, Wilson realizes, the two of them are establishing a rhythm of their own.





Happily, Wilson discovers that the freeze-food roast beef dinner is not nearly as bad as he'd feared. If nothing else, it's a welcome change from all that damn soup.

They finish their meal in what may or may not be companionable silence, with House scrolling through subether channels now and then.

Mondo Poetica -- a demented poetry game show -- is the strangest thing Wilson's ever seen. He's still trying to figure out the rules when House switches to Wild Wrestling Women. There's green slime involved -- not Wilson's idea of 'sexy.' House watches the writhing, slippery bodies; Wilson watches House's slipping monitor stats. House is surely aware of the problem, but he's not saying a word. Stubborn, self-destructive bastard.

"This isn't good," Wilson huffs, when he can't pretend to ignore it anymore.

"I'm fine," snaps House. He removes the sensor glove from his hand, making the ominous readouts go blank. "Leave me alone."

Wilson intends to do no such thing. It's been approximately thirty hours since that first ... incident. Call it what it was, insists a more honest part of him. You were fed upon, and you're about to let him do it again.

"Your body's not removing the toxins from --"

"I'm fine. That's if you don't count the drugs, the cath, the pain, the being lost in You're-Screwedville with an imbecile. Leave. Me. Alone." House turns his head toward the wall, his whole body visibly stiffening.

"It's a ... nutritional deficiency, isn't it?" Wilson asks, quietly. He sees House's eyes close in something that looks like defeat. "A simple matter of your organs not getting something they need."

"Let me die. You don't know what the hell you're doing."

"Funny; it seems ... weird, yes, but simple. If you really wanted to die, you'd never have bitten me the first time."

"Hadn't thought it through."

"Yeah, you did. Thinking it through took ... thirty seconds?"

"Fifteen. I'm smarter than you. I didn't think you'd really let me do it."

"I know it's silly, but let's pretend I'm a doctor, and that this information is medically relevant." His patient lifts a middle finger at him, which seems as good a sign as any. "How often do you normally require ...?"

"Daily. Once." House takes a breath, as if he's deciding whether to continue. "Our bodies don't store certain nutrients. Can't even absorb them, except ... that way. Also can't make a few key proteins on our own; it's a weakness, keeps our population down. So, not completely a bad thing." He's still looking at the wall rather than at Wilson, but at least he's talking. It's making him seem so exposed that Wilson fights an urge to cover him with blankets.

"Will your injuries increase the amount you need?"

"Probably. Yes. Have to make do with what I can get, though," he says, and his face twists in revulsion. "It's not ... it can wait."

"House --"

"Don't try to tell me it's all right," he snarls, turning at last to face Wilson again. "We're lost, and I'm useless. Everything fucking hurts. I can't even get up to take a crap, and even when I'm better I won't be better, because my leg is shot to hell. We're stranded on a ship that's the medical equivalent of a cow turd. If someone does find us, it'll hardly be a rescue, because if they learn what I am they will probably kill us both. Unless they're pirates, in which case they'll kill you and sell me as a slave, a fucking novelty. See? I did think it through. Save your comforting patter for someone who doesn't know any better."

"I wasn't going to say it's all right."

"Yes, you were."

"I ... fine. Yes, I was. It's all right, in the sense that I ... I don't seem to have a problem with your nature."

"Then you're a freak. Out of any hundred of your people, ninety-eight would kill me for it."

"No, eighty would kill you for that. Of the remaining twenty, nineteen would kill you because you're an asshole. Fortunately for you," says Wilson, swallowing hard as he pushes up his sleeve, "I'm the hundredth."

"You're desperate, scared, and you've got a thing for hopeless causes."

"That's ... all true, actually." He scoots his chair up against the bedside, stretching his bare arm over House's chest. As strange and frightening as this is, it's nothing compared to the terror of being left alone on an empty, broken ship. It's nothing compared to sitting by and watching this man die. "Does it matter?"

He can feel the tension in House's body as humiliation pulls against the instinct to survive. "C'mon," he coaxes. "This wasn't on my agenda either. 5:30 p.m.: feed self to vampire."

"Haemovore," growls House, and snatches Wilson's wrist. Instantly his fangs sink deep beneath the skin. A strike, Wilson thinks, like a viper. Hazily he remembers that House did this the first time, too. It hurts only for a moment, and then House releases the bite and covers the wound with his fingers, applying pressure.

Wilson stares, wondering why House does this -- and then the feeling of floating warmth hits him, and he knows. "You bastard," he says, in sudden, drunken shock. "Din't tell me you had ... venom." Wilson's brain has a halfhearted thought of getting away, but his legs aren't listening.

Why'd I want to run? Can't remember. He feels ... good. Sleepy. The hands on his wrist don't scare him. Warm. House needs this.

House's eyes close as he extends one fang to make a cut. Doesn't hurt, Wilson thinks. No hurt. It's okay. He drifts into a soft oblivion while the haemovore drinks.

  • First of all, I think I'm turning into a "Distress Call" Haemovore. I noticed if I don't get a daily fix, I get cranky. Also, now, after reading this, I feel sleepy. LOL

    So happy for the update. I seriously didn't think I'd survive this drought and even though you left a message on the site I still checked daily. I know...I'm pathetic.

    I am a little confused about the venom and the fact that House did it a little differently this time or maybe I need to go back and re-read it. Last time, I thought he made a slit, retracted the fangs, and then drank. I figured he used some kind of anesthetic sort of like a mosquito does to keep a person from hurting while they are feeding. Venom to me is bad. Could it be that House wants to drink Wilson's venom tainted blood because he wants to self destruct? However, wouldn't it hurt Wilson as well? I'm so confused. Why would he put his fingers on Wilson's wrist? To allow the venom to flow before he makes the slit? So many unanswered questions. Can't wait for an update. God, I love this story!
    • It's the same procedure as it was before, only Wilson was so mentally overwhelmed, the first time, that he didn't realize what was happening.

      A strike, Wilson thinks, like a viper. Hazily he remembers that House did this the first time, too.

      If you do re-read you'll see that there was a first, swift bite before House made that cut so he could take.

      I figured he used some kind of anesthetic sort of like a mosquito does

      *grins*

      It'll get more clear with tomorrow's chapter.
      • Funny, after I commented, I read it again and saw the part where Wilson says House did this the first time too but I guess the whole House putting his fingers on Wilson's wrist before he made the slit, threw me a little. I will say I definitely like the way you are writing this. After I finish reading an update, I'm woozy like Wilson! LOL
    • (Anonymous)
      Ditto on the comment with double the love. Updates keep me alive!
  • Forgot to mention that this was my favorite line, "Of the remaining twenty, nineteen would kill you because you're an asshole". So perfect! LOL
  • it's been a long week, you know? ;) I'm so happy for the update!

    "I know it's silly, but let's pretend I'm a doctor, and that this information is medically relevant."
    I so enjoy Wilson's sarcasm. Go Wilson, this is exactly the right approach.

    Interesting, what House said. *stores away for future reference*

    It's making him seem so exposed that Wilson fights an urge to cover him with blankets.
    Aw. ♥

    "No, eighty would kill you for that. Of the remaining twenty, nineteen would kill you because you're an asshole. Fortunately for you," says Wilson, swallowing hard as he pushes up his sleeve, "I'm the hundredth."

    How do you do it? How? From sarcastic to moving in one sentence? *gazes in awe*

    oooh, venom, too? So that was why Wilson was so sleepy the first time, it wasn't just weakness due to the blood loss.

  • Of the remaining twenty, nineteen would kill you because you're an asshole.

    xD
  • 3.1 brought a gasp of joy to this end of the computer. Welcome back!

    Likewise love for "8/19/100th" line. Loved it 2x!

    And, "being lost in You're-Screwedville with an imbecile."

    Lots to savor.
  • Is it sad that I was really excited to see a new chapter and read this instantly? I can't wait to read more.
    • Sad? We're biased. It makes us very, very happy.

      More tomorrow, though I think we'll have an unavoidable gap of a couple days after that.

  • Wilson's spiel about being "the hundredth" brought to mind Kipling's The Thousandth Man. Can't say it's a bad thought, though.
  • I love the idea that House can't understand someone who would give everything even the blood in his veins to help save an asshole. Wilson also wants to save his sanity, but he's fooling himself if he thinks that's the real reason. Being dependent on Wilson is sure to drive House nuts. Clock thing got to me because I'm someone who always needs to know the time. I can't sleep if I don't have a clock. It shouldn't matter but it does. *stares at the clock and wishes she could speed it up* 42 minutes to go!
  • Yay an update!
    So many good lines. Too many to quote here. But I particularly liked the "Lets pretend I'm a doctor..." one.
    I also like the fact that thet're forming they're own rhythm.

    One little mistake: "Din't tell me you had ... venom." Should be "Didn't tell me you had ... venom."
    • "Din't" was intentional because Wilson is under the influence of that stuff, kind of drunk. He's not as articulate as he'd otherwise be. :-)

      Glad you're enjoying this; we've just polished up another segment for tomorrow morning.
      • It occured to me that he might me slurring, but I thought I'd mention it anyway.

        I eagerly await tomorrows post.
  • Hehe, I was preparing to go stalk your journal if I didn't see a post from you guys by the time I finished reading my flist!
    I just love how in character they are, compared to how they are on the show.

    Eagerly await the next bit :D
    • I was preparing to go stalk your journal ...

      Why not put us on your "alerts" list? There should be a little thumb-tack icon thingy somewhere on the page when you're reading one of our posts; you can click that and it'll give you the option of getting an email alert whenever we post something new. Very helpful, especially since we aren't doing the insane post-every-weekday thing we did with Aftershocks.
      • ooh, that is an idea :)
        But I will stumble across it eventually when I do my flist, which is my main time to be able to read ^_^
  • (Anonymous)
    So House's venom is a narcotic? Could Wilson get addicted to it? That is such a disturbing thought!
    Taiga
    • Could Wilson get addicted to it?

      *grins*

      Now, now. Even if he could, do you really think we'd tell you that yet?
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