Cycles

Part 3: Discovery

With the shock of realization, Wilson pulled away, looking frantically between the moon and House's face, which held a surprised look with an underlay of rejection in his eyes. Wilson felt the anxiety in his stomach increase tenfold at the thought of House witnessing his monstrous transformation.

"I… have to… go," Wilson breathed before bolting through his office door, his heart beating frantically. Being exposed to the moon for that long, he was surprised that he hadn't started changing yet. He felt his other mind rising through his consciousness as he furiously pressed the elevator button, and he tried to suppress the transformation for as long as possible.

Wilson jumped when the elevators chimed, quickly running in and hitting the lobby button repeatedly, hoping for the lift to move faster. As the elevator slowly crawled the distance, Wilson banged his fists against the walls, trying to think through the throbbing invading his mind. He looked at his warped reflection in the dented metal, feeling the teeth in his mouth shift uncomfortably. His eyes were already changing shape, and his ears picked up distant sounds he should not have been able to hear.

Please, he thought, just please let me get out of here unnoticed.

Wilson's head shot up as the elevators chimed again, the doors opening and revealing the lobby. He ran, sprinting with a speed he should not possess, toward the exit, glad that no one was down here late at night. As soon as Wilson was out of sight from any meandering eyes, he stopped struggling for control and let the beast within take over.

All conscious thought had eluded House's mind even before Wilson bolted. His only action was fueled by instinct rather than conscious thought as he pressed on every "down" button he could find in the elevator area, impatient at how long it was taking to get a lift.

House may not have really been thinking clearly, but he knew how to tell when someone was enjoying something, and Wilson was definitely enjoying that. Whether it was shock at what he had done, nervousness, or something else, House needed to know. His own curious sanity depended on it.

Two minutes later, House was in the parking lot, looking on as Wilson's car stayed where it was, his motorcycle sitting right next to it. Sweeping his gaze through the lot, he second-guessed himself; maybe Wilson hadn't left the hospital.

There!

House twisted around as much as he could, supported by one leg, after seeing a flash of white from the corner of his peripheral vision. The white thing was Wilson's shirt—it had to be—quickly retreating into the darkness, thanks to the large gray-furred dog whose neck it was tied around. There was no way House could catch up if his life depended on it, and his instinct told him to follow it. His eyes fell on his motorcycle.

House jumped on, practically shoving the key in the ignition and revving the engine before taking off, not even considering putting on a helmet, or his jacket, for that matter, which he had left on his chair in his office.

House was chastising himself as he caught up to the dog in the middle of the street. For what reason would a dog have Wilson's shirt tied around his neck? Why was a stray dog this large even still walking the streets? His rational thoughts slowly caught up with his curious instinct, making him lose confidence in his actions.

Instinct made an immediate comeback as he realized where the dog was heading. Now that he had blocked off the alley that the dog had ducked into and turned off his engine, he dismounted the bike and looked into the window of his own living room. Hearing a soft growl from the dark alley, he turned his gaze, hardly able to see the silhouette of the mangy creature in the dim light. House pulled out the penlight from his front pocket and switched it on, flashing it toward the animal.

What he saw in the full light surprised him, but he covered his shock, instead raising an eyebrow. Adjusting his hold on his cane, he gripped it tighter, walking into the darkness to speak to the large, shorthaired, grey wolf with the familiar chocolate-brown eyes.

"You know, I find it strange that your first instinct is to come here."

Please, House, don't come any closer. Please. Wilson knew what was going on outside his control. The mass of raw instinct with a predator's gleam would rip out House's throat in seconds if given the chance. You have no idea what you're dealing with. Just get out of here!

Telepathy was not one of Wilson's many gifts, and that was obvious as House moved a step closer to the wolf. He gripped his cane at a clubber's angle, ready to use it in defense if needed, as if it would help. Wilson panicked, as he knew that the wolf would take it as a threat and attack.

Wilson braced himself for the action. He waited, his mind a cowardly presence, covering his eyes and huddling into a corner like a child. The reason he ran was to get away from this possibility. He didn't want to see House get hurt by his lack of control. This was his worst nightmare come true. He waited, preparing to wince at the taste of blood in his mouth any minute.

He didn't taste anything, but felt a pressure on the back of his neck. His eyes shot open, looking directly into House's face, his nose pressed to House's cheek. Did he not realize how dangerous this was? Did he not know what he was doing?

"Wilson?" Wilson froze, all thoughts dying in his mind as he heard it. Next he heard a soft laugh, accompanied by another stroke of his back.

Wilson twisted his head around and closed his mouth around House's arm gently. House froze, tension in every muscle. Wilson could smell the fear; hear the heart beating faster, though he did a good job of keeping his breathing even. He released the arm, and ducked out from House's reach.

You may not understand me, House, but if this creature in my mind isn't going to kill you, I might as well make the most of it. Follow me, if you can figure out that much.

Wilson walked slowly toward the front door, waiting for House to catch up so he could open it. Eventually House got over his shock and let him in.

"Listen, buddy. You chew my shoes and you're out, you got that? I paid a fortune for these." Wilson inwardly laughed at that as he weaved through House's legs to get inside. Princeton nights were cold.

June 1st, 2007

"Are you sure—?

"Just… leave me alone for a while. I don't need you to see this. Not yet." Wilson gently closed the bathroom door and leaned against it, staring through the open window to the full moon.

It had been a month exactly since House found him that night. Since then, Wilson had explained to House everything he needed to know. The sorcerer had transformed him that night over 300 years ago. It took a while to convince House of the fact that he was nearly three centuries old, but he had eventually accepted it, like he had accepted the fact that he was going to be living with an animal—quite literally—once a month.

Wilson had moved back in with House, after figuring out that House did have a guest room, and after House promised that there would be no more pranks. As a matter of fact, it was cheaper, and it was closer to the hospital, so it was a plus for Wilson. It also gave the werewolf a chance to do a bit of thinking.

Why hadn't he ripped out House's throat that night? By all means, he should have. The creature's instinct wouldn't have let House anywhere near him without pouncing. So what happened?

Wilson was about to test that out right now. Looking at the pale circle in the night sky, he quickly felt the changes coming. He had made sure to take off his clothes before hand; he couldn't afford another mess like a month ago. Security was investigating the shredded pants for a week.

Wilson hunched over onto all fours, not fighting it like he had all his life. The throbbing in his head was much quieter now, easing the transition. His teeth morphed in his mouth, his hands transforming into paws that could crush a deer's throat, his senses shifting into the gradually familiar canine senses. Finished, Wilson faced the door and lifted a paw, letting it glance the wood.

House wasn't going into this blind like he had last month either. After Wilson told him that it was probably a once in a lifetime deal, House had made sure to prepare for next time. Skeptical, he had bought a muzzle and a leash pole in case Wilson couldn't control himself. It wouldn't help much, but it would buy him a few seconds to grab the tranquilizer gun out of his room.

The door opened slowly, House standing far away from the entrance, cane in one hand, and pole in the other. Wilson calmly walked out, turning to face the other man. Feeling nothing that would force him to give up control, he lay down, his message to House that he was fine.

House put down the pole and limped forward. Wilson still felt nothing. He was puzzled at this. Why would he be able to control himself around only one person? Thinking it over, Wilson finally came across the answer, as House was stroking the back of his neck again.

There never was another consciousness in his mind. He was stupid to think that. What came up as the raw instinct was his past, catching up with him. His instinct as a killer had manifested itself in his transformations, lashing out the only way it knew how when threatened. It was his mistrust and killer instinct that forced his violent reactions.

When House had found him that night, Wilson had not wanted to hurt him. He trusted House and cared for him, which is why he hadn't moved. He trusted that House wouldn't cause him harm at all, so his instinct had receded. How had he not seen it before?

They both were on the couch now, watching something or other; it all gave Wilson a headache if he tried to keep up with the fast moving pictures. All he saw was the flashing pixels on the screen. He was content just laying there, head in House's lap, inches from sleep.

They really were a screwed up friendship, a werewolf killer-turned-Wonder-Boy-Oncologist and the sarcastic, misanthropic cripple. What a pair. But it worked, and that's all that mattered.

THE END