TEETH MARKS

Part IIIf

By GeeLadyf

Time-line: Season 6. Alternate Universe/Vampire life...

Summary: "At last this is bone of my bone and flesh of my flesh"...Wilson quoted, adding "And blood of my blood." House would live. Nothing else mattered.

Pairing: House/Wilson. Wilson is a little OC here, but then he's not really himself, is he?

Rating: NC-17 SLASH ADULT. Angst. (You have been warned).

Disclaimer: The blue-eyed babe with the cane - sigh! - is not mine.

*Story idea by graceasaur! Thanks my friend.

House was lying on the bedroom carpet, the Chinese patterned area rug stained new with drops of blood, scattered in the frenzy of Donald's stealthy but unsuccessful attack.

Wilson fell to his knees and in one smooth motion cradled House's shoulders in his arms to make a rapid examination. There were, on the left side of the smooth, white throat, two deep marks; penetrations obvious to no one but a vampire that were the hallmark pattern of a vampires fangs. Blood still seeped from the wounds, trickling down, the anti-coagulant with which all vampires were cursed/blessed keeping the blood flowing even now, more than an hour after the attack.

House had lost enough blood that the whole left side of his upper torso was sticky with multiple rivulets of the stuff, tacky to the touch. Wilson put two fingers to the jugular on the right side of House's throat, the side opposite the Feed wounds, and felt a weak heart beat. A great shudder of intense relief flowed through him. House was not nearly dead.

But he wasn't all alive anymore either. Though Wilson could feel the life flowing through House's body as he carried him to the bed, that life felt needy. His sensitive vampire nose could detect that fading miracle reaching out in need. To most vampires, that was the only essence of erotic left for them to enjoy. To Wilson, it was the cry of the raven; a warning that he was about to lose the one thing in the world he still cared about and who, astonishingly, still cared about him, even in his living death.

House would unconscious for a long while from Donald's anesthetic producing saliva. On the bed Wilson had more room and could examine the wounds more closely. Resting his left palm on the bed covers to better facilitate his view, his hand found a large, wet stain. When he drew it back to see what he had touched, his fingers came away sticky with blood. He threw back the bed covers. Beneath the quilt was a large stain that had soaked through several layers of blankets and sheets to the mattress. Donald had eaten his first course here, on the bed, then threw the quilt over it to disguise how much blood he had actually taken from House, in case his Feed was interrupted.

House's blood was everywhere. For the first time since being un-born, Wilson thought the sight of so much of it was a terrible thing to see. A nightmarish sight, ugly with true death. Donald had started his attack on the bed and this is where in fact House had lost much of his blood in the first struggle before he went down into mental darkness. Donald would have completely overpowered him after that, dragging him onto the floor. In the interim House had lost a great deal of blood. Far more than Wilson had first believed.

Wilson felt foolish. He had been so enraged, so seeing black in his desire to destroy Donald, he had put that revenge before even House's life. Because he had not seen the pool of blood beneath the quilt, he had assumed House had not lost very much. He had mistakenly believed that Donald had just arrived a moment before and that he had stopped the attack in plenty of time to save House's life.

As he prepared to assist in the healing of the human flesh wound (and the vampire nature of it), Wilson vowed to never let himself be so short-sighted again. House was going to need assistance if Wilson wanted to keep him living, now and in the future.

House's heartbeat was thready. That meant the volume in his veins was so low, unless he received a transfusion of blood right now, he would die. Yet Wilson dared not take House to an emergency room; there would be questions and scrutiny and House, or himself, might even be quarantined in some fashion. And so odd would the doctors find the wounds, and his own teeth if it got that far, that would elicit still more questions, and more.

Two fang marks and a pair of fangs was a matter of simple addition. The authorities would see Wilson as the obvious culprit in an attempted murder.

There was a radical solution, but it meant breaking a promise.

Wilson debated the decision for a mere second. House must not die, and Wilson turned House's beautiful throat to himself, drawing back his own lips in preparation. His vow to House not to touch, its intent clear in never to touch this way, was now all but broken. But Wilson also believed that without House in his life, he could not survive another day in the human world, or the vampire one. Eternal life without him would be no life at all. For the present and any future he cared to look at, House was the only reason he still wished to exist in it.

Wilson wasn't supposed to feel it, but it could only be love, couldn't it? What else was there for a vampire to gain from flesh, except a temporary quenching of his beastly hunger?

Wilson pulled House onto his lap until his own abdomen was spooned against House's long back, then bent over and whispered into his deaf ear. "I'm sorry."

He bit his own tongue to bring forth his own dead but life-giving blood, then sunk his own fangs into House's neck, using Donald's punctures to guide his own fangs inside, deeply, until he could feel the sharp tips of them slip easily into the tiny holes in the artery. Pierced a-new, House's blood began to flow once more, while Wilson's blood mixed with it. Only a little was needed to save the life of this human. Wilson forced his own blood down the hollow points of his fangs and it entered House's purple-cast over, blood and oxygen deprived arteries and veins, stirring within the heart and venturing forth from there to his blood starved tissues, gradually bringing forth warmth and vitality. Renewing his flesh back to its former human beauty.

Almost without delay, Wilson could feel House's heartbeat gaining power, his blood system strengthening and rushing to every part of his body, shocking his deprived extremities awake. Soon House's bleached face colored over to pink, a far prettier shade on him than the plaster of near death. Immediately, with the fresh pain and the subconscious terror of the alien invasion, House stirred and began to struggle, but Wilson held his arms at his sides, keeping House still while his own blood could work its magic. As much as he hated to do it, it was vital for his love's survival.

But it was taking too long. Wilson drove his teeth even deeper into House's neck and to his heartbreak, House cried out in his semi-conscious state. Yes, Wilson recalled, it hurt the victim very much when the victim was awake enough to be aware of it. But it was necessary if he wanted House to live beyond tonight.

House struggled to wakefulness and began to fight and moan in earnest when his demon-doped mind came to understand that the terrible thing was happening all over again. But House was still very weak, and Wilson easily held him fast.

Wilson let as much of his own fluid as he dared, in a single go, flow into House's body, then pulled away from the throat. House cried out again because that - the withdrawal - hurt, too. Wilson felt guilt wash over him, then disappear in the cavern that was his vampire soul. But surely if guilt could live there, love could, too?

He tried to reassure him - "House, it's me. It's just me, you're safe. I know it hurts, but I have to do this. I must do this. You'll be all right, I promise."

More was needed, however. One more infusion at least. Wilson felt certain the two infusions would be sufficient for House to gain enough strength to survive. Wilson bit down again, closing his eyes to House's soft cry of pain. His ears gathered the agony well enough for his breaking heart, he didn't need to see it as well.

As Wilson kept his blood flowing into House's veins for several more minutes, he also kept his words flowing into his ear in a hypnotic telepathic whisper, pouring out all the care and love a demon beast could possible possess and then give away. "You will not turn, you won't - I swear. But you need my blood to heal, or you're going to die. This is Wilson, House. It was another vampire who attacked you, but he's dead now, so you'll be okay; you're safe with me. Calm down, baby. You're still yourself, you're still human. I still love you. I'll always love you." After a few minutes, House stopped fighting to get free, allowing Wilson to hold him while slowly the feeling returned to his rubbery limbs.

House would be weak for a few days as his body utilized the power in Wilson's vampire blood to effect repairs and to immunize itself against further attacks. He would still be human, and still vulnerable, but his body would have greater strength in not only physically fighting off an attack, but repelling the poison of foreign vampire blood and saliva. If there was a next time, House would not be so easily taken down.

Wilson lay on the bed with him, cradling his head against his cold chest, which ached over his own stupidity. What if he had returned even an hour later? House would have already been dead. Wilson petted his love's hair and waited for him to return to full consciousness. He had a lot of explaining to do, and he would need to have a peace offering ready. An expensive bottle of bourbon perhaps? He might even manage to control his outraged stomach long enough to cook a meal for him; House would need to eat. Wilson shuddered at the thought of touching food.

House, still mute and limp in artificial asleep, never-the-less moaned in pain. Wilson held him tighter, kissing his hair over and over. "I'm so sorry, House. I'm so very, very sorry." He wished he still had tears to ease the pain in himself.

Once House was strong enough, Wilson stripped them both of their blood-soiled clothes and ran a warm bath. He stepped into the tub, carrying House with him. Settling House against his chest, he began to wash off the blood. The water turned a dusky brown.

Wilson shampooed both their scalps and, draining the tub and standing up again, he held House under the arms and rinsed both their bodies off in a warm shower spray.

Wilson lowered House onto to the toilet seat, letting his head rest on the sink. He would be okay for a moment as Wilson toweled down. Then he did the same for House, first his hair, face and shoulders. Next, the arms, chest and back. Finally House's muscled legs and groin.

Carrying him to the bed again, Wilson found a fresh pair of pajama bottoms and slipped them up over House's hips. He helped himself to a second pair and a tee-shirt as well. He contemplated pulling a tee-shirt over House's nude chest but, he decided he wanted to leave at least some skin exposed. Wilson liked looking at House and almost never got the opportunity. The full nude House in the bath tub had been a treat that may never come around again, so Wilson forwent the tee-shirt for House, but the pajama bottoms were non-negotiable. If House woke up freshly scrubbed, and lying in his bed butt naked, there would be hell to pay.

While House slumbered in the deep places that Wilson's vampire medicine had taken him, Wilson solved the problem of food by ordering in from a Chinese restaurant.

After several more hours, House was awake and struggling to sit up in bed. From the kitchen, Wilson heard the rustle of the bed sheets and sprinted to his assistance. "Careful. Don't stand up yet or you'll pass out."

But House insisted on trying to sit up so Wilson helped him to a more elevated position, piling thick pillows behind him - at which assistance a conscious House did not balk. But then his eyes were fluttering between open and closed. He was still very groggy.

Wilson quickly reheated some cooling Chinese soup and returned with a spoon. He scooped up some of the atrocious stuff and held it out to House, inches from his mouth. House stared dully at it with sleep-dopey eyes. Finally he opened up his lips and Wilson stuck the spoon in. "Boy, you really are weak." Wilson remarked as he put a second gross spoonful of Won-ton to House's mouth.

House tasted the hot, delicious liquid on his tongue and licked his lips. He finally found strength enough to open his eyes all the way, and was greeted by a bizarre sight.

Wilson was sitting before him on the edge of the bed, an old-fashioned clothes pin attached to his nose, pinching his nostrils together. Wilson explained in a slightly hollow, nasal voice. "This is the only way I can stand being this close to the food."

House had to smile a little. "You make one sorry-ass vampire." He said, picking at the bandage on the left side of his throat.

Wilson slapped his hand away. "Leave it alone. It'll be healed in under a day."

Wilson frowned at House's remark as to his vampire fitness. "I suppose you could do better? Here - " He scooped another spoonful, trying to avert his eyes from the murky broth containing portions of squiggly, limp noodles, thin slabs of pinkish pig flesh, and watery vegetables. " - eat."

"Probably not." House snatched at the spoon with shaky fingers. "I may only be material for a human, but I can still feed myself, Mother."

Wilson let him have the spoon and watched for a few minutes as House attempted, and mostly succeeded in doing just that. Some of the soup dribbled down his bare chest, leaving a trail of food bits. Wilson fetched him a roll of toilet paper to wipe himself off, saying "Well, I guess some of the food at least is getting to the right spot."

House ate for a few minutes, but the very act quickly tired him out. He yawned widely, put the bowl aside and scooted down under the covers again. "Who was that, anyway?" He finally asked. "Count Carrot-Top? He looked like Archie Andrews."

Wilson removed the clothes pin and rubbed his itching nose. He tried to smile a little in response but the memory of House bleeding and dying under the white claws of the Spider still made him cold with fear. The two consolations were that Spider had not succeeded, and that Wilson had killed him, greatly enjoying the foul deed. "He's dead, and his name doesn't matter anymore." Not to anyone, anywhere, ever again.

"So, not a friend if I understand my vampires correctly." House said as he turned onto his right side, trying to get comfortable, Wilson shifting a little to give him more room. "I don't imagine fellow vampires usually eat their friend's pets."

Wilson looked grim. He said sadly, "Vampires don't befriend one another. And you are not my pet."

House stared up at him, about to dispute it, but something very intense, an unspoken thing heavily underlined in Wilson's eyes told him not to, and he nodded instead. "If you say so."

Wilson so much wanted to lean over and kiss him goodnight, but there were still sharpened pencils about. "Get some rest. I'll be here when you wake up." He said, tasting it for any emotional satisfaction that might be had. No way, not even in the same ball-park were kind words as good as a passionate kiss.

Humans had it over on vampires in that regard. When they fell in love, it often started with words. When vampires sought out love, all words remained empty, wind-blown deserts. Wilson had no idea how he could nurture this intense love he felt for House if all they would ever exchange were vacant mouthing's. But, this was how he remembered humans sometimes communicated their love - with words. So even if the syllables did nothing for him, they would bring something to House. "I do love you, you know."

House opened his eyes, looking up at Wilson again. "I love you, too," House said, making Wilson's pebble heart quiver and then sink when House added, "but you scare the hell out of me."

Wilson looked away. So much for the nurturing value of words. "I don't mean to. I don't want to."

House sighed, closing his eyes. "You're a vampire. vampires are scary things."

"I'm not a thing, exactly."

"You're not human."

"No. But you didn't know that did you? Until I showed you."

"Well, now I know. You kill people."

"Everybody dies. And I'm not human, but I'm not a normal vampire. I know that because I don't want to harm a hair on your head. I'm in love with you. I love you more than anything on this earth. So either that makes you unique among your kind, or me among mine."

"Stop saying that."

"Why. It's okay to say it when I'm alive, but not okay when I'm mostly dead?"

"You never said it while you were alive."

"Thought it, then. I thought it a lot."

House seemed irritated at that, and sat up. "And another thing - how in the hell does me having your blood in my veins save me from that other guy?"

Wilson honestly didn't know precisely how it worked. Hell-ish? Partly that? Even vampires didn't think Satan was anyone special. But the blood thing - it had to be part paranormal for sure. That much he did believe. Wilson shrugged. "I don't know. No vampire knows. I guess in all the world there has to be one mystery that even the great House will never solve."

"Well thank you for saving my life, Dracula, but the next time you decide to top me up with your own fuel - don't."

"It isn't hurting you."

House was so tired. He wanted to sleep. Wilson, on the other hand, wanted to talk. Figures even as a vampire, Wilson wouldn't know how to shut up. "But it did change me." It was half question.

Wilson wanted to say no, but he had insisted on truths as much as humanly, and vampirely, possible so - "Yes. But it made you stronger. It might even ease your leg pain."

House couldn't feel much of a difference. On the other hand, still being a live didn't suck either. "Well, next time, at least ask."

That was a compromise, and it made Wilson feel much better. Maybe if there were only going to be words, hope might still be found among them now and then. Love would have to wait its turn.

-

-

While House slept, Wilson took a small pairing knife and cut a small gash in his wrist. He let the blood flow into a glass for a few minutes until he had enough. Then he sprinkled it all along the perimeter of the apartment, to discourage other vampires from trespassing. The blood would seep into the wood, the carpet, the linoleum, and disappear, becoming invisible. But to a vampires mighty nose, its odor would issue a warning from him, from James, the one whom Judith had made; the very powerful vampire who had killed Spider as easily as he tied his left shoe.

For now, House would be safe, and that meant Wilson had time enough to take care of a few other loose ends on his way to work. He would explain to Cuddy how ill House was, so she would stay off his back for the next few days. To hell with any cases. For the next week, House was all his.

James flew through the dark until he came to where he knew they hung out during their Hunts, his nose doing the rest. These ladies never bathed, preferring the fetid stink of the un-washed un-dead, a particularly noxious assault on anyone's olfactory organ, vampire or human.

These pungent mongrels hunted nightly - greedy little bitches. James slipped into their hovel atop a building in the slums. It was a run-down one bedroom dump in an abandoned apartment building infested with bugs and rats, which they had "annexed" from a human vagrant. By killing him, of course, for a quick Feed.

They were at a Feed now, and James watched from the shadows for a moment, repulsed by their lip-smacking vulgarity and atrocious technique (James hoped he didn't eat like that), until one of the careless vamp's became aware that they were no longer dining alone.

"Good evening, ladies." He greeted them. "Don't take that to heart. I just wanted to let you know that I killed your sire tonight. The Spider." James allowed the glee he had felt over Donald's death, and which he had hidden from House, now fly fast and free around the room, his voice a demon's song of wicked joy. "It was in every way delightful." He stepped forward into the feeble light of the moon's single ray squeezing between the boarded up windows. Even it didn't seem to want to be in the same room with these obscene examples of vampire woman-hood.

Wilson intended to make this fast, but not out of mercy. Rather, he didn't want to be late for work. There were people out there; living, breathing, deodorized humans, who needed his doctor skills tonight.

vampires don't usually Feed on other vampires, but he was willing to make an exception to rid the earth of these thoroughly debased skanks. He would have fed off Donald, had Donald not touched his human treasure, but James could not have withstood partaking by proxy of the Feed-lusts from Donald's memory of the fear and agony he had put House through. Wilson was sure that would have driven him insane.

But Donald's idiot followers - they were different. True, James expected some unsavory traits would "download" from the epitome of what they were to his own substance, but their combined powers and knowledge would exceed the possible downside of Feeding on three ill-mannered, inconsequential vamp's. Besides, he would be able to filter the worst of their gutter-spoil out, and eventually shed anything undesirable into the left-over blood of his next meal.

Anxious to add the strengths of the three female vampires' minds, and the power of their un-dead flesh to his own already formidable strength, James rubbed his hands together with gusto and announced - "Wow - am I hungry."

-

-

When Wilson walked in just before dawn, House was up and about, leaning on his cane. Wilson suspected, as he watched House limp passed him on the way to the kitchen from the bathroom, that presently the cane was more to assist with keeping his dizzy head steady than his weight off his aching thigh.

Wilson glanced anxiously around the room, visually checking the floors near the walls. No blood drops. His barrier was invisible now, thank goodness, and was hopefully doing its thing. Later, once he had learned how to utilize the vamp's powers, he would make a new barrier with his new, stronger blood.

House took a cola from the fridge. "Been out hunting?" He asked as he headed for the comfort of the couch, and the mindless relaxation of bad television.

Wilson swallowed. "Well, yes." Damn it to hell all this truth-telling.

"How many people do you murder every week?"

Wilson felt colder, suddenly, in the warm, fire-lighted room. He also felt a little hurt at the word murder, though it was essentially correct. "Only as many as minimally required to live. Two or so." Well, three, but they don't count.

House, dry after so many hours spent in bed, drained the can. "How many had to die to save me?"

Wilson didn't know where House was going with this. "None. You were saved by my blood." You ungrateful ass.

"But your blood is made up of other's blood. Human's blood, those now being dead humans."

"Would you rather I be dead?" Wilson wished prayers, his or others, would be of some use to the un-dead. Had anyone ever written a petition to God for a vampire? They send people to hell with supplications, why not us?

House stared at him for a bit before dropping his eyes away, locking them on his empty can instead. "No."

Wilson sat down beside him. "I try to be choosey in my Feeds and I don't mean fussy. I try to pick those who are...who would eventually hurt others if I left them alive."

House turned his head to look straight at him again. "So you're sort of a Robin Hood vampire."

"No. Robin Hood chose his path. Mine was given to me. An involuntary career." Wilson sat back, feeling depressed and hopeless. "If you want me to leave, just say it."

"I don't want you to leave." House said. "I'm just trying to understand the logistics."

"There's nothing mysterious about it,.." Mostly. "..I'm still Wilson, only I eat bad guys and can't get a tan anymore."

House stared into the empty cola tin. "Do you remember them?" House looked at him but now there was simple curiosity. "The ones you've eaten."

No. Never. Only Donald will ring out in his mind, probably forever. That kind of hate for another doesn't fade over-night, or even a century. Wilson tried to explain. "Do you remember any specific cut of bacon you had for breakfast last week, or the name of the waitress who served it to you?"

"That's different."

"Why?"

"I never met the pig, and the waitress was memorable only for her nice tits."

"Did you care that you hadn't met the pig? Meals fill your gut, they don't make any other lasting impression."

House pursed his lips. "Fine." For now he appeared to be satisfied with Wilson's answers. "So I guess you're not hungry, but speaking of breakfast..."

Wilson felt light-hearted again. Being with House hadn't changed much either. There were still miserable lows and sky-rocketing highs, and they were always switching places, too. House was an exhausting, but loveable human. However, Wilson was certain that all these emotions were going to leave a painful scar somewhere. But he supposed a painful scar was better than feeling nothing. He was beginning to sound like House.

Wilson stood up. "Okay." He clipped the clothes-pin back on his nose.

House rolled his eyes.

"Hey - " Wilson said. " - you want breakfast? Then I need this. And you will have to cook up the Babe slices. I think I can handle the eggs without turning green."

XXXXXXX

Part IV asap