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The Vampire's Apprentice	By : Evilida44 Category: G through L > House Views: 1787 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own House or its fandom nor do I make any money from it.

Chapter List
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Domestic Disturbances
Remy Hadley, known to a few as Thirteen, had run until she couldn’t run any more, expecting every second to be tackled and dragged into the bushes and trees that lined the road. She hadn’t wasted her energy in looking back. She had gone flat-out, pushing her body, already weakened by her illness, to its absolute limits. In the end, her legs just gave out on her and she collapsed to the ground. Shaking with fatigue, fear, and the effects of her body’s own adrenaline, Remy vomited weakly.
This was how she would die then – not the slow wasting away she had been dreading for as long as she could remember – but suddenly and violently.
She braced herself for an attack that didn’t come. When she looked up, Remy was alone. Had Wilson just given up and decided to settle for easier game? Had her wild, desperate blow hit its mark? She didn’t know. She fell back on to the grass, trying to catch her breath, and then curled up as her empty stomach cramped.
When the cramps eased, she turned to face the night sky. Her eyes were filled with tears and she was gasping, coughing, desperate for air. Her hair was streaked with vomit and she shook uncontrollably. In between bouts of nausea and cramping, she watched the stars disappear from view as the sky lightened. The sun crept over the horizon. It was just after dawn when she finally got to her feet.
The lights of town were inviting but seemed impossibly distant. Instead, Remy headed back to her car, which was parked by the side of a service road out of sight.
Passing the cemetery, Remy spotted the tire tracks in the grass and went to examine them. She thought that more than one vehicle must have churned up the damp earth, carving deep ruts into the neatly manicured lawn just outside the gates. Then she spotted something else of interest. She knelt down to examine the item, ignoring her protesting muscles. It was one of a pair of handcuffs, the cuff still attached to a broken chain.
Kneeling down had been a mistake. She couldn’t get up again. Remy sat down on the damp grass for a moment, giving her body a moment to recover. A metallic glint beneath a bush caught her eye, and she crawled painfully toward it. The glint was the sun reflecting on the metallic body of a cheap cell phone. She picked the phone up and put it in her jacket pocket. Next to it was a leather wallet, damp with morning dew. She opened the wallet, but it was empty so she left it there.
There was a story here, but Remy was too exhausted to make sense of it. She got to her feet and headed back to her car.

Remy had came home to an empty apartment. Her girlfriend Carissa had already left for work, leaving a note for Remy on the table. The note was sprinkled with angry exclamation points, and Remy had crumpled it up and tossed in the wastepaper basket without reading it.
She took the cell phone out of her pocket. The first saved number was labelled “H”. “H” for House, maybe?
Remy entered the saved numbers in an internet phone directory. “H”’s phone number was unlisted. Most of the others were for bars and restaurants, all of them in New York City and all offering live music. House had been a musician once upon a time; maybe he was again. Even vampires must have to earn a living.
She could give this cell phone to Mia and it might be enough to buy her immortality if it led Mia to House and if Mia kept her promises. A lot of “ifs”.
She could bypass Mia and negotiate with House directly.
She didn’t owe Mia anything. She‘d told her about her hunch – that Wilson would visit his ex-girlfriend’s grave on her birthday – and Mia had heard her out and wished her luck. She hadn’t offered to come with her, and she hadn’t told Mia that the crosses, garlic and holy water she was using to protect herself were about as effective as water wings in the face of a tsunami.
Mia hadn’t cared enough to warn her. Her indifference hurt, because Remy had actually liked her. The vampire was fun, and Remy had very little fun in her life. Mia was full of life and mischief and she didn’t give a damn about anyone else. There had been a spark between them, and it had nothing to do with physical appearances. Compared to Remy, Mia was positively homely. She was fixed for all time at a particularly awkward stage of adolescence.
The sound of a key in the lock interrupted Remy’s thoughts. Carissa, her current girlfriend, had returned. Carissa was a striking blue-eyed, Scandinavian blonde. Remy was a mysterious brunette with eyes that could look blue or green or grey or any shade in between. When they entered a room together, heads turned and jaws dropped.
“So you’re back at last,” Carissa said. “You could have phoned to tell me you’d be out all night. I know, no strings and all that, but a little consideration please. I do worry.”
Carissa bent down to kiss Remy’s cheek, only then noticing Remy’s reddened, swollen eyes. Carissa was shocked by this display of emotion, which was entirely unlike the Remy she knew. Remy never allowed anything to upset her. She greeted disaster and triumph with the same equanimity, exactly as Kipling recommended.
‘Is something the matter?”
“I’m leaving you,” Remy said abruptly. “I’ll pack up and go tomorrow.”
Remy stood up and walked out of the room. She ignored Carissa’s outraged questions and expressions of dismay. .Remy just didn’t have the energy to pretend she cared. She craved silky sheets, soft pillows and the oblivion of sleep.
“If you want a scene,” Remy said, “it’ll have to be a monologue. I’m going to bed.”

House woke up to the sound of early morning traffic.
Wilson was still sleeping. He was breathing more easily than he had the night before. There was no longer that tortured rasp and long pause between breaths. A good long sleep had proved very effective medicine, which was fortunate because as far as House knew rest was the one and only item in the vampire’s pharmacopeia.
House turned on the bedside light and sat up. Wilson turned over to face House, grunting slightly with discomfort. He opened his eyes. For a second, the younger vampire looked confused and lost. He reached out, touching House’s arm, as if to assure himself that House was really there. House put his arms around Wilson, who let out a yelp.
House released him, but Wilson edged closer, his head on House’s chest.
“No, that’s all right,” Wilson said. “Just hold me gently, like I’m a basket full of eggs.”
“Bossy,” House complained, but he complied, cradling the other vampire loosely.
“When I woke, I thought I was a human dreaming that I was a vampire, and then I opened up my eyes and saw you next to me, and that just confused me more, because it didn’t fit. We never shared a bed when we were human. Then I reached out and you were there, solid and real, which meant everything else was real too. It was just like when you initiated me, the same surprise.”
“Good surprise or bad surprise?” House asked.
“I’m not sure.” Wilson said wryly. “On the good side, immortality. On the bad side, we’ll probably be killed before we get a chance to enjoy it.”
“The Professor told me that median life expectancy of a newly initiated vampire is less than two years. We die at the hands of other vampires, usually our creators. He told me after I was initiated, of course. Having the life expectancy of a goldfish is not much of a selling point when you’re trying to convince someone to join the army of the undead.”
Wilson’s expression did not change, but House could feel him tense at the mention of the Professor.
Wilson was wondering when the Professor had decided to pass on this dubious little statistical titbit. Had it been a veiled threat against House, who had been the Professor’s apprentice? Had he being trying to convince House to kill Wilson by telling him that vampires kill their unsatisfactory initiates all the time?
Smoothly, Wilson changed the subject.
“Of course, the very best part of my new life is waking up next to you and knowing that very shortly we are going to be having really great sex.”
“We’re going to have really great sex, are we? Do you think that’s a good idea? Aside from your punctured lung.....”
“which is almost healed”
“I’m pretty sure you have a broken rib or two.”
“Maybe only bruised,” Wilson said optimistically. “We’ll make love very slowly and carefully, like a couple of porcupines. I know you like it a bit more intense...”
“I like it rough and nasty,” House said in a ridiculously lecherous voice.
“Please don’t make me laugh,” Wilson said. “It will be better than you think. I know lots of tricks, ones I haven’t even tried on you yet. None of my ex-wives ever had any complaints.”
“That’s not quite the ringing endorsement that you think it is,” House said, nuzzling the other vampire.
In his human life, Wilson had also been blessed (or perhaps cursed) with an overwhelming need to help other people. It had led him to the field of oncology, where he felt that he could do the most good. His need to help others should have disappeared when he had become a vampire, but it had not. It was too much a part of Wilson. Instead, deprived of any other outlets, his need to serve others had become focussed on pleasing House and making him happy. With the same perseverance and dedication that he had once devoted to memorizing anatomical terms or to mastering his tennis serve, Wilson had studied House’s likes and dislikes. Every touch, every lick, every whispered endearment was designed specifically to please him.
Still this was not the kind of sex House wanted. It was like nibbling on a rice cake when what he really hungered for was a thick, juicy steak. House wanted to take Wilson roughly, to use him ruthlessly until Wilson cried out in unself-conscious, purely animal pleasure. He wanted to obliterate everything in Wilson that was human and vulnerable and show him what it is to be a vampire – to be strong, utterly fearless and in absolute control of body and mind.
It was too soon. Wilson was still recovering from his injuries and too easily hurt. House restrained his vampire instincts. Until Wilson healed, he would have to settle for what Wilson could give him. Gentle, almost insubstantial, sensations, one after the other, like a sequence of musical notes, slowly building, taking shape, becoming whole. A warm relaxing glow that suffused his whole body, letting House know that he was loved and more than loved; he was adored, worshipped.
Not what House wanted, not at all, but much too good to resist.

It was early evening, and House should have been playing the piano at a tony supper club. He’d blown off the job because he needed time to think, and a crowded room full of middle-aged couples celebrating their anniversaries wasn’t the place to do it.
House considered his situation. Rage, jealousy and a thirst for revenge had clouded his mind, but now that he was rested he needed to put those emotions aside and think logically. Reluctantly, he concluded that his revenge against Lucas would have to be postponed. The red- headed vampire was a more immediate threat.   Fox Girl knew about him but he knew nothing about her, not even why she was interested in him. That put him at a serious disadvantage.
Thirteen was key. She had the information he needed. House had been trying to track down Thirteen on the Internet. Unfortunately, almost everything he found predated her dismissal from PPTH. He’d tracked down her Facebook page, which hadn’t been updated in months, and a brief article about her arrest. He found an address for her father, a retired policeman, and a work phone number for Foreman, her former boyfriend, but he couldn’t contact either of them to ask for her address. Thirteen’s father would be too suspicious of any stranger asking for information about his daughter, and Foreman would recognize his voice Realizing that he’d reached a dead end, House slammed his laptop shut.
Wilson looked up from the pages of his paperback.
“No luck?”
House didn’t answer. “Take your shirt off,” he ordered. “I’m going to change your bandage.”
Wilson put down his book and unbuttoned his shirt.
Thirteen had struck Wilson twice. The first blow had been superficial. The second had been much more serious. When House had first examined the wound, he had seen an overflowing well of blood as big around as the palm of his hand and deep enough to hold his entire fist.
The first wound had healed completely without leaving a mark, but the second was still in the process of healing over. The new skin was white, hairless, faintly shiny and as soft as a newborn baby’s. There was no redness or heat. Continuing his examination, House ran his fingers lightly over Wilson’s ribs and torso, stopping to probe more thoroughly when he felt Wilson wince. Wilson almost cried out as he exerted more pressure. House frowned.
“Broken or bruised?” Wilson asked.
“I can’t tell,” House said. “I’m going to tape the ribs tightly to keep them in place.”
House got to work, his skilled hands doing the job automatically.
“Your soft tissue injuries seem to be healing more quickly than your injuries to bone,” House commented. “While you’re injured, you’re vulnerable. Another vampire would spot how stiff and sore you are from a mile away and pounce on you like a lion on a limping baby zebra. You have to get back to full health quickly. I think that if we replicate some of the conditions of the metamorphosis that might speed up the healing process.”
“If you mean wrapping me up in a shroud again and putting me in a coffin...”
“Obviously not. I don’t have a coffin or a shroud handy. I was thinking of wrapping you up in sheets and then putting you in the closet or maybe the bathtub.”
“No.”
“Darkness, quiet and a tight confined space. I think it should work; it’s probably why vampires sleep in coffins.”
“This vampire sleeps in a bed, not in a coffin or a closet or a bathtub,” Wilson said firmly as he buttoned his shirt.
“It’s a medical experiment. Where’s your curiosity?” House looked at Wilson, who met his eyes for an instant before looking away.
“I don’t like being tied up, and I don’t like being alone in the dark,” he said stubbornly.
“You’d think you were the only vampire ever to go through the initiation. You don’t hear me complaining about how traumatized I am and moaning about how scared I am of the dark. I went through the whole process too, and I didn’t have a friend waiting for me on the other side. All I had was the Professor, and you know what he was!”
“Just drop it, House,” Wilson said. There was an edge to his voice that House did not like.
“I’m not giving you a choice.”
Wilson had had a very unpleasant few days and his patience was at very low ebb. He didn’t want to lose his temper or get into an argument. He hated confrontation. Wilson headed for the door.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“Out. I can’t talk to you when you’re like this.”
Wilson brushed past House without looking at him. When House reached out to stop him, he shrugged him off. House caught the hint of a snarl, a glimpse of fang.
House’s reacted instinctively. He launched himself at the other vampire.
Wilson struggled. Even injured, he was much stronger than House’s usual human victims and he was equipped with fangs and sharp talon-like fingernails. House put his arms around him to restrain his arms, putting pressure on Wilson’s ribs. Wilson cried out, and House used the distraction to his advantage. He dropped Wilson to the floor. House bit into his neck, tasting Wilson’s blood.
Wilson called out his name, desperately trying to fend him off, but House was beyond rational thought, taken over by something visceral, primitive and merciless. He forgot that Wilson was his best friend; he forgot that Wilson was injured; none of that mattered to the monster he had become.
Intent on his prey, he was only dimly aware of the sound of pounding on his apartment door.
“I’m calling the police! I’m dialling 9-1-1 right now!”
The words brought House back to his senses. Wilson was on the floor beneath him. His eyes were shut and he was still. For a second, House was afraid that he had killed him. Then, to his immense relief, Wilson opened his eyes.
House got to his feet, staggering slightly. He opened the apartment door. Ceci stood in the hallway. She was barely five feet tall and as small-boned as a bird. House loomed over her.
“Where’s Emil? What did you do to him?”
Emil Lime was the name that Wilson had been using in New York. His alias had been chosen by the Professor of Esoteric Medicine; the palindrome was the humourless Professor’s idea of a joke.
“I’m fine, Ceci,” Wilson said, joining House at the doorway. “We’re both fine. We had an argument and things got a little out of hand. It must have sounded much worse than it was. I’m sorry if we disturbed you.”
Wilson had turned up the collar of his shirt to hide the bite marks on his neck. He had to hold on to the door to keep upright, but his voice was even and level.
“Everything is all right. There is nothing to worry about,” he said, and Ceci, looking into his soft brown eyes, nodded uncertainly.
“Thanks for looking out for us, though,” Wilson said. “You’re a good neighbour.”
He stepped forward to give Ceci a friendly kiss on the cheek and then retreated back into the apartment. House closed the door.

Wilson sat on the floor, back against the wall. There was no more fight left in him. House sat down next to him, and Wilson eyed him warily for a second and then stared straight ahead.
“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” House asked.
“I’ll live,” Wilson said. “You can tie me up and leave me alone in the dark; I can’t stop you; but please don’t. Just don’t.”
House nodded. He edged closer and put his arm over Wilson’s shoulder. Wilson flinched. House pretended he didn’t notice.
“Is this about the Professor and what he did to you? I thought you were over that.”
“I don’t want to talk about him, and you don’t want to listen, so let’s drop the subject.”
“Fine,” House said.
He got to his feet.
“I’m going to give the PPTH records another try. Maybe Cuddy hasn’t changed her password yet. Even if they don’t have a current address for Thirteen, I might find the name of her attorney or something else that could be useful.”
Wilson nodded, still refusing to look at House. .
Impulsively House knelt down. He leaned forward, pressing his lips against Wilson’s, and the other vampire submitted to his kiss, as cold and unresponsive as a department store dummy. House touched him, held him, offering him comfort. Wilson resisted for as long as he could, but House’s victory was inevitable. Wilson gave himself over to House’s embrace. He couldn’t help it; he belonged to House.
“We’re good?” House asked.
“Yes.”
Satisfied, House stood up.
Wilson leaned against the wall, shutting his eyes. He rubbed his neck wearily.
Wilson had been content with his life in New York. Away from the influence of the Professor, House was more tolerant of Wilson’s imperfections.   Their relationship had evolved too. Wilson wasn’t just a servant anymore. House had listened to him. Wilson was a partner in their new life – maybe not yet an equal partner, but someone who had to be taken into account. Someone who mattered.
Now, the arrival of another vampire had put an end to that. All it had taken was one teen-aged bloodsucker and House had reverted to type. He was once more making all the decisions, and Wilson was supposed to follow orders. There are no equal partners among vampires – only those who command and those who obey.
Wilson hated vampires.
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The Vampire's Apprentice