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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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Nights in Las Vegas

The first time was in the laundry room. Wilson was the only one who used the washing machine because he was the only one who still cared about human standards of hygiene. He had just done a load of whites – underwear and sheets and towels – when the Professor came into the room. Wilson was quite aware that the Professor regarded him as a failure as a vampire and a needless distraction from House’s studies. The Professor wanted him gone, preferably dead, but he couldn’t kill Wilson himself because he had given his word to his apprentice.
Wilson didn’t feel comfortable, knowing that the Professor wanted to kill him and had the power to do it, and that all Wilson had to thank for his continued existence was the Professor’s dubious code of honour. He kept a cautious distance, and put the load of newly washed laundry he was carrying on top of the washer, ready to give the Professor his respectful attention. The Professor came closer and Wilson automatically took one step back and then another.
Wilson’s eyes were lowered, since the Professor would regard direct eye contact from an inferior as an intolerable offense. His voice was carefully neutral. Wilson was wary, but not yet afraid.
“Are you looking for House? I think he’s in his room.”
“If I were looking for House, I wouldn’t look here,” the Professor said.
He took another step closer and now he was only inches away and Wilson was backed up against the laundry room wall. He reached out and put his pale white hand on Wilson’s shoulder, an apparently friendly gesture that made Wilson shudder involuntarily. The Professor could feel him shudder, of course, and he smiled. The smile too seemed almost friendly, though there was just a hint of tooth and fang.
“Do you want me to do your laundry?”
Wilson’s voice sounded false even to his own ears. He was trying to pretend that everything was normal and he was not afraid, but he couldn’t quite manage it. He sounded too ingratiating, too desperate.
The Professor didn’t bother to answer. The weight of his hand on Wilson’s shoulder was heavy, pinning him against the wall. With his other hand, he stroked Wilson’s cheek. The Professor’s nails were long and sharp, like the talons of some ferocious prehistoric bird. He explored Wilson’s face, the nails casually brushing against the delicate skin underneath his eyes, one long skinny nail running along his lips and then parting them slightly. He leaned forward, and his full weight bore against Wilson’s body. Belatedly, Wilson tried to break free but the other vampire was very strong. The Professor smiled, fully exposing his fangs, and Wilson realized he was enjoying Wilson’s futile efforts to escape. They excited him. Wilson held himself still.
The razor sharp nails of one hand exerted a steady pressure against the artery of his neck, while the other hand explored. With surgical precision, he cut the threads holding the buttons of Wilson’s shirt. One sharp nail circled Wilson’s nipple.
“Why aren’t you calling out to House for help? I think you must like this.”
He ran the nails of this free hand down the length of Wilson’s torso, hard enough to leave raised red marks but not quite hard enough to break the skin. Wilson gasped and flinched when the Professor’s hand burrowed beneath the waistband of his pants. In response, the Professor increased the pressure against Wilson’s neck.
Satisfied that he now has Wilson’s full attention, the Professor took a step back, and allowed the younger vampire a chance to catch his breath. Wilson staggered, coughing soundlessly. Wilson was relieved, thinking that the Professor was done with him, but the old vampire hadn’t finished yet. He ordered Wilson to undress, and Wilson complied, hoping that this gesture of obedience, this humiliation, would be enough to satisfy the older vampire. The Professor gripped Wilson’s scrotum in a hand like a fistful of razor blades and leaned in close, pressing his lips against Wilson’s so that he could feel the Professor’s fangs bruising his flesh.
“I could hurt you. I could make you bleed, but I won’t because I am honourable and I’ve given House my word,” the Professor said. “While House lives, I’ll keep my promise to him, until he releases me from it.” The Professor turned around and left the room, and Wilson sank to the floor.

House came looking for Wilson forty-five minutes later. House opened the door to the laundry room, and Wilson looked up. House saw a quick glimmer of fear in his friend’s eyes before Wilson looked down again. Wilson was sitting in the corner, half naked, hugging himself. A load of wet laundry was piled on top of the washer.
“What’s the matter?” House asked.
Wilson didn’t answer, so House tried again, this time speaking gently and softly.
“Did the Professor hurt you?”
Wilson shook his head violently and House came closer. He put out his hand to help Wilson to his feet, but Wilson moved away, evading his touch. House realized that he was looming over Wilson, intimidating him, so he sat down a few feet away so he could speak to him at his own level. He looked away, staring at the pile of sheets and towels, until Wilson seemed calmer.
“Did he rape you?”
This time Wilson found his voice.
“No, of course not; nothing happened,” he said, “Nothing important. The Professor frightened me a bit; that’s all. I know I’m over-reacting. I get nervy when I go too long without feeding.”
House knew Wilson was being evasive. Something serious had happened in this room – something between the Professor and Wilson - but he couldn’t trust either of them to give him an honest account. The Professor was an evil old bastard, and Wilson lied constantly, usually to protect other people or for some other equally inane reason. Normally House would have persisted with Wilson until the sheer annoyance factor of his repeated questions and speculations forced him to reveal whatever was bothering him, but this time even House could recognize that Wilson was just too upset.
“Okay,” House said, pretending to believe him.
“I’ve got to finish the laundry,” Wilson said, getting to his feet. “I’ve got to pin the laundry up to dry. I put them out on the clothesline just before dawn and then take them down first thing at night.”
“Too late. The sun’s already up.”
He stood up as well, and noticed that Wilson immediately edged away.
“Anyway, I just came to get you. It’s time for bed.”
“Right,” said Wilson.
House headed for the door, but Wilson made no move to follow.
“You don’t want to sleep in your room tonight, do you? All alone in the dark in that little closet, and if the door opens it could be anyone. You’re safer with me than you are by yourself.”
Wilson looked sick, but at least his words had the desired effect. Wilson followed him back to his bedroom.

After that, there were other incidents, though none of them was quite as bad as the first, because at least Wilson knew what to expect. He tried to avoid the Professor as much as possible, which also meant avoiding House, since the apprentice spent much of his time in the Professor’s company. He couldn’t tell House what was happening, since he would probably want to confront the Professor, and Wilson didn’t want to be responsible for House’s death.
Wilson had always found the kill difficult, but before the Professor’s harassment he had begun to hunt for himself, without House’s supervision and support. Now that he felt constantly threatened, the progress he had made disappeared. He just couldn’t bring himself to bite into another living being. He would convince himself that he would do it, but at the last moment he would hesitate. Wilson became gaunt. There were dark circles under his eyes, and he was always cold. He piled on layer after layer of clothing, but he never got any warmer, because the cold came from inside. He needed blood to warm him. He shivered all the time, and his nerves felt strained and tight.
Wilson was lying on his cot in his own tiny, stuffy bedroom trying to read a book from the Professor’s meagre collection. It was a three-volume Victorian novel by an author Wilson had never heard of, and it was hard slogging. Wilson would read a paragraph, and then he would lose his place and realize he had no idea of what he had just read, and he would have to start over. The brilliance of the forty-watt bulb in his bedroom ceiling was almost too much for his sensitive eyes to bear, and the feeling of his shirt collar rubbing against his skin irritated him beyond endurance.
House opened Wilson’s door without knocking. When Wilson looked up and saw House, his initial fear turned into displeasure. Wilson knew that House would want sex or conversation, and he did not feel capable of either at the moment. If he were a human, he would say he had a migraine or the flu, and House would eventually have to leave, but he wasn’t human, and vampires don’t get sick, so he had no excuse. Pretty soon, House would begin to talk, and Wilson dreaded the sound of his voice (anyone’s voice, really) and if House actually wanted to touch him...Wilson fought down a wave of nausea. As House crossed the threshold, Wilson unconsciously backed away from him, baring his fangs.
House wouldn’t tolerate any aggressive displays from Wilson. The vampire he had initiated was supposed to be respectful and obedient. He showed his own fangs, and this time Wilson looked down, properly submissive. Too submissive.
“Wilson,” said House in a deliberately loud voice. The other vampire winced, confirming House’s suspicions. “When did you last go hunting?”
“Three days ago. We all went into town. You remember.”
“Did you actually make a kill that night though?”
“I don’t think so. I didn’t have very good luck. First there was a pregnant woman, so I let her go by, and then a teenager, and he was too young. Then there was an old man, and he had an oxygen tank and was riding a scooter, and I thought he’ll just drop dead before I can even bite, so there was no point.”
“So how long since you’ve last fed?”
“I don’t know. A couple of weeks.”
“Uh huh,” said House sceptically. “I’d say at least three. You told me you could hunt by yourself. You said I didn’t need to babysit you anymore. You were lying.
What have I told you about feeding regularly? You’ve starved yourself until you’re half-crazed. I bet if I touched you, you’d try to take my hand off. You’re no better than a werewolf. You’re sleeping on the floor today.”

Only the Professor was allowed to drive his car, so he drove House and Wilson into the city, and turned around to go home. He was not pleased with the disruption of his schedule, and he told House curtly that he would be coming to pick House up at two-thirty in front of the Luxor, and if House and Wilson were not waiting for him there, he would turn around and leave without them.
House had decided that he would kill first, just to show Wilson how quick and easy it was. He looked toward the other vampire and sighed. The essence of the vampire’s hunt is stealth. A vampire blends into the shadows. Wilson’s eccentric attire, however, was drawing curious glances from passing tourists. He was wearing four t-shirts, his McGill sweatshirt, his own cloth jacket and House’s leather jacket (borrowed without permission). He was also wearing sunglasses to protect his eyes from the bright lights of the Strip, although judging by the way he was peering out at the world through his fingers, they were not enough.
House walked at a brisk pace, heading for the poorly-lit employee parking lot of one of the bigger resorts. Wilson tried to follow, but the sea of tourists, which parted obligingly for House, buffeted him as it ebbed and flowed. He lost sight of House. He barged through a group of conventioneers, all wearing matching red blazers and name tags, hoping to see House just ahead, but he was long gone. The smell of the crowd was maddening, making him feel ferociously hungry and then desperately ill. The sounds of traffic and the chatter of passers-by assaulted his ears. Suddenly getting away from the crowd seemed much more important to him than finding House. He sat down on the sidewalk, back against the wall of a building. He shut his eyes and buried his head in his arms, trying to escape the barrage on his senses. He fought a surge of panic.
“Wuss,” said House. “I thought vampires were supposed to be fearless.”
“Fearless vampire hunters,” Wilson corrected, “not fearless vampires.”
“Maybe I’d feel more sympathetic if your misery weren’t self-inflicted and if you weren’t being such a pain in the ass. Besides I don’t remember you being particularly kind when I was going through withdrawal.”
“I’m sick.”
House shook his head, even though Wilson’s eyes were closed and he couldn’t see him.
“Vampires don’t get sick. We’re immune to disease. Your body craves blood and it’s going to make you more and more miserable until you give it what it wants.”
House sighed in a way meant to communicate to Wilson just how patient and long-suffering he was being.
“What’s bothering you more – the crowds or the lights?”
“The lights.”
“Keep your eyes shut then. Take my arm and I’ll lead you. Only this time, keep up!”

The woman House killed was a croupier, still wearing the livery of the hotel where she worked. House grabbed her, dragged her into the darkness, and plunged his fangs into her neck before she had time to realize what was happening to her. It was a merciful death because she had no time to be afraid or to be in pain. Wilson wanted to be able to kill like House, but he knew that her death was kind only because House was swift and strong and never hesitated.
The scent of her blood drew Wilson near, and soon he was standing behind House, watching him feed. Wilson knelt down, and when House leaned back, he flinched at the physical contact, but did not move away. His cheek was against the nape of House’s neck, and he felt the warmth of the dying woman spreading through the other vampire. He kissed House, and he thought he could taste her on House’s skin. His freezing cold fingers burrowed underneath House’s shirt, seeking the heat of his body. House was lost in the bliss of the kill, oblivious, and Wilson held him. As House fell back, sated, Wilson took advantage of House’s vulnerable state to kiss him tenderly on the lips – a liberty House seldom allowed him. He delicately licked a bit of blood from the corner of House’s lips.
House was coming to himself, and he was not pleased to find Wilson hovering over him solicitously. There was something too hungry in the other vampire’s eyes. He pushed Wilson away and got to his feet abruptly, swaying slightly.
“Your turn next,” he said.

Although the newspapers and the television newscasts had made no mention of a series of strange killings, House had no doubt that the vampires’ activities had been noticed. It made sense for the authorities to want to cover up a string of strange deaths, especially in a city dependent on tourism, but that didn’t mean that they were oblivious idiots. It would be pushing their luck, House thought, to kill two people in the same location on the same night. Instead he took Wilson to another site he had scouted earlier, a strip joint called the Booby Hatch. House took Wilson to an alley behind the bar.
“The patrons of this place prefer to use the alley in back rather than the men’s room. Pretty soon, someone is going to come out the back door and head for this alley, and you are going to kill that person. I don’t care whether it’s an old man with an oxygen tank or a blind stripper with a Seeing Eye dog. You’re going to bite. I am not accepting any excuses.”
Wilson nodded, although he looked unhappy.
“I’m going into the bar. Maybe I’ll get a lap dance. Don’t disappoint me.”
Left alone, Wilson shivered. His bones ached with cold. He crouched behind a dumpster, where the cool evening breeze could not reach him. A sudden blare of ugly and aggressive music told him that the door to the bar was opening. He stood up and watched his victim head toward his fate.
Wilson took a deep breath. The man that stepped through the doorway was taller than House and at least twice as wide. He had to weigh three hundred and fifty pounds, and most of that great mass was muscle. In the light of the bulb set above the backdoor, Wilson could see that he was wearing jeans and a dirty t-shirt, and that most of his visible skin was blue with tattoo ink.

House took a seat near the stage. A waitress wearing a bikini top and bicycle shorts took his order for a beer; he had no intention of drinking it, but it was the price of a seat. A young woman wearing a g-string gyrated awkwardly around a pole. Her smile was an anxious grimace, and House looked away. There was nothing sexy about desperation. She should at least act as if she were enjoying herself. When the next performer wasn’t any better – a blank-faced robot girl about as alluring as a plastic Barbie doll – he got up and went out the door.
At the entrance to the alley, House stopped dead in his tracks. He could see Wilson walking up to an enormous man. At least House presumed he must be a man, though he looked more like something that lived under a bridge and spent its spare time harassing billy goats. Wilson held out his hand to shake and the man looked at his hand in puzzlement, as if this common courtesy was totally unknown to him. Wilson seemed to be talking to him, and finally the man put out his hand. Once Wilson had his hand, he seemed reluctant to let go. He backed up, away from the light above of the door, and the man came with him.
House walked into the alley, and Wilson spotted him out of the corner of his eye. His concentration almost broke; the huge man lifted his head and looked around him in confusion and anger. Wilson was able to regain control though. He ordered the giant to close his eyes, and still grasping his hand firmly, had him sit down next to the dumpster. Wilson stood over him, and now House was close enough to hear his words.
“I want you to feel happy. I want happiness to be your last memory.”
“I feel happy,” said the behemoth.
Wilson bit him.

Wilson, House and the dead man were concealed behind the dumpster, out of sight of anyone leaving the Booby Hatch.
“I don’t understand why you wanted him to be happy,” House said, as he went through the man’s pockets. “He was a fat neo-Nazi piece of scum. He had a swastika tattooed on his right arm, and ‘Whites Rule OK’ on the left.”
Wilson was staring off in space, humming. He was always useless after a kill.
“I don’t think you have a conscience any more than I do. You don’t care about other people’s happiness, because you’re a vampire. We’re not made that way.”
“Do you think he had a good death?” Wilson asked, suddenly back in the same universe as House, if only temporarily.
“What do you mean ‘good’? If you mean fitting, if you mean what he deserved...”
No, I mean peaceful, no pain.”
“Is that what you care about?”
Wilson nodded, and leaned back, staring up at the stars. As he was in brightly-lit Las Vegas, few were actually visible.
“Your concern has nothing to do with your victims,” House said. “It’s just about you. It’s about you hating to see people suffer rather than about people suffering.”
“I was an oncologist. I saw a lot of slow and painful deaths. More than my fair share. I don’t want to see any more. I don’t care if that’s selfish. Besides, vampires are supposed to be selfish. You told me I wasn’t selfish enough.”
“That was before I spent an entire night of my life looking after you while you moaned and wailed every time a car honked its horn or someone turned on a light.”
“What’s one night when your life is endless, without an end, without a purpose...”
Wilson shut his eyes and seemed about to fall asleep on the pavement. House swore, and Wilson’s eyes opened.
“Look at this. It’s a gun.”
Wilson sat up, but the sudden movement made him feel dizzy, and he lay down again.
“Could that have killed me?”
“I don’t know,” House admitted. “It wouldn’t have done you any good.”
Wilson laughed.
“And if that didn’t work, he had a knife as well. I think he was a drug dealer.”
“What makes you say that?”
He’s got crystal meth hidden in his shoes. And a big wad of money in the back pocket of his pants.”
“Pretty conclusive evidence,” Wilson said. “Are you done yet? Because if you are, maybe you could come over here, and you could sit beside me, and maybe you could hold me, and maybe you could kiss me, and I’d be really, really grateful.”
“Hmmm,” said House, counting up the money.
“When I said grateful, I meant I’d do anything you wanted. Anything at all. Within reason, of course.”
“There’s over two thousand dollars here,” House said.
“So what are you going to do with the money?” Wilson asked. “You could buy a piano.”
“Not a very good one,” House said. “In the meantime, I think we should give the police a nice story.”
House forced the drug dealer’s mouth open and stuffed in the packets of crystal meth. Then he took the dealer’s knife and slit his throat. There was very little blood, and even the most cursory forensic examination would show that the wound had been inflicted after death. Still he supposed the police and the medical examiner would prefer an ordinary drug-killing to a mysterious exsanguination.

The Booby Hatch hadn’t seemed too far away from the Strip before, but the trip back seemed endless. House blamed Wilson, who seemed in no hurry to get back to the Professor. He dawdled, and House bared his fangs and threatened to hit him if he didn’t walk faster, but that seemed to make Wilson slow down even further. House had no choice then but to hit him, and he knocked Wilson off his feet. Wilson looked ready to continue the argument, and House realized that Wilson was purposely provoking him. House turned away from Wilson, and walked rapidly towards the Strip. Whether or not Wilson decided to follow was up to him. House arrived at the Luxor at two-fifteen. The Professor hadn’t arrived yet. As he waited, Wilson came up to join him.
“I’m not going back with you,” he said. “Will you give me my share of the money?”
“It’s all mine,” House said. “I’m the boss. It’s my money.”
“But you always give me a share.”
“I’m not giving you money to run away from me.”
“I’m not running away. I just need to go away for a few days. A vacation.”
“A vacation from what?” House asked. “It’s not like you do any work.”
“Please, House. I just want to feel safe for a while, so I can get some sleep. I’m tired.”
House looked at his watch. Two twenty-four.
“How about we both go on a vacation? I could probably use some rest too.”
Wilson smiled.
The Professor drove up in front of the Luxor at two twenty-nine. He drove off alone at two thirty-one.
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The Vampire's Apprentice