hh_mirror

((OOC: Surprisingly, this socking has no warnings at all. No violence, no talk of weird sex, no smut, nothing. What is wrong with me? The only warning might be extreme tl;dr-ness, and the annoying macro-motivational!speak title. God damn you, addictive macro speak.))

For all that House typically loved to annoy the hell out of people, the prospect of doing that today spelled out too much effort. All he wanted to do today was find a nice spot outside, have a few cigarettes, pop a few Vicodin and read a medical journal.

The fact that it was just past midnight didn't deter him - he was keeping an odd sleeping schedule these days. And he'd found a nice enough spot - stone stairs around the outside of the castle, occupied only by one other person, who had their head buried in a newspaper. Strange, but then, other people probably had weird sleeping patterns too.

The only thing wrong with this place was that Newspaper Guy was rustling the newspaper in an extraordinarily irritating fashion. House knew that newspapers were noisy things, but seriously, this guy was just taking the art to an extreme. He could move elsewhere - it was the socially polite thing to do, what most people would do - but that would involve far more effort than House liked. "Hey," he snapped, lowering his medical journal to glare balefully at the newspaper, "I've heard woman giving birth that make less noise than you. Shut up."

As he watched, the newspaper was lowered, and House almost literally jumped in surprise. He narrowed his eyes slightly and looked away, rubbing a hand over his face. "Sorry, didn't know it was you," he muttered, almost embarrassed. He hadn't meant to growl at his Dad, but to be fair, he'd had no idea. Fuck. Now he couldn't leave without getting lectured.

"You were so much more polite when you were younger," his father mused, a good deal of reproach in his voice. "Well, a little more, at least. The last time you were ever a decently mannered person was when you were two years old."

House didn't reply, and glared down at his medical journal as if it were at fault for this random encounter. Still, John was speaking the truth - even when House was a kid he'd still been a right little bastard. Always with the constant curiosity and questions, which was really just an annoying trait when he thought about it.

"And even though I devoted my time to helping you become a good person, you never learned, did you?" John continued. "You just kept rebelling against me, against my good intentions. Maybe if you'd paid attention, you wouldn't be who you are now, Greg. You're a mess."

Transferring his glare from the medical journal to the stone stairs at his feet, House sighed quietly. He really should just get up and walk away, he didn't have to listen to this. He'd heard it all already. Feeling a bit daring, House looked up briefly at his father, and the fact that it clearly wasn't his father was somehow less surprising than the initial appearance. The red eyes and the goat-pupils sort of gave it away.

Snorting in disdain, House rolled his eyes as the demon - clearly, it had to be a demon, he'd been doing some reading in his moment of extreme boredom - smiled at him, still wearing his fathers face. "Oh, cool trick," House said sarcastically, flipping a page in his journal. "But you're not going to get any kudos from me until you turn into somebody really cool, like Pamela Anderson or Carmen Electra."

"Can't blame a guy for trying," the demon continued smiling, abandoning the pretense of reading the newspaper. "I've been looking in on you for a while, you know. It's hard to pin down what you're truly scared of." His tone was completely casual and conversational, and House tried not to look at his 'father' inspecting his nails.

"A while, huh?" Obsessively folding the corner of a page, unfolding it, and then making a bigger crease, House tried not to appear interested. He could have gotten up and walked away right now, but this was entertaining enough. Seriously, it wasn't every day that you discovered you'd been on someones 'watch list'. "So, got a name? Or can I go with what I've already been calling you in my head?"

"Algaliarept will do just fine."

Giving the demon a brief glance, House raised an eyebrow. "Pity. I was becoming attached to 'Baphomet's Ugly Step-Child'."

The demon laughed loudly, and unfortunately didn't appear insulted at all. "No questions about why I've been watching you? Surely it's obvious. Some people are just asking for it - look at you, you hate everything, you're in constant pain, the only thing that keeps you alive is medical puzzles, and you don't really care about the fact that you're going to die soon. It's marvelous."

"Good to know," House replied dryly, not caring for the subject. He smoothed the fold out of the page corner.

When he next looked over, he furrowed his eyebrows and scoffed. "I'm not afraid of Wilson. Are you sure it's me that you've been looking in on? I can't be afraid of a guy who wears a pocket protector and tries to convince me to eat stuffed peppers. Come on." Interestingly, the demon didn't look like Wilson as he normally looked like at the hospital - it was Wilson at his most casual, the way he looked here at the castle. Except for the eyes.

"Don't be silly," 'Wilson' smiled, though it certainly wasn't a pleasant expression. "It's not him you're afraid of. It's what he stands for."

"What, kindness to balding cancer kids and reproachful anti-drug lectures?" House replied snidely, unimpressed.

The demon's grin widened, and for a moment, he looked so much like Wilson that House almost forgot that it was a demon that he was sitting next to. "No, it's what might happen that scares you. Think about it. Wilson's hardly the most devoted of people - three divorces in and numerous affairs, he's not going to settle down any time soon. You know what will happen. Eventually he'll get bored of you once he realizes that nothing he does will fix you, he'll find a needy young woman and you'll be left alone again."

House frowned heavily and looked away, picking at the creased corner of the journal page. He knew Wilson didn't exactly have the best rate of fidelity, that much was obvious. "Good one, dude," House mocked in a drawl. "But I know that already." As loathe as he was to admit it, though, the idea did make him nervous.

Or, not so much nervous, as... insanely possessive and territorial, mocking of Wilson's track record and stupidly insecure every time Wilson looked like he was making a new friend.

"And then there's the other thing," Algaliarept continued casually. "You've been in a better mood ever since your relationship changed, haven't you?"

"So what?" House rolled his eyes. "It's not a crime to occasionally enjoy oneself. Unless you're talking about having a fetish for making snuff films, then it really is a crime. "

"For you, it is," the demon pointed out, as if it were incredibly obvious, ignoring House's attempts to divert the conversation. "You're addicted to misery, and if you're with somebody that makes you happy, then you don't have reason to bitch, do you? Oh, I know that Wilson occasionally makes you smile and that's about the extent of your happiness, but think about what might happen later. He might get better at it, you might start enjoying life, and then you won't be special anymore, will you? You'll be just like everybody else."

"Really off the mark there. Next time try turning into a clown," House shuddered in mock fear. "Otherwise, just stop talking." He waved a hand dismissively.

Unfortunately, the demon wasn't deterred. "You say you strive to be normal, but I know that you don't actually want it. You take pride in being the outsider, in not caring what people think, in being crippled."

Barking a sharp note of laughter, House looked at the demon incredulously, responding despite himself. "You think I like being crippled? Christ, you're the worst detective I've ever met. Go read some Sherlock Holmes, brush up a little."

"Okay, then let's try something else," Algaliarept said amiably, clasping his hands together. "I'll make you a deal. I'll take away your leg pain, if you give me your memories of Wilson. How does that sound?"

For the first time since the conversation began, House faltered slightly. He couldn't help but think about it - really think about it - before he blinked slowly. He wasn't the most social guy, and Wilson was the only person that had even managed to make him smile in the last ten years. There were a lot of good memories there, including the latest ones. But he'd been trying to find a way to take away his pain for seven years now, and...

"No," House answered finally. "Go try make a deal with someone else. Not interested."

"At least think about it, Gregory House," the demon answered, smiling in a rather snake-like fashion. It didn't sit right on Wilson's face. "You've got two options, here. Either you live in pain for the rest of your life, and you'll have to deal with it when Wilson gets smart and tells you to fuck off. Or you can be pain free, and you won't even care about who he is. There's only one good option there."

"The only 'one good option' is that I find a way to give you lupus and cancer, and then tell you to go fuck off. The latter of which I'm doing right now," House replied, putting on a mockingly helpful voice.

The demon narrowed his eyes in consideration, and chewed on his lip briefly. "How about this - your liver is going to fail in, oh," he made a show of checking his watch, "About three years, if you keep up your Vicodin habit. The price would be less - I give you a brand new liver, and you owe me a favor that I'll call on later."

House snorted heavily, though there wasn't as much disdain in there as he would have liked. It was tempting. Really tempting. And what possible kind of favor could a demon call in? To kill somebody for them? House could just talk his way out of that one. "Is there a guarantee on that? Got to collect the favor within a year or the deal is bust?"

Wait, he wasn't actually... doing a deal with a demon. This was insane. This was probably the stupidest thing he'd ever done. But the price for no pain was too high, and he didn't really want to die of liver failure. It was a shitty way to go.

As if aware if House's inner indecision, Algaliarept smiled in what was probably meant to be a reassuring manner. It didn't work. "No time limit - but after all, with a healthy liver, you won't need one, will you? Unless you have another infarction. I call in the favor when I want it." All business, the demon finally folded up the newspaper and threw it away, rubbing his hands together. "So, where do you want it?"

"Excuse me?" House scowled. "You'd better not be talking about what I think you're talking about."

"The mark, Gregory House," Algaliarept explained patiently. "I give you a scar in reminder that you owe me." He paused for a brief moment, and then shrugged slightly. "I'll decide for you, since you'd just talk in circles. I think-"

"Woah, hey, no." House scrambled for his cane, the first vestiges of 'Oh shit, I'm talking to a dangerous demon' finally kicking in. He might be a genius, but when it came down to it, he had the common sense of an eight year old. "I never agreed," he snapped, as if he hadn't just been very close to giving in and owing the demon a favor in return for getting a brand new liver.

No, he didn't want to live that much. Not enough to owe a favor.

Glaring at the demon, House slammed the end of his cane into the stone steps and hoisted himself upwards, actually feeling a little better now that he could look down on the demon wearing Wilson's face. "Keep your hands and your little 'demon marks' to yourself. And go find someone else to annoy, I'm over my quota for 'Being Irritated by Morons' today."

"Pity," Algaliarept tsked. "You could have gained so much, Gregory House. It's a shame that you can never quite seem to figure out what's good for you."

House gathered his medical journal, and cast a final annoyed look at Algaliarept. "If we're going by your definition of what's good for me, then I'd say it's a good thing."

The entrance door slammed behind him, leaving 'Wilson' still sitting on the stairs, a contemplative smile on his face. Though he hadn't made a deal, he'd still reached a fairly satisfying conclusion.

Finally, with a shake of his head, he picked up his newspaper again and re-opened it again, humming almost cheerfully to himself. Some battles could be lost on the way to winning the war, after all.