This is it, the last chapter. Hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it. My thanks to everyone who commented along the way.

"Is that how you…?"

A veil of fog lifted. House heard a faraway voice that resembled Wilson's, but huskier.

"What was I supposed to do?!"

House rubbed his forehead in an effort to clear the clouds in front of his eyes and the throbbing ache behind them.

"Keep him out… trouble."

The voice did belong to Wilson. House squinted into the dark in an effort to make out where he was. His bedroom. The other voice was Zehava's, grating and emphatic as ever. She and Wilson were arguing in the living room.

"Lecture him? You know better than me how well that works!"

"Right. What was I thinking." Wilson answered wearily, the tone unusually brittle and flat.

Fuzzy thoughts coalesced into a utopian fantasy. The ordeal never happened. There was no limousine, no tribunal. He dreamed it all. Zehava must have dropped by and her histrionics penetrated his senses, sending him galloping into a raging nightmare. That was it. The dopiness and headache must be symptoms of some flu bug he caught in the hospital. By the roughness in Wilson's voice, he must be coming down with it too. Even more corroborating evidence, his leg pain lay dormant. Everything was fine.

Word bursts escaped from the living room and wormholed into his brain. He looked at the luminous dial on the bedside clock. It was a little past midnight. House couldn't wait until morning to find out what was going on, he needed to know now. Groggy and dizzy, he steadied himself with his hand against the the wall as he made his way toward Wilson and Zehava.

Zehava stood over the couch while Wilson huddled into a dark mass upon it. At least, House thought it was Wilson. He was dressed for a snowstorm. The McGill sweatshirt peeked through a hooded jacket that covered his face. His hands were stuffed into gloves, and he was concentrating on taking a glass from Zehava's hands without spilling the contents. Neither turned in his direction.

House stepped back into the shadows. He needed a moment to absorb what he saw. Zehava was in the same red dress as his "dream," and the glass Wilson quaffed was filled with ruby blood. There was no avoiding the fact that the evening's events had happened. But why was Wilson dressed that way and drinking blood? House rubbed his fingers along his neck and found no trace of raised puncture marks. The gory treat had not come from him.

"House?" Wilson croaked. "Don't come any closer. Stay right where you are."

Cursing under his breath, House was annoyed about being caught.

"Zehava?" Wilson burred the name of his sire, shredding it into sawdust. House wanted to massage his own throat in sympathy.

She turned toward House and walked him back to the bedroom. "We need to talk."

"After I talk to Wilson."

"All in good time, but first, we talk."

He tried evading her, but she blocked and corralled him into the bedroom.

"He asked me to speak for him. To spare his throat, and to prepare you." She motioned for him to sit on the bed. She picked up the clock radio on the nightstand before joining him, but did not talk until she set the alarm and placed it back next to the lamp.

The ache in his belly returned. It was unlike Zehava to stall. "What's going on?"

"You have until sunrise to stake Wilson."

"And if I don't?" He looked straight into her eyes, but her reaction to his steady gaze was to turn away like a cat and find something else to hold her attention. She rearranged the folds of her dress.

"He'll turn if you don't."

"He's already turned."

When Zehava looked up, her Ceylon sapphire eyes sparkled with tears. "He'll turn into a Nosferatu. The change is already happening. That's why his voice is hoarse. He did not want you to be shocked when you saw him."

"That's why Wilson was all covered up?" House puzzled out what he had witnessed. "Is that why he's drinking blood?"

"Partially. He has the Fever. As his body changes, he uses energy. No furnace other than the Hell Pit can warm him."

The desolation in Zehava's voice was disturbing.

"Is he in pain?"

"No…not much. The blood helps control the symptoms. House, he's afraid you will be unable to bear seeing him. His skin—"

"—Is turning uber white? I know what the Nosferatu look like. Do you think I care? It's Wilson. He could turn into a Teletubby and it wouldn't matter."

Zehava's hand grabbed on to his upper arm like a vise. "But he doesn't want to become Nosferatu. No vampire does. We all prefer the stake, and if you don't follow the Godfather's instructions, you will condemn your master to a living hell."

"Kill Wilson, or else." House ran a series of scenarios in his head, but not one idea bore fruit. He was a rat trapped in a maze. "No good news? Where's a good apocalypse when you need one?"

"Will you take this seriously? Maybe Wilson can convince you." Zehava rose, but House stopped her.

"One more question. Why did the Godfather drug me?"

"It was for your own good…mostly. So, you could handle this calmly. Without your connection your leg won't act up and prevent you from fulfilling the directive, and… Wilson is unable to feed on you. At this stage, he could go into a frenzy and kill you, but the Godfather tainted your blood so he can't. It will stay in your system for twelve hours—long after Wilson is gone."

Overcome with information he could barely digest, House could only nod. Zehava left in a blizzard of clicking heels. The sound was replaced by shuffling.

"Hey." A windy greeting blew out of a tunnel. Wilson leaned against the doorway, his head down, hands shoved into his pockets.

House walked over and braced himself before tenderly lifting the chin. The face was altered, but recognizable…to him. Black pupils rimmed with a line of cherry brown. The face molded from white candle wax with soot settling into half moons under the eyes, leaking into creases along the cheeks. A thick mottling of clay formed cirrus clouds above the eyebrows. Two similar spots crusted over the cheekbones. The lips were swollen into grubs.

Wilson winced and turned his head away from the lamp. He shivered as if an ice storm blasted over him. House ran his hand over the scaly forehead. The skin was scalding.

"How are you? And don't say you're fine unless you want me to stake you here and now."

"I'm c-cold."

He pulled one of Wilson's gloved hands out of a pocket and tugged at the leather. The fingers were ice and the nails nearly black.

"Come to bed. I'll warm you." As House pushed Wilson toward the bed and prodded him to slip under the cover, Wilson balked at taking off his clothes. House yanked blankets from the closet and heaped them on top of the bed. He added robes and thick coats, anything he could find. He shed his own garments, shut the lights, and burrowed into the thick cocoon.

He pulled the bedclothes over their heads to trap his body heat, and was startled by two luminous orbs staring at him. He'd seen feral red, coveted silver, and dreaded gold, but never this eerie blue-violet rimmed in pulsating crimson. He turned his attention to peeling off Wilson's clothes and received little cooperation, clumsily stripping layer after layer away until down to the glacier body. He wrapped his own frame around the vamp the best he could, pressing his warm flesh to the stone cold skin. This close, Wilson's tremors and occasional shuddering spasms became his own. He heard teeth chattering near his ear as he rubbed his hands, legs and feet over the frozen limbs, sparking heat from the friction. He ignored his own protesting muscles and concentrated on the trembling until it slowed. The tense muscles began to relax and Wilson's arms snaked around his waist. House felt an imperceptible hug.

"Are you defrosting, Snow Queen?"

"Y-yeah. Wh-what time is it?"

Not only was Wilson's hypothermia in check, but his vocal cords had regained elasticity. His words bumped along a cobbled street, but were no longer ghosts. House raised his head to see the clock. "Three, we still have hours to decide what to do."

"House, there's only one decision."

Any Wilson was preferable to no Wilson. "I have a plan. You stay Nosferatu. I charm the Godfather into sparing my life and embracing me. As soon as I've earned his trust, I'll kill the bastard and get turned into Nosferatu like you. We live happily ever after in the Hell Pit." The words rang like tin chimes in his ears. "Wait. What the fuck did I just say?"

"The Godfather's wine scrambled that clever brain of yours." Wilson allowed a dry, amused laugh. "Not a chance of that happening." He became somber. "Besides, before today is over, I won't remember you."

"Wilson—"

"Did it ever occur to you why the nightly news never reports drained bodies littering the tri-state area?"

As long as Wilson's hands were kneading his back, House could care less, but he answered, "I'll take werewolves for one hundred, Alex."

"Contrary to belief, lawyers are not the lowest form of pond scum. Nosferatu are. They don't drink blood. They dispose of humans... by eating them."

His hand stopped gliding over Wilson's skin for a moment, and then continued. "You couldn't do that."

Wilson's thumb massaged the base of House's neck. As if realizing what he was doing, the digit flew away. "I'll have no choice. Right now, I'm not only cold… but hungry. Promise me when the time comes, you'll stake me."

Holding out for a last minute save, House did not answer and could only grumble, "Of all the vampires in all the world, why did I end up with the world's biggest fuck-up?"

"Why did you bail me out of jail when we first met?" Wilson asked in a lighter tone.

"Because I wanted to know how a doctor fresh out of med school could be such a loser."

"See? That should have been a warning for you to run in the opposite direction. You know what impressed me about you? Your caring and generosity. Posting bail and buying me dinner afterwards. To think I fell for your charm." Wilson added with mock bitterness. "The last time I saw you pull cash out of your wallet."

"Had to make a good first impression."

Thick lips pressed against House's cheek. He was sure it was a simulation of a kiss. He returned one in kind.

"You should take the Godfather up on his offer. You'd make a great vampire." Wilson encouraged.

"It will be boring without you."

"How is that possible? You can turn Cuddy into your minion. No more clinic hours. You could turn Foreman and Taub—"

"Boring. I already screw with them…"

Every half hour, the fever would flare up, but House had caught on to the first sign. The purple eyes would reflect brighter, like shining marbles. He would immediately administer a dose of deep heating rub to the mild chattering and shaking before it was difficult to treat. Soothing Wilson so they could continue talking as if they were not in a hellish countdown.

In between, House deflected any discussion about the pending execution with banter. He selected his minion dream team, the three C's: Cuddy, Carmen Electra, and Christine Aguilera, but while he did so, he committed to memory everything he could capture about Wilson. No detail was too small. He recorded the texture, taste and temperature of his skin. The eyes that glowed silver, teeth that could nibble, but refused to bite. His smell. House closed his eyes so he could concentrate on the touch that heated his passion, and listened to the whispered babble that was returned from his own knowledgeable hands. House sank into a melancholy nirvana until—

—Frank Sinatra crooned...

"Some day, when I'm awfully low,

When the world is cold,

I will feel a glow just thinking of you...

And the way you look tonight."

"Shit! You and your oldies station, Wilson. After I stake you, I'm gonna smash that clock radio."

The bed shook with a soundless chuckle. Wilson could hardly speak, his throat had constricted again, but he whispered. "Fitting. Billy Joel kicked off our friendship, Ol' Blue Eyes might as well provide the eulogy. How about we get this over with before Zehava comes in yelling and ruins the moment." He eased off the mattress and chose among the detritus on the bed a pair of jeans and a jacket.

"Where are we going?"

"The roof." Wilson whispered. He was already heading out of the room.

House hustled on some clothes and trooped to the living room. In stronger light he could see what he had learned by touch. Wilson was a walking corpse, covered in leathery, white skin edged and shaded in black. A strong reminder that time was running out. Zehava stood alongside him.

"Why not here?" House swung his arm over the furniture. "Afraid to make your precious living room dusty? You behave like such a little ghoul." House chided as he joined Wilson and Zehava.

"Hou-" Wilson choked on his name, placed his hand on his throat to try again, "H—ck-ck!" Then mouthed, "Gone." He nodded at Zehava to explain.

"A vampire belongs to the night." Zehava answered for him.

All three trudged single file to the elevator as if they were members of a funeral cortege. At the top floor, they continued to the emergency exit and climbed a short flight of stairs to a small landing. House had hoped he'd have this time alone with Wilson, but kept his tongue until they reached the roof door. He turned to Zehava as he tested the doorknob. It was locked. "You don't need to be here. Three's a cr—"

The handle flew out of his hand as the door thundered outward with a crash and cold air washed over him. Zehava had kicked it with her high-heeled shoe, but she showed no sign of exertion.

"Yes I do. You need me to do that, and the Borgia asked me to witness."

"We're not taking marriage vows." House answered bitterly. He was caught off guard by a sudden flush of heat rushing through his body and Wilson's voice in his head.

"Let it go House, we don't have much time."

Wilson must have recently paid his back dues to the vampire's union, because the connection was back on and as strong as ever.

House turned. Wilson was a silhouette against fading stars in a disappearing night sky. Only minutes left before the sun would take over. He could make out Wilson's bare chest under the open jacket, the tattoo glowing like an 'X' on a treasure map.

The spike mysteriously pushed into the palm of his hand. He tried to drop it, but it stuck like glue. He could detect a small, amused twitch from the corner of Wilson's lips. "You bastard, you're gonna use the connection for your own selfish purposes."

"To save us both. House. Just do this? I don't have the energy to send you messages and help you dust me."

Wilson raised his hand, and House felt as if he were a puppet. He stepped forward. Another jerk of Wilson's wrist and without his permission, the stake rose in the air. His arm trembled as he fought for control, but he could not stop the upward motion, the stake was poised in a perfect trajectory to plunge into the glowing rose tattoo over Wilson's heart. There was a last minute reprieve as Wilson grabbed House's wrist and tried to speak, but could barely move his lips or grunt. House could make out a wave of tears splash onto the white cheeks. Wilson raised his right hand, touched his fingers to his lips, thrust his palm forward, and signed, "I love you."

Both arms were stationary at Wilson's side, and House desperately tried to halt the wooden spike, but all he could do was machine gun the same sentiment from his lips, "ILOVEYOU," before the stake pierced its target.

Nothing stopped his hand as it sliced through the body. He thought he had missed, but his aim was true. A nuclear blast went off beside him. A thousand suns exploded and a high-pitched noise beamed from the body, blinding and almost deafening him. He shielded his eyes with his forearm and did the best he could to protect his ears, but the whine doubled him over. He stayed that way until the light and sound faded. Expecting to find a crater exposing the basement five floors below, he saw Wilson's body stretched out at his feet.

Wilson's body.

No dust, but a body. House was sure he was hallucinating. He kicked at the sole of Wilson's shoe and met resistance. He toed the ribs and thought he heard a vowel break free from the lips.

Immediately crouching down next to Wilson, House checked the pulse, heartbeat, and respiration. There was nothing, but he could argue those were good signs. Wilson's complexion was back to normal—definitely encouraging.

Zehava joined him and kneeled on the opposite side. "Slap his face!"

"My pleasure." House tapped lightly, but struck progressively harder until his hand was numb. He stopped when a hairy arm grabbed his wrist. Wilson's warm cocker spaniel eyes looked back at him. Relieved and stunned, House declared, "This is fucking unbelievable."

Zehava cleared her throat. "Take my advice, and don't say that the next time you meet with the Godfather. A simple 'thank you' will do."

"This all happened because Idiot here had trouble deciphering the book?"

They were sitting around the dining table.

"Exactly." Zehava clasped her hands in front of her and nodded. "Some of the vampires were jealous of Caesar's interest in the two of you. Wilson was his pet project, and there was much distrust about the possibility of you, a vampire hunter, joining the clan. Apparently, some resentful vamp tampered with the sanitized spell book to trip Wilson up. Normally, a vampire merely runs his eyes over the page to absorb the incantations. Wilson could not concentrate because the words kept sliding off his copy. Someone deleted the charm for strabismus."

"You cross-eyed freak." House uttered the insult with the utmost affection.

"A whisper here and a whisper there, and Hervé could no longer keep quiet about Wilson's slow progress. He would literally lose his head if he didn't report it. Three years is the limit for learning the spells in the book. If word got out that the Godfather was lenient, it would tarnish his reputation, cause a scandal, or worse—a rebellion. He had to come up with a solution that would work within the system and stop the unrest."

"And his unorthodox approach was for House to stake me?" Wilson had spoken little up until then, as if he were afraid to test his voice, but the harshness was completely gone. House observed from the corner of his eye Wilson nervously touching and massaging the suppleness of the skin on his hands and forearms. Apparently, not believing his good fortune.

"To satisfy vampire law and accelerate your learning process." Zehava answered. Her eyes sparkled as she trilled like a fangirl, "The Borgia is a genius!" She pushed the book in front of Wilson and handed him a pair of glasses. "Thumb over the invisibility charm on pages 83 to 87, then shut the book."

The dark eyes opened wide behind the lenses as Wilson flipped the leaves. At the end of the passage, he lingered over a few additional pages before snapping the book closed and blinked his eyes…

Wilson's disembodied voice emitted a brief, awestruck, "Wow!"

House found it hard to keep a straight face and not mumble encouragement as he felt a teasing hand run up his leg to his crotch. Sensations sizzled along his groin, then stopped. Invisibility was decidedly erotic. Only too soon, Wilson materialized.

House scratched at his stubble. He needed to think through recent events. "A near-death experience doesn't cause miracles. There was something about the stake…" A light went off. "Four grains of gold. The signing bonus…came…early."

"Very good, Boychick. The tip was impregnated with gold from the Godfather's ring. It neutralized the stake and became a delivery system to implant gold into Wilson's body and reverse the Fever's effects. And that's why you had to do it. Show the clan your intuitive knowledge about vampires."

"I would have come up with the solution if I had worn my reading glasses when I inspected the stake. Wilson and I are better suited to be poster children for optometrists, not for vampire clans." Aging was a bitch. House had to do something about that…soon.

"You had your hands full." Wilson soothed.

"Full of you. I was as much help as a butcher with a blue-ribbon 4-H cow."

"Uh… thanks."

"ENOUGH!" Zehava said impatiently. Her no-smudge red lips pressed together in a thin line. "The grains were embedded in the tip so neither you, nor anyone else could see them. The Godfather was running the show, and no one second guesses the Borgia. Let that be a lesson to you. Meanwhile, in a few days, Wilson will be a fully credentialed vampire. Best you two lay low while I get the rumor mill churning about my childe and his minion's abilities."

"A happy ending. Well I'll be damned!" House had to give the Borgia his due.

"Given your Master's permission, someday you will." Zehava flipped her hair. "Sorry about all the secrecy, but I was under the Borgia's orders. Spies, you know. Well, this was a long night, but if I leave now, I could catch the tail end of the Ball and report back to Caesar." She collected her cape draped over the sofa, twirled it around her, said, "Night, Boys."…and vanished.

A hand landed on House's shoulder. "You had a long day. Why don't you go to bed?" Wilson suggested.

"I'm not sleepy, but a bite before bed sounds good." House wiggled his eyebrows to make his proposal clear.

Wilson ran his hands over House's shoulders and pecked him on the cheek as he nudged him from the chair and steered him down the hall. "We have to wait a few more hours for the wine to leave your bloodstream. Could you settle for an appetizer of human sex?"

"Hide the salami will have to do until you can serve up an entrée of vampire sex. What should we eat for dessert?" Wilson's arms were still around him, but he vanished like the Cheshire cat. Only a toothy grin remained until it slowly melted into the air.

As House was yanked through the threshold and flung onto the bed, he heard…

"I am vampire! Leave that to me."

~fin~

The Way You Looked Tonight, by Kerns & Fields.

Thanks for reading. All comments welcome.