House MD Oneshots + Imagines

Die For You (Gregory House x James Wilson)

It's a hot summer's night when House jolts awake to the feeling of two fingers on the side of his neck. He jumps to grab at the wrist that's right in front of the base of his throat so he can sit up and look into chocolate brown eyes.

Oh . It's just Wilson, who's jerking his hand back and running it through his hair.

"Wilson?" House tilts his head and rests his back against the headboard. It's so muggy and humid from the weather that he wants to toss the sheets off of himself, but Wilson is right there and he's only in his boxers, so he doesn't. Instead, he demands answers about why the man in front of him is in his room in the middle of the night, looming over his bed and touching his neck. "The hell are you doing?"

"Uh, nothing?" Wilson offers a nervous laugh.

House can't help but notice that Wilson looks like complete and utter shit. There's tears in his eyes, bags under said eyes, his hair is a mess, his shoulders are hunched, and his expression is twisted into a cross between relief and defeat.

"Were you checking my pulse just now?"

"Maybe," Wilson sheepishly answers and scratches the back of his neck while training his eyes on the floor.

"Did something happen?" House questions while holding his head in his hands and staring into his own lap. "I know you're weird and all, but this isn't your usual brand of weird."

"No, I just-..." Wilson trails off, then groans, unable to express himself.

"I'm not in the hospital, so I'm assuming I'm fine," House sighs and pushes his hair back. He needs to get it cut soon, he thinks, though that's probably not what he should be concerned about right now. Wilson is still just standing there, looking helpless and distraught. "But what's wrong with you? And why were you in my room?"

"I had this dream that woke me up, and I just had to come check on you," Wilson looks over at the alarm clock that sits on House's nightstand, so House does the same. It's almost four in the morning. "Now that I'm done with that, though, I'm going to bed."

"You didn't even really explain yourself," House points out before Wilson can so much as turn around, which earns him a nervous smile.

"Do I have to?"

"It'll bother the shit out of me if you don't."

"Which means you'll pester me until you get an answer you like," Wilson relents, then sits down on the edge of the bed and wipes the tears away from his eyes.

"Not necessarily an answer I like, just an answer in general."

"Fine, fine, I... Had a nightmare that you overdosed," At that, House shrinks into himself. He can't help but feel guilty. It makes sense that Wilson would worry about it, but to have a nightmare? House struggles to hide the remorse that consumes him. "You died, and I couldn't save you this time."

"Pft," He laughs in an attempt to conceal all of the feelings wracking his head. Wilson sees right through it, though neither of them say anything for a moment. After an awkward silence, House continues. "How in character of you."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You're always worrying about me instead of yourself," House points out, and it's true. He's used to having to remind Wilson to eat, sleep, and many other things while Wilson hounds him about the little things he forgets like brushing his teeth or doing his laundry. "You need to work on that."

"Can you blame me?" Wilson asks, and though House is tempted to say yes, he realizes that he can't because Wilson is right. He doesn't take care of himself and he's overall a mess, unlike Wilson, who is usually so well put together and obsessed with eating well and getting eight hours of sleep- until recently, at least. Recently, Wilson has been kind of a mess. House suspects that this might have something to do with it. "I mean, look at you, House. You've been slowly killing yourself for years, and I... I don't know how much longer I can do this."