Alrighty, um.. this is my first Housefic. It's based on an rpg that I'm doing with charmisjess. This part has no rpg stuff in it, I just continued from where we had left off after that night. So this is all me. I hope everything is in character..I'm very new to the fandom, still learning. Everything will make sense in subsequent chapters and I ask to trust that I won't do anything horrendous. :D Feedback is appreciated, but please don't eat me, I'm not crispy and I don't taste good with catchup.

Frozen

Chapter 1 – Wake Up

He froze. He didn't know what to do. Normally, his hands would just work without intense mental instruction – since House was very intuitive after all – but not now. And there was nothing he could think of to do – all of his medical knowledge suddenly blocked off.

House looked down at Wilson and blinked; the look of shock still engraved on his face. It was as if he was seeing the blood soaking through the younger man's shirt for the first time. Intuition kicked in. He tried to suppress the bleeding. Pressure, he put pressure on the two wounds with both hands.

"Oh God.." Wilson whispered hoarsely, squeezing his eyes shut.

"Stop your whining," House replied gruffly, "It doesn't hurt that much."

He justified it – his gruffness. He couldn't show emotion or he would freeze up again. The act of suppressing the bleeding helped to suppress his emotions…whether it was one life or many lives that hung in balance at any moment, being untouched by the thought of caring was what kept House impartial, what allowed him to do what was needed.. He swallowed hard.

Stay with me, James, help is coming.

Foreman ran down the hall, past the other people helping the few wounded in the hall. They were being taken care of, but something else in the alarm caused him to keep going. As obnoxious, rude and uncaring as House was, it didn't mean that no one cared about him. That much was shown when he was shot before.

He jumped over an overturned cart in his way and spun in the through the open doorway of the office. "Doctor House!" Foreman shouted before taking full stock of the situation, "Doctor..Wilson…"

House looked up quickly, his face deadly serious. "Get help. Get a doctor," he ordered, his tone weighted heavily with urgency.

It seemed strange to House, as Foreman ran back down the chaotic hall, that a doctor had just ordered another doctor, to go get yet another doctor, to help a doctor. Why couldn't the first to do anything? Why were his hands shaking so much?

Time became a buzz. House felt like he was the one laying on the floor bleeding, not Wilson. He wished it was anyone other than Wilson, laying on the carpeted floor of his office with his eyes closed, looking deathly pale. The bleeding wasn't stopping; blood covered both of their hands. Wilson's grip on House's wrists, that he had grabbed out of pain when House first applied pressure to his wounds, had lessened. He looked down at his friend…

"Wilson! Wake up, you lazy ass! You're not dying."

The suddenness of House yelling at him made Wilson jump, like the body twitch on the verse of sleep. He slowly cracked his glassy brown eyes open and took a sharp breath that ended in a shuddering couch. "You're…a real..bastard..sometimes…" he whispered.

"Yes," House replied, "I am. I have to be. Stay awake a little longer."

"Awake…you must be.. joking…"

"No joke. If it was a joke, it would have been funny," House replied, looking up and watching the doorway for help to come, "Because I was telling it and not you." After a moment, he looked down to find Wilson's eyes closed again. House sighed, looking worried, and raised his voice again, "Wilson, wake up!"

No response.

"Ok…you've got a new girlfriend and I know who she is, and if you don't wake up, I'm going to go find her and make out with her in your room in ICU!"

Still nothing – Wilson didn't move.

"Damn it, James, wake up!"

A gurney rattled through the doorway accompanied by the trauma team. House was suddenly outside looking in, only watching as the hospital staff – of whom he was a member – treated his fallen friend. He sat on the floor, out of the way, helpless. As he looked around slightly, he glanced to the side and saw his cane. He wrapped his long fingers around the handle for support, even without standing.

It was surreal. It most certainly had to be a dream…a nightmare.

They all lifted Wilson together up onto the gurney, with everything prepped, and started to take him out of the room. The whole time, James' eyes never opened. He didn't respond to pressure on his wounds, on the pinch of the IV needle.

House watched from the floor as they took away his best friend.

Wake up, Wilson, damn you… he willed in his mind, or I'll hate you forever for leaving me behind and you know it. Wake up.

Wilson's voice, moments before the entire incident, echoed in his mind.

"Someday, House, you are really going to do someone some damage. Permanent damage. If you don't kill them first."

And the gunman…

"Who's the big man now that you killed your friend?"

House gripped his cane tighter.

Wake up, Greg.