Eh... so here it is. I don't own, so don't sue me. This is a friendship fiction... ties into my other stories, and I guess I like it alright. I've had it written for awhile, just figured now would be a good time to add finishing touches and post it. woohoo for me. Review and say what you think!

Falling… falling…then a crushing weight on his

…heart…

chest.

Wilson was ripped from sleep as he let out a strangled 'oomph'. He opened his eyes; House was sitting on his chest and it was becoming increasingly difficult to breathe.

House sat, examining his fingernails innocently, "Hey Jimmy, what's the diagnosis for a crazy doctor that's been tossing and turning on the couch in his office screaming about me? Now, I know I'm sexy, but really there has to be some sort of boundary. I just don't sway that way."

Weakly, Wilson tried to push House off but was unsuccessful, "House…" he sputtered.

House looked down, "Your face is red like a toe-mah-toe. You should really get that checked out. Or give me answers, really I don't care. I could sit here all day," to emphasize his point, he wiggled around, earning another pained cough from the man underneath him.

"Just get off me…" Wilson tried to draw another breath. Sighing, House stood and sat in the chair beside the couch.

Sitting up and rubbing his chest, Wilson asked, "Did you really have to sit on me?"

"Gosh darn it; I thought I was giving you a lap dance. Guess I missed that day in medical school. And yes, you wouldn't wake up. I was contemplating a glass of water, but you have a meeting in…" he checked the silver clock on the wall, "five minutes. Couldn't find anything heavy enough, and I really didn't think you would have time to change."

Wilson shot up, "I've gotta go."

House stuck his cane under Wilson's feet causing the oncologist to trip. Groaning, Wilson turned over onto his back, "You hate me, don't you?"

Bouncing his cane off Wilson's stomach, he said, "Yes I do and you're not going until you give me an answer. You've got time. One or two words, is it really that hard?"

Pushing the cane off, Wilson answered, "It's nothing. The enchiladas didn't settle well. Can I go to my meeting now?"

"Liar."

Wilson watched as House lumbered out the door and down the hall before speeding to the meeting that he had forgotten all about. As he walked, he couldn't help but wonder what the dreams he kept having were really about. All of them led to death. Normally he would just shrug it off, but one… one almost came true.

As he stepped into the conference room, he shed his frown and broke into the heaviest smile he had ever worn.

As soon as he stepped out of the room, Wilson rubbed his temples, trying to ward off the forming headache. The meeting had gone terrible. Throughout the whole meeting, Wilson kept thinking of ways to avoid House until this blew over. He had been asked questions he never heard and when he was unable to answer, Cuddy became more and more livid. She was going to track him down and when she found him, it wasn't going to be pleasant. Another person to avoid.

"Dr. Wilson." Cuddy's angry voice cut through his thoughts. Almost deliriously, he imagined her flying around, setting fire to anything in her path and ripping his head off his shoulders. Slowly he turned

...step by step, inch by inch I drew closer…

to face Cuddy. Her face was set into a deep frown, but what he was surprised to see was concern etched into her face. "What's going on?"

Still thrown off by her change, he stuttered, "N-nothing. Everything's fine, just didn't get enough sleep."

She crossed her arms, "Wilson, I've known you long enough to call you a liar. What's the matter? Is it House?"

He sighed, "You're going to think I'm insane…"

"Talk to me in my office and we'll see."

Wilson sat uncomfortably in the chair in front of Cuddy's desk. Embarrassed, he had just finished telling her about the dreams. Now she sat staring with a frown on her face.

"How long have you been having these dreams?" she asked slowly.

Sitting back, he answered, "About a month."

"Do you think-" she began, but was interrupted by Wilson.

"I've already checked. Different hospital, different name. It's not a tumor or a clot or anything that could explain this if it could be explained medically."

She cleared her throat, "And one of these dreams… nearly came true? That's an amazing coincidence…"

"You would think. Before the meeting, he caught me while I was… having another dream. He said he couldn't wake me up, so…" he trailed off, deciding to leave his rude awakening out, "he woke me up and now he's looking for an explanation. What do I tell him? He's going to call me an idiot if I tell him and I won't hear the end of it. Neither will anyone else."

"He's going to want to know. Now that he knows something is up, you won't get rid of him until you tell him. Maybe it'll be good for him." She said as she stood, "You should go find him and get it over with. It might add a few years to your life."

"Or take some away."

Both said goodbye and Wilson left the room. One explanation down, one to go.

"Hey Wilson!"

Hearing the familiar greeting, Wilson turned to see House limping as fast as he could toward him. Scowling, House stopped halfway, "Could ya do a guy a favor?"

Shaking his head, Wilson made up the rest of the distance between them. Once he reached House, he asked, "Does it hurt more today?"

"Why do all these conversations have to be about me? We're going on a break."

"But I've already…" Wilson started.

"Then get a drink. You're going to tell me what's up. Don't think I won't knock you down and sit on you in front of all these people." House waved his cane threateningly.

Wilson sighed, "Let's go. But you're paying this time."

"When do I not?" House asked, feigning innocence.

"So what is going on with Wonder Boy?" House asked after he ordered his food, "You didn't look very good earlier. Don't lie or I'll beat you, I swear I will."

"It's nothing. Why are you so violent all of a sudden?" Wilson dipped a chip in the hot sauce in front of him.

"It didn't look like nothing. Tell me or I'll ruin your life." House threatened again.

"You already have."

House pulled his phone out and began to dial. He waited for a moment and then began in his most gossiping voice, "Hello, Dr. Cuddy. You'll never believe-"

Wilson ripped the phone out of his hand and snapped it shut. "Do you really want to know that badly? Why can't you be like everyone else and let it go?"

"When have I been like everyone else? What's wrong?" he emphasized.

Wilson sat back and ran his fingers through his hair, "You'll think I'm insane."

"I already do. Hurry up before I leave."

With a smile, Wilson sat back, "Maybe I won't hurry, then you'll go away," the smile fell from his face, "Oh no, I'm starting to sound like you…"

"Sucks, doesn't it," House said, shoving another chip into his mouth, "I'm not leaving until I finish here."

"Why?" Wilson snorted, "You don't care

House frowned, "Maybe I do, maybe I don't. But as a doctor, I'm required to keep people from going insane. Speak."

Drawing in a deep breath, Wilson prepared himself. As he thought of how to begin, he realized he almost wished that he was telling a cancer patient they only had a few short months to live.

"I've been having these dreams-"

"Haven't noticed," House popped another chip into his mouth.

Wilson glared, "Do you want me to tell you or am I just wasting my time and paycheck?"

House chewed his mouthful of food thoughtfully and Wilson continued, "These dreams are always so vivid, but afterward I can't recall what happened. I can only remember the endings…"

Taking advantage of Wilson's embarrassed silence, House broke in, "Bad dreams? You're freaked out over a few monsters in the closet?"

Wilson sighed angrily, "They all end in your death."

For a moment, House fell silent. He took a swig of his drink and started again, "These are just a few nightmares, Jimmy. I haven't died, you can see that and I'm not going-"

"But you nearly did," Wilson broke in louder than he intended. Irritated, the couple sitting in the next table stared. Wilson waved his hand as a quiet apology; he hadn't meant to get so upset.

House stared Wilson in the eye, "We took care of that, Jimmy."

Wilson didn't speak so House continued, "Those are just stupid dreams. Nothing to piss your pants over."

House finished his meal in silence, neither man comfortable enough to say anything. The waitress came with the check and Wilson, as always, paid for both of them after House claimed to have left his wallet.

They stepped outside into the sunshine and the sound of cars blasting their horns. House was starting to walk up to the curb when Wilson grabbed his arm, "Why are you just dismissing this?"

"Why aren't you?"

Wilson stood in silence, unable to answer why he couldn't just let it go. Maybe it was all just a huge coincidence, maybe there wasn't behind

…life...

any of these dreams, maybe he was going insane, maybe work was finally getting to him and he should take that vacation to the Bahamas-

As Wilson stood there in silence, House stepped forward onto the white painted lines.

He stepped, but didn't look.

Wilson was brought back to reality as he heard the loud bang and the woman beside him scream. House wasn't in front of him anymore. He was on the pavement, lying in a pool of blood that was beginning to form underneath the side of his head.

His brain felt as if it were expanding inside his skull. He barely felt his knees hit the ground beside House as he numbly ran his fingers from House's brow to the back of his head. Around him, people were shouting for help. He felt a kind hand on his shoulder, but the hand gripped and tried to pull him away. Angrily he jerked away, his eyes still glued to House's peaceful face.

"It's a dream..." he whispered to himself, "Just one of those crazy dreams I've been having... I'll wake up and this will be fine..."

"We've called the paramedics," an older man said, resting his hand on Wilson's shoulder, "I'm sorry, there's nothing you can do, son."

Around them, the crowd mumbled to themselves, women covering their mouths as the men wrapped their arms around the women in support while they stared in pity. Mother's shuffled their children away quickly while other passer-bys stopped and murmered questions to others. The bus driver was resting his head on the side of his bus in disbelief, one stranger patted his shoulder for comfort while another looked upon him critically.

Wilson was unaware of the paramedics' arrival until they gently pulled him away, wrapping a blanket around him for comfort against the bitter wind that had built. With tired numbness, Wilson watched as the paramedics rolled House over onto the longboard and draped a sheet over his body

Cuddy met the ambulence at the emergency room, tears falling as the gurney carrying House was pushed past her. She grabbed a wheelchair, motioning for the other parametics to seat Wilson. His face was the same as when they had coaxed him away from House's body and the blanket still remained on his shoulders.

Cuddy's voice was muffled as if cotton had been stuffed into his ears, but he wasn't trying to listen. He was watching the gurney in front of him roll away, soon disappearing from sight. He shifted uncomfortably and stood, letting the cloth slide off his back. Walking as if he were on strings, Wilson began to stumble forward down the hall. Clinging to his arm, Cuddy walked with him, whispering to both of them soft words neither of them could understand.

Wilson jerked awake; his face was plastered to the polished wood of his desk. A dream... just a dream.

Unable to contain himself, he jumped up and speed out the door towards the diagnostics department. Nurses and doctors looked at him with confusion as he hurried past them, a small smile tugging at the corners of his cheeks. Another dream had past, another chance for House.

He burst through the glass door with House's name inscribed on it. He stopped short; Cuddy was behind House's desk, packing items into cardboard boxes as a tear rolled down her face. She looked up sadly, "You're awake, then."

He didn't speak, he only fell.

Alright, what do you think?