Summary: House's ghost watches over Wilson as the oncologist punishes himself for his best friend's death. HxW
Warning: Double character death, ANGST, OOCness and Wilson's adorableness
Disclaimer: I own nothing! If I did, the program of House would be different only in that these two would be together and open about it to the ducklings and Cuddy…in public places…
It hurt to watch you, James, suffer all alone in your own world as you fight everyday for the life that just won't come back to you. Your beautiful eyes of the warmest hazel are haunted now, speaking of pain and torture of the heart that few men in our day and age see as often as you have and the soft chocolate hair you always so painstakingly used to keep styled just right is a mess, as if you have managed to brush it but it just plain not agreed with the brush. You are so thin now, you've lost far too much weight for someone your height and age and your skin has grown so pale it almost makes your shirts look ashen in comparison. You go through the motions of your work, no longer caring so much about it as you once used to and people are starting to notice. Even Cuddy is worried about you.
As I sit on your couch, watching you work, I can't help but notice the dark circles around your eyes and the way you rest your head against your palm tells me of a weariness that only days without good rest could do to you. You're falling apart, Wilson, day by day and its all my fault. You're fading away from this world a bit more everyday all because I died in your arms and you've been unable to forgive yourself.
That's right. I, Gregory House, am ghost. That day, almost three months ago, when that patient came into my office and shot me twice, I died, bled to death, in your very arms while you begged me not to leave you all alone in this world. I promised you I wouldn't and I have kept my word, watching over you ever since, though, to punish yourself for letting me move on, you've starved yourself and replayed the memory of my death over and over again in your mind. I've watched tears stain your pale cheeks far too often for my taste and it hurts even more to know I can't wipe them from your face or hold you close to ease your heart's pain. You're trying to torture me, I know it. God Wilson, stop this.
One day, I follow you to my, no our, apartment and my heart nearly breaks in my chest as you stumble on the steps, dizzy from a fever that you've been ignoring for too long while a rough cough that you've been suppressing all day finally shows itself and wracks you with such pain you have no choice but to double over. You kneel on the icy steeps, not really caring as the snow falls around you, entangling itself in your hair and decorating your black coat with it's pearly whiteness. I kneel beside you, knowing that the cold from outside is impairing your ability to tell I'm there and I can see in your face just how much strength its taking for you to breathe, let alone stand and walk inside the cold building that, once more, you had neglected to heat before you left. You're far too sick to be out here like this, shivering in the cold. Come on, lets go inside.
After a few long moments, you struggle to your feet and stumble inside, barely able to close the door behind you before you slip into another fit, this time with blood staining your hands with every harsh cough. You're in so much pain, almost as painful as the one in my leg had been in life, and that is something I would wish on no one, especially you, especially now. Somehow, after the fit passes, you have just enough strength left to make it to the bed, where you promptly collapse and shiver in the cold. You are too weak to survive the night, your breath is too wispy and your fever is too high. You are one shitty doctor to allow yourself to die so easily.
Still I stay by your side, watching you fight once more, until, just as I knew he would, Death came for you at last. Even this dark angel pities you. I ask him for one simple favor, if I could be the one to take you to heaven. He turns to me and despite the hood over his face, smiles faintly and grants me the honor. He presses a hand to your chest, rising and falling weakly, and all of a suddenly, the movement stops. Your spirit sits up, a spirit that has died long before your body has, and looks around, surprised that it can breathe and feel warmth again. I smile and laugh. "You got some timing there Jimmy. I was about to give up on you."
You stare at me for a moment, then laugh just as sweetly as I remember and take my hand for support to stand up. I no longer have to use my cane, which I can tell you are happy about, and we kiss for the first time in far too long. It is a sweet kiss, one of relief that we are together again really, but neither of us cares as we start floating off towards the heavens.
So, what do you think? Review and tell me!