Title: Fevered

Author: Arwen Kenobi

Genre: Angst, H/C

Rating: G

Pairing: Greg House/James Wilson

Summary: House is sick and very out of it

Timeframe: I didn't have a set time in mind, so use your imagination

Spoilers: None

He opens his eyes and screams. The man with brown hair and eyes tries to calm him down but he continues to fight back. They're after him, he just knows it. The brown eyed man keeps trying to say something to him but he can't understand a word of it. Doesn't want to anyways, it's all a bunch of lies.

The next time the brown eyed man says something he punches him in the face and he vanishes from sight. That's the last thing he remembers.

- - - - -

He spends most of his time asleep, he knows that much. Or else they must be doing something to make him forget things like who he is, where he is, and why the brown eyed man doesn't ever leave his room. There's a bruise on the brown eyed man's left cheek, spreading from the corner of his mouth and out. He remembers doing that to him and part of him says he should say he's sorry, but he can't make himself form the words.

The brown eyed man never leaves. At least he's pretty sure he never leaves. He doesn't really remember anything anymore. He can't even concentrate enough to try and read the tag pinned on the brown eyed man's white coat. The letters blur together and mean nothing to him.

The brown eyed man is talking to him now, saying something that he can't understand. He's holding his hand and running fingers through his hair. It feels nice. It distracts him from how cold he feels, though he recognizes somewhere that he's sweating. His legs hurt, his arms hurt, his head hurts. Everything hurts.

He doesn't remember the brown eyed man ever letting go of his hand or stopping his caresses. One time, he reaches out and traces the bruise on the brown eyed man's face. His mouth moves and words come out, but he doesn't know what they are. The brown eyed man just smiles a little and kisses his hand.

- - -

The next time he wakes up he recognizes that he's somewhere new. He's in a bigger bed and in a room that looks almost familiar. It must be someone's house, his own house maybe?

House.

Part of his brain clears and he remembers that name, his name. Gregory House. That's got to mean something positive. More will come back, he is sure of that, but his name is enough for now.

Some more of the haze clears as realizes that he's a doctor and he was in a hospital before. He's sick. Very sick, he believes. But he must be doing a bit better now since he's at home and he's starting to remember and feels a bit better; still sluggish, still hurting, and still exhausted but better.

The brown eyed man suddenly appears beside him. He's holding a spoon in one hand and a bowl in the other. He, i House /i he reminds himself, becomes aware that he's sitting up a bit, propped up with a bunch of pillows. He doesn't remember moving. The brown eyed man says something to him, but again the words don't register to him. He stares blankly at him and the man looks sad. He decides he doesn't like the way that man is looking and hopes to see that smile again. He likes that smile.

- - -

He's throwing up now. He remembers having done this too many times to count and he wishes it would stop. The brown eyed man is holding him up as he vomits into a basin, one hand rubbing his back and he registers he's being spoken to but still can't understand everything being said. He catches a few words like "okay", "here", and "Greg" but can't make any sense of the others. It makes him angry, but he can't worry about that now.

The next time he opens his eyes he's lying back down in bed. The brown eyed man has put a cold washcloth on his head, and it feels wonderful. He doesn't feel quite so hot anymore, and he doesn't remember the last time he didn't feel like there was lava pumping through him.

The brown eyed man is trying to help him. He moves the washcloth gently across his burning face. He sighs contentedly and the washcloth soon returns to rest on his forehead. He reaches out and grabs the brown eyed man's hand and squeezes. The brown eyed man squeezes back and brushes his free fingers against his wet cheek and then starts running his fingers through his hair again.

His eyes begin slip shut again and he manages to say something and understand it before everything goes dark.

"Stay…"

- - - -

He opens his eyes and finds the brown eyed man sleeping on the bed with him on his left side. He's facing him, hair falling into his eyes and one arm shoved under the pillow. The other hand is still knotted in his own. He looks at this young man and in the quiet moments that follow makes a discovery:

He i knows /i the man lying beside him.

James Wilson, boy wonder oncologist, his best friend of twelve years and his lover of nearly three.

He vaguely remembers everything else, but this is all that's important. His vision seems to clear a bit as he notes the dark circles under Wilson's eyes and how thin he looks. He doesn't allow himself to figure out how long he's been out of it.

He slowly turns himself so he's on his left side and reaches out with his shaky free hand to gently cup the left side of Wilson's face. Wilson shifts slightly at the contact and he begins tracing small circles with his thumb until the brown eyes flutter open. At first they're hazy and lost, then they focus and widen as they notice the change taking place before them.

House smiles weakly and moves that hand to circle around Wilson's neck, bringing their foreheads together. He squeezes the hand locked in his.

"Jimmy…" is all he manages to rasp but it's enough. Wilson lets out a grateful sigh and grateful tears begin to trace down his cheeks. House gently turns back onto his back, bringing Wilson with him so the other man's head is tucked under his chin. He also releases the hand in his so Wilson can cling to him like a lost child. House circles his arms around him protectively and hushes him as the tears slowly stop.

He places a kiss on the top of Wilson's head. "Sleep, Jimmy," he whispers and then follows his own advice.