022. Enemies

Fevers

House scrubbed at his face with his free hand as he limped into his office. He'd been feeling ill for the last couple of days and today had added feverish to his list of symptoms. He knew he looked terrible; his eyes red-rimmed, his face drawn and with a sheen of sweat. Cameron had fussed over him this morning until he'd snapped at her then she'd withdrawn with a hurt and worried look. He'd also seen Foreman and Chase exchange glances but whatever they had been thinking they had been wise enough to keep to themselves.

He grimaced as he dropped into the comfortable chair in the corner of the office, hissing with pain as his leg complained. It was just his luck that Wilson was away at a conference this week but he knew the oncologist was due back some time today and he felt so terrible that he actually had some half-formulated plans for letting Wilson check him over. He leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes, intending only to rest for a moment but his body overruled him and dragged him into sleep.

The feel of someone placing their hand on his shoulder startled him awake. He looked up and recoiled from the figure looming above him. Foreman was leering down at him but it wasn't a Foreman he had ever seen before. The neurologist's expression normal varied between irritation, exasperation and satisfaction. Never before had he seen such an expression of maliciousness on Foreman's face.

"This time you'll pay," Foreman said in a tone that could only be defined as slavering. He then reached towards House's leg with clawing hands.

House yelled as he threw himself out of the chair, pain lancing up his leg as he tumbled to the floor. He grabbed for his cane, using it to drag himself to his feet then turning to face this mockery of Foreman that had woken him. But the neurologist wasn't there. The room was empty and House turned sharply, ignoring the pain from his leg as he looked around frantically.

"Dr House?"

House whipped around to find Cameron standing in the doorway, looking at him with a mix of concern and wariness.

"What?" he said, his voice perilously close to a gasp.

"Are you feeling well?" Cameron asked as she came into the room and it was only then that House realised what she was wearing.

Her normal pants, shirt, lab coat combination had been replaced by a flowing black velvet dress with a plunging neckline. She wore black boots and had a black velvet choker around her neck.

"What's with the goth look?" he snapped as he tensed.

Cameron stopped in her tracks and smiled at him broadly. House gasped and started to back away. Cameron's canines were long and pointed and he could see that her eyes were black and hungry.

"I could make you feel better," she crooned as she started her flowing approach again. "I could make you feel all better."

House backed away until his back thumped into the wall. Cameron swooped up and pressed herself against him, her hands caressing his face and chest gently.

"Don't you want to feel better?" she murmured sweetly, her eyes fixed on his neck.

"I feel just fine," House said, leaning away from her as best as he could and realising that he did in fact feel fine, his cold seemed to have disappeared.

"But you're in pain," Cameron murmured as her hands caressed his neck.

House decided he'd had enough of this and he grabbed Cameron with both hands and shoved her away as he threw himself to his left. He stumbled and caught himself on a bookcase then whipped around, bracing himself with hand and cane. But Cameron wasn't there. She'd disappeared in much the same way that Foreman had and the room was once again empty.

He stumbled over to his desk and collapsed into the chair behind his desk, cradling his head in his hands and wondering just what the hell was going on. The door crashing open had him flinching and looking up with a gasp. Chase scrambled over to the desk and planted both hands on the top, leaning over and glaring at House with frantic eyes.

"He's dead! He said you killed him," Chase howled.

"Who?" House asked, leaning back and away from the panicked Australian.

"My Dad," Chase wailed. "You killed him and didn't tell me. Why didn't you tell me?"

House shook his head with confusion. "No…no…he had cancer. He died of cancer."

"No! You killed him!" Chase moaned. "He told me. You killed him."

House shook his head then leaned over and banged his head lightly on the desk. "No," he whispered. "What the hell is going on?"

He looked up and found that once again the office was empty. He scrubbed his face with one hand then drew in a deep breath. He let it out slowly and swallowed hard. He was going to go home and go to bed. Maybe after some sleep all of this would make some kind of sense.

He was just about to get up when he heard a low creaking sound and a breath of breeze whirled around him. He looked around and saw that the door to the balcony was open and he could see a dark shape outside. The creaking sound continued and he was able to determine that it was coming from the balcony. He pushed himself to his feet and warily limped outside.

The sight that confronted him made him moan, a low sound of pain and despair. The creaking sound was coming from the slow back and forth movement of the noose that had been tied around a support on the balcony above. And hanging from the noose, dead, his face blackened, was James Wilson. House limped forward, barely noticing the absence of the low wall that normally separated the two sections of balcony. Just below Wilson's feet lay a single gold ring and a photo. House picked up the photo with trembling fingers and saw it was one that had been taken before his infarction at a Super Bowl party he and Wilson had gone to. They were standing side by side, their arms thrown around each other's shoulders, both laughing and smiling with beers in hand.

House whimpered, a sound akin to that of a wounded animal, and he turned the photo over. Written on the back in Wilson's normal scrawl were two words.

Love you.

House let the photo slip out of his fingers then he yelled and jerked away.

House lurched forward in his chair, his eyes snapping open as the gasping yell escaped his lips. Hands caught at him and he tried to pull away, his breath coming in panicked gasps.

"House! It's alright! Greg! It's me, James!"

House looked around with wide, fear-filled eyes and when he realised that it really was James Wilson standing next to his chair, he grabbed at the other man frantically and pulled him into a fierce embrace. Wilson seemed startled but didn't fight him, merely wrapped his arms around him as best as he could in return and rubbed his back soothingly as House shuddered and gasped.

When House finally started calming down, Wilson carefully pulled away though he kept his hands on House's shoulders. He gave House a sharp look that quickly turned into one of concern and one hand shifted to touch House's forehead.

"God, Greg, you're burning up!" he said.

House blinked as the realisation that he once again felt like crap came flooding back in. He glanced around his office then back up at Wilson, the residue of what he was starting to realise were just dreams lingering and burning in his mind. It was this that prompted his next action. He reached up and grabbed Wilson, pulling him down into a desperate kiss full of everything he'd never been able to find the words to say.

Wilson stiffened and gasped and House took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, plundering Wilson's mouth with his tongue. Wilson moaned at this and his hands clutched at House desperately as he returned the kiss with an intensity that had House moaning as well. They finally separated when the need to breathe became vital though they only moved enough to gasp in air. Wilson was propped on the side of the chair, one knee resting next to House's leg, the other leg braced on the floor. One hand was braced against the back of the chair while the other was gripping House's shirt tightly. House's right hand was still wrapped around the back of Wilson's neck while his left was wrapped as far around Wilson's waist as he could reach. Wilson gently rested his forehead against House's as his hand loosened its grip on the shirt and gently began to caress House's chest.

"What prompted this?" Wilson said with a gentle smile and a caress that took any possible sting out of the words.

House closed his eyes and let out a shuddering breath. "Fever dreams," he murmured, letting the caresses soothe him.

"What kind?" Wilson asked, shifting into a more comfortable position.

House's hand tightened slightly on Wilson's neck and the younger man brought his hands up to brush against House's cheek.

"Everyone hated me, everyone was against me and you…" He shuddered again. "You were dead. Hung yourself on the balcony. Left a gold ring and a photo of us. You wrote on the back 'love you'."

"I'm not going to kill myself," Wilson soothed then he paused then said, "But I do love you." He let his hands gentle House before pulling back and standing again. "Fever dreams or not, I'm glad they pushed you into doing this."

House looked up and saw the smile on Wilson's face and he smiled back rather shakily.

"Now come on," Wilson said, holding out one hand. "You've definitely got a fever so I'm taking you home and if you're very lucky, I'll take advantage of a sick man."

House let his friend pull him to his feet and he smiled. "Sounds good to me."