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Wilson was in his office the morning it happened. It was one of those rare mornings free of appointments or other obligations, which usually meant he could get some paperwork out of the way.
Usually meaning if he wasn’t too distracted by the activities of the team on the other side of his office wall, which he often was in the morning. Despite his night owl tendencies and hatred of waking up early, House always seemed to be at his most energetic on the mornings that he had a new case.
This morning, however, had been almost suspiciously peaceful. Only quiet murmurs had reached his ears through the wall. Naturally, he assumed House wasn’t in yet. Or, Wilson thought with a grin, Cuddy had found him and dragged him into the depths of the clinic before he could hide.
Later in the morning, he heard the faint sound of the conference room door bursting open, followed by House’s cheerful voice. He had clearly found a case, Wilson thought as he heard House make his way to the coffee station right on the other side of the wall, his voice growing louder.
As much as it made Wilson reasonably nervous when House was this excited, especially after having just been in the clinic, he couldn’t help but smile at how happy his best friend sounded. It always gave him a feeling of warmth in his chest to see House happy. He figured it was because he worried about him so much of the rest of the time.
Wilson could hear the team debating briefly before Foreman’s disinterested voice rose above the rest. After that, Wilson thought he heard the door open again, much quieter this time. He could only hear murmurs of voices again, so he tried to refocus on his paperwork.
A gunshot rang out.
Wilson remembered that his brain had at first refused to believe that was what the sound was, that it must have been anything else, anything, please…
He was sure his heart had stopped as he froze, blood running cold, the couple of seconds before he could move feeling like hours.
He wasn’t even sure how he got to the door, much less through it, as he burst out of his office and rounded the corner, not registering any of the shocked and horrified faces and cries of the few other people in the hallways.
If he had thought his heart had stopped before, it was nothing compared to when he looked through the glass wall of the conference room, and suddenly it had shriveled up and died, been torn right out of him.
House had collapsed on the floor. Wilson felt something akin to a knife sweep through his chest as his ears rang. House had been shot. He realized vaguely that he was starting to get dizzy as he took in the man with the gun staring down at House. Foreman, Chase, and Cameron frozen around the table, the first two with their hands raised under threat, and Cameron with her hand on her heart.
He choked through a sob that rose through the numb shock as his eyes fixed on the wound, just being able to make out the blood blooming through House’s white shirt, as well as being spattered across his shirt and the floor. House was looking up at the man weakly, in shock and disoriented.
He stopped breathing as he watched the man point the gun directly at House, sure that his lungs and ears (and heart) were being crushed miles underwater.
A second gunshot.
All Wilson saw was House falling limply to the carpet and blood spilling onto it before the world fell away completely.
———
When he woke up, it only took a split second for the screaming panic and fear to resurge, but a comforting hand on his shoulder just barely kept him from rampaging through the hospital in search of House.
“Wilson, are you alright?” Cuddy asked worriedly.
Wilson looked around desperately, seeing that they were sitting in a waiting area. He willed House to pop up from behind the nurses’ station and reveal that it was only his most elaborate prank, complete with that shit-eating grin Wilson loved so much. Wilson wouldn’t even be angry if it meant House could still be alive. He felt the searing pain return to his lungs and heart at the implications of that thought.
“Where’s House?” he choked out, eyes filling with tears, terrified of the answer that could tear his heart out of him for good.
“He just went into surgery,” Cuddy replied quietly, her voice strained, moving her other hand to cover Wilson’s shaking one. She decided not to tell him that the shooter had escaped.
Wilson swallowed hard, opening his mouth to ask something but only letting out a dry sob as another wave of fear, pain, and nausea rolled over him.
“He’s doing as well as we could’ve hoped,” Cuddy said gently in response to his unasked question. “He regained consciousness as they were bringing him in.” She smiled sadly. “Asked Cameron to tell me he wanted ketamine during the surgery. For his leg.”
At that, Wilson started to cry, even as he laughed in disbelief. Even in mortal danger (and while unconscious?), House still had brilliant ideas. The amusement and pride he felt towards his best friend quickly melted into crippling pain at the idea of losing him, and Wilson broke down in sobs as he imagined never seeing House’s triumphant grin or his bright blue eyes shining with an epiphany again.
Cuddy comforted him as best she could, hugging him gently as he struggled to breathe through the violent waves of grief. “He’ll be okay, James,” she whispered as he began to calm down. “He won’t have it any other way.”
Wilson laughed breathlessly despite himself. It was true, after all. House was too damn stubborn to…to not make it through this.
He had to be.
———
Wilson had fallen asleep in the waiting room not too long after Cuddy had apologetically had to leave his side. He had sat blankly for a while, not wanting to watch the surgery, not even wanting to move, until Cameron came down from the gallery to bring him a blanket and some reassurance. She told him it was going well, and smiled sadly and sympathetically at him, rubbing his back briefly as he smiled back weakly, never having been more grateful for her caring nature.
After she went back to join the rest of House’s team in the gallery, Wilson suddenly found himself so exhausted that he curled up on the same couch he had first woken up on and drifted in and out of sleep for what seemed like hours.
Finally, he was gently shaken awake. Cameron smiled at him, and Wilson’s heart swelled with hope.
“Everything went well. They took him to the ICU to be monitored, at least until he wakes up,” she said, beaming.
Wilson felt like crying again, but choked it down in favor of hugging Cameron tightly and walking with her to the ICU.
Cuddy, Foreman and Chase were already there, talking quietly and happily. When they heard the doors slide open, they looked back to see Cameron and Wilson, who was still clutching his blanket in one arm without realizing it. After a quick exchange of looks between the ducklings, they smiled encouragingly at him and filed out, followed by Cuddy, who placed her hand on his shoulder briefly once again before leaving him open to see House for the first time.
His heart clenched. House was still intubated, and there was a large bandage on the right side of his neck where — Wilson felt a wave of panic and fear at the memory — he guessed he had been shot the second time.
Shakily, Wilson moved to sit by House’s bedside. Once his knees had buckled beneath him in the chair, he started to cry again, unable to stand the sight of his best friend so wounded and helpless.
He took House’s hand in his without really thinking about it, and sighed at the warmth that swept through him. This brought him to the realization that he was still carrying the blanket that Cameron had given him, and suddenly he was having a Housian epiphany.
He was in love with him.
He was in love with House and he wasn’t even sure how long he had been.
He loved him more than anything else in the world and he had almost lost him.
Wilson squeezed House’s hand as he sobbed.
———
Over the next day, Cuddy, House’s team, and, to Wilson’s surprise, a number of doctors and nurses that he had honestly thought hated House came to visit. They removed the tube, carefully determining that House could breathe fine on his own, and Wilson only left his side when he needed to pee. Foreman, Chase, and Cameron had generously supplied him with food and, much to his embarrassment (and delight, if he was being honest), a series of knowing looks.
By the time night fell again, Wilson was newly exhausted. He still refused to leave House’s bedside, so he pulled his blanket over himself, moving the chair closer so he could rest his head gently but comfortably on House’s legs.
He started to drift off again, finally feeling relaxed.
“Wilson?” a hoarse voice asked after a few minutes.
Wilson’s heart nearly leapt out of his chest as he looked up hopefully. Please let this be real. Please let him be okay.
He was met by impossibly blue eyes gazing at him softly.
“House,” Wilson croaked just before bursting into tears.
Through his blurry vision, he saw House’s face sadden before he felt fingers in the back of his shirt pulling him forward.
Wilson moved in to hug House as tightly as he felt was safe with his injuries. He sobbed quietly into House’s shoulder while House’s hand settled on his back and rubbed soothingly. Wilson felt warmth flood his heart at the gesture. He knew soothing people often didn’t come naturally to House, and he appreciated it more than he could express…
Wait.
Wilson swallowed hard and pulled back to look at House, who looked back questioningly with a hint of concern in his eyes.
“I love you,” he whispered, his voice cracking and a fresh wave of tears threatening to fill his eyes.
House’s eyes widened slightly before his face broke into a brilliant smile. He brought his other hand up to the back of Wilson’s head and, before Wilson could process what had happened, pressed his lips against his.
Wilson let his tears fall as he kissed House back, desperately but softly and gently. He moved to hold House’s face in his hands, stroking his thumbs against his cheeks lovingly.
After what felt like a few minutes, they broke apart to breathe, Wilson growing slightly worried that it may have been too much in House’s condition.
House, reading this from Wilson’s expression, just smirked affectionately at him, eyes softening even more as Wilson’s lip trembled in response to the hanging question in the air.
“I love you too,” he murmured, grinning.