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Summary
Slowly, he turned completely to face House, and determining he was at least vaguely attentive, Wilson ungracefully leaned his body across House’s chest. He spotted the phone where it was still buzzing away, blissfully unaware of the migraine slowly gracing Wilson with its presence, and reached for it. The caller ID let him know it was, in fact, Foreman. He flipped it open.
“This is Wilson. House isn’t conscious right now.”
“Take a message,” House murmured from beneath him. Wilson leaned heavier on him, hoping he was crushing something with his elbow as payback for waking him up. The look on House’s face told him he succeeded.
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one-shots of house and wilson getting woken up in the middle of the night, a lot of the time by each other