Chapter Text
It was a long ride. House glanced to the side, Wilson was sleeping, leaned on the passenger window. They had to ditch the bikes for a car on their road trip. It was a nice car, but the seats weren’t the most comfortable. At least it had a good radio, they played blues, which House adored. Wilson was increasingly more tired, and House worried he could fall off the motorbike soon, thought it would have been hilarious to watch, he still cared enough and bought the car. It hurt him, seeing Wilson like that. Of course it did. He knew this time will come, since Wilson told him about the diagnosis.
It was beautiful evening, but House just kept thinking, how many of these evenings are left out there for him and his best friend. He watched the sun slowly set down. How many of those sunsets? Not enough.
They were on their way to Cleveland, where Wilson had a friend from college, he wanted say goodbye to. They were in Detroit for the weekend, mainly because House wanted to mess with this guy he knew from jail. They had to run to the car and drive quickly because House’s genially planned prank, didn’t go to plan. But they had laughed about it for hours, remembering how pissed the guy was.
He will miss those shared laughs.
House hated motorways. It was always the same road for miles straight, but at least it was faster. And to be honest, they needed to get as far away from Detroit as they could.
“House?” Wilson muttered, still bit sleepy. “Can we do a quick stop; I need to pee.”
House looked at the signs. “In 4 miles.”
“No, House, I mean now.” He was quite urgent about that. House pulled over at the side. Wilson immediately ran from the car, leaned over the guardrail, and threw up. House sighed, this was happening more and more often. House glanced at the rear-view mirror, when the road was clear, he got out of the car, slamming the door and walked to Wilson, handing him water bottle, he grabbed from the side of the car door. “Thanks” He trembled, as he took a sip. His hands were shaky, spilling few drops on his shirt.
“That wasn’t a pee stop.” House tried to joke, but it didn’t help.
Wilson tried to chuckle, but it came out as a hoarse cough. His immunity was screwed.
They stood there for a while, leaning on the guardrail. The unspoken words were in the air. Dozens of cars flying by, the wind was getting colder, and the sun couldn’t be seen. It was time. “I think,” he stuttered, “I think today should be it” Wilson finally got those words out. House turned his head, catching his eyes. His mouth didn’t move, but those piercing blue eyes said something different. It was evident he wanted to say something, to beg him for few more days. That wasn’t right, that wasn’t what he promised. Wilson could swear he saw glimpse of tears in the corners of his eyes, but he wasn’t really sure, as House turned to the car swiftly.
Closing the door, House groaned “Find the nearest motel.” Sadness coming through his words. He didn’t want to. “It’s disgusting place to-” He stopped himself. He just could not say it aloud, not in front of Wilson. But then he continued. “But it’s the best place for them to find you. And for me to leave.”
House would be much happier if he were there with Wilson, their last moments shared, but he had last promise, he had to fulfil. Thirteen. A few months ago, he promised to assist her, that was the last thing holding him in this world, after Wilson would be gone. He should have told her to come to that motel room, House chuckled, imagining the policemen’s faces, when they would find three dead doctors in one motel room. But he and Wilson had already talked about this. He wanted to be alone. Wilson had never thought about his death more than in these few months, he imagined the funeral, how the whole thing goes. However, when he talked about it with House, he realised it wouldn’t matter. He wanted his funeral to be place, where old friends would meet and pay tribute to his memory. And one person he wanted there the most, couldn’t. He decided to ditch it completely, even in the price of undermining his strong believes.
Thirteen dies alone and lastly so was House going to.
“There’s one called Red Roof, 10 miles away. It looks like a whore den to be honest, but I think that would be better for you.” House shrugged at his words. Last 10 miles with Wilson. He really tried not to cry. He was selfish, self-centred idiot and he certainly didn’t want to make this about him. If he were Wilson, he would have done the same. However, replaying all those years, making jokes, playing tricks, going on monster trucks shows (even if Wilson lied, he didn’t like them), late night talks, Wilson buying food for him, did something to House. One tear ran down his cheek. He wiped it as quickly as he could, hoping Wilson didn’t notice. He did notice but said nothing.
House went for the key, they found the room and stepped in. It was a small room, one bed, desk with a chair, you’re afraid to sit on, and an exceedingly small bathroom, where you can wash your hands, while sitting on the toilet, thanks to the proximity of the sink.
Bags fell to the ground. Wilson sat down at the small table and sorted out three letters he wrote. One to House, one to Thirteen and one to Cuddy. “I need you to deliver each letter to the right person. I signed them, don’t mess them up.” He chuckled weakly. House didn’t look up from where he was playing with little glass bottle. “Right… ”
“I know I can’t talk you out of it. I’d still be happier if you didn’t” he paused “do it, after you’re done with Thirteen.”
House snorted. “You can wish whatever you want, but you won’t be here anymore” It came out harsher than House hoped for.
Wilson smiled through the pain he was holding in. “Right.” He played with the edges of the letters, bending them slightly. The room felt suddenly so smaller than before. The reality was setting down.
“House, I think it’s time” House looked up at Wilson, his eyes slowly tearing up. God, how he tried not to lose it. Fingers dug into his thigh, so much it hurt. His leg was killing him.
“One walk. Just around here. Last one” House whispered, slowly breaking up. The feelings finally laid on him, he still couldn’t believe it. He wanted a few last moments with person, who mattered the most to him. It felt so unreal to lose him. He was trying to prepare himself for this moment, but how can one be. Those months were the best and the worst moments in his life. They had multiple little adventures during their road trip, sharing secrets they never told the other one, because they knew, it won’t matter in a few weeks. And now there was the moment.
“It would do no good, you know that. People can recognise you after. That would ruin your whole plan.” Wilson saw the anger building up, he understood him. But he was tired, so tired. “House, please it’s time-” He tried to soften, be compassionate, as he was.
“I know” he yelled out, already through the tears, he was holding the whole 5 months. Wilson never saw House like this. He saw him after break-ups, when his leg was the worst, when detoxing, hallucinating, but this was next level. He was vulnerable, that was the rarest condition to see House in. Really vulnerable. He started showing vulnerability the first month of the road trip. Wilson knew this whole trip changed House. He did believe, unlike House, that people can change.
Wilson came closer and hugged him. He didn’t cry. Just stood there, tired, watching his friend break into pieces, like he never did before. House clutched his back like a lifetime. Hold onto something. Breaking up into Wilson’s chest.
House pulled away, gesturing to the bed. He tried to put up his defences again. Wilson laid down, putting a pillow under his head and rolling up his sleeve. House shook the little glass bottle one more time, then sucking the fill with needle. Tick, tick.
“Goodbye, House.” He said looking away from his arm, in which was slowly injected morphine. “You know, cancer wasn’t so boring with you” He smiled. The room fell too quiet. House focused on the ticking of clock on the bedside table, distracting himself a bit. Tick, tick. He caressed Wilson’s head. Tick, tick. This was the last thing he did for him.
“Yeah, I hoped so” House stood up, watching him for a while drift to the endless sleep. Morphine slowing his breathing making him look so peaceful. Painless…
His last breaths were heavy with relief. After a while House leaned down and checked his pulse. Everything was fine now.
He looked at the envelopes on the desk. One to him, one to Thirteen and one to Cuddy. He wanted to rip them open, read what Wilson had written there, to preserve the last material memory of him.
He grabbed the letters, throwing them into his bag. He smashed the clock through the window, taking the remains of Wilson’s money and headed out.