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Though the curtains are drawn and the air conditioner running, the sounds of traffic can still be heard in the motel room. A Sharps container, filled with used syringes, sits on the shelf between the two beds. Empty IV bags fill the garbage can. Empty, plastic emesis basins fill the sink.
James Wilson lies in one of the beds. A nasal cannula, attached to a portable oxygen tank, hisses slightly against his sallow skin. His lips are cracked, his eyes sunken and ringed with black, his cheekbones jut out at sharp angles, and a few dark wisps of hair cling to his dry scalp. He sleeps fitfully occasionally moaning from the pain.
On the bed across from him, Greg House sits and stares at him. He grips a syringe in his right hand. In the syringe is a lethal dose of morphine. Wilson asked for it and House stole it from a hospital the day before. He’s gotten very good at stealing in the last couple months. He steals medical supplies, food, even money. Whatever Wilson needs, House steals. Now House sits with the morphine and waits. He can’t let Wilson go without saying goodbye.
Wilson gasps and House puts the syringe on the shelf and moves to sit on the bed next to him. Wilson’s skin is cold when House gently grasps his wrist to take his pulse. It is slow but steady. Soon House will wake him but not yet. He looks at his best friend and his mind drifts back to the day they met.
House sat in the bar of the large hotel, watching the young, dark haired man arguing with a very drunk man at the juke box while Leave a Tender Moment Alone by Billy Joel blared out. With a strangled cry, the young man picked up a bottle and flung it at the huge antique mirror behind the bar. The glass shattered and people ducked as shards flew everywhere. Two patrons threw shot glasses and then all hell broke loose. House slipped from the bar before the police arrived. He’d followed the young man, James Wilson, for a couple days. The medical convention was boring and Wilson looked like someone who might be interesting. House smiled. He was interesting, all right.
The next morning, House sat on a hard plastic chair in the local police station. Wilson walked out and House stood up blocking his path.
“Wanna get some breakfast?” House asked.
Heavy dark brows drew together over bleary brown eyes. “Who are you?”
“House. I bailed you out. Breakfast? I know a great place to get beignets and coffee.”
“You bailed me out? Why?” Wilson asked.
House shrugged. “I’m bored.” He turned and walked toward the exit. “You coming?”
He smirked as he heard Wilson sigh and fall into step beside him.
Wilson’s eyes flutter open. His breath rattles in his chest.
“I was dreaming about the day we met,” he tells House in a reedy voice. “You were right about those beignets.”
One corner of House’s mouth quirks up as he looks at his best friend. “I’m always right. I was thinking about that day, too. Still not boring.”
Wilson laughs and begins to cough. House grabs some gauze and wipes the blood from his mouth. Wilson reaches up and wraps thin fingers around his wrist.
“Did you call Cameron?” he asks.
House nods. “She’ll be here soon. You want some water?”
A light rap sounds on the door. Both men turn toward the sound. House slowly rises and limps to the door. He peeks through the edge of the curtains and then opens the door. Cameron slips past him into the room. House closes the door and puts his hand on the wall next to the door boxing her in. She looks up at him. The grief in her eyes mirrors his. Wilson begged House to contact her saying only she can help him once Wilson is gone; that she is the only one who would help him. House resisted at first but now as she looks up at him he knows Wilson was right, damn him.
“No crying,” he tells her.
She swallows and nods. He lowers his arm and lets her pass. She drops her purse on his bed and sits down next to Wilson.
“Thank you for coming,” Wilson whispers.
She smiles and takes his hand. “Anything for you, James.”
House stands over them. “Huh. I should have known.”
Wilson smiles and Cameron looks up at him.
“I knew it,” he continues. “You were just using me to get to him.”
“Of course,” Cameron tells him laughing. Only House sees the pain in her eyes.
Wilson looks up at House. “I’m ready.”
Cameron gets up and moves to the other side of the bed. She takes Wilson’s hand and leans in to kiss him gently on the cheek. House picks up the syringe and sits down next to his best friend. His hands begin to shake. Wilson’s fingers brush against his hand.
“You can do this. I need you to do this. I’m tired.”
Cameron gets up and moves to stand beside House. Her hand grips his shoulder. Tears blur his eyes.
“It isn’t fair,” he whispers.
“Aren’t you the one who always says life isn’t fair?” Wilson asks. “Please let me go.”
House looks into his dark eyes. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
House takes the cap off the syringe and turns Wilson’s arm over. Very gently he inserts the needle into a vein and pushes the plunger all the way in. A sigh escapes Wilson as the morphine makes its way through his system.
“Thank you, House, for everything,” he whispers. His eyes close and soon his breathing stops.
House stares at him feeling numbness flood his body. Dimly he is aware of Cameron moving him from Wilson’s bed to his own. He slumps over and puts his head in his hands. Wilson is gone. He hears Cameron moving around the room cleaning everything up. She leaves and comes back several times. When she touches his back, he jerks and looks up. The room is clean and only Wilson’s bag sits on the floor.
“Where’s the note?” she asks softly.
He jerks his head toward Wilson’s bag. Wilson planned all this weeks ago. He found a remote motel in Illinois and checked in alone two weeks ago. The room faces the back of the motel property and House only went out late at night. He always slips out each day when the man comes to clean the room and bring in towels. Three days ago, Wilson called the front desk and asked not to be disturbed until today. Soon, the man will come to clean the room where he will find Wilson, the empty syringe and a note. In the note, Wilson wrote out instructions for the local police. He will be cremated and his urn sent to House’s mother. She will receive a letter with the urn requesting that it be placed with House’s urn. House remembers how they argued about that part. Wilson wanted House to go home and live with his mother. House refused. Finally, Wilson got him to agree to call Cameron and let her take care of him. Wilson knew House would let Cameron help him since she always had in the past. House reluctantly agreed because she was the only person aside from Wilson that House allowed in when he was hurt. Now she is here with him placing the note on the bed beside Wilson.
“We should go,” she says standing in front of him. Her voice is soft and filled with pain and empathy. She holds out her hand. House takes it and allows her to lead him to the door. He stops and starts to look back but Cameron stops him.
“Don’t. Don’t look back. He wanted you to remember him the way he used to be. If you look at him, this will be what you remember most,” she tells him. “It’s a terrible image to have in your head.”
He nods and allows her to lead him out to her car. One light blinks and buzzes at the corner of the motel. House slumps in the passenger seat. He stares blindly out the window as they pull away from the motel. Soon the place is swallowed up by the darkness and Cameron drives toward the highway. Before he knows it, she is parking in front of a small house. As she helps him from the car, he looks up. The sky at the horizon is lighter and a few clouds are beginning to turn rosy with the light from the approaching sun. House follows her into the house. He stands in the middle of her living room and looks around. Suddenly, he is racked with sobs. He is angry and embarrassed that he can’t stop the sorrow pouring out of him. Cameron’s arms encircle him and he buries his face in her neck. She holds him. He wraps his arms around her and cries out his pain and sorrow. Since Wilson told him about the cancer, he hasn’t cried. He stayed strong for Wilson’s sake.
“I’m alone,” he mumbles against her neck. “He’s gone and I’m alone.”
Cameron pulls back and he sees she is crying. “He’s gone but you’ll never be alone.”
He swipes his hand across his nose. “Is this where you spout some New Age bullshit about him being alive in my heart?”
She smiles. “No. This is where I tell you that I’m here for you. I can never take Wilson’s place but you aren’t alone.”
House lifts his hand and gently wipes the tears from her cheek with his thumb. He nods. “Okay.”