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It had been a month since Wilson died. It wasn't an extremely painful death, House had made sure of that the moment his friend had shown signs of his condition progressing. He'd tried his hardest to get ahold of some strong pain medication, hoping that if the man was drugged up enough he'd go peacefully in his sleep or something.
There was some part of him that wanted to convince Wilson to go onto hospice and spend the rest of his short time on his rock being taken care of by someone specially trained in palliative care, but House knew him better than that.
For some reason, the guy trusted House enough to keep him comfortable and safe.
Wilson knew all about cancer. He had seen countless people come into the hospital for a strange lump on their body and leave in a body bag with a funeral date. He knew how painful the end was, how some people died alone and feverish with no idea what was going around them other than the extreme agony coursing through their body as a result of the doctors refusing to give them morphine. It would make sense for him not to want to go through that.
What House didn't understand however, was why the man had chosen him to take care of him.
☆ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ☆
"You don't- have to do this you know." Wilson mumbled, curled up on the couch in the living room of their apartment. He was shivering despite being under several blankets, his face deathly pale.
House crouched down beside the man, swapping his nearly empty IV bag for a new one. He looked up at Wilson, his gaze softening slightly at the state of his friend.
He wanted to tell him he was a fucking idiot for not wanting to get some end of life care, for trusting his friend with all of this instead of a trained professional without a criminal record and a history of antisocial behavior.
He opened his mouth to jokingly berate Wilson, but found that the words died in throat.
"I know." Is all he could manage.
House stood up, patting his friend on the shoulder before going into the adjoining kitchen and grabbing himself and Wilson some water. Part of him knew Wilson wouldn't want it, he'd hardly eaten or drank any fluids in the last few days. That honestly scared him a bit, but he quickly pushed it out of his mind.
He walked back into the living room, offering one of the glasses to Wilson who politely declined. House frowned to himself, placing the two cups on the coffee table in front of him before settling on the couch next to his friend.
They didn't talk much, House flicking through the channels on the tv whilst Wilson drifted in and out of sleep. He settled on a random romcom he didn't know the name of.
"You hate romcoms." Wilson cracked his eyes open slightly, turning his head to face House with some effort. That wasn't true. He didn't HATE the romcoms themselves, just didn't like the cheesy overused tropes that he saw in every other show of that genre.
"Do you think she knows he's gay?" House questioned, resting his legs on the coffee table and crossing his arms. He was referring to a rather flamboyant man in the show who was quite obviously meant to be one of the love interests despite his eccentric behavior and extremely intimate friendship with his male best friend.
Wilson laughed at this, shifting in his seat slightly.
"You okay?" He asked, looking over at the other man. Wilson nodded, his eyes glued to the tv. House unintentionally sighed in relief, his attention also turning back to the show.
A sudden weight on his shoulder pulled him out of his 'television trance'. House looked down to see Wilson curled up next to him with his head on his shoulder, eyes still completely fixed to the screen in front of them. His chest began to tighten and he could feel the heat rising in his face.
Despite the fact he looked positively awful, the way Wilson snuggled up to him like a tired puppy made something in House's cold, dead heart sing.
He smiled, his hands finding their way into Wilson's hair. The man leaned into the touch, burying his face into the crook of the other's neck. House could feel the gentle rise and fall of his friend's chest against his side. It was honestly comforting.
He knew Wilson was probably drugged out of his mind right now and he knew that was probably why he was being so affectionate, but that didn't matter right now. If he was honest, it gave House a good excuse to be as domestic and affectionate as he was. He could tell himself that he was just comforting a dying man, nothing more.
Wilson groaned, pressing his face further into House's neck. Had his IV run out already?
He got ready to get up, but Wilson whined in protest.
"Don't leave." He murmured desperately, looking up at his friend.
"I need to check your IV, I might need to change it-" House gently pushed an extremely reluctant Wilson away, standing up and walking over to the drip. It wasn't even half empty yet. He sighed, pulling the drip around the couch so that it was closer to Wilson and he had no chance of accidently pulling it out.
Said main stared up at him with those stupidly adorable puppy eyes, too tired to speak or move anymore. House sighed, sitting back down next to Wilson. He thought for a second before reaching over and hooking his arms under Wilsons knees and around his shoulders. He hoisted him up into his arms, eliciting a surprised sound from his friend. He quickly scooted over into Wilson's spot on the couch before lowering the other man onto his lap. He freed his arm from under his knees, stretching over and pulling the IV drip closer to the two. Normally he wouldn't be able to pick the other man up like that since he had the strength of a 90 year old, but the chemo had made Wilson lose so much weight that it was sickeningly easy to do now.
"What- what are you doing?" Wilson's voice was barely a whisper at this point, obviously resisting sleep. House pulled him closer, tightening his hold on the man.
"Making you comfortable." He replied gently, staring at the tv. House wanted nothing more than to pretend he didn't care, but he couldn't anymore. Wilson didn't have long left.
"Alright- hey…" Wilson slurred, fighting to keep his eyes open as he snuggled into House's chest.
"Hm?" He replied, his free hand finding its way into Wilson's hair yet again.
"I love you." House froze. His heart began to violently pound in his chest, his face practically on fire. He was at a genuine loss for words this time.
Looking down at the man in his lap, House opened his mouth to try and say something. Nothing came out. Signing, he untangled his fingers from the other's hair and wrapped his now free arm around Wilson's waist. The one resting on his shoulder came up to settle against the back of his head, allowing House to carefully pull him up to face level. He closed the space between them, kissing the other man as gently as he possibly could. Wilson quickly reciprocated, shaky hands coming up to rest on either side of House's face.
"I love you too." House whispered as he pulled away, lowering Wilson back down into his lap. He readjusted his hold on the man, smiling down at him. Wilson smiled back at him before burying his face back into House's chest and closing his eyes.
They fell asleep on that couch together, completely blind to the world around them.
☆ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ☆
House smiled bitterly at the memory, his feet dangling over the side of the bridge. It was a very quiet and secluded area, the drop down into the river below almost certainly deadly. Just to be sure, he had taken a whole bottle of his Vicodin before he came here, hoping that if the water didn't kill him, the overdose certainly would.
It had been a small funeral that not even Wilson's own family had attended. Just House, a tiny burial service and a whole lot of booze later on.
Now, he was getting his own tiny funeral. A water burial with pills for a shovel.
He sighed, grabbing his cane and slowly lowering himself down the other side of the railings. The night air was cold, the wind cool on his face. He felt slightly dizzy, the world tilting around him. The Vicodin must be kicking in then.
Throwing the cane onto the water, House stopped leaning against the safety rails behind him. Not so safe now, I suppose.
Observing the world around him, House frowned. It was an awfully beautiful place to die. He was just outside of the city, fields and flower patches as far as the eye could see. Wilson would have teased him for choosing this place to end it all (If he wasn't screaming at him to get down that is).
House always hated nature. He hated all the smells and colors and how itchy his skin got in the spring, but Wilson helped him learn to at least sort of tolerate it.
Death was peaceful, in the end. He stopped thinking the moment he stepped off of that bridge. He screwed his eyes shut, his whole body feeling weightless as he let the force of gravity pull him down into the depths.
It almost felt like flying.