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“Where’s House?”
Amber asks, shortly after her eyes open. Wilson smooths back her hair, thinking she’s just confused, concussed.
“Shh, you were in a bus crash. You’ve been unconscious for nearly 24 hours. You’re going to be okay though.” He reassures her, kissing her forehead.
“Where’s House?” She repeats.
That’s how they find out House was in that crash too. He’d forgotten his wallet at the bar, so he’d been taken to Princeton General as a John Doe. That’s why Wilson only got the call about Amber.
When Wilson gets there, House only has a few hours left. The damage is too extensive. He’d need multiple organ transplants to save him, and he qualifies for none of them because of his addiction. Conceptually, Wilson knows that House would be unlikely to survive regardless.
Amber checks herself out of PPTH AMA, refusing not to be at her boyfriend's side. House is in and out of consciousness, the high doses of Morphine he’s being given make him drowsy.
It’s 3am when House wakes up for the last time. He’s surprisingly lucid, and Wilson knows what that means. He’s seen it time and time again in his patients. It’s like the universe grants them one last chance to say their goodbyes, to make their peace.
“Always knew I’d go first.” House’s voice is rough and quiet. Wilson has to lean in close to hear him.
“Me too, I didn’t think it would be quite so soon though.” Wilson laughs through his tears.
“On the contrary, I think I’ve lived longer than I was supposed to.” House says.
Wilson knows he’s talking about the infarction. He always knew House felt he should have died then, but Wilson always tried to reassure him that it obviously wasn’t his time, and besides, misanthropic bastards are supposed to live forever, aren’t they?
“Oh Greg.” Wilson is starting to shake as he fights the urge to break down.
“S’okay Jimmy.” He soothes.
“Cut throat bitch.” He addresses Amber now.
“Yeah House?” She’s wiping her own tears away, watching someone die is always hard, especially when it’s someone your loved one loves so much.
“Take care of Jimmy for me, okay?”
She finds she can only nod.
They all know it’s time. No one wants to say it, but they all know.
“I love you, Greg.” Wilson says, squeezing House’s hand and leaning close.
“Love you too, Jimmy. You’ve been the bestest friend a fucked up guy like me could have asked for.”
Wilson can’t respond through the sobs. House’s eyes are glassy and unfocused. Wilson leans his face on House’s shoulder. His friend is dying.
“See ya, boy wonder.” The words are drawn out and slow, as House says them with his last breaths.
The monitors alarm as House flatlines. Amber rubs circles on Wilson’s back as he sobs loudly into his dead best friend's shoulder.
———————
Wilson gives the eulogy at House’s funeral. It's an open casket. House’s parents had his body dressed in a dark gray suit with a white shirt and a black tie. Wilson hates that they put House in a tie. House always hated ties. They should have put him in a blue shirt, not a white one. He always looked best in blue, it brought out his eyes. Not that you can see his eyes now.
He talks about how House was a healer, how many lives he’d saved that no one else could. How he cared about people, but only when no one was looking. How much he’ll miss, how much he misses him.
He sobs quietly as they lower the casket into the ground. He doesn’t want to make a scene, but if he’s leaning heavily on Foreman, no one says anything about it. Amber never lets go of his hand.
Blythe comes up to him and thanks him, “For being such a good friend to Greg.” He thanks her, tells her that her son was a very special man. He doesn’t know how to tell her that for everything he did for House, House did just as much for him.
——————
A year goes by.
Amber encourages James to talk about House. She knows how important that relationship was to him, and she never wants him to feel as though she’s forgotten. She doesn’t want him to think she expects him to forget.
They buy a house in the suburbs. It has three bedrooms, a large backyard, and a massive living room. It’s perfect for housing a baby grand piano. Despite the fact neither of them can play it, James keeps it.
He kept all of House’s instruments, they were all incredibly important to House and James couldn’t bear to see them go; there was so little that was truly important to House. But while the guitars get put away in cases and stored, James wants the piano displayed. After the movers had left, James just stared at it for a while. Eventually he said,
“He used to play for me when I’d ask. He was quite talented. It was… nice.” Before he went back to unpacking boxes.
Three months after they move into their home, they go out for a night on the town and James gets down on one knee. She says yes, but also says she won’t change her name. No way will she be the fourth Mrs. Wilson.
That night she wakes at 3:30am to an empty bed and the occasional sound of piano keys. She pulls on the shirt James discarded when they tumbled into bed before she creeps just far enough down the stairs to be able to hear him without being seen.
“I missed you a lot today. I asked Amber to marry me. She said yes, but she’s keeping her name. Thinks ‘Mrs. Wilson’ is cursed or something. I know you’d agree with her.”
There is the sound of piano keys being played randomly.
“It won’t be the same. Getting married without you there. I know it’s silly, I’ve done this three times before, but it’s a big day and I wish I could have my best friend by my side.”
Amber creeps back up the stairs. She’s happy James talks to House. She knows his therapist suggested it, and she’s glad to see he’s listening.
——————
Their wedding is small. They end up not doing wedding parties because James can’t bring himself to have anyone but House as his best man. Amber doesn’t mind. At the reception they light a candle “for those who couldn’t be with us” but it’s really just for House.
———————
Eighteen months after their wedding Wilson is standing in one of the PPTH delivery rooms.
“It’s a boy!” The doctor doing the delivery announces.
As Amber dozes that night, Wilson cradles the small bundle that is his son. He looks down at him with awe. The birth certificate sits next to him on the side table, signed by both him and Amber. It reads:
Michael Gregory Wilson-Volkais
He’d been worried about asking Amber to name their son after House. But she’d only smiled at him, and said she thought Gregory made a lovely middle name.
———————-
“Dad, who’s that with you in all the pictures?”
Michael is ten, and they are flipping through a photo album Amber just completed. She insisted they include pictures from before they met, because she was in her mid thirties and he was in his early 40’s when they met, meaning they both had a hell of a lot of life before each other.
“That’s your Uncle Greg.” Wilson answers, as they all stare down at a collage of images of himself and Greg.
“But I thought you only had two brothers, Uncle David and Uncle Danny.” Michael says, confused.
“Greg wasn’t my brother. We met at a medical conference when I was 28, and after that he was my best friend.”
“If he’s your best friend, why haven’t I ever met him?” Michael questions.
Wilson lets out a deep sigh, putting his arm around his son.
“Because he died, Buddy. Before you were born.”
“Oh.” Michael hangs his head, clearly feeling bad. The boy was cursed with his father’s empathy.
“It’s okay. It’s nice to talk about him. Did you know you’re named after him? Your middle name ‘Gregory’ is after your Uncle Greg. Gregory was his full first name.” Wilson tells him.
Michael thinks that’s pretty cool, and they move on to other pictures in the album. That night however, Wilson sits down with a glass of scotch and the album. He sips his drink and reminisces about the moment each picture captures, and all ones that weren’t captured on film.
———————-
At sixty-five Wilson lies in a hospital bed. His wife of twenty-three years is on one side of him, and his twenty-one year old son is on the other. Dying of cancer isn’t how he pictured his life ending, but having family around him makes it somewhat bearable, or maybe that’s the morphine.
He hates to leave his son so early, but that’s the danger of having kids later in life he supposes. Michael is only in his last year of his undergraduate degree - premed. He wants to be an oncologist like his old man. Wilson wonders if watching him die of cancer will change his mind.
He’s said his goodbyes, and slowly light and sound fades away. Strangely, or maybe not, his last thought is not of his wife or son, but of Greg House.
See you soon, old friend.
———————
“Wasn’t expecting to see you for another twenty years at least.”
He recognizes that voice. As he slowly opens his eyes he realizes he recognizes his surroundings too. It’s a forest in upstate New York. He and House used to go backpacking here. They’d spend weekends camped out, cooking everything over their campfire and sleeping side by side in sleeping bags in a two person tent.
He finds the source of the voice seated on a tree stump, and there he is.
“House.” Is the only word he manages.
“In the flesh. Well not really, but you know what I mean.” House smiles and laughs.
He looks like he did the night they met, dark hair and unshaven face. Jeans and a band t-shirt under a leather jacket. Wilson looks down at himself and realizes he’s similarly dressed, his own jeans and McGil sweatshirt. He touches his face and realizes he’s also back to the age he was that night.
“I missed you.” He tells House. It’s true. He didn’t realize how much until right now.
“Come on Jimmy, walk with me.”
House takes him down a narrow path that leads them to a small lake. Wilson remembers it from their camping trips. The only difference is now there is a small cottage next to it.
“So, what have you been up to?” House asks. Like they aren’t dead, like this isn’t some strange afterlife they find themselves occupying.
“Not much. Married Amber. Had a son. Named him Michael Gregory, after you.”
They stare at each other for a moment before bursting out into stomach aching laughter. After they finally stop they wrap their arms around each other in a tight hug. They never hugged much when they were alive, but now it feels right.
“What got you?” House asks softly in his ear.
“Cancer.” Wilson tells him.
“Wow. That’s… ironic.” House says as they pull away.
“Yeah. Yeah it is.”
They make their way into the cottage. House will give him a tour of it, and when the sun begins to set in their version of heaven they’ll lay down together in one bed without question.
In life they never seemed to get things right, and then their time together was cut short.
In death they’ll get it right.