Death Fic
Yeah, not sure where this came from and not sure I like it, but here it is.
Warning - it is a death fic so read or not.....
Just One More Day……..
Eleven o’clock had come and gone when Dr. James Wilson sighed and put his pen down. He pinched the bridge of his nose but the habitual gesture did little to quell the pounding headache forming behind his tired eyes. It had been a long week, he felt shaky from exhaustion and lack of food and still needed to finish a stack of forms requiring his signature before he could leave. The papers on his desk stirred, lifted by a cold draft that caused him to shiver. He looked up, a resigned smile on his face as his eyes took in the familiar form standing in his doorway. “Hey,” he greeted quietly.
“You’re working late.” Tall, rapier thin, the man moved like a dark liquid stain across the carpet, his movements held a grace that arrested the eye with its unexpectedness.
Wilson acknowledged the words with a tilt of his head, a wry smile curling his lips. “So are you. Mine?” He sat back, blew out another sigh and rubbed his eyes. He was use to these late night visits and normally welcomed a chance at some verbal sparring but tonight he knew there was no way to hold up his end of the conversation. His guest seemed to sense this and take a seat opposite him. Lamplight gleamed on dark hair, emphasizing the paleness of his skin. With a measuring look the man rested his pointed chin atop his steepled fingers, jet eyes pinning Wilson to his chair with their intensity. He offered his own wry smile.
“You could say that, James,” he purred. He studied Wilson a moment longer, something in his reticent manner softened, the smile losing its smugness, gently easing the line of his lips with something like compassion. “It’s - you,” he said with an apologetic shrug. Wilson opened his mouth, but no words escaped. “I’m sorry, really,” Death said, “but tonight I’ve come for you.”
Wilson blinked, sitting up straighter in his chair. “What?”
Death had the grace to look embarrassed, but he repeated in a strong voice, “Tonight when you leave here, you’ll die. I don’t want to collect your soul,” Death explained, “but it’s your time.”
“Why - why are you telling me this?”
“Professional courtesy?” Death rose and moved restlessly around the room, fingering the knick-knacks Wilson had collected over the years. “You’ve known me for a long time, James,” he said slowly, “You never denied me. You never railed at me. I’ve always thought of you as - a friend.” Wilson ’s eyes went wide at the thought of Death befriending him. “Silly, I know, but you are a good man - a good doctor.” Death turned from his regard of Wilson ’s certificates and said gently, “I can’t stop the inevitable, James, but I can give you something.” He looked up, meeting Wilson ’s eyes with real regret. “I can give you one last day.”
H&W
“What the hell do you want?” House groused, leaning tiredly against the doorframe and gifting a smiling Wilson with a noticeably unsmiling glare.
“Only to see your cheerful face,” Wilson said with a laugh. He held up two bags, one in each fist, “Greasy fast food breakfast or sugary donuts?”
“Why not both?” House asked, some of his annoyance disappearing in the wake of an offering of food.
“Surgeon General’s warning, I think,” Wilson murmured, dumping the bags on the coffee table and disappearing into the kitchen. He emerged with plates and silverware, dumped those next to the bags and headed back to make some coffee. House took advantage of his absence to pilfer all the syrup which he poured on his pancakes as well as two he stole from Wilson . He was halfway through his stack when Wilson came back with cups of black coffee and sat beside him. “You saved me something, didn’t you?” His voice held only amusement, not a single trace of his usual exasperation.
“Mmmbwee,” House mumbled and syrup dripped down his chin. Wilson shook his head with another indulgent smile and lifted a napkin to dab at the corner of House’s mouth. “You a frustrated mom?” House demanded as he snatched the offending piece of paper away.
“Sorry,” Wilson said but didn’t look in the least bit repentant and proved it by laughing. They ate in silence after that, Wilson strangely attentive and solicitous, getting House a second cup of coffee and even making him toast.
“What do you want?” House finally demanded.
“It’s not what I want,” Wilson replied with a smile. “Today is Take-Complete-Advantage-of - Wilson -Day,” he said with a wide smile. “I have it all planned out. Now that you’re fed we’re heading to the arcade.” He stood, waiting for House to make some move but House continued to eye him with a thoughtful expression on his face. “What?” He laughed.
House tilted his head, and pursed his lips. “You normally grouse about every dime -“
“-more like hundreds of dollars -“
“-you spend on me,” House speculated. “Today you’re willing to indulge my every whim. What’s changed?”
“Given into the inevitable?” Wilson guessed. “Maybe I’ve lost my mind.”
“Doesn’t explain the euphoria,” House countered. He puffed air into his cheek and tapped his fingers against it so that his breath escaped in a pffsst-pffsst-pffsst. “You visited your lawyer last week,” he murmured, still working out a dozen scenarios, “so you either settled with Julie and it didn’t cost you as much as you’d feared. Or she’s paying you alimony and you want to put the squeeze on her….or she’s going to get all your assets and you want to knock a little off the top.”
“Can’t I just want to spend a little money on my best friend?” Wilson asked in a disgruntled tone. He sighed and slumped onto the couch, knowing House would take it as a victory.
“This is going to be fun!” House crowed and headed towards his bedroom. Behind him, Wilson ’s fond expression slipped into one of resigned acceptance. He glanced around the room, his eyes taking in the musical instruments, the video game systems, the odd collections of books and toys. House was such a complex man, the true embodiment of genius; brilliant, moody, child-like. He flouted convention and did things according to a set of rules only he seemed to understand. He hated lies but refused to tell the truth because it didn’t reflect the way he wanted the world to be. He had grown up lonely and feeling unloved, searching for a way to rid himself of those lingering self-doubts all his adult years. Wilson had often wondered what House would be like if he’d been born in a different time - to different people. Would he be a loving and giving man if he’d not been made to feel an outcast, a freak by the parents who didn’t seem to understand the unique child born to them? House had struggled with his own personality and how it felt to forever be set apart from the group. It had made him arrogant, smug, petty, but it had left scars too, a keen awareness that he was different and not everyone was jealous of that. He’d finally found love and given his whole heart only to suffer the irony that Stacy’s love had been stronger than her belief in him. Crippled in body and spirit, wracked with pain, he’d sought relief in the only way he could - numbing himself to everything but the puzzles he knew he could solve, the rational elements that did not betray and deceive.
Since the moment of their meeting Wilson had understood how vulnerable House was in the real world. House saw black and white, truth and lies, when the world was really made up of shades of gray. Wilson had shielded him as best he could, allowing House to be House, and translating it all to the outside while running interference when someone took offense. He’d done everything he could to prove to House that sometimes loving someone was its own reward and that not everyone was looking out for their own interests and happiness. Wilson believed in unconditional love, he’d lived it every moment of their friendship but like a blindfolded man, House refused to see it. Wilson took a deep breath, and tried to push away his fear that without his protection House would fall pray to his own self destructive ways. He had only ever wanted to safeguard House, to protect him from a world he didn’t fit into and keep the spark of his unique gift alive. He mourned not for himself, Wilson knew the world wouldn’t notice his death, but if somehow his passing caused House to lose his way, the world would be a much darker and deadlier place.
“The arcade first?” House asked, coming back into the room. Wilson forced himself to grin.
“Yep, I’m thinking I’ll kick your ass on Guitar Hero this time.” He shoved his arms into his jacket and followed House to the door.
“Yeah, I get you and Hendrix confused all the time,” House mocked.
“Must be the way I swing my axe,” Wilson said.
“I knew you swung something.”
They drove, not in silence because Wilson wanted each second to count. He started arguments, challenged House in every word he uttered, parried retorts with skill and laughter, reveling in the feeling of being there, right there at that moment, with House. They had perfected the ping-pong cadence of their exchanges over long hours of boredom and Wilson relished each and every bizarre turn the conversation took.
“Are you an imbecile?”
“Are you a cretin?”
“I’ve never even been to Greece .”
“Ha ha.”
“Laugh all you want,” House said, “But there is no way in hell you can continue to claim Wonder Man is just as good as Court Jester.” He pulled his cap down over his eyes and waggled his head, “The challis from the palace has the -“
“Chu Chu Laverne is -“
“- pellet with the poison -“
“Chu Chu LaVerne is -“ Wilson prompted.
House had his face screwed into a disgusted knot when Wilson glanced over at him but a moment later he lifted the corner of his hat to reveal one twinkling blue eye. “Minnieee Smmmmiiittthhh. Minnie Smith. Minnie Smith. Minnie Smith!” House sang.
“Told ya.”
House stuck out his tongue and sulked.
They spent all morning at the arcade; House winning several hundred tickets and pissing off four adults, two employees and a janitor but earning the respect of dozens of kids. They gathered around him like postulants at the feet of a holy man, watching open-mouthed as he reaped the benefits of attention deficit coupled with a brilliant mind. Wilson sat at a table nearby, watching and laughing. House would cackle like a madman when he beat one of the machines, it made him look younger, healthy even and if it hadn’t been for his ever present cane, Wilson would have thought it eighteen years earlier and he was skipping classes just to hang out with his new friend.
“Look at this,” House said, proudly showing off the trinkets he’d won. He pulled down a huge salary, bought whatever he wanted or conned Wilson into it, and still the cheap things he could win with his video game skills meant so much to him.
“Amazing,” Wilson agreed. After a gulp of soda and a slice of pizza House set off for a second round of games, leaving Wilson to trail him like a caddy, carrying prizes and drinks and cheering him on. Wilson loved it. He took in every sight of House laughing, hording it like a bandit, thankful he had been given one last day to savor the presence of his best friend. He’d never been religious, even when sitting in the synagogue beside his father learning the rites that would guide his life and make him a man in the eyes of his ancestor’s God, but today he said a prayer, thanking God that he had been granted this gift and vowing he would make the most of it.
H&W
“A picnic?” House peered at the packed basket like a little boy eyeing the stack under the Christmas tree.
“Yeah, I borrowed Emerson’s boat,” Wilson said casually. He saw House stiffen out of the corner of his eye but kept walking. He passed the small recreational area with its sandy beach, volleyball nets, and tables and continued towards the marina’s private docks. In the early days of their friendship House had often accompanied him for a weekend sailing trip, enjoying the challenge of a new sport and the utter peace being on the water could bring. After the infarction the habit had been abandoned with so many other things once easily done. But today Wilson longed for one last blissful afternoon; he wanted to capture the endless feeling of ocean and sky and the way it felt time would never end because sea and sky melded together into an endless blue expanse. He’d believed immortality must be like sailing on the water and he wanted that - he wanted that with House - wanted to just keep going and never look back to shore. If only for today.
“My sea legs aren’t what they use to be,” House said, following slowly.
“Then you won’t have to enter the swimsuit competition,” Wilson said reasonably. He made his way along the pier, listening to House’s distinctive step behind him and watching for the correct numbered slip. He stopped near the end of the dock and admired the boat his colleague had loaned for the day.
“And let you win with that little polka dot number? I think not.” House stepped up beside him, staring at the name of the 40 foot cruiser bobbing in the choppy water of the harbor. “This won’t be a three hour tour, will it?” The FUN TIME bounced like an eager puppy confronted with new playmates.
Wilson scowled at him and stepped over the gunwale and onto the deck. House did the same, switching his cane to his left hand and holding tight to the railing with his right as the boat rocked under them. The cockpit had a sliding canopy over it that could allow them as much sun as they wanted. Padded benches lined the large sunken area around the wheel and colorful flags flapped in the breeze around them. House took a seat while Wilson secured the basket below decks, noting that the ladder was fairly steep and House would have a problem if he wanted to use the head down there. More than likely his friend would piss over the side and not bother struggling down them. A tidy galley held everything they could want and Wilson was pleased to see Emerson had stocked the fridge with beer as he’d said he would. He tucked the food away and dug through the bag he’d brought. While House had been getting dressed Wilson had slipped into his bedroom and fished out a pair of baggy shorts House used when he used the hospitals therapy pool. His own trunks were neatly folded with them and a couple of towels. He knew a small cove a couple of hours from the marina and at this time of the week it would probably be deserted. All in all they had everything they needed for the perfect afternoon.
The last afternoon. The thought hit Wilson like a blow to the chest. He wanted to double over, stuff a fist to his mouth and howl at the injustice of it all. What would happen to House without him? What would he do all alone? Wilson took a calming breath and forced himself to relax. House would be fine, he was a grown man, he could take care of himself - Fool, Wilson berated the calm part of his brain, House is like a child, with a child’s self-centered nature. He might be brilliant but he’s unhappy, a lost soul who’s had no one to care for him. It’s my job. I was the one who was suppose to make sure he was safe but I’ve failed. I have to give him something - I have to make him understand how much he means to - Wilson swallowed hard and refused to think about what would happen when he was gone. Cuddy was there, she knew House and she loved him in her own way, she would watch over him. And as much as he and Cameron disagreed about what he had done, Wilson knew she cared about House. Even Chase cared about him, liked him in a slavishly twisted kind of way and would keep an eye on him. The last few years House had let the others in, he’d made small steps in widening his world to include people besides Wilson and that was a vast improvement. I don’t have to worry, he told himself, House is going to be Okay without me.
He forced himself to grab a couple of bottles of chilled beer and climb the steps back to House’s side. “Catch of the day,” he said and lobbed the bottle in House’s general direction. House caught it and used it to gesture to the dock where the thick lines led to the dock.
“So does this tub move or are we just going to sit here and get drunk?” House asked. Wilson rolled his eyes as he set about making ready. He cast off the lines and motored slowly out of the harbor, cutting the engine once they were far enough and hoisting the sails. He preferred a sailboat, had kept one for years at another marina until alimony and House had made using it almost impossible, now he either borrowed one or rented one when he needed to be free of the strain life put on him. Tension seemed to flow out of him with the white wake that trailed the slim boat. Even House relaxed, his hunched shoulders easing down as he watched the shore receding behind them through his dark glasses.
They sailed for over and hour, Wilson content to man the wheel as House rattled on, singing sea shanties and telling fish tales he seemed to make up on the spot. The shore was a distant dark line before Wilson turned the wheel, heading back, the craft nosing directly for a small cove he had found years earlier. He anchored in the shade of the cliffs. House lay back, silent, Wilson ’s own reflection showing in the black lenses, a smile on his lips. “This is the life, Jimmy,” he said. When the day grow too warm they swam in the clear water, changing from jeans and slacks to trunks on the deck, Wilson steadying House as they stood on tiny swim platform before leaping in after him. And when they got hungry Wilson got out the picnic basket and they sat munching sandwiches and drinking beer. A radio played, echoing off the rocks and giving the place an eerie, desolate feel that they both liked.
Polished by the sun, the ocean gleamed like a cracked mirror held to the sky. Wilson let the last rays of the dying sun kiss his upturned cheeks for a moment longer then turned his gaze to the man lying beside him. House had his eyes closed but Wilson could tell he wasn’t asleep, just enjoying the cool breeze and the smell of the ocean. He knew deep down he should be lecturing House, trying once more to make his friend see that if you looked for the worst in people you would surely find it. If you looked for Good you might just be able to convince yourself it existed, even if it was fleeting. He remembered seeing a movie once where the guy knew he would die before his son was born and videotaped all the advice and encouragement he wouldn’t be there to dispense as the boy grew. House wouldn’t listen anyway, he’d tape over the video and there would be little snippets of Wilson ’s Wisdom sandwiched between Passions and Pants Off Dance Off that would merely make House laugh and mock his long dead friend. So, instead of futilely browbeating the one person in the world he truly loved, Wilson said. “What would make the perfect day, House?”
“If you expect me to say today,” House murmured, “You’d be mistaken.” He lay propped on pillows, chest and feet bare, the canopy’s shade keeping him cool and a drink at his elbow. “I mean, the arcade was awesome and this,” he waved at the blue water surrounding them, “pretty nifty. However,” he smirked at Wilson . “You forgot the most important thing.”
Wilson smiled, “Nope. I didn’t.” Before House could say anything else, Wilson reached into the open picnic basket and with the flourish of a magician brought out a bag of marshmallows and a jar of peanut butter. “I believe this will knock today up into the top percentile.” He tossed both items to House, found a knife and handed it over. House stared in astonishment.
“Peanut butter and marshmallows! This is why I keep you around, Wilson ,” House said, already smearing one of the fluffy white sweets with thick peanut butter and popping it into his mouth.
“Disgusting,” Wilson murmured but grinned. “I thought you kept me around because I give you drugs.” House’s hand stilled for an instant and when he met Wilson ’s eyes there was a kind of hurt that made Wilson want to apologize. He instantly regretted letting reality intrude on the moment and rectified it by holding out his hand for one of the marshmallows. “How can you eat this?” He demanded, mouth twisting as the two sticky sensations collided.
“Years of practice,” House said thickly.
H&W
The gentle rocking of their boat had lulled House to sleep on the cushions beside the wheel. Wilson had spent a luxurious hour merely watching the flutter of expression across his mouth and the way the breeze tangled the curls of his graying hair. House would scoff and mock him if Wilson ever said aloud that he thought House was good looking. His friend might not be handsome in the conventional way, his features too sharp, his small chin at odds with his large eyes, but there was a uniqueness that Wilson had appreciated when faced with his own bland reflection. He smiled at the sleeping figure, reaching out to lightly touch House’s hair. “I wish I could save you,” he whispered. “I wish you loved me more than your drugs.” House stirred as if unsettled by Wilson ’s words but another gentle touch soothed him back into slumber. “But I love you more than anything in this world. I hope you know that.” Wilson bit his lower lip and forced himself to smile. He hoped that a plea made with a pure heart would carry weight with some deity somewhere and that thought brought him a measure of peace. “Be safe, House.” He turned his face to the sun again, letting the breeze cool the burning in his eyes.
The ride home was quiet, the radio filling the car with soft jazz that made House close his eyes, his expression serene. Wilson darted glances at him, memorizing the way his lips curled into a gentle smile and his eyebrows arched with each sweet note. He didn’t want the day to end. He wanted to let each moment stretch out, sinewy as the music flowing around them but time was drawing short. He’d been given one last day to enjoy the things he’d miss most. Wilson realized he hadn’t called his parents or even thought of his family today. They rarely spoke except on holidays and Wilson had become frustrated by the disappointment in his mother’s eyes whenever he went home. He knew he should have stuck with one of his marriages and given her the grandchildren she wanted but House had always come first and she knew it.
His family didn’t understand why he chose House, why he put House before his own happiness and it hurt them. Wilson had spent his youth trying to live up to their expectations but even when he had achieved something they should have been proud of, his family had let him know it wasn’t good enough. They wouldn’t miss him, not really. No one cared that much about him because he was only mediocre, he was bland and average. He’d always been the middle child, never commanding attention, blending in and being overlooked. It had hurt when he realized he wasn’t special and he had never been what anyone wanted. But being House’s friend had changed that; it had made him feel special. Wilson had found his purpose in life.
Wilson pulled into a parking space and got out. House limped to the door and let them in, not looking back.
“Hey, House?” House looked up. Wilson stood in the open doorway; the streetlight making a halo around his dark hair.
“Yeah?”
“This has been the best day of my life.” And there was something true and heartbreaking about the way his said it, like it should be carved in stone.
Their eyes caught like hands stretching across some dark chasm. He wanted to say things, all the things that had never been spoken but they both remained silent, the look passing between enough for them. It was only the when House started to turn away that Wilson saw a quiet grief in House’s eyes. He didn’t know if it was his own reflected in the clear blue eyes or if House could sense what he had struggled so hard to hide all day. House said gruffly, “That’s pathetic.” Wilson grinned at him, too long familiar with the façade to be offended. “Get going, already! You wore me out and I need some sleep.” Wilson rolled his eyes, knowing House would be up half the night anyway. “See you tomorrow.”
Wilson smiled again but this time it seemed almost wistful. “Yeah,” he said quietly, “see you tomorrow.” He started to leave then turned back. “Goodbye, House.”
House frowned, the light seemed to have dimmed around Wilson , casting his face into shadow and for a minute it seemed as if he were disappearing right before House’s eyes. “Goodnight, Wilson .”
H&W
Eleven o’clock had come and gone when Dr. James Wilson sighed and put his pen down. He pinched the bridge of his nose but the habitual gesture did little to quell the pounding headache forming behind his tired eyes. It had been a long week, he felt shaky from exhaustion and lack of food and still needed to finish a stack of forms requiring his signature before he could leave. The papers on his desk stirred, lifted by a cold draft that caused him to shiver. He looked up, a resigned smile on his face as his eyes took in the familiar form standing in his doorway. “Hey,” he greeted quietly and rose. He looked at the neat stack of papers on his desk, the forms filled out, the detailed notes he’d scribbled on patients. An envelope lay in his out box, ready to be mailed, the card inscribed with a loving message to his parents and brother. He was ready.
“I am sorry,” Death said.
Wilson shrugged. “Me too.” He watched the tall figure draw nearer, the cold that rolled off his form made Wilson shiver but he squared his shoulders and stood his ground. “What happens now?”
Death gestured towards the door. “Go home,” he said, “I’m always near but tonight I’ll ride with you.”
Wilson picked up his things, eyes sweeping the office one last time. In the hallway he slowed then stopped at House’s office. His hand traced the letters of House’s name. His reflection alone looked back from the darkened mirror of the glass but he felt his companion beside him. “Will House be okay?” Death moved closer, one hand coming to rest on Wilson ’s shoulder, numbing the pain building inside him. He was glad for this small comfort.
Death appeared to consider the question. “Depends on what you mean by okay, I guess,” he said not unkindly. Wilson drew back as the understanding expression and gentle manner seemed to fade, letting another layer show through. He’d seen Death in his compassionate guise, the form welcomed by those who had endured too much and wanted the suffering to end but the figure before him now struck terror with a single glance. This was the entity that waded into battles and took life by the hundreds, the one that slid in through the window and snatched the vulnerable, the one that waited in the dark and walked away sated. “He asked for one more day just like you did.” Death shrugged again. “I hope you both enjoyed it.”
Wilson backed away, eyes locked to the skeletal figure grinning at him. “No. No, way,” he rasped. Blood pounded in his ears, a roar that blocked out every other sound, sent surging through his body by a heart that threatened to shatter his ribs and break free of his flesh. House had asked for one more day? Not House. Wilson’s briefcase dropped from his numb fingers, papers fluttering like spirits released from another world. He turned and ran, bolting down the hall, staggering down the stair, knees buckling, scrabbling back to his feet and flying the rest of the way to the parking lot without realization of what he was doing. He drove feeling the cold presence following behind him, knowing that at any moment it would reach out and take him.
House’s apartment windows glowed with a silver light when Wilson pulled up in front. He leapt from it and threw open the main door, already pounding on House’s door, shouting his name. “House! House, open up!” It seemed an eternity as he fumbled for the key he carried but the door was opened and House stood before him.
“You’re not my usual hooker,” House said, peering at him, “but you’ve got a pretty mouth.”
“Shut up!” Wilson shoved House back carefully, slamming the door shut behind him and barring it with his own body.
“Ex-wives form a lynch mob?” House asked lightly.
“Shut up! For once in your life just -“ Wilson couldn’t finish, he clutched at House, grasping his arm and shaking him. “We have to go! If we leave now we can get across the border before morning. I know a lot of people in Quebec. We’ll -“
House’s mocking laugh cut him off mid-sentence, “Because Death doesn’t have a passport.” He reached up to place his hands on Wilson’s shoulders, staring into his wild eyes. “It’s okay. Really.” A grin lit his haggard features, the old irrepressible grin that had coaxed Wilson into more adventures than he could remember. House’s expression said this was just going to be another one, a wild ride they’d take together - because they were supposed to be together. He relaxed, letting House reel him in closer, face pressing against his neck so that every breath he took was filled with the scent of cigars and scotch, sweat and that unique something that was all Gregory House. They didn’t speak; there was nothing left to say anyway. They just stood holding onto one another, waiting for the knock on the door and when it came Wilson, as was his nature, stepped in front of House, shielding him for an extra half second from Death and feeling for the last time the warm, living hand holding his.
Warning - it is a death fic so read or not.....
Just One More Day……..
Eleven o’clock had come and gone when Dr. James Wilson sighed and put his pen down. He pinched the bridge of his nose but the habitual gesture did little to quell the pounding headache forming behind his tired eyes. It had been a long week, he felt shaky from exhaustion and lack of food and still needed to finish a stack of forms requiring his signature before he could leave. The papers on his desk stirred, lifted by a cold draft that caused him to shiver. He looked up, a resigned smile on his face as his eyes took in the familiar form standing in his doorway. “Hey,” he greeted quietly.
“You’re working late.” Tall, rapier thin, the man moved like a dark liquid stain across the carpet, his movements held a grace that arrested the eye with its unexpectedness.
Wilson acknowledged the words with a tilt of his head, a wry smile curling his lips. “So are you. Mine?” He sat back, blew out another sigh and rubbed his eyes. He was use to these late night visits and normally welcomed a chance at some verbal sparring but tonight he knew there was no way to hold up his end of the conversation. His guest seemed to sense this and take a seat opposite him. Lamplight gleamed on dark hair, emphasizing the paleness of his skin. With a measuring look the man rested his pointed chin atop his steepled fingers, jet eyes pinning Wilson to his chair with their intensity. He offered his own wry smile.
“You could say that, James,” he purred. He studied Wilson a moment longer, something in his reticent manner softened, the smile losing its smugness, gently easing the line of his lips with something like compassion. “It’s - you,” he said with an apologetic shrug. Wilson opened his mouth, but no words escaped. “I’m sorry, really,” Death said, “but tonight I’ve come for you.”
Wilson blinked, sitting up straighter in his chair. “What?”
Death had the grace to look embarrassed, but he repeated in a strong voice, “Tonight when you leave here, you’ll die. I don’t want to collect your soul,” Death explained, “but it’s your time.”
“Why - why are you telling me this?”
“Professional courtesy?” Death rose and moved restlessly around the room, fingering the knick-knacks Wilson had collected over the years. “You’ve known me for a long time, James,” he said slowly, “You never denied me. You never railed at me. I’ve always thought of you as - a friend.” Wilson ’s eyes went wide at the thought of Death befriending him. “Silly, I know, but you are a good man - a good doctor.” Death turned from his regard of Wilson ’s certificates and said gently, “I can’t stop the inevitable, James, but I can give you something.” He looked up, meeting Wilson ’s eyes with real regret. “I can give you one last day.”
H&W
“What the hell do you want?” House groused, leaning tiredly against the doorframe and gifting a smiling Wilson with a noticeably unsmiling glare.
“Only to see your cheerful face,” Wilson said with a laugh. He held up two bags, one in each fist, “Greasy fast food breakfast or sugary donuts?”
“Why not both?” House asked, some of his annoyance disappearing in the wake of an offering of food.
“Surgeon General’s warning, I think,” Wilson murmured, dumping the bags on the coffee table and disappearing into the kitchen. He emerged with plates and silverware, dumped those next to the bags and headed back to make some coffee. House took advantage of his absence to pilfer all the syrup which he poured on his pancakes as well as two he stole from Wilson . He was halfway through his stack when Wilson came back with cups of black coffee and sat beside him. “You saved me something, didn’t you?” His voice held only amusement, not a single trace of his usual exasperation.
“Mmmbwee,” House mumbled and syrup dripped down his chin. Wilson shook his head with another indulgent smile and lifted a napkin to dab at the corner of House’s mouth. “You a frustrated mom?” House demanded as he snatched the offending piece of paper away.
“Sorry,” Wilson said but didn’t look in the least bit repentant and proved it by laughing. They ate in silence after that, Wilson strangely attentive and solicitous, getting House a second cup of coffee and even making him toast.
“What do you want?” House finally demanded.
“It’s not what I want,” Wilson replied with a smile. “Today is Take-Complete-Advantage-of - Wilson -Day,” he said with a wide smile. “I have it all planned out. Now that you’re fed we’re heading to the arcade.” He stood, waiting for House to make some move but House continued to eye him with a thoughtful expression on his face. “What?” He laughed.
House tilted his head, and pursed his lips. “You normally grouse about every dime -“
“-more like hundreds of dollars -“
“-you spend on me,” House speculated. “Today you’re willing to indulge my every whim. What’s changed?”
“Given into the inevitable?” Wilson guessed. “Maybe I’ve lost my mind.”
“Doesn’t explain the euphoria,” House countered. He puffed air into his cheek and tapped his fingers against it so that his breath escaped in a pffsst-pffsst-pffsst. “You visited your lawyer last week,” he murmured, still working out a dozen scenarios, “so you either settled with Julie and it didn’t cost you as much as you’d feared. Or she’s paying you alimony and you want to put the squeeze on her….or she’s going to get all your assets and you want to knock a little off the top.”
“Can’t I just want to spend a little money on my best friend?” Wilson asked in a disgruntled tone. He sighed and slumped onto the couch, knowing House would take it as a victory.
“This is going to be fun!” House crowed and headed towards his bedroom. Behind him, Wilson ’s fond expression slipped into one of resigned acceptance. He glanced around the room, his eyes taking in the musical instruments, the video game systems, the odd collections of books and toys. House was such a complex man, the true embodiment of genius; brilliant, moody, child-like. He flouted convention and did things according to a set of rules only he seemed to understand. He hated lies but refused to tell the truth because it didn’t reflect the way he wanted the world to be. He had grown up lonely and feeling unloved, searching for a way to rid himself of those lingering self-doubts all his adult years. Wilson had often wondered what House would be like if he’d been born in a different time - to different people. Would he be a loving and giving man if he’d not been made to feel an outcast, a freak by the parents who didn’t seem to understand the unique child born to them? House had struggled with his own personality and how it felt to forever be set apart from the group. It had made him arrogant, smug, petty, but it had left scars too, a keen awareness that he was different and not everyone was jealous of that. He’d finally found love and given his whole heart only to suffer the irony that Stacy’s love had been stronger than her belief in him. Crippled in body and spirit, wracked with pain, he’d sought relief in the only way he could - numbing himself to everything but the puzzles he knew he could solve, the rational elements that did not betray and deceive.
Since the moment of their meeting Wilson had understood how vulnerable House was in the real world. House saw black and white, truth and lies, when the world was really made up of shades of gray. Wilson had shielded him as best he could, allowing House to be House, and translating it all to the outside while running interference when someone took offense. He’d done everything he could to prove to House that sometimes loving someone was its own reward and that not everyone was looking out for their own interests and happiness. Wilson believed in unconditional love, he’d lived it every moment of their friendship but like a blindfolded man, House refused to see it. Wilson took a deep breath, and tried to push away his fear that without his protection House would fall pray to his own self destructive ways. He had only ever wanted to safeguard House, to protect him from a world he didn’t fit into and keep the spark of his unique gift alive. He mourned not for himself, Wilson knew the world wouldn’t notice his death, but if somehow his passing caused House to lose his way, the world would be a much darker and deadlier place.
“The arcade first?” House asked, coming back into the room. Wilson forced himself to grin.
“Yep, I’m thinking I’ll kick your ass on Guitar Hero this time.” He shoved his arms into his jacket and followed House to the door.
“Yeah, I get you and Hendrix confused all the time,” House mocked.
“Must be the way I swing my axe,” Wilson said.
“I knew you swung something.”
They drove, not in silence because Wilson wanted each second to count. He started arguments, challenged House in every word he uttered, parried retorts with skill and laughter, reveling in the feeling of being there, right there at that moment, with House. They had perfected the ping-pong cadence of their exchanges over long hours of boredom and Wilson relished each and every bizarre turn the conversation took.
“Are you an imbecile?”
“Are you a cretin?”
“I’ve never even been to Greece .”
“Ha ha.”
“Laugh all you want,” House said, “But there is no way in hell you can continue to claim Wonder Man is just as good as Court Jester.” He pulled his cap down over his eyes and waggled his head, “The challis from the palace has the -“
“Chu Chu Laverne is -“
“- pellet with the poison -“
“Chu Chu LaVerne is -“ Wilson prompted.
House had his face screwed into a disgusted knot when Wilson glanced over at him but a moment later he lifted the corner of his hat to reveal one twinkling blue eye. “Minnieee Smmmmiiittthhh. Minnie Smith. Minnie Smith. Minnie Smith!” House sang.
“Told ya.”
House stuck out his tongue and sulked.
They spent all morning at the arcade; House winning several hundred tickets and pissing off four adults, two employees and a janitor but earning the respect of dozens of kids. They gathered around him like postulants at the feet of a holy man, watching open-mouthed as he reaped the benefits of attention deficit coupled with a brilliant mind. Wilson sat at a table nearby, watching and laughing. House would cackle like a madman when he beat one of the machines, it made him look younger, healthy even and if it hadn’t been for his ever present cane, Wilson would have thought it eighteen years earlier and he was skipping classes just to hang out with his new friend.
“Look at this,” House said, proudly showing off the trinkets he’d won. He pulled down a huge salary, bought whatever he wanted or conned Wilson into it, and still the cheap things he could win with his video game skills meant so much to him.
“Amazing,” Wilson agreed. After a gulp of soda and a slice of pizza House set off for a second round of games, leaving Wilson to trail him like a caddy, carrying prizes and drinks and cheering him on. Wilson loved it. He took in every sight of House laughing, hording it like a bandit, thankful he had been given one last day to savor the presence of his best friend. He’d never been religious, even when sitting in the synagogue beside his father learning the rites that would guide his life and make him a man in the eyes of his ancestor’s God, but today he said a prayer, thanking God that he had been granted this gift and vowing he would make the most of it.
H&W
“A picnic?” House peered at the packed basket like a little boy eyeing the stack under the Christmas tree.
“Yeah, I borrowed Emerson’s boat,” Wilson said casually. He saw House stiffen out of the corner of his eye but kept walking. He passed the small recreational area with its sandy beach, volleyball nets, and tables and continued towards the marina’s private docks. In the early days of their friendship House had often accompanied him for a weekend sailing trip, enjoying the challenge of a new sport and the utter peace being on the water could bring. After the infarction the habit had been abandoned with so many other things once easily done. But today Wilson longed for one last blissful afternoon; he wanted to capture the endless feeling of ocean and sky and the way it felt time would never end because sea and sky melded together into an endless blue expanse. He’d believed immortality must be like sailing on the water and he wanted that - he wanted that with House - wanted to just keep going and never look back to shore. If only for today.
“My sea legs aren’t what they use to be,” House said, following slowly.
“Then you won’t have to enter the swimsuit competition,” Wilson said reasonably. He made his way along the pier, listening to House’s distinctive step behind him and watching for the correct numbered slip. He stopped near the end of the dock and admired the boat his colleague had loaned for the day.
“And let you win with that little polka dot number? I think not.” House stepped up beside him, staring at the name of the 40 foot cruiser bobbing in the choppy water of the harbor. “This won’t be a three hour tour, will it?” The FUN TIME bounced like an eager puppy confronted with new playmates.
Wilson scowled at him and stepped over the gunwale and onto the deck. House did the same, switching his cane to his left hand and holding tight to the railing with his right as the boat rocked under them. The cockpit had a sliding canopy over it that could allow them as much sun as they wanted. Padded benches lined the large sunken area around the wheel and colorful flags flapped in the breeze around them. House took a seat while Wilson secured the basket below decks, noting that the ladder was fairly steep and House would have a problem if he wanted to use the head down there. More than likely his friend would piss over the side and not bother struggling down them. A tidy galley held everything they could want and Wilson was pleased to see Emerson had stocked the fridge with beer as he’d said he would. He tucked the food away and dug through the bag he’d brought. While House had been getting dressed Wilson had slipped into his bedroom and fished out a pair of baggy shorts House used when he used the hospitals therapy pool. His own trunks were neatly folded with them and a couple of towels. He knew a small cove a couple of hours from the marina and at this time of the week it would probably be deserted. All in all they had everything they needed for the perfect afternoon.
The last afternoon. The thought hit Wilson like a blow to the chest. He wanted to double over, stuff a fist to his mouth and howl at the injustice of it all. What would happen to House without him? What would he do all alone? Wilson took a calming breath and forced himself to relax. House would be fine, he was a grown man, he could take care of himself - Fool, Wilson berated the calm part of his brain, House is like a child, with a child’s self-centered nature. He might be brilliant but he’s unhappy, a lost soul who’s had no one to care for him. It’s my job. I was the one who was suppose to make sure he was safe but I’ve failed. I have to give him something - I have to make him understand how much he means to - Wilson swallowed hard and refused to think about what would happen when he was gone. Cuddy was there, she knew House and she loved him in her own way, she would watch over him. And as much as he and Cameron disagreed about what he had done, Wilson knew she cared about House. Even Chase cared about him, liked him in a slavishly twisted kind of way and would keep an eye on him. The last few years House had let the others in, he’d made small steps in widening his world to include people besides Wilson and that was a vast improvement. I don’t have to worry, he told himself, House is going to be Okay without me.
He forced himself to grab a couple of bottles of chilled beer and climb the steps back to House’s side. “Catch of the day,” he said and lobbed the bottle in House’s general direction. House caught it and used it to gesture to the dock where the thick lines led to the dock.
“So does this tub move or are we just going to sit here and get drunk?” House asked. Wilson rolled his eyes as he set about making ready. He cast off the lines and motored slowly out of the harbor, cutting the engine once they were far enough and hoisting the sails. He preferred a sailboat, had kept one for years at another marina until alimony and House had made using it almost impossible, now he either borrowed one or rented one when he needed to be free of the strain life put on him. Tension seemed to flow out of him with the white wake that trailed the slim boat. Even House relaxed, his hunched shoulders easing down as he watched the shore receding behind them through his dark glasses.
They sailed for over and hour, Wilson content to man the wheel as House rattled on, singing sea shanties and telling fish tales he seemed to make up on the spot. The shore was a distant dark line before Wilson turned the wheel, heading back, the craft nosing directly for a small cove he had found years earlier. He anchored in the shade of the cliffs. House lay back, silent, Wilson ’s own reflection showing in the black lenses, a smile on his lips. “This is the life, Jimmy,” he said. When the day grow too warm they swam in the clear water, changing from jeans and slacks to trunks on the deck, Wilson steadying House as they stood on tiny swim platform before leaping in after him. And when they got hungry Wilson got out the picnic basket and they sat munching sandwiches and drinking beer. A radio played, echoing off the rocks and giving the place an eerie, desolate feel that they both liked.
Polished by the sun, the ocean gleamed like a cracked mirror held to the sky. Wilson let the last rays of the dying sun kiss his upturned cheeks for a moment longer then turned his gaze to the man lying beside him. House had his eyes closed but Wilson could tell he wasn’t asleep, just enjoying the cool breeze and the smell of the ocean. He knew deep down he should be lecturing House, trying once more to make his friend see that if you looked for the worst in people you would surely find it. If you looked for Good you might just be able to convince yourself it existed, even if it was fleeting. He remembered seeing a movie once where the guy knew he would die before his son was born and videotaped all the advice and encouragement he wouldn’t be there to dispense as the boy grew. House wouldn’t listen anyway, he’d tape over the video and there would be little snippets of Wilson ’s Wisdom sandwiched between Passions and Pants Off Dance Off that would merely make House laugh and mock his long dead friend. So, instead of futilely browbeating the one person in the world he truly loved, Wilson said. “What would make the perfect day, House?”
“If you expect me to say today,” House murmured, “You’d be mistaken.” He lay propped on pillows, chest and feet bare, the canopy’s shade keeping him cool and a drink at his elbow. “I mean, the arcade was awesome and this,” he waved at the blue water surrounding them, “pretty nifty. However,” he smirked at Wilson . “You forgot the most important thing.”
Wilson smiled, “Nope. I didn’t.” Before House could say anything else, Wilson reached into the open picnic basket and with the flourish of a magician brought out a bag of marshmallows and a jar of peanut butter. “I believe this will knock today up into the top percentile.” He tossed both items to House, found a knife and handed it over. House stared in astonishment.
“Peanut butter and marshmallows! This is why I keep you around, Wilson ,” House said, already smearing one of the fluffy white sweets with thick peanut butter and popping it into his mouth.
“Disgusting,” Wilson murmured but grinned. “I thought you kept me around because I give you drugs.” House’s hand stilled for an instant and when he met Wilson ’s eyes there was a kind of hurt that made Wilson want to apologize. He instantly regretted letting reality intrude on the moment and rectified it by holding out his hand for one of the marshmallows. “How can you eat this?” He demanded, mouth twisting as the two sticky sensations collided.
“Years of practice,” House said thickly.
H&W
The gentle rocking of their boat had lulled House to sleep on the cushions beside the wheel. Wilson had spent a luxurious hour merely watching the flutter of expression across his mouth and the way the breeze tangled the curls of his graying hair. House would scoff and mock him if Wilson ever said aloud that he thought House was good looking. His friend might not be handsome in the conventional way, his features too sharp, his small chin at odds with his large eyes, but there was a uniqueness that Wilson had appreciated when faced with his own bland reflection. He smiled at the sleeping figure, reaching out to lightly touch House’s hair. “I wish I could save you,” he whispered. “I wish you loved me more than your drugs.” House stirred as if unsettled by Wilson ’s words but another gentle touch soothed him back into slumber. “But I love you more than anything in this world. I hope you know that.” Wilson bit his lower lip and forced himself to smile. He hoped that a plea made with a pure heart would carry weight with some deity somewhere and that thought brought him a measure of peace. “Be safe, House.” He turned his face to the sun again, letting the breeze cool the burning in his eyes.
The ride home was quiet, the radio filling the car with soft jazz that made House close his eyes, his expression serene. Wilson darted glances at him, memorizing the way his lips curled into a gentle smile and his eyebrows arched with each sweet note. He didn’t want the day to end. He wanted to let each moment stretch out, sinewy as the music flowing around them but time was drawing short. He’d been given one last day to enjoy the things he’d miss most. Wilson realized he hadn’t called his parents or even thought of his family today. They rarely spoke except on holidays and Wilson had become frustrated by the disappointment in his mother’s eyes whenever he went home. He knew he should have stuck with one of his marriages and given her the grandchildren she wanted but House had always come first and she knew it.
His family didn’t understand why he chose House, why he put House before his own happiness and it hurt them. Wilson had spent his youth trying to live up to their expectations but even when he had achieved something they should have been proud of, his family had let him know it wasn’t good enough. They wouldn’t miss him, not really. No one cared that much about him because he was only mediocre, he was bland and average. He’d always been the middle child, never commanding attention, blending in and being overlooked. It had hurt when he realized he wasn’t special and he had never been what anyone wanted. But being House’s friend had changed that; it had made him feel special. Wilson had found his purpose in life.
Wilson pulled into a parking space and got out. House limped to the door and let them in, not looking back.
“Hey, House?” House looked up. Wilson stood in the open doorway; the streetlight making a halo around his dark hair.
“Yeah?”
“This has been the best day of my life.” And there was something true and heartbreaking about the way his said it, like it should be carved in stone.
Their eyes caught like hands stretching across some dark chasm. He wanted to say things, all the things that had never been spoken but they both remained silent, the look passing between enough for them. It was only the when House started to turn away that Wilson saw a quiet grief in House’s eyes. He didn’t know if it was his own reflected in the clear blue eyes or if House could sense what he had struggled so hard to hide all day. House said gruffly, “That’s pathetic.” Wilson grinned at him, too long familiar with the façade to be offended. “Get going, already! You wore me out and I need some sleep.” Wilson rolled his eyes, knowing House would be up half the night anyway. “See you tomorrow.”
Wilson smiled again but this time it seemed almost wistful. “Yeah,” he said quietly, “see you tomorrow.” He started to leave then turned back. “Goodbye, House.”
House frowned, the light seemed to have dimmed around Wilson , casting his face into shadow and for a minute it seemed as if he were disappearing right before House’s eyes. “Goodnight, Wilson .”
H&W
Eleven o’clock had come and gone when Dr. James Wilson sighed and put his pen down. He pinched the bridge of his nose but the habitual gesture did little to quell the pounding headache forming behind his tired eyes. It had been a long week, he felt shaky from exhaustion and lack of food and still needed to finish a stack of forms requiring his signature before he could leave. The papers on his desk stirred, lifted by a cold draft that caused him to shiver. He looked up, a resigned smile on his face as his eyes took in the familiar form standing in his doorway. “Hey,” he greeted quietly and rose. He looked at the neat stack of papers on his desk, the forms filled out, the detailed notes he’d scribbled on patients. An envelope lay in his out box, ready to be mailed, the card inscribed with a loving message to his parents and brother. He was ready.
“I am sorry,” Death said.
Wilson shrugged. “Me too.” He watched the tall figure draw nearer, the cold that rolled off his form made Wilson shiver but he squared his shoulders and stood his ground. “What happens now?”
Death gestured towards the door. “Go home,” he said, “I’m always near but tonight I’ll ride with you.”
Wilson picked up his things, eyes sweeping the office one last time. In the hallway he slowed then stopped at House’s office. His hand traced the letters of House’s name. His reflection alone looked back from the darkened mirror of the glass but he felt his companion beside him. “Will House be okay?” Death moved closer, one hand coming to rest on Wilson ’s shoulder, numbing the pain building inside him. He was glad for this small comfort.
Death appeared to consider the question. “Depends on what you mean by okay, I guess,” he said not unkindly. Wilson drew back as the understanding expression and gentle manner seemed to fade, letting another layer show through. He’d seen Death in his compassionate guise, the form welcomed by those who had endured too much and wanted the suffering to end but the figure before him now struck terror with a single glance. This was the entity that waded into battles and took life by the hundreds, the one that slid in through the window and snatched the vulnerable, the one that waited in the dark and walked away sated. “He asked for one more day just like you did.” Death shrugged again. “I hope you both enjoyed it.”
Wilson backed away, eyes locked to the skeletal figure grinning at him. “No. No, way,” he rasped. Blood pounded in his ears, a roar that blocked out every other sound, sent surging through his body by a heart that threatened to shatter his ribs and break free of his flesh. House had asked for one more day? Not House. Wilson’s briefcase dropped from his numb fingers, papers fluttering like spirits released from another world. He turned and ran, bolting down the hall, staggering down the stair, knees buckling, scrabbling back to his feet and flying the rest of the way to the parking lot without realization of what he was doing. He drove feeling the cold presence following behind him, knowing that at any moment it would reach out and take him.
House’s apartment windows glowed with a silver light when Wilson pulled up in front. He leapt from it and threw open the main door, already pounding on House’s door, shouting his name. “House! House, open up!” It seemed an eternity as he fumbled for the key he carried but the door was opened and House stood before him.
“You’re not my usual hooker,” House said, peering at him, “but you’ve got a pretty mouth.”
“Shut up!” Wilson shoved House back carefully, slamming the door shut behind him and barring it with his own body.
“Ex-wives form a lynch mob?” House asked lightly.
“Shut up! For once in your life just -“ Wilson couldn’t finish, he clutched at House, grasping his arm and shaking him. “We have to go! If we leave now we can get across the border before morning. I know a lot of people in Quebec. We’ll -“
House’s mocking laugh cut him off mid-sentence, “Because Death doesn’t have a passport.” He reached up to place his hands on Wilson’s shoulders, staring into his wild eyes. “It’s okay. Really.” A grin lit his haggard features, the old irrepressible grin that had coaxed Wilson into more adventures than he could remember. House’s expression said this was just going to be another one, a wild ride they’d take together - because they were supposed to be together. He relaxed, letting House reel him in closer, face pressing against his neck so that every breath he took was filled with the scent of cigars and scotch, sweat and that unique something that was all Gregory House. They didn’t speak; there was nothing left to say anyway. They just stood holding onto one another, waiting for the knock on the door and when it came Wilson, as was his nature, stepped in front of House, shielding him for an extra half second from Death and feeling for the last time the warm, living hand holding his.