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House sat at the window, pretending to watch the sunrise but really watching Wilson watch the sunrise.
“I want this to be my last one,” Wilson said, voice weaker than it once was as he looked at the older man.
House’s eyes widened. “But-“
“But nothing. I want to die while I can still go on walks with you and deal with your shit. Have some dignity.”
“There’s no dignity in death.”
“Fine. Then I want to go now because I don’t want to lose myself. That better?”
House understood that need all too well; it reminded him of his pride before the infarction, when he needed to have his leg just to know that he wasn’t completely useless, that he was still him.
“What will you do after I’m gone?” Wilson asked, gaze back towards the sunrise.
House had considered that. “I don’t have a life anymore. Nothing to return to.”
The ex-oncologist, as always, read between the lines. “What about Thirteen?”
“She has a girlfriend, last I heard. She’ll have someone.”
“And you won’t,” Wilson finished for him.
“And I won’t.”
They contemplated that in silence for a while.
“Our last day,” House murmured. “What should we do?”
“Let’s just have a normal day,” the other man suggested. “Just like old times. I’ll cook breakfast and lunch and then…“
“That sounds great,” House said, taking a deep breath. “What’s for breakfast?”
“Pancakes?”
They made the pancakes together, though it would be better described as Wilson making pancakes and House pestering him and making it ten times harder. The pancakes turned out good, as per usual, and the two sat next to each other, House leaning against the younger man like he always did.
They watched General Hospital on the TV, Wilson playing Mystery Science Theater while House complained about the younger man ruining his favorite medical drama. Wilson got a turn and found a rerun of Dead Poets Society, House complaining but secretly enjoying every second just as much as Wilson.
They took a break to have a late lunch around three. This time House actually helped and they made tacos. They sat at the table, leaning on one another again, and ate. After food, they returned to the couch, House lounging on top of Wilson while they watched Saturday Night Live.
“I don’t like his take on the gays,” House commented as the host made a poorly executed joke about AIDS in his closing segment.
“Gregory House,” Wilson said dryly, “defender of gay rights.”
“Hey, I can defend my own community.”
A stunned silence. “You’re…”
“Bisexual. You?”
“Not sure. Definitely like men, though.”
House groaned. “Oh, come on. I had the opportunity to fuck you this whole time?”
Wilson offered a startled laugh. “I wouldn’t have said no.”
“Would you say no now?”
House wasn’t sure if the other man thought he was serious at first, but when the ex-diagnostician just kept staring any misconception was cleared up very quickly. “I wouldn’t.”
House moved up to press his lips against Wilson’s, breath coming out in a soft sigh as the other man kissed back. What started as a chaste gesture quickly grew heated, and before House could process what was happening - not that he was complaining - clothes were coming off and they were moving against each other.
Sex with Wilson was worth the wait, House decided.
After showering (due to Wilson’s insistence) and getting clothed (also Wilson’s idea), the two laid together. They had migrated to the bed, and House was lying on his back, Wilson’s head on his chest and arm around his body.
“Do you… was that just because you could?” Wilson asked.
“Hm?”
“The sex. Was it because you could or because…”
“I like you.”
“Yeah. Which one?”
“No, I mean I like you.”
“Well, I love you,” Wilson said, deciding there wasn’t much to lose.
House smiled. “I love you too.”
And then, much to his mortification, tears were filling his eyes. Wilson hugged him tighter. A glance at the clock revealed it was five thirty.
“If we… if we were in a different universe. Had more time. What would have happened?”
“Well, first off, we would not have had sex just now,” Wilson commented. “Probably would have danced around each other for at least three more years.”
House chuckled. “And then neither of us would have known where we stood and it would have been awkward as hell for a few months.”
“Until you, being you, dragged me into my own office or something and confronted me about it.”
“Mind blowing make-up sex and bam! We’re together,” House grinned.
“And then we’d be together for a while and, since we get to dictate the rules, gay marriage is legal now and I propose.”
“And I say no.”
“Obviously. But I’m very insistent.”
“Probably propose at least ten times before I say yes just to get you to stop.”
“I’d invite you to someone’s wedding, and pretend it’s Cuddy’s.”
“It’d be ours, wouldn’t it?”
“Mhm. I surprise you and you pretend to hate it.”
“And you obviously only invite a few people because you know I’d kill you if you invited more.”
“Just the fellows, Cuddy, maybe my parents.”
“Would it be a Jewish wedding?”
“Probably an atheist one. Give my father a heart attack not only because it’s gay, but because it’s not proper.”
“But it’d be ours,” House whispered, swallowing a sob.
“But it’d be ours. And I’d make sure to get flowers that mean sappy shit so you can make fun of me.”
“And I’d tell you how awful your tie is.”
“My tie would not be awful!”
“You’d do some stupid shit like make it match my eyes. That color doesn’t look good on you.”
“Jesus, how did I not realize you were gay sooner? Straight men don’t give a shit about whether a color looks good on their best friend.”
House laughed properly at that. “I’d steal your tie.”
“You would. Half of our wedding pictures, I’d be without a tie, and it would drive me insane.”
“And I’d put the pictures up on a wall of our house so all our guests can see you without your awful tie.”
Wilson offered a weak laugh. “I’d put up a picture of you being affectionate to retaliate. Ruin your reputation.”
“Picture from the porno.”
“I did not star in a porno, for fuck’s sake!”
“That’s what someone who starred in a porno would say.”
“I hate you sometimes.”
House hummed. “Continue.”
“We’d be married for, like, twenty years before I retire.”
“And I wouldn’t retire for another ten and even that’s only because you forced me to.”
“You’d be rolling around in a wheelchair with flame designs by the time you did. We’d make it look awesome.”
“And people would try to talk down to me because I’m even more obviously a cripple and I’d be a dick and get Cuddy into more trouble,” House agreed, opening the bedside drawer and grabbing something. Wilson had to have noticed, but he said nothing about it.
“No, by now she’s retired too. Foreman’s in charge. And Chase is waiting for you to either die or retire because he wants to take your position.”
“And also they’re fucking.”
“Oh, absolutely.”
A small pinch in Wilson’s arm. He smiles up at House, tears finally escaping his eyes. “And we’d die together, old and bitter to the end.“
House waited until Wilson’s pulse stopped before injecting himself with a lethal dose of morphine as well, watching the light fade as the sun set - or maybe as his vision faded.
“I love you,” he whispered with the last of his strength to Wilson’s already cooling form.
HERE LIES GREGORY HOUSE AND JAMES WILSON, BELOATHED TO ALL
YEARS OF PRETENDING THEY WEREN’T IN LOVE, LOOK AT THEM NOW
GH
May 15, 1959-Jan 10, 2015
JW
Aug 19, 1966-Jan 10, 2015