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Fandoms Challenge 2021
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2021-05-02
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In the end, it's you and I

Summary:

Week 13; Write for a fandom you stopped being part of

They have almost a full year.
A whole year, in the cottage by the sea.
But the end will still come.

Work Text:

They fought a lot. Little things that would be considered normal or insignificant to others, was turned into declarations of war. Things were thrown around, words were flung across the room, that were later regretted and every opinion was wrong.

Wilson was no idiot, though. He knew perfectly well what was going on, and he accepted it, because what choice did he have? House was scared shitless, and he was acting out because of it, scared of losing Wilson, of being left alone, and Wilson could understand that.

But what House was suggestion was out of the question. He had said so, on so many different occasions now, and it always turned into a screaming match, that always ended in the same way:

“You CAN'T do that!”

“Yeah? How are you going to stop me? You'll be DEAD!”

It hurt, seeing the raw pain in his best friend's eyes, his whole face being one big declaration of love and fear. But there was no way that Wilson would ever agree to House following him, after he died. It's not that he was afraid to die, he had accepted his fate, he knew it was coming. The worry came from leaving House alone. The man would not be able to cope, he knew that.

There were plenty of good days, too. Days when they would laugh, or take little walks, look at the sunset, talking for hours about everything and nothing. Days where House would smile and Wilson would pretend like nothing was wrong and it was just the two of them in this little bubble of theirs, this little cottage by the sea with no civilisation for miles. House would leave once a month or so to get food and supplies. He never said where he went, and James had never asked.

There were bad days. Days wherw Wilson couldn't even make it out of bed in time, days where he wouldn't eat, days when he couldn't eat, days when he saw things that weren't there, people that were long gone from his life.

“Cancer sucks!” House would say as he helped Wilson into some clean clothers. “Cancer is boring!” he would say as he changed the sheets like some cleaning lady. “Screw cancer!” he would say as he gently wiped the sweat from Wilson's face, or gave him his meds, taking care of him like the most loving of mothers.

But the one thing that remained the same, though all the days, the good and the bad, was the knowledge that Wilson was dying, that one day would be his last. And he was worried sick that House was going to ignore his pleas and take his own life, as soon as he had watched Wilson leave this world. So he held on, with everything he had, fighting for not only his life, but the life of his best friend. He loved House, oh, god, how he loved him, the man was rude and obnoxious and brutally honest and he loved Wilson with every part of his soul. Hell, the man faked his own death, just so that the two of them could ride off into the sunset together. How could he not love him, how could he not fight to save that man's life? He couldn't leave this world with that man's blood on his hands.

But despite him fighting, the day still came.

They both knew it, right from the very start. House took one look at him, and knew. Wilson didn't even ask; he already knew. He could feel it, in his whole body, that it was time. He'd had days when the pain was so severe that it would hurt just to breathe, but now, the pain was gone. Everything was gona and what he felt, was a strange sense of calm. Yeah, he knew this was it, his whole body knew it.
House knew it, too.

They spent the day together, in bed. There was only one bed in the cottage, but it had been no issue for either one of them. Sleeping next to someone you loved and trusted with your life... Who would have an issue with that. They had slept in that same bed for almost a year. Almost a whole year, that's how long they got, but it was more than either of them could have asked for. They had spent it as best they could, just the two of them, with no disturbance from the outside world.

House kept talking to him, low, soft tales of everything they had done together, paiting beautiful memories of what their lives would have been like if this hadn't happened.

There was a syringe on the bedside table that they were both ignoring for now. Wilson had tried, so hard, and for so long, but he should have known that once Gregory House sets his mind on something, you can't say or do anything to change it. The man was as stubborn as a mule. He had hoped, though, that he would have changed his mind about this.

“Don't be stupid!” House had said, just a couple of days ago, when Wilson had brought it up again. “There is no way I am letting you go alone. When you go-I go! The sooner you accept that-the better for both of us.”

So Wilson had accepted it, because what choice did he have? And now, the syringe was on the bedside table, like a silent reminder. He was too tired to care anymore, though, his whole body wanted to sleep.

“I love you!”

There was a gentle kiss on his forehead and he would have said it back, if he'd had the energy to open his mouth. It's, ok, House knew, anyway. He had always known. They had said it enough times over the years to know.

But it was nice to hear.

“You can rest now, James! I'll be right behind you. I'm not leaving you alone.”

Thank you, Wilson thought, and slept.