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  Five Ways House & Wilson Didn't Die 
 by gena  

 Five Ways House and Wilson Didn't Die 

#1)"You-re not getting' me on that dea-deathtrap!" Wilson cried, then gave
a wild laugh. He flapped a hand at the motorcycle, "It's only got two
wheels, not good." He held up three fingers, recounted and dropped one
which caused him to list to starboard. He collided with House and only the
firm plant of House's cane kept both of them on their feet.

"So? Between us we have five legs," House pointed out. "It'll be okay." He
swung himself over the bike's saddle and waited for Wilson's clumsy
maneuvering before switching on the key. The engine roared to life as he
twisted the throttle. "Hang on!" Wilson's arms went around his waist,
hands finding a tight grip on his leather jacket. House toed the gearshift
and took off with a rush. Wilson's arms tightened and his solid warmth
pressed against House. There were some faints words and more laughter but
House tuned it all out, lost as usual in the exhilaration of speed. 

He'd thought about taking the car when Wilson called, his voice slurred
and wet with tears. It would be easier to toss Wilson in the back and slam
the door and just leave him there until he sobered up but the memory of
vomit on his upholstery and a perverse desire to see Jimmy looking
wind-blown and wild had stopped him. They sped across Front street and
down to Prospect with very little traffic to slow the powerful bike down.
There was a slight dip near the Somerset intersection and he called a
warning to Wilson as they neared it.

"Yee-haaaaaa," Wilson howled as the bike bounced on its suspension, his
voice more alive than House had ever heard it. Wilson gave the impression
he did all things in moderation, and he did most of the time. He was hard
working and dependable and honest and true and every Boy Scout should look
just like him. But there was a wild side, too, the one that craved love
and would do anything for it, the one that would marry any woman that even
looked like she might love him back. It was the side of him that House
loved, the side that looked at House with those shining brown eyes when
the iron bands on his inhibitions had been broken, when pain and despair
and loneliness sent him spiraling out of control. It was the side of
Wilson that House clung to when his world seemed cold and empty.

House echoed Wilson's cry and flung the bike forward. Behind him, Wilson
whooped again and added, "I love you!" For one second, the pure joy each
felt encompassed them, creating a single speeding entity whose sole
existence relied only on the love they felt for each other. And then the
truck pulled out in front of them and they felt only the horrible crush of
their bones snapping. 

#2) House looked up from the file on his desk as the door opened. Wilson
sauntered in and collapsed into the chair across from him. For several
long moments they stared at each other; House in expectation, and Wilson
in acceptance. "I don't really think it's possible to bore a hole through
someone with only your gaze." House said finally.

Wilson gave him a lopsided grin. "I wish it were." He held up a file.
"Inoperable." 

"Is that one where the Fat Lady doesn't sing?"

"No," Wilson said, "that's In-Opera-ble. This," he smiled grimly at the
folder, "is sinister and malignant." He turned his gaze to House, "much
like cancer. Which it is."

"Sooooo," House dropped his pen and sat back in his chair. "You just came
by to show off one of your cancer cuties?"

Wilson nodded, "Yep. I thought you might want in on the pool first. Three
to six months, tops."

House narrowed his eyes and really looked at Wilson. When had Wilson
gotten so thin? And there were dark circles under his eyes. He didn't look
at all well....."Can I have your office?"

"Going to turn it into a martini bar when I'm gone?"

"It'll be the first time it's ever held anything cool if I do," House told
him with a grin. "I'll take," he eyed Wilson critically, "two months and
seven days."

"Fifty?"

"Make it a hundred." 

House lost his bet by four days and blamed Wilson for being stubborn.
Wilson's last breath was a triumphant laugh.

#3) "House," Wilson gasped, "are you sure about-"

"Stop being such a wimp," House growled, "and hold still." 

"I don't think this is a good idea."

"Who complained about predictable and boring? Wasn't me," House said, "and
I don't remember inviting anyone else into our bedroom. Now shut up, I'm
busy." Wilson sighed and sat back watching House fashion a loop out of one
of his ties. "Probably the best use for this hideous thing," he murmured
as he fastened it around Wilson 's left ankle. He's used a particularly
ugly green one on Wilson 's right ankle and two striped horrors Julie had
given him for his wrists. "Now, what's left?" 

"House, what if something happens?"

"Uh, I thought that was the idea," House leered, "You know, mind blowing
sex."

"I meant something, uh, bad," Wilson said. He was beginning to regret
trying to spice up their sex life. When he'd hinted that they were falling
into a routine he'd had something a little tamer in mind - like talking
dirty or showering together, not bondage. 

"Bad?" House looked up from where he was rummaging through the rest of
Wilson 's tie collection. "Like calls for a spanking, bad? I could get
behind that behind," he said, blue eyes gleaming wickedly. 

"House!" Wilson pulled against his bonds but it was no use, like every
other skill he'd ever learned, House was an expert at tying knots. "Let's
just get some chocolate body paint or something."

"Nope." House limped back to the bed carrying a paisley nightmare which he
carefully wound around Wilson 's head as a blindfold. 

"House, I have a bad feeling about this," Wilson said. "This could be
embarrassing. What if something goes wrong? What if someone calls the
police?"

"Going to scream like a girl?" House grinned. "I'm prepared for that!"
Before Wilson could protest House stuffed the last tie into his mouth.
"Ready or not - here I come!"

Wilson struggled furiously but to no avail. He could hear House humming
Mountain of Love and felt the bed dip as his lover climbed onto it.
"Houffst, pwef." The mattress tipped alarmingly and before he even
realized what was happening Wilson heard a startled yelp followed quickly
by a thud and the sound of bone snapping. "Houffst? Houffst! Heff! Heff!"
He tugged and pulled and fought and screamed for hours. His wrists were
raw and bleeding, his chest aching from having his arms stretched out to
either side, and his heart thundering in fear when his hyperventilating
lungs caused him to suck the tie down his throat. 

Cuddy unlocked House's apartment with the key Wilson had given her for
emergencies. She could tell by the expectant silence something was wrong
and when she crept into the bedroom her fears were confirmed. House lay at
the foot of the bed, naked, his neck twisted at an unnatural angle, a tube
of KY in one hand and a plumber's helper in the other. Wilson was tied to
the bed with his own ties, the tail of an orange and green plaid one
hanging out of his mouth like a grotesque tongue. It cost Cuddy a small
fortune in hush money but she had fantastic connections all over the city.
Though no one could say what had happened one way or another, for years to
come there were rumors of foul play about the deaths of two of Princeton
's top doctors.

#4) House swirled the last of his scotch around the glass, watching it
change from amber to gold to brown and back in the flickering light of the
fireplace. He smiled and drained it, examining the clear glass with a
critical eye before hurling it against the brick where it shattered into a
dozen pieces. He laughed, remembering the sound the wine glass had made
beneath Wilson 's heel and how the ringing shouts of Mazel tov had been
just as sharp and able to cut just as deeply as those slivers of glass. 

He looked around the townhouse, seeing bits of Wilson still clinging to
the periphery; some of his books on the shelves, an oncology journal on
the coffee table, a jacket tossed over the desk chair. Wilson was like
that, he disappeared a little at a time, hoping you wouldn't notice until
he had fully gone away. House laughed again, the sound echoing hollowly,
ringing off the walls like a mocking Greek chorus. He'd been a fool to
think this time Wilson would stay, he never should have gone to the
trouble of cleaning out a closet, or sharing the dresser drawers. Wilson
had moved in and they had been - happy? Was that happiness? Was sitting on
the couch in silence, feeling the warmth of another human being beside you
really happiness? He'd - thought so.

House sighed and pulled the wooden box closer, lifting the lid as surely
as he pushed away the memory of Jimmy sitting to his right, leaning
forward with dangerous brown eyes alight. He refused to think about the
mouth that had captured his, forcing him to surrender his independence, to
admit he needed. His hands took out the coiled length of rubber and though
it felt cool at first it warmed against the flesh above his elbow. He
clenched one end between his teeth, pulling it tight, and told himself he
didn't even remember Wilson whispering his name as his hands fumbled the
shirt from his shoulders. He filled a syringe, watching the amber liquid
change to gold and brown in the firelight but it wasn't anything like
Wilson 's eyes and the way they could shift in color with his mood. 

The needle pricked his flesh but it felt nothing at all like Wilson
breaching his body for the first time. House smiled as he pushed the
plunger home, forcing the liquid fire to spread through his veins,
incinerating his heart, charring his bones and boiling his brain. He threw
himself into the fire, watching memories blacken and curl like snapshots;
Wilson above him, his pale body gleaming with sweat, his smile tender and
gentle, Wilson flushed and sated, Wilson promising he would always stay.
Other blurry memories tried to surface but he shoved them ruthlessly into
the fire - the one of Wilson introducing him to Sarah, and Wilson
stammering an invitation to wedding number four. He sighed, only vaguely
aware of his heart slowing. At least he knew the answer to the most
intriguing puzzle he had ever faced - he knew what it was about Wilson
that wouldn't let him turn away. The last of the morphine entered House's
bloodstream, surging through him and easing the pain that had been
building since watching Wilson drive away in a car festooned with
streamers and tin cans. His heart gave a last shuddering beat and House
whispered mazel tov, as the firelight danced on broken glass.

#5) "This is wrong," Wilson murmured, head falling back with a muffled
thump against the exam room wall. 

"If this is wrong I don't wanna be right,' House whispered.

Wilson pulled away enough to look up at him, "Isn't that some country
song? Are you a closet cowboy or something?"

House kissed him again. "Or something," he assured Wilson. He'd paged
Wilson for a consult nearly thirty minutes earlier despite the fact he
hadn't seen a patient yet that morning. Nurse Brenda had given him a
scathing look, one that only deepened in disgust when Wilson sauntered
passed her on his way back to his own exam room patient sporting a bright
and shiny new hickey. House gave her a friendly wave as he closed the door
and waited for his next - well, first, patient. He'd managed to doze for
several minutes when the sound of raised voices roused him. He heard a
shout, followed by the clatter of running footsteps and then something
that sounded like someone falling over the chairs in the waiting room.
He'd just decided to peek out when the door banged open. Cameron, Cuddy,
Brenda, Stacy, a bunch of nurses in scrubs, most of the female cafeteria
works and several women that looked vaguely familiar crowded into the
small room. 

"Ladies, Ladies!" House bellowed, scrambling up off the exam table as
quickly as he could and pressing himself into a corner. "Even I have to do
you one at a time."

"Shut up, House!" Cuddy commanded. "This isn't the time or the place for
your flippancy."

"It's not," House asked in concern, "I'd penciled it in on my calendar for
today. Damn, now I have to rearrange my whole week." He hoped they didn't
notice him edging for the door but a burly maiden in pink chiffon and
heels blocked his way. "So, to what do I owe the pleasure? Some kind of
gynocological mishap? Have you let some nasty brute play in your ya-ya
without his mitten?" He gave them a roguish smile, "Or has word of my
skill gotten this far?"

"Word has spread," Stacy snapped, both eyebrows frozen in arcs of disdain
which he realized was her usual expression, "just not of your skill."

"We know," Cameron said with quiet anger. 

House frowned. They knew. What exactly was it they knew? He searched back
over the past few weeks, discarding insignificant rule breaking,
throw-away insults, and careless cruelty - nope, he hadn't done anything
heinous enough to warrant the whole female population of Princeton - and
Short Hills - to converge on him like the last Hersey Kiss at that time of
month. "Knowing doesn't change the fact there's nothing you can do about
it!" House shuffled a little to his left, trying to bluff his way to
freedom.

"Oh yes there is,' Nurse Brenda snarled. She put two fingers into her
mouth and gave a shrill whistle. Immediately the crowd parted and House
was faced with the heart-stopping sight of James Wilson , bound and
hanging limp in the arms of two women that House suddenly recognized as
the Ex-Mrs.Wilsons One and Two. 

"Wilsie!" House screamed and surged towards his battered lover.

"No so fast, Gimpy!" House found himself pinned by two cafeteria workers
with malice in their eyes and spinach on their blouses.

"What's this all about?" He demanded. "Wasn't the tip I left big enough?"

"You never leave a tip!" One of the workers said.

"You sometimes take ours," the other pointed out. House had to concede he
did but only because Wilson didn't always go to lunch with him. 

"There's no getting out of this, House," Cuddy proclaimed. "We've all
taken it for as long as we can and this," she made a chopping gesture, "is
the end of the line." Cuddy's steely gaze fell on the helpless Wilson,
"For both of you." 

"Hey, wait a minute," House protested, "we can work something out. I don't
even know what you're all mad about."

Cameron stepped to the fore. "You and Wilson," again her voice held a
quiet, cold anger but now House thought he could detect just a hint of
insanity there behind the composed faade. The fact she held a scalpel in
her hand just added to his certainty. "You've flaunted it in our faces for
years now," she hissed. "Leading us on with your sexy stubble and come
hither cane and then when anyone gets close to you, you turn tail and run
back to Wilson."

"We're just good friends," House tried to explain.

"You slept with him when I was in Boston for a conference," Stacy pointed
out. "I found silk boxers with J. WILSON stitched in the waistband tangled
in our sheets."

"I - I was uh, doing - his - his laundry!"

"He always has hickeys after a consult with you," Nurse Brenda said,
shaking the limp oncologist. Wilson moaned, coming around slowly.

House shot his lover a horrified look. With the mood of the place they
were in grave danger. "What does he have that we don't?" Cameron, Cuddy
and Stacy cried.

"What does he see in you?" The cafeteria workers, entire nursing staff,
and a couple of ex-wives wailed. 

"House? Baby?" Wilson's groggy voice cut through the room like some kind
of robot controlled surgical thing that could be demonstrated in a very
sexual way. "What're all these women doing in our bedroom?"

House let out a shriek and hurled himself at the food service drones. He
caught Wilson and they would have made it to the lobby and safety if his
cane hadn't gotten caught on the edge of the exam table. He and Wilson
went down under a seething mass of frustrated women. The only thing left
of them when Cuddy and the girls were finished was a broken cane and an
empty pocket protector. 

And one way they did.....

Wilson took House's hand, looking into his eyes. "Hey," he said softly as
House woke. "I brought you a CD." With a flourish he held up Slim Harpo's
I'm a Killer Bee. 

"And that is why I love you," House said. His voice barely carried the
distance separating them and when he lifted his hand to take the CD it
shook badly. 

"I'll put it on, okay?" Wilson reached for the player and a moment later
the air was filled with the rich sound of Delta blues. He regarded his
friend for a long moment, moved once again by the strength of spirit that
had kept House alive long past the limits of his body. He'd lost the right
leg nearly ten years earlier and now at seventy it looked as if the abuse
he'd put himself through was taking its final toll. House had grown frail,
his skin pulled tight over his thin face but his eyes could still blaze as
they did when looking at Wilson. 

Wilson knew he still looked young for sixty-three, his once dark hair had
silvered and he wore wire-rimmed glasses, but he had always been robust
and his good health had held. But House had slowly faded, forced into a
wheelchair with the lose of his leg, and later bedridden by numerous
ailments, the vitality had just drained away. They had been together since
Wilson's divorce from Julie, the one constant in each other's life and now
it looked as if House were leaving him behind.

"I shou-shoulda been a rock star," House said. His fingers tapped out a
rhythm with surprising agility; music had always been his first love. 

"That would make me a groupie," Wilson said.

"Yeah, `cept no sleepin' with the roadies to get to Mick," House whispered
and his grip on Wilson's hand tightened. 

"Already got Mick, don't I?"

House smiled and his eyes closed for a moment. Wilson shifted and his own
hand tightened on House's making the older man's eyes flicker open.
"Okay?"

"Just uncomfortable," Wilson lied. "Shift over." He slid into the hospital
bed beside House and gently lifted him into his arms. "Let's do this for
the rest of our lives," he whispered.

"You're a dirty old man," House accused. He lifted his chin and weakly
nuzzled Wilson's neck. "I knew you only wanted me for my body."

"Yep," Wilson confirmed. "I'm no different than Cameron or Stacy or Cuddy
or anyone else who ever lusted after you." He could feel House's breathing
growing ragged and the pulse at his throat slowing.

"Tha-that's where you're wrong," House said and his voice sounded a little
stronger. He turned his head, staring into Wilson's eyes. "You're very
different from all - of them. You stayed. You loved me - even - even when
I didn't want - you to." Somehow he rolled closer, capturing Wilson's
mouth in a fierce kiss. "Love you - forever," he said with a sigh. House
closed his eyes and a moment later Wilson felt him slip away. He didn't
cry, didn't mourn the loss of the only person he had ever truly loved -
Wilson merely stopped struggling against the pain which had been building
in his chest for weeks now. He closed his eyes, drawing House closer, and
though House swore there was nothing after death Wilson sent up a silent
prayer he was wrong because forty years had not been enough. With a final
sigh Wilson did as he had always done, he followed House. 

  
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Legal Disclaimer: The authors published here make no claims on the
ownership of Dr. Gregory House and the other fictional residents of
Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. Like the television show House
(and quite possibly Dr. Wilson's pocket protector), they are the property
of NBC/Universal, David Shore and undoubtedly other individuals of whom I
am only peripherally aware. The fan fiction authors published here receive
no monetary benefit from their work and intend no copyright infringement
nor slight to the actual owners. We love the characters and we love the
show, otherwise we wouldn't be here.