Medical tests reveal that House’s hallucinations (Saviors) are being caused by a slow bleed in his brain, the original injury shook loose by his recent motorcycle accident (Locked In). His response is to voluntarily submit himself to a very risky procedure, with little chance of success. WARNING Implied major character death. Generally upsetting subject matter, because I'm depressed and so that's what you get. So there.

Four dialogue only conversations: House/Wilson, Wilson/Cuddy, Wilson/Chase, Wilson/House

Cost Benefit Analysis

"House, you could herniate. It could kill you."

"It’s no big deal. It will either work or it won’t."

"If it doesn’t work, you’ll herniate and die. How is that not a big deal?"

"I’m going to die either way."

"You don't know that. You could...you could..."

"Okay...I have a choice between slowly bleeding to death and quickly bleeding to death...that’s not much of a choice, is it?"

"You need to wait, give the anticoagulants a chance to work."

"And when they don't?"

"If...if they don't, it could still be repaired endoscopically. There’s no reason to cut your entire head open..."

"But the damage that’s already been done is irreversible. I’m going to spend the rest of my life, however long that might be, hallucinating and being unable to exercise logic...possibly losing other faculties as well. No thanks."

"There’s more to life than...logic."

"Yeah, my world is just overflowing with joy and meaning. Get me a bucket."

"What the hell does..."

"And besides, it’ll be more convenient."

"More convenient than what?"

"For you, I mean."

"What does convenience have to do with..."

"Close the blinds and hand me that gown."

"You're not thinking straight. You’re...exhausted. You haven't slept in days. You shouldn’t be making this decision, until you've had more time to..."

"I know what I’m doing. I’m okay with the idea of me dying, Wilson. You are too."

"You think I want you to die?"

"Well not consciously, of course. That would mess with your whole good guy image."

"I don't even know what that means."

"It means that deep down, somewhere inside that part of you that you'd generally prefer to believe doesn't exist, you realize that me being dead probably wouldn’t be such a bad thing."

"How can you say that?"

"Because it’s true."

"Is that why you’re doing this, because you think I want you dead?"

"My brain wouldn’t be bleeding in the first place, if it weren’t for you. You don’t think it’s fitting that I factor you into the final decision?"

"I told you...I was sorry, House."

"Actually, you never did. But thanks. That's...good to know."

"I didn't? I could've sworn I did."

"Nope."

"Well I'm saying it now."

"Yeah, which apparently is supposed to mean something...unlike when I say it, when it means absolutely nothing."

"Fine. You’re mad at me, for God knows what. You’re going to cut your brain open to get back at me?"

"If I wanted to get back at you, I’d stay alive with brain damage and make you change my diapers for the next twenty years. Not that you would. I mean...you’d probably dump me in some convalescent hospital somewhere, and never visit. But either way, I’m doing you a favor."

"You think you dying is doing me a favor?"

"You could date again, and I wouldn’t be around to bother you, or to tell you if I think it’s a mistake, even if it is a mistake. You could spend as much time with her as you wanted, and you wouldn’t have to worry about spending any with me. And you wouldn’t have to pick me up in bars, or write me scripts, or worry about me eating your lunch or stealing your money or making you look bad. You wouldn’t have to pretend to like monster trucks. You wouldn’t even have to pretend to like me. You could hang out with someone else and do something you actually enjoy for once. You could form a long term connection with someone other than...me."

"House...oh my God. You don’t actually think those things are..."

"It’s fine, really. I know my place in the universe, Wilson. I'm not bitter."

"It kind of sounds like you are."

"You have no idea."

"I don’t want you to do this."

"Well it’s not up to you."

"No surgeon in their right mind is going to agree to this."

"Actually, they are. It’s already been scheduled for three-twenty. You're welcome to observe from the theatre. I'm sure Chase won't mind. He doesn't get performance anxiety...at least not according to Cameron."

"I’m going to Cuddy."

"Why are you so upset? You’re going to get back all the money I owe you. Isn’t that exciting? You could go on a vacation or something. God knows you deserve one. Actually...me being gone will be sort of like a vacation for you too."

"You’re scaring me."

"Won’t be doing that anymore either. See? Wilson's life is getting easier already."

"You can’t do this."

"It’s a lot less messy than jumping off the roof. Probably less painful too. Not that you care about me being in pain. I’m just saying...if you did."

"You don’t think I care?"

"I know you don’t. But don’t worry...there’s no reason you should. Nobody else does. Wouldn't want to do something unpopular. What would people think?"

"He’s not in his right mind."

"Was he ever?"

"And you're the one in charge? Wonderful..."

"It’s up to him. He knows the risks."

"Is that why you're hiding in your office?"

"I'm not...hiding. I have work to do."

"He’s completely disregarding the risks."

"But he knows what they are."

"Cuddy, this is basically...suicide. I can’t believe you’re condoning it."

"I’m not. But the alternative is him...finding some other way, some messier, probably much more painful way...Which you know he will. At least this we can control...the environment..."

"Call an emergency meeting of the ethics committee."

"No."

"Have him declared mentally incompetent."

"No."

"You can't do this."

"That's not a good argument, Wilson. It's not an argument at all."

"Chase, he’s going to die."

"Probably."

"That's it...probably? You're basically killing him. You realize that."

"I know that already, Wilson. He knows that already. He knows what he’s doing."

"I can’t believe you’re going along with this. It’s...unethical."

"So was the deep brain stimulation. You didn't have a problem when I went along with that."

"That was different. That was...it was different."

"Because it benefitted you directly, because it benefitted Amber. So this is selfish, because why...it will only benefit him?"

"That’s not...how the hell will being dead benefit him?"

"He’s tired of being alive. He's tired of being in pain. He's tired of chasing down hope, that anything will ever get better, when the fact is that it probably won't. You don’t think he deserves to end his life, if he wants to? Or do you just want him to stick around and continue being miserable, so you don’t have to feel bad?"

"This is not about me, not wanting to feel bad."

"No, it’s about him not wanting to feel bad...anymore. I don't want him to die either. But I can either be for him or against him. He needs someone to be for him. Someone has to advocate for him, someone who won’t put their own agenda first."

"Being for him means helping him die. Forgive me if my agenda is not wanting him to die."

"But that’s about you, what you want. It’s not what he wants."

"What he wants isn’t what’s best for him."

"And you think you know what is?"

"If he's unconscious, I get to make medical decisions."

"Not anymore. He updated his file.

"When?"

"After you left."

"And put you in charge, I suppose."

"I'm sure it wasn't personal."

"Right."

"You don’t have to be here, Wilson."

"I want to be here."

"No you don’t. You think you’re supposed to be here, and so you are. You don’t want to be. You should be up in the theatre, eating popcorn with everyone else."

"I don’t want you to be here either, House. But I can’t do anything about that. So here I am."

"Well...you don’t have to hold my hand."

"I...want to..."

"Please don’t. It's not like I'm..."

"Not like you're what?"

"Just don't."

"Why?"

"Because it’s...insulting."

"How is me...holding your hand, insulting?"

"Just don’t...please."

"House, I need..."

"To say goodbye, yeah. For you...because it’s what you want."

"You don’t want that?"

"What I want...has never really mattered to anyone."

"House..."

"Let go of me, please."

"Aren't you scared?"

"If I were, do you think holding your hand would make all the difference?"

"So you're not scared?"

"No."

"You're lying."

"Yep."

"So you're scared."

"No. I mean...not this time."

"But you were...before."

"What does it matter? Me being...afraid...it didn't matter before, so it shouldn't matter now."

"I...didn't know you were scared, House."

"You didn't ask."

"I was a little...preoccupied."

"Yeah, and...therefore it would have been rude of me to choose that moment to bother you with my feelings. Don't worry. I know."

"So you were...scared then. But you're not now...why?"

"Because...it's good."

"What is?"

"This...it's good."

"How the hell is this good?"

"Because...I'm never going to wake up hated or...alone again."

"I don't...even know how to reply to that."

"Then don't."

"House..."

"You want to give me something...one last parting gift?"

"Yes. Of course. Anything."

"Then get the hell out of here."

"But..."

"Get out!"

"I'm not leaving."

"Then at least...stand behind me and...don't talk."

"Why?"

"I don't want to spend my last moments, looking at the one thing I'm going to miss."