Title: He Considered His Options

Author: damigella aka damigella_314

Rating: NC-17 (M)

Warning: very dark. Major character death. Mention of suicide. No violence or sex. One swearword.

Word count: 700.

Summary: Wilson has a cardiac arrest. House gives him TLC.

Disclaimer: don't own anything but a broken heart.

Author's Note: This is my dark response to We Heart Wilson - Valentine's Day challenge on sickwilson lj community. Many thanks for encouraging comments and beta reading to mmorgan317.


February 14, 9.28 pm

He was looking out of the window when he heard the door of the hotel room open and close, a person with a cane walking in. "Go away, House" he said, without looking.

"It took me a while to find you. Did you really need to go and hide more than thirty miles away?" Wilson turned around to see his friend carefully emptying his bag's content on the couch table. "I've brought takeout and beer. And something else you will appreciate."

"The Vertigo DVD?" Wilson's tone was faintly amused.

"Below it. Look better." House was near the door, removing his winter coat.

Wilson found and opened the small box, examined the content, and closed it again. House sat on the shabby couch, put the DVD in the player, and gestured his friend to come and sit near him.

"You're here... to help me? Not to stop me?" Wilson slowly sat down near his friend.

"No. You'll succeed eventually: I can't follow you all day, every day. At least this way you won't be alone." House took the beer bottle that Wilson had opened for him and got a sip. "It's you who told me people shouldn't be left alone. Plus, I get to have one more evening together with you."

"It's not a trick, then? Can I really trust you?"

Two pairs of eyes met. "Yes." House's were red rimmed. As if he had been crying long and hard. Wilson opened his own beer and grabbed the remote.


February 14, 7.12 pm

Lisa Cuddy quietly closed "Goodnight, Moon" and switched off the light. Rachel was sleeping, and from the kitchen came a wonderful smell. Dating House was a pleasure in many ways, one of them being the fantastic cooking. Then she noticed her boyfriend was neither in the kitchen, nor in the living room. On the dinner table, elaborately set for two, were a canard à l'orange hot from the oven, a bottle of chilled dry white wine, and a short note. "I have to go. Will be late. Eat without me." She poured herself a full glass of wine and gulped it down. Fuck Valentine's Day.


February 14, 11.58 pm

The end titles had finished running. Beer bottles and food cartons were equally empty. "It's time now, House."

"I know. I'll do it. It's easier with both hands."

"You should put the torniquet on the other arm. Unless you want some cop knocking at your door tomorrow."

"Thank you, that would have been a stupid mistake." House finished tying and prepared the syringe. "Maybe deep down I feel I shouldn't kill my best friend."

"You aren't killing me, just helping me avoid the kitchen knife in the bathroom."

The needle rested on the pale skin, near the vein. "Is there anything more I should do?"

"The will and the suicide note are on the bedside table. I'm ready." Wilson thought briefly. "House... will you hold my hand until it's over?"

"If you have second thoughts..."

"I don't. But I want to feel you're here as long as I can."

House nodded and pushed the morphine in Wilson's bloodstream.


February 5, 10.15 pm

"You shouldn't have called 911. I want to die."

"You'll get over it. Go to psychotherapy, like I did."

"You had a chance of going back to medicine, but I don't. Once the process is over, I'll end most likely in jail. Even if I don't, my medical career is finished." A very sad smile twisted his face."Have you seen the title about Baby Faced Doctor Death? Or the He Kills Faster Than Cancer one? It will be a miracle if the hospital survives the scandal."

"You only helped dying people suffer less. We have crazy laws."

"I know, but this doesn't change the fact that I have nothing left to live for. And you can't keep me in the hospital forever."


February 15, 0.32 am

House felt the pulse under his fingers become weaker and slower, then erratic, then stop altogether. Out of habit he looked at his watch and whispered "Cardiac arrest. Time of death, 0.32 am." With gloved hands he collected the empty bottles and cartons in the bag, added the DVD, and wiped everywhere where he could have left fingerprints. Then he went back to sit down near his friend, opened the small box and looked at the second vial in it.

He considered his options.