Title: Writing is Overrated
Warning: major character death, suicide
Word Count: 1400 approx.
Rating: PG-13 (T)
Summary: You don't need to write to leave a message. And you don't need to talk to upset the undertaker.
Author's note: I'm going through a dark period, and all that comes to my mind are death!fic's.
Beta Reader: Many thanks to lit_luminary for careful and fast feedback and encouraging words.

November 6, 2011

"We are here today to say goodbye to Dr. James Evan Wilson, our family member, colleague, and friend. I will now read the eulogy written by his best friend, Dr. Gregory House, who is unable to participate in today's ceremony for medical reasons." Cuddy looked small and fragile at the lectern, and almost unrecognizable in her severe dark clothes. The temple was so full that people were standing despite the extra chairs.

Later, at the cemetery, she said Kaddish. House was at home, sprawled on the couch, snoring in the dim light of the muted television. On the coffee table were six empty beers, some empty Chinese takeaway cartons, and one almost empty whisky bottle.


Wilson is sitting on the couch, dressed in casual clothes, the fall afternoon sun streaming in from the window and making the glass of amber liquid in front of him shine.

He smiles. "Pour yourself a drink, House. There's something I need to tell you."

November 7, 2011

"We're thankful you're here, but maybe you should go home. We can stay. We're his family."

"He asked me to sit shiva for him. Alone. You've seen the will."

"You're right." This time it was Wilson's father speaking. "We'll honor James' request. We can hold a service at home for the family. Thank you for doing this."

Mrs. Wilson dried her tears with a tissue. "Thank you, House."


"What I'm going to say now stays between the two of us, okay? I worked hard to organize this. I even had to buy a Volvo technical manual, but I'm confident I did everything right. And the weather forecast for tomorrow is heavy rain. No way I'll survive, and no way people will think it was anything but an unfortunate accident."

Wilson chuckles, briefly. "The car is old enough, anyway. It's a miracle of Swedish technology that it still works so well that I had to damage the braking system myself."

November 8, 2011

Cuddy nudged the door shut with her foot, her arms full of groceries. While House raised to help her, she ran to the kitchen to drop the stuff on the counter. And then she couldn't resist a sad smile: House had put a mattress on the floor to sit shiva properly, and had made a large tear in his favorite t-shirt, a souvenir from a live concert of a long-dissolved rock band. She gave him a quick kiss.

"How are you doing, Cuddy? Must be difficult to lose a friend and the Head of Oncology at the same time."

"The hospital's taking the loss better than I am. Wilson was supposed to start a week of vacation yesterday, so he had no appointments scheduled. And he'd recently recommended that I promote Brown to assistant head and give him more administrative responsibility. I'll have to go through the Board to get him approved, but he can start as interim head tomorrow."


"I couldn't leave without saying goodbye to you. But if you knew, you'd have tried to stop me. Just like I stopped you so many times when you tried to self-destruct. So that's why I'm recording this message. Because you have a right to know all about me. To the end."

Wilson takes a sip from his drink. He is no longer smiling, but he doesn't seem sad, either. More like lost in deep thoughts.

"I'd stay if you still needed me, of course. But you don't. Cuddy will be there for you, whether your relationship continues or not, and at least you're out of Vicodin's clutches. You're a strong man, House, and you love life. I wish you had better health, but I'm sure you still have many productive years ahead. And there are enough people willing to care for you if you only let them."

November 9, 2011

"Hi, it's pizza and beer!"

"And a case! We need a consult."

"Sorry folks, I'm on leave the whole week."

Foreman gave House a thick file. "I know, but our patient will be dead before the week is over if you don't come up with something. I'm sure Wilson wouldn't mind."

"And the necessity to save a life trumps the shiva duty," Taub added.

"I'll have a look at it. But first, pizza and beer is definitely the way to go."


"I've been suffering from depression all my adult life. I've tried various combinations of drugs and psychotherapy, and nothing worked. In fact, I would most likely have killed myself sixteen years ago if I hadn't met you. You made me laugh, you made my days not boring, and your love of life is positively contagious."

Wilson pauses briefly, and holds the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger of his left hand. Then his eyes stare directly into the camera. And he isn't smiling.

"But now it's too much. The pain's been increasing for months. My relationship with Sam was a last-ditch attempt to connect with life again, but it didn't work. Maybe not surprisingly. I tried so many times to find a woman who would give meaning to my life, but I never did. Every day I go deeper into darkness."

October 6, 2011

"You're reviewing your will? Is there something you want to tell me about your health?"

Wilson smiled in his boyish way—it was funny for someone who was now definitely over forty. "Don't worry, House. I do it every year before Yom Kippur, and I also check it's properly filed. It's a good habit."

"Any big changes? New girlfriend?"

"Nothing so spectacular. But I've hidden a private DVD for you. Just in case. Writing is overrated anyway."


"I'm sure you'll find it if the need arises. You know my apartment as well as your own." He put away the envelope addressed to his lawyer. "Anyway, I had my annual physical this week, and it's all perfect, so it's unlikely you'll get a chance to see it. It's a shame—I'm so proud of the cover."


"I love you, House. We agreed long ago that you'd stay my friend, and I would be allowed to share your life, and in exchange I wasn't supposed to ever mention it again, except to inform you when I stopped loving you. I never did. Spending time with you and being your friend were the most important parts of my life. I feel lucky and grateful."

The room is darkening now. The shining eyes are still visible, but the rest of the face is blurred. It looks wet with tears, but House can't be sure.

"I know you have to fight the pain in your leg every day. But it's physical pain. If you want a break, you can have morphine. Or methadone. I never get a break. It just grows and grows. When you think about it, I'm sure you'll forgive me for what I'm about to do. And for what I'm about to say. You've been the love of my life, House. Thank you for being there for me. Thank you for sixteen extra years of life."

June 30, 2028

"You really want him to have that in his hands in the casket?"

"Yes. And you'll do as I say. I'm paying and I choose."

"But Dr. Cuddy, it's inappropriate!"

"It's what House asked me to do, and I'm going to do it. If you refuse, I'll just hire someone less squeamish."

House had never shared Wilson's DVD with Cuddy, but when he told her about it, at the beginning of his last illness, he mentioned that he had watched it again and again over the years. And some of its content was evident from the picture on the cover. She couldn't help laughing through her tears: Wilson must have spent hours Photoshopping!

Her fingers almost caressed the two figures: a tall, lanky man with House's face, clad in black leather, who stands facing the camera; and crouching at his feet, a scantily dressed young man with Wilson's face, eyes filled with silent love, his arms draped around the older man's legs.

If House wanted to be buried with what looked like a gay porn DVD in his hands, she would certainly make sure he got his wish.

Author's Note I do suspect that Wilson is more depressed than he allows himself to show. And if you're depressed and on the brink of suicide, the difference between doing it or not may well come from loving someone who loves life. Except at some point it can stop being enough. I tried to make it clear that Wilson has fought as hard a battle as House has. And has lost with honor. Depression can be a fatal disease.

The text doesn't say, so you can assume that the relationship between Cuddy and House continues until House's death. However, in my mind, the relationship finishes soon after Wilson's death, but Cuddy remains House's best friend.