Fandom: House, MD
Warning: death!fic. Dark. Disturbing.
Author's Note: This second chapter is inspired by an f-locked discussion with flywoman. My second entry for MMOM 2011.
Word Count: ~700
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the House, MD characters, which is good since I tend to kill them.
"Dr. Cuddy? We were doing a routine review of the video recordings from the Vegetative State Patients Room, as part of Dr. House's post-mortem. We think it's better if you come and see for yourself."
"Hi, Cuddy. Are you coming by later today?"
"I…I saw the video recordings. I know how Greg died."
"Have you already called the police?"
"Not yet. I'll call them now, but I wanted to tell you first."
"Wilson…how could you?"
She listened to the phone tooting for a while. Then she hung up the call, and started dialing the police.
He felt a bit annoyed at not being able to sit shiva the whole week, but it was just a detail. Not that House would have cared anyway, and he had everything ready. He climbed in the car, throwing the bag on the seat near him.
When the police arrived they found the door unlocked and a small, tidy stack of documents on the living room table. The civil union certificate first, together with every single piece of paper that a same-sex couple had to get in order to start approaching the perks of marriage. And two last wills, each with the same request of sharing a tomb.
He went to dinner to while away the time, in a small diner in a part of town he didn't know. Then he ordered a whiskey in a nearby bar, choosing House's favorite brand. At ten he climbed the low fence. The moon had risen and he easily found his way.
He kneeled on the grass and unzipped his pants. His cock was shriveled from the cold. He started slowly stroking with the right hand while the left caressed his balls, as House used to do. He closed his eyes and imagined House's piano-player fingers, his body yearning for a touch he had missed for the better part of a year.
After five minutes he was barely half-mast. He opened the bag and got the dildo out. He carefully lubed it, then slowly inserted it, shivering at its coldness. This time he imagined himself on the hospital bed, House's cock inside him.
He felt himself getting harder, and quickened his movements, making the penetration deeper while jerking off with the other hand. Soon he was coming, semen spraying over the grass. Over House. He cleaned himself with a towel, then put everything back in the bag. His fingertips glided on the beloved name engraved on the stone, his eyes resting wistfully on the empty space below it.
There was one last bodily fluid they could share. First he picked up from the bag the heparin syringe and injected himself with it. He searched in the bag again, and got out and unsheathed the scalpel. He cut the veins behind both his knees, and those in the crooks of both arms. He lay down on the grass, in his favorite sleeping position, the bag under his head where House's shoulder used to be.
He closed his eyes, and his mind started wandering.
"I had hoped we would have more time together."
"The next stroke needn't be soon, and it needn't be worse than this one."
"You're a comfort. I've lost control of my left hand and eye. Maybe I can get even on the right side?"
"I'm a diagnostician, Wilson. I understand my condition. I'll miss fucking you so much."
"Well, you're not dead yet."
"No. And if I were, I hope you would find a way to call me back so that I could fuck you some more."
"I'll try my best. But what I meant is, should I get the lube?"
"Sure. And if I croak while we're fucking, there's no better way to die."
The memory faded as the blood soaked the ground. Wilson felt cold and sleepy. He whispered in the quiet darkness the same words he had said that night so long ago, when they were lying spent in each other's arms for the first time.
"I'm tired now. Goodnight."