Rating: R
Pairing: House/Wilson
Words: 740
Warnings: Character death. Explicit slash.
Summary: Everybody lies. Except House. Yet another post ep fic for "Out of the Chute".
Spoilers: "Out of the Chute"
Disclaimer: House & Co. belong to Shore & Co. Sadly.
Thanks: to beta reader George Stark II who gave a great suggestion. To beta reader lit_luminary who fixed many of my words, especially my prepositions. And to yarroway for creating Dr. Jimenez, which I borrowed without permission because everybody lies. (She said it's okay. Thanks again).
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the House, MD characters, which is good since I tend to kill them.

He is stealing the last of Wilson's fries when the oncologist grabs his wrist. Surprised, he looks up: his friend is looking at him, questioningly. He knows the meaning of this gesture and briefly nods in response.

After lunch he follows Wilson silently to the elevator and then the roof, until he leans against the low wall, forty inches of concrete between him and death, his friend standing behind him. Soon he feels Wilson's hands expertly lower his jeans and boxers; then he hears the sound of a belt being opened and of trousers being unzipped, as the familiar voice whispers in his ear, "I only have ten minutes." It's enough to make him hard.

Another sound: the lube being squeezed, then tossed to the floor. And now Wilson's left hand is teasing him, opening him, preparing him, while his right arm is draped across his chest, sheltering him from the abyss. The hand moves to his cock while Wilson's warmth fills him up inside.

The rhythm of the thrusts is fast and powerful, a signal that there's no time to lose, and matches the motion of the swift, smooth fingers. Soon both are panting, and his contractions release Wilson's. They rest, nestled together, and he loses himself in the joy of being held; so tightly, so safely. So close, inside and outside. He shuts his eyes to give this feeling his undivided attention.


House opened his eyes. He was no longer on the roof with Wilson, but in a bed in the ICU, tethered to an ECG monitor that beeped along with his heartbeat. There was an IV line in his left hand and a pulse oximeter clipped to the index finger. Near him on a chair was a visibly very tired Cuddy. Memory slowly came back as the dream faded.

"What happened? All I can remember is cannonballing in the hotel's swimming pool."

"You hit your back on the rim of the pool. You will never need Vicodin again. At least, not for your leg."

His right thigh didn't hurt at all. In fact, he couldn't move or feel any part of his body from the hips down. "Which vertebra?"

"L3. We're back together, House. I'm looking for wheelchair-accessible housing."

He let the news sink in. "No, Cuddy. I don't want your pity. You broke up with me, I acted like an idiot, and I'll deal with the consequences without your help. Wilson had already asked me to move back in with him: he'll be thrilled that I'm so needy. I would be surprised he's not here, except of course he would let you be the first visitor when you asked. He can't say no."

She looked like she was making a huge effort to suppress some emotion he couldn't guess. "Wilson saved your life. He dived into the pool, brought you out, and performed CPR until the ambulance arrived."

House felt sorry he couldn't remember any of it. Must have been quite a scene, Wilson diving into the pool in his suit and tie and leather shoes.

Cuddy held both his hands. "I'm sorry for what I'm about to tell you, but you need to know. He had a heart attack and died."

He was stunned. Speechless. Finally he managed to articulate a question. "Did he suffer much?"

She apparently heard the unasked question as well. "It was very fast, a few minutes at most. A congenital defect. Dr. Jimenez said it would have happened soon anyway: the stress of saving you was just a trigger."

She had been surprised when Wilson hadn't followed House's gurney out of the ambulance but muttered something about going to Cardiology instead.

Dr. Jimenez had paged her, then met her in the corridor outside the room. "Dr. Cuddy, I'm sorry. Dr. Wilson is dead. Cardiac infarction."

"How could this happen? He started treatment immediately, his first symptoms happened here."

"No, they didn't. He told me that the pain started when he saw Dr. House jump. The delay in treatment plus the effort of lifting him out of the swimming pool and performing CPR probably cost him his life."

This didn't make sense. "How could he do all that while having a heart attack?"

"It must have been very painful. He was conscious almost to the end and relieved to know House would live. I didn't tell him about the broken vertebra."