Disclaimer: I don't own House or any of the affiliating companies.
A/N: This is set during Wilson's five months with House, so SPOILERS ahead for Season 8. Also get ready for feels.
"All heroic deeds require a cost
Otherwise they're not really heroic.
There has to be a dragon.
There has to be risk.
There has to be pain.
And he endures that pain.
And fights that dragon.
He pays that price in lots of different ways
And he pays it for the sake of seeking after this bigger truth."
Two Days After House's Funeral
"House," Wilson whispered, watching as House himself watched Chase and his old team, now Chase's team, outside the hospital, talking about a medical case. "It'll get better, eventually."
"I need to make an alias." House stated, limping away from the car he was perched behind.
"What?" Wilson asked, walking with him.
"I can't go around as Gregory House anymore. So… Any suggestions? But, keeping away from surnames related to structures."
"Does Zach make me sound like a teenage drama queen? How about Steve?"
"I can put on a pretty good English accent if need be."
"House, I think you need to stop running and let it out to me." Wilson told him, and House skidded to a stop.
"Let what out?" House nearly spat.
"Come on House, you knew these people for years, you can't just pretend you're okay. And what about your family? You can't see them again…"
"Wilson." House said warily.
"You only saw me because I'll be gone in five months…"
"You're wrong." House grumbled.
"Meaning?" Wilson asked.
"I didn't just come to you because you were dying. I came to you because you're the person I'm closest with. I came to you because I need someone who can just let go of order and go nuts while they can. I came to you because, even when it seems like you're not, you've always, one way or another, been there for me."
"And this 'heart-to-heart, get it all off your chest' crap won't work. I'm a sociopath Wilson, and the whole 'holding hands, touchy feely' stuff isn't what I need to feel in the tiniest bit happy. But I appreciate your twisted idea of help." House proceeded to continue limping away from the hospital.
"Please, just, give me something." Wilson almost begged.
"I don't need your help Wilson. I'm fine, well, as fine as I can get."
"So you don't feel an ounce of anger, or pain, or regret? At all?"
"Leave it." House ordered sharply, and Wilson shook his head, before obliging.
"You feel like riding motorbikes? I feel like riding motorbikes." House said suddenly from the armchair in Wilson's living room.
"Sure." Wilson called from the kitchen, but the shaky, snivelly way he said it made House frown. House grabbed his cane from beside the chair and limped his way over to the kitchen, stepping into the sight of Wilson, tears streaming down his cheeks.
"Wilson?" House asked, an uncharacteristic note of sympathy in his voice.
"I don't want to die." Wilson snivelled, grabbing onto House's coat and sobbing into his shoulder, House slowly placing an arm around Wilson's back.
"It's okay Wilson." House said soothingly. "I'm your friend. I'm here, I always will be. Your life is worthwile, and you're a great man. I… I love you Wilson." Wilson sobbed further, remembering him saying that he needed to hear that from the [now ex] Doctor.
"Now," House gave him a soft slap on the back, letting Wilson go to collect himself. "Let's go ride motorbikes."