Don't Forget It
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters in this story.
He could only sit there and watch as the man who held his heart lay struggling for breath, struggling for life. Ironic that the man lay dying in what was essentially his second home. House's harsh lifetime of mistreating and abusing his worn and tired body had finally caught up with him. There was no longer anything to be done to prolong his life. And Wilson felt a bittersweet gladness for that. Prolonging his life would only prolong his suffering.
The constant pain, both physical and mental was almost too much to bear. Much earlier, Wilson had moved in with House to ease his transition into the new and difficult life as his health continued to decline. Not long after, House had lost much of his mobility, his leg refusing the maltreatment, his body giving up.
House was left a broken man.
But he had Wilson's love, and Wilson, as much as House liked to hide it had all of his. Wilson was what kept his heart beating, his morale from shattering on the floor. He tried so hard to keep going. He did it for Wilson, for the man who was devoted to caring for his crippled and broken lover. House was fighting a losing battle. He couldn't control his body any more, and this scared him. He knew this would happen eventually, there is only so much the human body can take. But if broke his heart that he should be a allowed such a short amount of time with who he realized was more than his best friend, but really his soul mate as well.
The pain increased and paradoxically so did his pain medication. Food was no longer happily accepted by his stomach. So Wilson spooned weakened broth down his throat, raw from vomiting.
Wilson closed his eyes, remembering House's transformation from a lively sarcastic man to the sick invalid with dull eyes, sallow skin and sunken cheeks he could only picture too vividly.
That night, the night they decided House should finally be hospitalized would forever be imprinted in his mind. Wilson and House had gone to bed early, Wilson falling asleep with his now frail lover wrapped tightly in his strong arms. But now hours had passed, and as Wilson woke he felt an unknown source of fear. Something wasn't right. Where was House? And then he heard it. A feeble moan sent his heart running. He leapt out of bed into the darkness of the house searching for the missing man. There was light coming from the bathroom and he frantically made his way over, only to find House lying curled on his side in front of the toilet, shivering and sweaty unable to lift himself up.
That was when they knew that House needed more than Wilson could provide. By morning House was comfortably situated in his hospital bed at Princeton Plainsboro.
That was days ago. And Wilson hadn't left his side once. Through the anger, the pain, the goddamn delirium; he just couldn't. The ending was drawing near, House had signed a DNR…it just made sense. Wilson wouldn't leave until it was over.
House had been sleeping for a few hours now, following a bout of delirium. It had been his worst yet, he bold blue eyes wide and panicked, recognizing no one; he had felt so alone. And that killed Wilson, House wasn't alone! He had Wilson and he always would.
Wilson was drawn from his thoughts as the alarm from a monitor went off. It would only be moments now. He was captivated by the uneven rising and falling of House's chest. House moaned and Wilson quickly grabbed his hand.
I'm here, don't you forget it.
He kissed the man's forehead. The struggling became less and less until the movement of House's chest was barely noticeable. Wilson still held on, grasping the hand as tight as he could, afraid to let go.
And then it all stopped. There was an eerie silence in the room and Wilson knew that House was gone. As hushed tears fell from his eyes Wilson found solace in knowing that his finally knew he wasn't alone.