So like a lot of other people I just wasn't happy with the majority of Season 7 and 8. It felt like a negation rather than a culmination of what had gone before, and the finale itself really was a hot mess. Having cared for someone with terminal cancer I know full well that cancer and road trips don't mix, and that's before we get into the plot holes and general stupidity of House faking his own death. Anyway this is an attempt to fix what we saw on the screen by paring back some of the "OoC-ness" and realistically bringing the whole 'Docs on the run' thing to a proper conclusion, whilst finding a believable way to bring Cuddy back into House's life. I hope it works.
This first chapter is H/W (friendship) centric, but rest assured a certain badass Dean of Medicine will be popping up very soon…
P.S. I haven't written anything for absolutely ages so feedback would be brilliant. Thanks.
Finishing What You Started
For all of the bravado and the determination to ignore Wilson's illness inevitably it became the ever-growing elephant in the room. Two months into the roadtrip they were reduced to riding for only a couple of hours a day before they'd be forced to stop and take a break in whatever diner, bar or hot dog stand they could find. These days dark circles were constantly etched across his drawn features, no matter how long he'd spent resting and sleeping the night before. He wouldn't explicitly complain that most of the time he felt like complete and utter crap, but House knew that this was becoming more of a chore than an adventure regardless of how much his friend wanted to squeeze as much as possible out of the end of his life. Within another month it was blatantly obvious that the bikes would have to go, the helmet and the constant dust on the road making his already compromised breathing even more difficult. Leaving Wilson to rest at the comfortable, but shabby New Mexican motel they'd just checked into, House left to investigate an old convertible he'd seen for sale at a local garage they'd ridden past about an hour before. On his arrival he was warily greeted by an impossibly old mechanic with a face like a contour map and a mouth encasing 3 tobacco stained teeth, who pointlessly rubbed his oily palms on an equally oily rag before offering his hand out to the dishevelled man who'd stopped by the side of the road, swung his leg carefully off his bike and limped towards him. Half an hour later the old guy was still driving a hard bargain, but begrudgingly conceding to throw in a full tank of gas and a pine air freshener in exchange for the bike and $500.
"And you're sure she isn't just going to break down on me a mile or two down the road?"
The old man nodded solemnly.
"You heard me turn her over. She ain't the beauty she once was, but she still purrs like a kitten. I worked on her myself."
The air whistled through the gaps in his teeth as he spoke, House all the while examining him closely. The geriatric mechanic was determined to get himself a good deal out of this, that much was obvious by the way he was pursing his dry lips and squaring his normally barrelled shoulders in an impressive display of pride and defiance for a man of his advanced years, but he wasn't lying. No twitching. No shuffling of his feet. He just raised his eyebrows and slowly folded his arms waiting for the man in front of him to make some sort of decision. It didn't take a genius to realise he was starting to get pissed off and eager get back to the engine he'd been inspecting before he'd been interrupted by the arrogant jerk with the limp and the leather jacket.
Giving the car one last look over House smirked to himself when he spotted the black & white "Jesus Loves You" sticker seemingly glued to the rusted, red paintwork at the back of the vehicle, now as much a part of the make-up of the car as the worn, cream leather upholstery. What the hell! He was already travelling around the country with an oncologist with cancer, whilst he, officially a corpse, was very much alive and enjoying the hospitality each state they passed through had to offer. One more aching irony wouldn't make that much difference, and despite having seen better days the machine still retained a quiet elegance that he couldn't help but appreciate. He'd enjoy driving it and he was pretty sure his best friend would enjoy spending his last days being driven around in such a cool car. Besides it wasn't as if he had the luxury of being able to saunter into a showroom and purchase a car. Their money was starting to run low and dead people didn't do that. Not if they wanted to avoid jail.
"You have yourself a deal!" House finally relented, shaking hands with the man and mentally saying goodbye to the bike before handing over the keys and the cash, and driving back to their New Mexico hotel that was happily within spitting distance of the Arizona border and the next leg of their journey.
As he entered their twin room he could hear Wilson coughing, spluttering and emptying his guts in the bathroom above the incessant whooshing of the ceiling fan. Combined with the dark, faux wood panelling on the walls he instantly felt claustrophobic, everything from the décor and the dull ache in his leg to the situation they were in seemingly closing in around him like being enveloped in a strait-jacket. Reaching into the inside pocket of his jacket he pulled out a brown pill bottle, popped the lid and dry swallowed 2 tablets. Wilson's lengthy trips to the bathroom were par for the course these days as the coughing fits were either so prolonged they led to him spitting up blood, or the little food he could eat just didn't sit well in his stomach. His body was clearly starting to break down.
Sitting down on his own garishly quilted bed and taking a deep breath as he removed his dusty leather jacket, the doctor in House couldn't help but ponder his friend's prognosis. The last two weeks he had deteriorated rapidly, noticeably losing weight which had made him look rather pathetically like a little boy who'd been trying on his Dad's clothes, and forcing them to stop off to buy him replacements. This had resulted in them bickering in a small clothing store like an old married couple over the oncologist's thriftiness in spite of his imminent 'departure'. Eventually the argument got too much for Wilson who was forced to find a seat in the ladies shoe department, handed a glass of water and fanned with the local newspaper by one burly, middle-aged Texan woman as her equally rotund friend lectured House for shouting at his 'brother' who was clearly an ill man. Initially the assumption that they were related had taken him aback, but the more he'd thought about it during the subsequent hours they'd spent on the road, the more it sat well with him. Growing up an only child was isolating, especially if you moved around so much that you couldn't make proper friends, which was why he'd clung onto Wilson all these years. To have someone who wasn't fazed by all the stunts he'd pulled, and who still enjoyed his company was something he not only wasn't used to but wouldn't let go of easily. The mistake the woman made wasn't that far-fetched, they probably were as close as most siblings.
After that House made a pact with himself to try and break the habit of a lifetime and not wind his friend up for the few remaining weeks of his life. Because that's all he had left: weeks. There was no getting round that, no matter how many times he shoved it to the back of his mind. In the end he lasted two days before he couldn't bite his tongue any longer, and despite Wilson's protestations and throwing his hands on his hips in disgust, he was glad his miserable ass of a friend couldn't help but mock him over his burning need to buy cushioned insoles for his new biker boots. Their petty squabbles were a distraction he'd happily latch onto as long as possible. In his line of work he'd seen thousands of cancer-riddled bodies decay and eventually stop functioning, but that didn't mean he was ready for it to happen to him. It was better to keep moving, rather than thinking. Ruminating over his limited future petrified him if he thought about it for any length of time, so it was better to just get on with things.
Eventually Wilson stumbled out of the bathroom wiping his decidedly ashen face with a damp towel, and realizing he was being carefully observed by House, who was propped up against his own hideously floral headboard and shovelling nachos into his mouth from a gigantic packet next to him on the bed.
"You look like crap!"
"Thanks," the younger man muttered as he flung himself down on his mattress.
"C'mon Jimmy," House mumbled with a mouth full of corn chips, jumping off the bed and grabbing his cane. "This is no time for lazing around. I've got something that'll cheer you up."
"Look, if this involves hookers or women who can shoot ping pong balls out of their…"
"Vaginas?" the former diagnostician offered, dusting off errant crumbs from his t-shirt.
"Yes! Or any other part of their body. I'm NOT interested." Limping over to his friend's bed it was clear he wasn't going to let up.
"Oh no, no, no! This lady is much classier than that, and much more expensive."
"House!" Wilson really didn't have the energy for this. His head was pounding and he still felt nauseous.
"Humour me. All you have to do is get off your ass and walk outside."
"Fine!" he eventually relented, realising he wasn't going to get any peace until he did as he was asked.
Following his evidently excited friend outside and watching him wander over to a red convertible in the car park, it gradually dawned on Wilson what House had spent the afternoon doing.
"You traded in your bike?"
"Don't be stupid Wilson! I traded in your bike and sold mine for a ridiculous amount of money to the young guy who was eyeing it up when we booked in. Thankfully his 'abuela' was pretty generous in her will, and you know I can't resist taking candy from a baby." He smiled mischievously. "Well?... Kinda cool huh?"
Wilson nodded silently, and proceeded to examine the car from all angles.
"It's rusty."
"In the car trade we call this weathered. This little lady has character," House countered running his hand along the bonnet. "I bet she's seen some action in that backseat too."
Practically jumping up from crouching on the floor where he was examining the wheel trim, Wilson couldn't help but examine the upholstery.
"It was valeted, right?"
"Absolutely!" House answered straight-faced having no idea if what he said was actually true. It seemed clean enough.
"Fine," Wilson muttered as he continued to look over the car. "But I'm driving her first tomorrow."
Usually this would have caused an argument, but what the hell his friend was happy and they had a cool car. In the grand scheme of things it didn't matter.
"Fine!" House happily conceded. "Tomorrow morning you get your grubby little paws on her first."
Wilson smiled to himself and wandered round the back of the vehicle, shortly after stopping dead in his tracks.
"You have GOT to be kidding me?"
"What?" House rounded to the back of the car and stood next to his best friend, settling his own gaze on what Wilson was staring at. The sticker.
"Yeah," he murmured, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. "While you were chucking your guts up in the motel can, I did something constructive and found the Lord. His real name's Pablo and he sells corn chips at the side of the road."
A day and a half later the two friends were perched on the bonnet of the convertible, watching in silence as the sun set over miles and miles of red rock, a plethora of colours and shadows dancing over the landscape in breath-taking fashion. Minutes passed as neither of them felt the need to break the silence, both lost in thought. Finally House couldn't resist the urge to turn to Wilson with a smirk turning up the corners of his mouth.
"So Dr Wilson, was The Grand Canyon as romantic for you as it was for me?" He batted his eyelashes and feigned an expectant look as his best friend rolled his eyes. "It is something, huh?" Wilson nodded slowly, looking thoughtfully at the scene in front of him as if he was contemplating what he was about to say.
"No it is. I can't believe I've never been here before. It's amazing, but I just…" After stuttering over his words he let the rest of the sentence hang in the air, leaving House unsure if he couldn't articulate what he wanted to say or if he was just censoring himself.
"But what?" There was another pregnant pause as the sick man rested his head on his palm and exhaled deeply.
"It's… It's so fucking desolate! There's nothing. For miles and fucking miles, there's absolutely nothing. It's depressing as hell!"
"If you'd wanted casinos and showgirls we could've gone to Vegas." House cracked, uncomfortable with where this might be going.
"No that's not what I meant… I just feel like shit and I feel even worse knowing that this is a good day in comparison with how I've been feeling the past few days, and the even crappier days I've got to come… I'm tired. Every bone in my body aches and… and…" Again he faltered.
"And what?"
"I miss being around people. People I know. People I care about," seeing the hurt look forming across House's face he continued. "You know what I mean. You're barely human, but for all of your flaws there isn't anybody else I'd rather have spent the last few months with."
House sighed partially in relief and partially in understanding: being on the road for so long had taken its toll on them both, physically and mentally.
"So what do you want to do? Go home?" His words were measured. They both knew that as soon as he set foot back in New Jersey, the chances of him being caught and put away increased exponentially.
"No!" he answered almost instantaneously. "You and I both know I'm not up to that… I just want to put down some roots in the little time I've got left. Be somewhere where I've got some peace. Some dignity… Around people who I care about and who I can trust not to chicken out when it gets nasty, which it will... Does that make sense.?"
House shifted his weight from his bad to his good leg and swallowed a couple of Vicodin he'd removed from his jeans pocket, before finally making eye contact with his friend.
"It sounds like you've already got somewhere in mind."
In response Wilson slowly swivelled off the car and leant over the passenger door of the vehicle to get something out of the glove compartment, retrieving a small scrap of paper and handing it to House.
"How do you feel about the Golden Gate Bridge and a thriving gay scene?"
Looking at the San Francisco address the oncologist had handed him, he frowned. He couldn't remember Wilson ever mentioning a friend or even an acquaintance there.
"I'm rigid with excitement…"
