Authors Note: Second in the 'Dieing Conversations' Series.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
"I want to go to the moon." House said, struggling to keep his breath as he tried to pull himself into a sitting position on the hard hospital bed. The IV running out of his arm getting caught on the bars pulled up to keep him in the bed.
Wilson looked tiredly over at his sick friend and watched him struggle to get comfortable, the pain inside of him doubled as he watched House give up and lie dejectedly as he was half on his side, half on his back, IV still twisted.
He stood up and reached over, unhooking the tube and carefully raising the head of the bed.
"On the count of three." He told House gently, wrapping an arm around his friend's back. "One…two…three." He counted, easing him up and into a half seated position. Watching as the look of pain on his friends face eased slightly with every second passing in the new, more comfortable position.
After a few minutes, in which Wilson had re-taken his seat next to House's hospital bed, House looked over at his friend, weariness, pain and fear evident in his gaze.
"I want to go to the moon." He repeated, closing his eyes and sighing deeply as he sunk further into the mattress.
"I know House, I know." He gripped his best friend's hand, "I don't think it's possible though."
"I could go by rocket." House continued, seemingly not hearing Wilson at all. He moved his hand out of Wilson's grip and brought it heavily over to his other side, clawing haphazardly at the IV drip in his hand.
"Don't," Wilson admonished him softly, pulling his hand back over and into his grip again.
House groaned and rolled his head to the side, facing away from him and gazing out the darkened window and into the night sky, shimmering with about a million stars and one glorious full moon, the object of which held House's attention.
"But it hurts Jimmy, so much." He whimpered, turning back to face his friend.
Wilson kept his gaze intently on House, studying him. Never had he seen his friend this way. So tired, so weak. He was pale and his eyes sunken and drawn. Tiredness was etched into every one of his striking features, and he looked ill, so ill it made Wilson sick. His friend was meant to be so strong, nothing, not even an infarction could bring him down. Why this? Why now? What did he do to deserve it?
House was ill and there was nothing that he could do. He had a brain tumour and none of the treatments had worked. House had accepted it, but Wilson was still finding it hard to admit to the fact that he had to say goodbye to his best friend, the closest thing he'd ever had to a brother.
Deciding to change the subject from his friend's pain to something of more hope to House he asked the only question that came to mind.
"How else would you get to the moon Greg?"
"If I had wings…" House started, but paused as he motioned for Wilson to push the lever to lower the head of the bed down again, continuing after his friend complied. "If I had wings I could."
Wilson nodded distractedly, not really paying as much attention as he should be as he watched the stats flash on the monitors connected to his friend, letting him know that Greg probably wouldn't last more than another hour.
"Jeez Jimmy, I try to pour my heart out," He coughed, "And you're not listening." He said groggily turning onto his side, successfully this time.
Jimmy sighed, rubbing his hand over his eyes, willing away the tears he could feel welling up, shielding them from House's sight for a moment. "I'm sorry. It's just…I don't know what I'm going to do without you."
When the tears were gone and he opened his eyes again he noticed House lying almost completely still on the bed, the only sign that he was alive was the shallow rise and fall of his chest.
"I'm gonna go to the moon Jimmy." He mumbled, still gripping weakly to Wilson's hand. "I'm going to raise the sails and steer the ship upwards. I've got my boat licence you know. At least…I think I do."
"Yer, you do. We got them together, remember. We used to sail my fathers boat on the weekends in between exams."
"Yeah," House breathed, so quietly Wilson almost couldn't hear him.
"Sail," he said, struggling once again to catch his breath, "to the moon. You can come too. We'll be happy again…like old times. Remember?"
Wilson nodded, clearly remembering the time long ago when he and House had once been happy, and as he watched House take his last breath and his world toppled into one full of darkness and loneliness he closed his eyes tightly.
And he let out a sob, for the first time since Greg had been diagnosed, he cried. Leaning against the still body of his best friend he cried for the pain he felt and the pain that was still to come. He cried for Greg, he cried for Cuddy, he cried for himself.
But most of all he cried, tears of sombre mirth, for the fact that House would get his wish. He would fly to the moon.
"Sail to the moon with me Jimmy."
end.