"He could be in one of these, you know," Wilson said softly, staring out at the tombstones from the cemetery gates.
House glanced over at him. "Yeah," He quietly agreed.
"There could be some wife no one knows about, mourning, alone, next to a tombstone with some name that means something to her scrawled on it, with a epitaph of 'Loving Husband, Caring Father' scratched underneath the name," Wilson continued, and House wasn't sure if that was bitterness or sadness creeping into Wilson's tone.
"Does that bother you?" House questioned.
Wilson sighed. "I think... it bothers my sense of entitlement."
House raised an eyebrow.
"How come she gets to mourn over him? How come she gets to go on living her life in memory in his? Without telling anyone else... the people who knew him before..." Wilson attempted to explain.
House shrugged. "There's no dignity in death," He murmured.
Now it was Wilson whose eyebrow went up. "What does that have to do with anything?"
"Why should you mourn something that doesn't garner your respect?" House asked. "If... if he didn't respect you enough to let you know what was happening in his life, why should you honor something like his death? Which is devoid of any dignity anyway..."
Wilson sighed. "If only the rest of us were as unaffected by mortality as you, House."
"Being God is hard work." House admitted, causing a small smile to form on Wilson's face. "Come on, let's go do something that sharply reminds us of how good living life is."
"Bad movies and Chinese take-out?" Wilson smirked, following House back to the car.
"Anything else would be a poor imitation of living, Jimmy." House replied, the cemetery forgotten.