Author's Note : Hi there :) I have finished this show (except for the Swan Song episode which I planned to watch after I post this story) and WOW. Though I actually wish for something more for the ending, still, it was cool :D Feel free to give your opinion for the finale when you give this a review :)
Anyway, this is what my mind has produced after watching "Body and Soul". I wrote this story in both of House's and Wilson's POV. The first chapter will be House's and the second will be Wilson's. Hope this ones are good :)
Thanks to Rachel Messer & Unyil Mingming who have read this story first for me!

Disclaimer : House,M.D. belongs to David Shore & FOX.

It was raining and I assumed that Wilson was still in his office. That was confirmed by his car being in the parking lot. I felt a little bit relieved that at last, he would be listening to what I was going to rant. I went straightly to his office and barged in as usual.

I didn't expect not seeing him behind his desk, but he was leaning on his drawer. Our eyes met for several seconds, but we both refused to say anything. Relieved that he was actually there, I closed the door and started my rant. "Adams defied me. There's one more zealot in the world," I paused. "And Dominika moved out," I said as I was sitting down on his couch."She was fun. She was hot. She fixed my blender." I was sure that he had already gotten what I was trying to imply here, but since he hadn't said anything, I continued, "That is not a metaphor. You know any good fake divorce lawyers? I am surprisingly depressed by this." I finally finish my rant, with a sentence that I didn't even know if it was true or not.

"I have cancer," he finally said after a few seconds.

Of course I didn't believe that. I gave him a hint of smirk as I let out my response and continued tapping my fingers. My stupid response.

"You were little short with me the other day. You do need an excuse. Cancer may have overplaying it," I finished the words with a big tap on the couch.

"Stage two thymoma."

The realization that he wasn't joking hit me when I heard that. I forgot everything I had said about Dominika. I forgot the real reason I had come here in the first place.

"I didn't wanna tell you until I had it confirmed. I got the test back this morning."

What? No. No!

That was why he had been avoiding me all day. That might have been the one he never wanted to talk to me about.

"I have cancer, House."

And I could only stared at him in disbelief as he stared at the rain. I should have noticed his lack of response when I had barged in to his office just now. I should have noticed how he had refused to see me in the eyes just now. I had thought he was just tired—and been ready to annoy him by asking him for a boys night.

I was just hoping an usual me-whining and he-annoyed routine we had gotten used to. I had thought that he would have given me his usual advice that I secretly actually listened to, though I always pretended not to.

Cancer. Wasn't it ironic that he was an oncologist? My head was doing the only thing it could. It analyzed every possibility. It analyzed exactly how this happened. I had noticed that he had gotten thinner a bit, but I had thought it was only because of his ridiculous diet. Though I knew exactly how cancer could grow in basically anyone, I still wished that it hadn't been true. I still wished that it wasn't him. I almost wanted to ask him to show me his results—in case they had been wrong. But I didn't. Because I was afraid to see the fact.

I would yell to everyone about anyone else's result, but not his. Because I didn't want people to remind me that my best friend was dying. The fact itself hurts.

Stage two meant that it was already late for a surgery—if only it hadn't, I would be willing to do it myself. And I couldn't help calculating the chance that he would survive. Without seeing the size of the tumor, there might have been seventy percent chance that he would survive. Ten percent chance of a patient's recovery would tempt me to take the one tenth chance. But this thirty percent chance of failure terrified me. Because it was him. It was my best friend who I'd thought would never be leaving me.

After seconds of thinking that had felt like hours, I could finally move my legs to stand up and started to limp forward, leaving his office. And if—if he had tried to stop me, which fortunately he didn't, I would have told him to shut up. Because I didn't know what to say anymore. I didn't know what to feel. I didn't know if I was more pissed or betrayed or destroyed by the news.

Because the only person I thought would never leave me, finally had the chance to actually leave me alone.