A/N: This is a short something I wrote 3 years ago when I was still a believer in Hilson, but this story can be read as friendship, too. Also, it can be placed right after the House finale (well, five months later… if you squint) or some 30 years on. Whatever floats your boat ;)
Growing old together
He waited for five full minutes, methodically counting down the seconds from 300, just in case. If he was going to do what he did next, he needed to be sure.
When there still was no pulse under his trebling fingertips as he touched Wilson's neck, still no breath expanding his frail chest, he knew that this was it. The end.
House felt calm. There was neither grief nor fear because he knew what he had to do, had planed it for a long time now. Decades. He reached out for the vial of clear liquid set ready on the nightstand careful not to let it slide from his fumbling grasp. Then he proceeded to uncapping a small syringe and loaded it with shaking fingers, not because he was afraid or nervous but because age didn't permit him steady movements any more.
He tied the tourniquet around his frail upper arm with well-practiced movements and pulled it taunt almost to the point of pain, opening and closing his fist a few times to get a vein to stand out. He didn't hesitate when the needle pierced the blood vessel and pushed down the plunger in one steady motion. Now there was nothing left but to wait. Stretching out next to Wilson and taking the other man's hand, he closed his eyes and let oblivion take him.
The end