So, I'm an addict. I can't stop. I will be seventy, writing fics, and explaining to my grandchildren who the hell Huddy is. To hell with it. It's safer than crack.

I am not a fan of the finale, but C'est la vie. I did my best, here, to remedy it. The whole thing is a little more soap opera than I usually like for Huddy, but they didn't leave us much choice. Many thanks to my dedicated and dominating muse oc7ober who never lets me rest. I'd also like to thank my 15-month-old son – Oscar - for his cuteness. You'll find out why.

And I can't publish again without thanking you all for the love. Your kind words when I thought I needed to be "done" really helped me see that this is an awesome community rooting for the same delusion, and you kindly feel like I help you with that. Thank you so much for your appreciation of my stories.

[H] [H] [H]

Wilson and House did the mid-life/end-of-life crisis thing for about nine weeks, then reality set in. Funny how struggling to breathe sucks, even when riding a motorcycle.

"I want to go home, House."

House nodded. He was at his beck and call and honestly had no idea how he'd want to live his last five months. So for once, Wilson was in charge. They turned around.

The following months were, of course, ugly. They lived at Wilson's apartment for a while, but Wilson ended up dying at his parents'. In the end, it seems, we all want the women – our mothers, lovers, best friends. Women know better how to take care, comfort, and reassure. And ironically, women know better how to let us go.

House watched Wilson die holding his mom's hand. During two weeks of monotonous days punctuated by respiratory distress - Wilson sitting up coughing, gasping, struggling to get air - House would silently root for him, willing him to fill his lungs. And when he finally did, they would go back to waiting for the big one.

It was his mother who finally said what House never could, "Let go, Jimmy." And he looked at her and did. And she smiled at him and held him until he couldn't see or feel her anymore. Then she sobbed on the body of her dead son.

House stared at the floor. It wasn't the death that made him uncomfortable. It was the love. How do you talk about that kind of love?

He got some time alone with him, but didn't know what to do. All he saw was a body, flesh. He looked at him for long enough to make Wilson's parents think he had said some sort of goodbye, then got up to leave. His father stopped him and gave him a wrapped box. "James wanted me to give this to you, when the time came" he said. House took it, nodding. They shook hands silently, both understanding there was nothing left to say.

House drove back to Wilson's apartment and sat on the couch. There was an envelope taped to the top, so he started there.

House,

First of all, you're wrong. About the "nothing." I'm having a wonderful conversation with Henry Gray right now and smoking a Cuban while Audrey Hepburn gives me a massage… There is a heaven and I sure as hell don't see you fitting in.

Secondly, thank you. For all of it, good and bad.

Finally, you always said almost dying changes nothing, but dying changes everything. Well, House, the dying's over.

I'm dead. Change everything.

I want thirty more years. I want to work more, play more, fall in love again, maybe make a little person. And I can't, clearly; my life is over. But I want more of it. So I'm following your example and dumping all my crap on my best friend. You have my thirty years. I'm asking you to do the unthinkable, and change.

I know you have pain - of all kinds - but don't let it slowly steal your years. You think if you get up and go to work each day, you've beaten the pain. But if you get up and regret doing so every second, the pain has beaten you.

And if you blame it for everything, it has beaten you.

And if you don't love again, it has beaten you.

I want you to live my thirty, House, and don't fuck it up so much. That's all I'm asking. Just live a life that makes you feel like I do right now – like you want more of it.

Wilson

Ps: I'm leaving you a gift. I'm not saying these things will fix your life (quite the opposite) but they might help you build a bridge from broken to… less broken… while I'm away. (I know, I'm an enabler.) Please note, these things run out. You can't make them all you have.

House opened the box. It contained cash - $100,000 – and three freezer bags of Vicodin.

The thing about death is, if it's far away or up close, it can't really influence your life. It's either too abstract or it's making you shit yourself. But House watched his best friend die, far too early. Like it or not, that changes you. House fell asleep that night thinking about Wilson's words.

He woke up the next day and began the rest of his life.