Authour's Notes: You know, I was torn, writing this. I kind of wanted to make it a song-fic. But I kinda didn't. But then I did. So I was then torn between using the song "Merry LIttle Christmas". So cliche. So instead, I used another song that I love to death. "Hallelujah" - Written by Leonard Cohen, sung by Rufus Wainwright. Apparently the lyrics vary, so I'll just stick to the ones I hear in the song sng by Rufus. Also, since I usually reserve Italics for thought, you know, like a good writer should, the song is bold and Italic, also, the second verse... I don't think it's very fitting; but it kinda is. I wanted to remove it, but I felt as though I shouldn't. This is, a death-fic, by the way; no slash. Since I don't want to ruin anything, I'll wait until the end to say what I want to say. Enjoy, for now.

I've heard there was a secret chord
That David played, and it pleased the Lord
But you don't really care for music, do you?
It goes like this; The fourth, the fifth
The minor fall, the major lift
The baffled king composing Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah

Wilson was forcing himself to not turn the car around and go back home. The urgency in Cuddy's voice was just enough for him to grumble a 'Fine, I'll do it.' from him when she asked him to go check up on House. Apparently, the insane man had managed to wipe himself off the floor, drag himself over to the hospital and rummage around the nurses station looking for something. Cuddy didn't know what, but House had immidiately left upon finding it. Wilson pulled up to House's apartment, and turned off his car and his lights. His lips pursed as he gazed over at House's door with disdain. Cuddy had been worried because House said something that he never did before, he told her 'Good-bye'.

He got out of his car, and knocked on House's door, as he knocked, the door creaked a bit and opened just slightly, enought to give Wilson a bit of worry. His brows furrowed as he pushed open the door and moved inside. He glanced around a bit until his eyes fell upon House, sitting on his couch with his hands resting against his knees, a bottle of empty whiskey and empty prescription bottle sitting next to each other, almost as if they were old friends.

"House, what are you doing?" He asked, his gaze finally resettling on the older man. His eyes widened as House turned to face him, looking decidedly tired, a gun held in his hand, which he raised to point directly at Wilson.

"I didn't think you'd come." He said thickly, blinking slowly, as if each word and every action was a strain. "I didn't really think you would, after earlier, I had thought you'd given up on me."

Wilson's mouth closed, his eyes narrowing at the man. He had decided that this man had, did indeed go crazy, "House, put the gun down! Where the hell did you get a gun anway?"

"No," He replied, swallowing, "No, I need you to listen to me."

"I'm not listening to you until you put the gun down."

Your faith was strong but you needed proof
You saw her bathing on the roof
Her beauty in the moonlight overthrew you
She tied you to a kitchen chair
She broke your throne, she cut your hair
And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah

"No time." House inhaled, slowly, deeply, while licking his lips. His left hand moved, tossing something onto the coffee table, it came to lay rest next to the empty pill bottle, the force of the item causing it to teeter, twirl, and then rest again as if it had never been touched.

Wilson's eyes followed the toss, and stared confusedly at what had been thrown. A syringe. It was a clear, and empty syringe. Wilson's eyes widened more as he glared in the direction of the older man, "What did you do, House?!"

He started forward toward him and House shook his head, slowly, keeping the gun brandished at his friend. Ex-friend. He didn't know anymore, "Stay there."

"What was in there? What was in that? What did you do?!" Wilson said hurridly, fumbling his hand in his pocket, reaching for his cellphone.

"A little of this, a little of that." House said, his words starting to slurr, a tiny smirk on his lips, "Don't call, it's been a while. I want to talk."

Wilson's hands stopped their fumbling when he realized what House had done. "What do you want to talk about?" He half-whispered, his eyes watering as he stared at his colleage, whom he now knew was slowly dying before his eyes and apparently there was nothing he could do about it.

That may have been so, but he was gonna damn well try.

"I want..." Even now, at his dying breath, the words were hard to say. "I want to -- I've -- I've put you through so much shit, haven't I?"

Wilson swallowed, staring into the crystal blue eyes that stared back at him from the couch. He relized that the older man was trying to apologize. "It's okay, House. You needed help. I should've helped you --"

Maybe I've been here before
I know this room, I've walked this floor
I used to live alone before I knew you
I've seen your flag on the marble arch
love is not a victory march
It's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah

"Shut up!" The older man cut him off using as much force as he could muster, his eyes closing tight for a moment showing the strain that it was, "You did what you could. I'm such a -- I pushed you, and pushed you, until it broke." House's eyes opened and drifted down to the bottle of whiskey, the last drops glistening in the light. Wilson saw this oppurtunity to moved forward a bit, but House knew, and he tore his gaze from the bottle, and back onto him. Wilson stopped, watching him with wide, confused eyes. House's arm faultered, dipping low momentarily before regaining its strength, "I did what I didn't want to do."

"I don't know what you're talking about. Please House, let me call an ambulance!" Wilson cried, his voice straining and hands outstretched as if he felt he could force House to give in to his demands by touch alone.

"No, it's..." He inhaled again, his eyes beginning to roll backward into his head, and House found he could no longer use his own strength to keep his head up and his arm at the same time and so his head dropped to the back of the couch. House's breathing had become laboured, slow; deliberate. It was so much harder for him to breath. He felt so light, so very, very light, and... "I can't... feel it Wilson. I can't feel the pain anymore."

"Your leg, doesn't hurt?" Wilson said dumbly and immidiately chastised himself for it, "House, please, tell me what you took. Tell me so I can treat you!" He yelled, his fists clenching.

"Never could..." House swallowed once more, finally able to look at Wilson, but found he was lacking the strenghth to move, and hardly to speak, "Never... hurt you." He attempted to shake his head, "Never... betray you..." His voice was soft -- almost airy -- his eyes fluttered closed, and his body seemed to go limp as his arm fell to his side, the gun falling from his hand and clattering noisely to the floor., "J... "

There was a time you'd let me know
What's real and going on below
But now you never show it to me do you?
Remember when I moved in you?
The holy dark was moving too
And every breath we drew was hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah

Wilson rushed forward, and grabbed the gun, it felt surprisingly light. "I can't believe you! Where did you get this?!" He fumbled with the gun, latching the safety on, quickly, before looking up to glare at House again.

House was still, his breathing had stopped and he lay looking peaceful. Wilson stood dropping the gun to the floor as he reached over to House and shook him. His instincts kicked in and he found himself mechanically checking for a pulse and he found none. Panicked, he reached into his pocket and grabbed his cell phone dialing 911 as quickly as he could. He gave them directions and hung up, pushing House's body onto it's side and began to perform CPR.

It took him a full ten minutes to finally grasp the fact that House was gone, and there was nothing he could do. He let out a choked cry as he looked at the dead man's face, reaching his hand up and slowly touching his cheek.

House was gone.

Gone.

He looked at the gun on the floor, grabbing it quickly, the sudden morbid curiosity grabbing him in the heat of the moment. He fumbled with it, never once holding a gun before and finally managed to pull the magazine from it's holder.

It was empty.

Maybe there's a God above
And all I ever learned from love
Was how to shoot at someone who outdrew you
It's not a cry you can hear at night
It's not somebody who's seen the light
It's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah

Okay. What did House die of? Oh, I don't know. Let's all just pretend -- just for a second -- that House is, well, a doctor. He happened to get his hands on some nice, slow acting poison's or, using all that medical knowledge in his head, he concocted his own. Yeah. That works. That works. I don't where he got the gun from either, but I do know the brand; it's called "Plot Device". Okay? 3

Well, I won't lie to you. I didn't know how to end this. So I just did. I write in short bursts, I'm sorry. Also, if you think the dialouge is a bit broken, it's supposed to be. If I think of an epilogue to this, maybe I'll write one. Or if there's a big enough demand for it. Whichever comes first. I just hope you guys enjoyed it.