Saying Goodbye

Author's Note: This was partly a inspired by a discussion on a HI forum, and it was partly a fanfic challenge. If any of the details are a little off, it's because I've only recently started watching the show again, so I don't know very much about Wilson's background. Rated PG for character death. Before anyone has a fit, it's just a fanfic, so don't get bent out of shape. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it. This first chapter is a shortie, and the fic itself won't be long, but hopefully it's worth the read.

"Hey, Wilson." said Tim as he backed out his side door, paying out extention cord as he went. When he didn't receive an answer, he looped the cord over his arm and peeked over the fence. He knew Wilson was back there, because he had seen the top of his hat bobbing up and down as he walked by, but now the older man was sitting on a bench with his back to him. "Yo. Wilson?"

Wilson jumped slightly as if coming out of a trance, and looked over his shoulder. "Well. Tim. I didn't hear you come outside."

Tim scowled a bit. The fact that Wilson hadn't heard him when he was making enough noise for three men was enough to give him pause, but when Wilson didn't give his usual cheerful 'Hidey-ho, neighbor', there was usually something wrong. "You okay, Wilson?"

"Well...now that you mention it, I did get some rather bad news this morning." sighed Wilson, getting up and approaching the fence with a letter in his hand. Tim nodded questioningly at the letter, and Wilson nodded and handed it over.

Tim took this as a go-ahead to read the letter, and he looked at the back. "It's from Willow's parents..." he observed, figuring that it couldn't be anything too serious. He got nothing more than a nod in return, and he removed the three-page letter from the envelope to read it. There were a few spots where the ink had run, and it didn't occur to him right away that they might be tears, either from the person who wrote the letter or from Wilson himself. It was impossible to be sure.

'Dear Wilson,

I'm sorry to have to tell you this way, but I know you don't own a telephone, and I won't be able to drive there myself. I know you haven't heard the sad news about Willow, as you don't own a television either. Last night, she and her boyfriend Vince were in a car accident. A drunk driver plowed into them, and-'

At that point, someone had scribbled out the next few words, and Tim stopped reading when he came to the words "They didn't make it". He looked up at Wilson, and shook his head. "God, Wilson, I'm sorry..."

"Thank you." Wilson replied, taking back the letter, and he licked his lips briefly as he gathered his thoughts to ask a question. "Tim, I was wondering if you'd be willing to do me a favor..."

"Sure, anything." said Tim.

Wilson rested his elbows on the crossbar on his side of the fence, and said, "Well, as you know, I don't own a car."

'Or a phone, or a TV, or a microwave...' Tim added mentally, though he simply nodded. He had some idea of what was coming.

"You see, it's rather short notice, and I don't...I really think I should be there. For the funeral. I just don't have a way to get there, and I know this is an imposition..."

Tim held up a hand to stop him, since he seemed to be having trouble getting it out. "You want me to drive you there, is that what you're saying?"

"If you would, Tim, yes." Wilson nodded, seeming relieved.

"Say no more; 'course I'll drive you there." Tim replied before he thought it through. He turned to go back inside, then he stopped and said, "By the way, when is it?"

"Today."

Tim did a double-take, and went back to the fence. "Wait a minute, today? When'd you get this letter?"

"Today." Wilson repeated.

"Wilson..." Tim took a deep breath, and said as patiently as possible, "Don't you think it would be a good idea if you got yourself a phone? I could install it for you."

"No, no, no, no, no Tim. You see, I find living at the mercy of the telephone to be too much of an invasion of privacy. Ring, ring, ring, drop what you're doing, hurry hurry...No, but thank you just the same." he replied.

Tim knew better than to argue. Wilson was set in his ways, and to be honest, if he changed too much, he wouldn't be the same anymore. From making his own toilet paper to imitating the mating call of a possum, Wilson was one of a kind. "Well...what time will it be?"

"Six o'clock...but these things never start on time." replied Wilson, who had the look of one who had been to several funerals.

Tim looked at his watch. It wasn't even noon yet, but it would be a long drive to the funeral. Willow lived about five and a half hours away, so they would have to leave soon. "Okay, I'm just gonna go grab a shower and tell Jill where I'm going."

"Thank you, Tim."