The gun pressed to Wilson's temple felt colder than any piece of ice that had ever been slipped down his shirt or any last gaze he'd ever received from a leaving spouse. Staring into House's eyes from across the room, Wilson kept his jaw set as the man holding him hostage began to speak again.

"Is his life more important than yours?" The man asked, his voice no more comforting than Satan himself. Wilson bit his lower lip to keep it from trembling, not answering. House's face revealed little to no emotion, but Wilson knew the truth was that House was dying a little bit inside.

"Yes," House answered plainly. The man's eyes snapped up to meet House's. Wilson shook his head almost imperceptibly. "His life is more important than mine. He is a better man than I am. Let him go, you can have me." Hobbling over laboriously, House got within a foot of the gunman before he fired. The bullet tore through House's chest, blood exploding in a million directions. Releasing Wilson, the man shoved the gun in his mouth and fired one final round, his skull erupting, drenching Wilson in grey matter and blood. Standing stunned as the man fell to the ground, Wilson collapsed next to House, his chest heaving as the lifeblood ran from the wound directly above his heart. Grabbing House's hand, knowing full well that his best friend was about to die, Wilson leaned down and pressed a crushing kiss to his lips. Pulling away, he found House smiling.

"Be the better man Wonder Boy," he choked. Wilson felt the tears drenching his cheeks.

"I thought you said I was." Sucking in his dying breath, Gregory House made eye contact with James Wilson for the final time.

"Everybody lies."