When Cuddy woke up next morning, House was splayed out—alone—on the other bed, still in his jeans and black t-shirt, sound asleep.
Wilson was nowhere to be found.
Cuddy got dressed and wandered into the hotel restaurant, where there was a somewhat unappetizing breakfast buffet.
She found Wilson, sitting by himself, eating a bowl of bran flakes.
Cuddy got some coffee and grabbed an anemic looking grapefruit and joined him.
"Sleep okay?" she asked.
"No," he said. "House kicks."
"Don't I know it," she chuckled.
"So where is Sleeping Beauty?" Wilson said, looking at his watch. "It's almost 10."
"Last I checked, he was dead to the world," Cuddy said. "No pun intended."
Wilson chuckled.
"I'm actually glad he's asleep," said Cuddy, "because I wanted to talk to you."
Wilson gave her a knowing look.
"I'm not doing any more chemo," he said.
"Why not?" she demanded.
"Because it's a choice between quality of life and quantity of life—and I'm choosing quality."
"Who says you can't have both?"
"Me."
"Based on what?"
"Based on, I tried. I threw the Hail Mary and it got intercepted."
"That's football right?" she said, wrinkling her nose.
He smiled at her.
"Right."
"Well, why not try a series of short. . .punts instead?"
"Passes," he corrected. "But I take your point. . .Because we both know that if the insanely risky nuclear blast of chemo didn't work, a series of short reasonable doses isn't going to get the job done."
"Actually, we don't know that," Cuddy said.
"Cuddy, my mind is made up."
"But this is so unlike you," she said, trying not to let the anger register in her voice. "You're a man of reason. Of science. You became an oncologist because you believe in the treatment of cancer. What you're doing goes against your entire life's work!"
"It's because of my life's work that I'm able to make an informed decision. A decision that's right for me."
Cuddy took a sip of her coffee.
"I just can't believe House is letting you get away with this," she said. "He's choosing this, of all times, to let you have your way?"
Wilson gave a sad smile.
"Trust me, he tried to talk me out of it. He hired actors to play my surviving patients. It was a beautiful scene—very Dr. Wilson's Opus."
Cuddy stabbed at her grapefruit with a knife.
"Now, that's the House I know and love," she said.
On cue, House slid into the booth next to her. "If you keep talking about how much you love me, I'm going to start getting ideas," he said. He had a heaping plate of food in front of him—eggs, waffles, home fries, and bacon.
"Morning sunshine," Wilson said.
"Morning," House said. He looked down at Wilson and Cuddy's meager breakfasts with some disdain. "Am I the only who understands the value of carbo loading here?" he said.
"The food is disgusting," Wilson and Cuddy said in unison.
House shrugged, shoved some bacon in his mouth.
"So what are you two talking about: Wilson's Just Say No to Chemo campaign?"
"As a matter of fact, yes," Cuddy said.
"I urge you to talk him out of it," said House. "But I'm through. I promised the man a chemo-free road trip and a chemo-free road trip is what he will get."
"My man," Wilson said, and they slapped hands.
Cuddy made a face in disgust.
"Speaking of your imminent death, Wilson," House continued. "Any thought on today's Kick the Bucket List?"
Wilson leaned back in his chair.
"I know exactly what I want to do," he said.
######
House looked up at the helicopter hovering overhead.
"I really expected something a little more creative from you, Jimmy boy," he said. "Sky diving is sort of Kick the Bucket List 101."
"There's something about knowing you're going to die in 5 months that makes knowing you might die in 10 minutes seem less terrifying," Wilson said.
"That doesn't actually apply to me and Cuddy," said House. "But we'll take one for Team Wilson."
Cuddy shook her head.
"Oh nooooo," she said. "I'm not going up there. Again I say: Moth-er" —she pronounced both syllables.
"So you're basically going to use that as an excuse to be a wet blanket this entire week?" House said.
"That's the plan," she said, breezily.
He shrugged, put his arm around Wilson.
"Then it's just you and me, pal. Let's see a man about a death defying jump from a helicopter. The womenfolk can cheer us from the ground."
They went up to a tent where the jumps were being sold.
"Two please," House said.
The kid behind the counter looked up.
"For you two?" he said.
"No, for Siegfried and Roy, they're right behind us. . .Yes, for us."
The kid squinted.
"He can go," he said, gesturing to Wilson. "But you can't."
"Because. . .?"
"Because no one who's handicapped can go up," the kid said.
Cuddy held her breath a bit. House's least favorite word.
"Why?" snarled House. "You afraid I might fall and, I dunno, permanently damage my leg?"
The kid shrugged.
"It's just the rule," he said.
"Well, I'll sign a waiver form," House said.
"There is no waiver form."
House folded his arms.
"What if I told you that I was already dead?" he said.
"Wha?" the kid said.
Both Cuddy and Wilson shot him looks.
"Uh," House said, shifting his weight on his feet. "What I meant to say was, what if I told you that my friend here is dying? You gonna make him jump out of an airplane by himself?"
"He won't be by himself," said the kid. "It's a tandem jump. He'll bey strapped onto one of our instructors."
"Oh," said House. "That's totally gay, by the way. . . So how much money would I have to—"
"House, I'm good," said Wilson, stepping in. "You can wait here on terra firma with Cuddy."
"You sure?" House said.
"Positive."
"Okay," House said, reluctantly, backing up.
The kid took Wilson's money, and then handed House a pair of binoculars.
"You can watch him through these," he said.
"Gee thanks," House said sarcastically. But he took the binoculars.
Then he kicked at a pebble on the ground, trying to mask his disappointment.
"I'm sorry House," Cuddy said, sincerely.
"I didn't really want to go," he said. "It's dumb."
"I totally agree," she said.
Together, they watched Wilson get strapped into his gear—the parachute, with goggles and a helmet. He was nodding intently, listening to the instructor, like the dutiful schoolboy that he must've once been.
They entered the helicopter and took off.
House peered through the binoculars, then handed them to Cuddy.
"Can you see?" he said.
"It's just a big blur," she said.
He crouched behind her, then reached across her shoulders, adjusted the binoculars for her vantage point.
"Try now," he said.
She tried again.
"I see him! I see him!" she said.
He smiled.
The 'copter door opened and Wilson and his instructor leaned over the edge, the wind visibly whipping their clothing and hair
"Why do I feel so nervous?" Cuddy asked House.
"Because you're a woman," he said.
But he folded his arms and pursed his lips a bit as Wilson and his partner jumped.
Wilson came flying down—grinning maniacally.
"He looks a bit like Dr. Edwards up there," House said, referring to an Emergency Room doc who was notorious for her facelifts.
He handed Cuddy the binoculars.
"Ha, he kind of does," she giggled.
They watched Wilson fall and fall and fall. . .
"He should've pulled the chute by now," House said.
They kept falling.
"C'mon Wilson, pull the chute," House said.
They were picking up speed.
"C'mon man, pull the damn chute!"
And with that, Wilson pulled his toggle and the parachute ascended.
"Christ," House said.
"Who's the woman now?" Cuddy teased.
"Shut up," House said.
They walked over to where Wilson had landed softly on the ground. He looked sweaty and winded and almost deliriously happy.
"So how was it?" Cuddy asked.
"Greatest thing I've ever done!" Wilson gushed.
House bit his lip, tried to contain a stupid grin.
"Your friend here has some serious balls," said the instructor. "I kept telling him to pull the chute but he wanted to wait til the last possible second. Maximum rush, man. It was pretty epic."
"Yeah," Wilson said, still out of breath. "Epic."
#####
House said he needed to make a quick stop at Mail Boxes Etc. before they headed back out on Route 1.
Wilson and Cuddy waited in the parking lot. He emerged several minutes later, carrying an envelope.
"What ya got there, House?" Wilson asked.
"The new me," he said.
He pulled out a fake driver's license and passport.
Cuddy grabbed it from him, looked at the name:
"John Buck," she said, musingly. "As in. . .John House? The man you supposedly hate?"
"As in John Doe," House said. "The man who doesn't exist. But, you know, cooler."
"So you just forgot that John was your father's first name?"
"Step father," House said. "Well, imposter father. And it's actually a pretty common first name, in case you didn't know. Did your mother necessarily name you after the Mona Lisa?"
"If she had my name would be Mona, you moron," Cuddy said.
"You were quite the moaner when you were dating me," House said. Then he elbowed Wilson in the ribs. "Get it—Mona? Moaner?"
"You're a genius House," Wilson said.
"Hey, at least I don't have unresolved daddy issues," Cuddy said.
"Hey, at least I'm not sexually frustrated," House said.
"I'm not . . .!"
"Then why were moaning my name in your sleep last night, Lisa?" House said.
She glared at him.
"You are such a liar!"
"Am I going to have to separate you two?" Wilson said.
####
They drove for several hours on Route 1 and finally stopped at another generic motel for the night.
They sat down to a late dinner in the motel's wood-paneled restaurant. It had country music on the jukebox and greasy bar food like burgers and wings and beer. Cuddy had no choice but to order something called "The Dieter's Delight"—grilled chicken over some limp iceberg lettuce with mealy tomatoes.
"Livin' the dream," Cuddy said, biting on the lettuce.
House smiled at her.
Then he turned to Wilson.
"So what's next, buddy boy? What's on tomorrow's Kick the Bucket List? Race car driving? A lap dance by triplets—it's going to be hard to find 2 other women who look just like Cuddy on such short notice, but I'm sure we'll manage."
Cuddy rolled her eyes.
"Tight rope walking? Late night graffiti? A giant WILSON WAS HERE on an overpass? Talk to me."
"I think," said Wilson, munching on a fry, "I'm good."
House's eyes widened.
"What do you mean you're good?"
"I mean. . . I'm good. I'm just happy to be on the open road with my two best friends," he said.
"But. . . but. . . that's not the point of this road trip," House protested. "The point is for all your dreams to come true. For you to fulfill your every last desire."
Wilson shrugged.
"I am officially desire free," he said.
"C'mon Wilson. Don't wuss out on me here. What do you want to do? Swim with the sharks? Jet skiing? Mechanical bull riding? You must have some desire! Just tell me!"
Neither House nor Cuddy had noticed that Wilson's face was turning red.
He slammed his fist down on the table.
"Do you know what I want to do House?" he screamed. "I want to train to run a marathon, but I can't, because I have no time. I want to go to Mardi Gras for the first time, but I can't, because I'll be inconveniently dead when it takes place! I want to fall in love again, but that's not happening either, is it? So why don't you just leave me the fuck alone and stop asking me what I desire? I desire to live! What I desire is life!"
And he got up and stormed away from the table.
House's mouth dropped open.
He watched Wilson run away, stunned.
"Fuck me," he said.
He put his head in his hands, visibly shaken.
"Fuck," he said, again.
Cuddy stared at him, not quite knowing what to do.
She put her hand on his shoulder.
"House that wasn't your fault," she said.
"I screwed up," he said.
"No, you didn't," she said.
She wanted to hug him, but wasn't sure if she should.
"He's supposed to be having the time of his life," House said. "This is supposed to make him feel better."
"He is," Cuddy said. "You saw how happy he was after the skydive."
"I shouldn't have been pressuring him. The last thing the guy needs is pressure," House said. "I pushed him too far. I've made him miserable."
"Of course, he's miserable House. He's dying. But you've make him less miserable."
"I'm making it worse," House said.
"House, you sacrificed everything for him," Cuddy said. "You've given him this incredible gift. A reckless, stupid gift, even by your standards, but a gift all the same. Trust me, he appreciates it."
"He's humoring me."
"House, let me ask you something: If you knew you had 5 months to live, how would you want to spend it?"
"Searching for the cure for whatever was killing me," he said.
"There is no cure."
"There's always the possibility of a cure."
Cuddy sighed. Typical House.
"Okay, but this is just a hypothetical, so play along, will you?"
"Okay."
"How would you want to spend the last five months of your life?"
Naked in bed with you, holding you in my arms, House thought.
He scratched at the label of his beer, said nothing.
"You'd want to spend it surrounded by the people who loved you most, right?"
He shrugged.
"I guess. . .but that's a very exclusive club," he said. "Membership of one. Two if you count me."
"Three," Cuddy said.
They looked at each other. Then House swallowed, looked down at the table.
"You weren't really moaning my name in your sleep last night," he mumbled, by way of apology.
"I know," she said.
(Actually, she hadn't been totally sure. She was relieved.)
There was a long silence.
Finally, he stood up.
"I guess I'm going to go talk to him," he said, shakily.
"Good luck," she said.
And then, unexpectedly, he reached over and embraced her. It was the first sustained contact they'd had in over two years. He held her for a long time, as though reluctant to let go.
"I'm so glad you're here," he whispered in her ear.
#####