Title: The Promise

Author: pgrabia

Disclaimer: House M.D. and its characters do not belong to me. I am only borrowing them for entertainment purposes only and I'm not making any money from this.

Genre: Drama/Romance/angst

Characters/Pairing(s): G. House, J. Wilson, S. Warner, E. Foreman and other canon characters, OCs/ House/Wilson preslash, House/Stacy friendship-UST.

Word Count: ~1600

Spoilers/Warnings: General spoilers for all seasons up to and including the series finale, 8x22 "Everybody Dies". Major character death. Drug and alcohol use, coarse language, adult content.

Rating: R (M) (to be safe) unless otherwise advised.

A/N: This is my attempt to deal with my hatred of the final story arc in the series. The characters may be OOC. Sorry about that. Sorry too that this fic includes major character death. I don't usually write about that and if you find it to be a trigger for you then you best not read this.

Unbetaed, sorry.

The Promise

Chapter Two

Seeing Stacy again had been bittersweet and if he hadn't been wary of being seen and recognized House would have tried to spend more time with her after lunch. Unfortunately, he had to keep a low profile until he knew what was going to happen with the criminal lawyer Stacy had set him up with.

Back at his motel House popped a Vicodin before he picked up the phone and studied the business card Stacy had given him. Deacon Bernard worked out of the law offices of Bernard, Clayton, and Steinberg, located in Newark. He flipped the card over and dialed the private number written on the back. It was mid-afternoon on a workday so he wasn't surprised when he was sent to Bernard's voicemail. He debated leaving a message, then decided that it would probably be safer not to. He would call again later, perhaps after office and court hours, when he was more likely to find the lawyer available to talk.

He spent the rest of the afternoon watching soap operas followed by Judge Judy on the crummy TV, bored and uncomfortable in the stuffy, cramped quarters in which he found himself. Words could not adequately express how tired he was of living the life of a nomad. He was tempted to go out for a ride on his motorcycle but he was in Trenton, which was too close to Princeton, and people who might recognize him, for comfort. Nobody but Stacy and this Bernard guy could know that he was alive, at least for now. If he didn't like what Bernard had to say, he wanted to be able to leave town incognito and remain under his alias, Wilson Thomas.

When the dinner hour came he found himself hungry. There was a small deli less than a block away from his motel. He walked there, wary of any ice there might be on the ground, bought himself a Reuben sandwich and potato chips and took them back to his room to eat with the beer he had chilling in the small bar fridge. After he ate he decided to try calling Deacon Bernard again.

The phone rang twice before someone picked up.

"Hi, this is Deacon."

House hesitated a heartbeat before responding. "We have a mutual acquaintance in Stacy Warner."

"Ah, hello," Bernard said knowingly, "I've been expecting your call Mr…?"

"You can call me Thomas," House told him, ever wary. "Stacy said you were one of the best defense lawyers she knew. She said you might be able to help me with a problem situation I find myself in."

"Well, I can't say whether I can or can't until I know more about you and your situation," Bernard told him. "If you don't want to talk about it over the phone, and I recommend we don't, then you could come to my office or we could meet somewhere neutral."

"Somewhere neutral," House chose. "Clancy's Pub in Trenton, tomorrow."

"Well, my schedule is full tomorrow during the day but I could meet you in the evening," Bernard agreed. "I know the place so how about I meet you there at eight?"

"Sounds good," House agreed.

"How will I recognize you, Mr. Thomas?"

"I'll be the guy wearing a cap and a classic rock t-shirt with a cane," was the reply.

"Very good. I'll see you then."

"Right," House said before hanging up. His gut told him that this was a good move, so he decided to trust it until logic said to do otherwise. Now all he had to do was wile away the boring hours until the next evening. Staying in motel rooms had been bearable when Wilson had still been around. Now they were a reminder of the good times they'd spent on the road until Wilson had become too ill to travel anymore. He missed Wilson every minute of every day, it seemed. Everything reminded House of his best friend, now passed on. It was a bittersweet thing that he knew he had to learn to live with. There was no way he would ever stop thinking about James Wilson, but he hoped that someday he might actually stop grieving him.

"I'm doing this for you, idiot," he murmured softly, wishing he could hear a sarcastic response back. He would never get to hear Wilson's wit again; it only existed now in his memories. Swallowing hard against the emotions that were wanting to make themselves felt, he returned his attention to the crappy TV set where a movie was about to begin. He had to stop thinking about Wilson for now.

[H]

House dreamed about Wilson every night since the younger man had died. Usually they were memories of things they'd done together, both good and not so good, throughout their two decades of friendship. He tried to direct the dreams as he had them, making things occur that actually hadn't in real life, or vice versa. Sometimes he was successful, but usually not.

That night he dreamt about the day they had stopped riding their motorcycles at a mountain lookout to stretch their legs and have a look at the scenery. They found themselves at a bluff overlooking a lush green valley below.

"I'm going to miss this," Wilson told him wistfully. House stood beside him and instead of taking in the view of nature he was fixated on his view of Wilson.

"No you won't," House told him. "You'll be dead, so you won't know or feel or miss anything ever again."

Wilson shook his head, tearing his eyes away from the sights to look House in the eye. "I believe there is something after this, House. I know you don't, but I do. I know I'm going to miss a lot of things. I'm especially going to miss you."

"Don't miss me," House forced out of his mouth. He was drawn to the look of longing in Wilson's chocolate brown eyes. "Fight this. Agree to treatment."

Wilson shook his head and sighed. "I thought you had come to terms with my decision."

"I have," House said, having to swallow hard first. "That doesn't mean I have to like it." He tore his eyes away and looked at the stream that ran through the valley below. "You don't want to fight because you don't believe your life is worth the effort and discomfort it will take to preserve it. You're wrong. You've made a difference in this world. I'm just one example."

"House—" Wilson tried to interrupt but House wouldn't let him.

"If not for you, I would be dead right now," House said with certainty. He returned his gaze to meet Wilson's. "Our friendship has saved my life. Because of you I…I know I can change. It might take me the rest of my life, but I can do it, one step at a time. I'm not going to lecture you any further but…but you're worth the fight, even if you can't see it. You mean…the world to me and once you're gone I…I don't know how I will carry on without you. That may sound like I'm making all of this about me but I know it's not. It's about you realizing just how worthy of the fight you really are. The world will be a worse place to live once you're gone."

Wilson stared at him long and hard before taking a step and then another toward House. House watched him with curiosity, wondering what the younger man was about to do. Wilson took another step, placing himself well within House's personal space. His movements were cautious, his eyes watching House for any indication of disapproval. House relished the proximity, though he never would have admitted it. In the next moment Wilson closed the gap and wrapped his arms around House, pulling him into an embrace. House had to bite his cheek and swallow hard to keep himself from sobbing. He slowly lifted his arms and hugged Wilson back, reveling in the warmth of his body and the sensation of his best friend's arms around him.

"Don't fight for me," House murmured into Wilson's ear. "Fight for yourself, and allow me to benefit from having you around longer. I…you know I love you."

Wilson's hug only tightened upon hearing that and it took a moment for House to realize that his best friend was sobbing. Ordinarily such proximity and the expression of emotions would put House ill-at-ease, but not this time. This time it only made him feel more connected with the man he was losing to cancer.

"I…I love you, too," Wilson whispered back. "But it's too late. The cancer has progressed too far—"

"Maybe it hasn't!"

"It has," Wilson insisted, pulling back far enough to look House in the face. He reached up and wiped a stray tear off of House's cheek. "I can feel it. My fate is sealed, no matter what I do now."

House wanted to shake some sense in him but instead simply leaned in and kissed him gently on the mouth, keeping his eyes open ever so slightly to judge Wilson's reaction. Wilson kissed him back just as gently, brown eyes fluttering closed…

House awoke from his dream, realized that he'd been sobbing in his sleep. He wiped his face dry with both hands. The memory had seemed so real that he could almost taste Wilson on his lips. That had been their first of many kisses.

House grabbed the vial of Vicodin off his bedside table and took two without water.

"Damn you, Wilson," he whispered into the darkness surrounding him. "Why are you making me go on without you?"

His question was met only with silence.