2024

"Rach," Jake's voice greeted me as I answered my cell. My heart did that little skip-a-beat. It was becoming annoying – it happened every single time I talked to Jake. "Hey, you're coming over later right?"

He meant Meadowview. I glanced down at the worksheet I was trying to finish up. Just two questions left. "Yeah, what's up? I'm just finishing up some homework."

"Do you have a portable keyboard? Greg isn't feeling so well today, and we were wondering if you could play in his room instead after the usual performance today."

"Sure," I answered. "Everything okay?"

"According to Jen, he's been running a low-grade fever since last night. Hopefully it's just a minor bug. But in case it's contagious, we're trying to minimize contact with the other residents." Jake sighed. "Mom's pretty stressed about it. We're hoping it's not pneumonia."

I understood why. Over the weeks, I'd come to learn that Greg was one of the home's first residents. He'd been there for over a decade. Everyone was pretty attached to him – it was a running joke that his gorgeous blue eyes were a babe magnet.

"I'll be over in half an hour," I promised. "Tell your mom not to worry too much."

Nurses Jen and Devin were standing outside Greg's room, in the middle of a discussion when I approached them after the music session out in the main hall for the rest of the residents.

"Where is the picture-book?" Jen demanded, "I thought we agreed not to wash it for the time being while he's away?"

Devin whispered back urgently. "It somehow ended up in the wash – "

"Go get it back now. Use a hairdryer, heat it, whatever works. All he wants is some comfort!" Jen hissed. "Dr Wilson is coming back in half a day and – oh, hi Rachel," Jen cut herself off as she spotted me standing there with my portable keyboard. "Am I glad to see you. Give me a minute." She turned back to Nurse Devin, who was quite obviously cowering under the formidable stare from the senior nurse. "Go get it now."

I offered a slight smile to Nurse Devin, trying to convey my sympathies. He shrugged, smiled back, and scampered off to follow his superior's orders.

"Greg isn't having a great day," Jen grimaced. "It doesn't help that it's his birthday two days from now. We've been hyping things up for him – we were going to have a little party… He's pretty disappointed. We just hope it's a passing bug and not something serious."

It was my first time in Greg's room. First time seeing him in bed. When he was in the wheelchair and with the rest of the residents listening to the piano, or when he was interacting with me during our one-on-one sessions, he didn't seem all that sickly. But lying in the hospital-standard bed, with IVs and machines around him, he looked small and weak.

"Hi Greg," I said softly as I sat down on the edge of his bed. "I heard you're not feeling so good." I patted his left knee. "Want some Stones today?"

"Ra-ach," Greg turned to look at me, peering out of his good eye. " 'Ano."

"Yup, piano," I picked his hand up, and placed it on the keyboard. Holding one of his fingers, I helped him press a few keys. That usually cheered him up quite a bit. "I learnt a new piece this week. Wanna hear it?"

Instead of a nod, though, Greg turned his head away from me. I could feel the tension in his hand – he was trying to pull away from me. " 'immy," his lips curled downwards in a sad frown, and he blinked. "Want." He opened and closed his right hand slowly, making a grabbing gesture. " 'immy," he repeated, "come."

Jen sighed and crouched down next to Greg. "I know you're looking for Jimmy, Greg. But he's coming back from the conference tonight, remember? He promised he would come see you immediately."

Tears started to form in Greg's eyes. "'Immy..." He stared at Jen. "Want."

"Greg…" Jen thumbed away the tears that trickled down Greg's cheeks. He shifted his gaze away from her, and looked at me instead. "Ra-ach," he fixed those beautiful blue eyes on me, and I felt my heart clench at his request. " 'immy come… want."

"I…" I didn't know quite how to respond. All I did was play the piano for Greg every week. How the hell was I supposed to respond?

Luckily, Jen jumped in. "I know you miss him, Greg. Devin's looking for the picture book now, okay?"

"Want," Greg sniffled, shifting about in bed, still making his grabbing gestures. "Howz…'immy."

"Okay," Jen breathed. She got up, and sat down on the bed, rubbing her hands up and down his forearm. "Let's listen to Rachel first, okay? I promise Jimmy will come back soon."

I could feel the unnatural warmth radiate off of Greg's body, a result of the fever. Jen nodded at me, and I started playing the keyboard. Today wasn't a day for the Stones, I decided. Something more soothing, perhaps to calm Greg, was in order. But somehow, the music that flowed out of me was sad too – like I sympathized with him. I was just about to change tempo – some cheery upbeat would help, right? – I noticed that Greg had calmed down somewhat. Though he continued to sniffle and whisper as Jen sponged him with cool water, he was quieter and less restless. He kept asking for " 'immy" – Timmy? Jimmy? – and despite his obvious lack of energy, kept forcing his drooping eyelids to stay open.

Fifteen minutes later and Greg was becoming restless again. Luckily, at that moment, Devin rushed in with what seemed like one of those small cloth books with clear holders that you could insert pictures into – for babies to familiarize themselves with their family members.

Jen visibly sighed in relief, and practically snatched it from Devin. She opened it, and showed Greg the pictures inside. Greg settled down almost immediately, and the slight crook of his lips that I knew was his version of a smile appeared. " 'immy," he sounded happier already. "Ho-owz… Wil-shun."

Jen placed the book next to House's head, and moved his hand so that it was touching the book.

In less than five minutes, Greg was asleep.

"Thanks, Rachel," Jen sighed as she stood up and began putting things away. "It might not seem like it, but you were a great help. He gets much more antsy than this when this usually happens."

"I hope you don't mind me asking," I slid my keyboard back into its case and zipped it up. "But who is this person?"

A sad smile tinged with a kind of wonder and pensiveness. "His best friend," Jen said as she gestured towards the book. She shifted it slightly to flip it open. "They've been best friends for decades. They still are."

And staring right up at me, was a photo of Uncle James and Greg.

2008

It took another two weeks before House hauled himself out of his apartment.

Suck it up, Greg. Be a man.

How was this time any different from the rest anyway? He always got by on his own. He would be fine.

Just give it more time, and things would get back to normal again. That was what he told himself as he found himself asking for anti-depressants from Chase. He didn't know why exactly he asked Chase, but he knew it was for the same reason he chose to ask Chase out to bowl with him when Wilson wasn't free to.

To his credit, Chase didn't pry further when House asked for the anti-depressants. He did, however, try to ask House to visit a trauma counselor. He knew that House wasn't infallible.

"House," Chase had said as he scribbled on the prescription pad, "You should – "

"No."

It figured. House could read minds.

Desperate, Chase had threatened, "I won't give you the anti-depressants then."

"I can go get them from someone else."

"Can you? Will you?"

"…"

"House…"

"Please." It had been the closest Chase had ever seen House come to begging, and he hated it. "Just give them to me."

Not wanting to cut off what tenuous relationship House now had with just him – just him, and no one else - Chase had relented. He shouldn't have, but things were never normal when it came to House… right? But he hadn't wanted House to lose any form of support or relationship he even remotely had anymore.

But when the shit hit the fan, however, Chase knew it would be bad.

But for now, things were fine.

So, things went back to normal. At least, some sort of normal. The team stopped treading so carefully around him, and Cameron stopped making those I-was-just-passing-by visits of hers.

Chase walked into the cafeteria, immediately spotting the lone figure sitting at the table in the most remote corner.

House was still taking the anti-depressants, which was surprising. How low had he fallen, Chase realised, that he had actually resorted to anti-depressants? House had never trusted anti-depressants and psych meds. Chase had also begun prescribing the Vicodin a few weeks later after he noticed that House was in the beginnings of withdrawal. He was also still using the forearm crutch, his balance and coordination having never recovered fully.

In the past two months, House had gradually surrounded himself in barbed wire, building walls and keeping everyone at bay. No one knew what was going on in his life outside work anymore – questions about non-work related matters were deflected, even snarled away. Even Cuddy couldn't get through. He was like an trapped, injured dog, snarling and barking and biting and keeping everyone away.

He watched out of the corner of his eye as House answered a phone call and immediately got up, limping out of the canteen. He cocked his head as he observed House – he'd lost more weight, and was limping more heavily.

Chase filed it away in his head for future reference. He would probably have to ask House whether the pain was getting worse soon.

He was in the middle of his lunch with Cameron when Cuddy came bustling into the cafeteria. Spotting them, she strided towards them.

"Have you seen House?"

"He left after receiving a call. Probably from the team?"

"No, he isn't with them," Cuddy frowned as she paged House again. "He's not in his office either."

Chase and Cameron exchanged glances. "What's up?"

"Wilson was in a car accident."

Cameron put her fork down, and sat up. "How did you find out?"

Cuddy sighed. "I called his cell, and a nurse from New York Mercy picked up. He's in New York for a conference, and we were supposed to meet up. I was calling to confirm dinner for tomorrow. I thought… House would want to know."

Chase stood up. "I'll find him."

Cameron nodded, wiping her mouth with a napkin as she dropped her fork. "I'll help you."

House was uncontactable, and nowhere to be found. Giving up, Cuddy drove up to New York herself, leaving instructions for his team to call her if he turned up somewhere.

She didn't expect to find him by Wilson's bed.

"House."

He gave no sign that he'd heard her. Cuddy sighed, and walked towards the bed. Still no reaction.

Wilson was still unconscious. She picked up his chart, and carefully perused through it. Broken arm, and a slight concussion.

"I was looking for you," she asked quietly. "How did you find out?"

House didn't reply her. He only sat there quietly, not quite looking at Wilson. She didn't probe further, only sitting there next to him, waiting. She hadn't spent time with him for a while – all attempts to converse with him for beyond five minutes had been rebuffed quickly. Gone was their flirting and quick-fire banter. She missed it, almost desperately. She never knew how much fire and excitement House brought to her job – without him making her life more interesting, her job as an administrator was dreary.

In the unforgiving glare of the fluorescent lights, she could see dark shadows under his eyes, and his far too prominent cheekbones. She wondered whether he was eating properly when he wasn't at the hospital. How much alcohol he'd been consuming on average. How bad the migraines (at least, those he had at home and not in the hospital) were.

Two hours passed before a soft groan from the bed was heard. Wilson was regaining consciousness.

Before Cuddy could react, House was on his feet and limping out the door.

She stared at his retreating form, torn between wanting to chase after him and staying by Wilson's side.

"Cuddy?" Wilson mumbled from the bed.

Cuddy suddenly felt like bursting into tears. She closed her eyes for a long while, opening them to find that House was no longer in sight.

"Wilson," she plastered her best smile on as she turned around. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I've been in a car accident," Wilson groaned. "So much for dinner."

Cuddy considered mentioning that House had been here, but knew from prior experience that even mentioning House made Wilson shut down. And she didn't want to do that.

Wilson was only just beginning to heal, his regular sessions with his therapist and group therapy starting to pay off. He had confided in her that moving away from Princeton (away from House, it was implied) had made it easier. His workload as Assistant Department Head at Massachusetts General was lighter for the moment, and he had more time to pursue other hobbies like cooking and fishing.

He had time.

For himself.

House, on the other hand, was going nowhere. He was stuck. Weighed down by the consequences of events he had no way of anticipating when he went to a bar one afternoon. He'd even asked Amber to go home, since Wilson didn't come, but she had chosen to follow him on the bus out of goodwill.

And she was both his and House's friend.

What a mess.

A/N: Even though I anticipated this season being House's last, I'm still sad to see it end. This show captivated me from the very start: the anti-hero as the hero we all love to hate and hate to love; who seems callous and clinical, but who cares so much for others he needs to distance himself; who carries around so much guilt and self-loathing, but shows none of it; who has been let down by so many others and lives in constant pain; who is so deeply flawed, but still innately good.

I still have so many ideas buzzing around in my head that I intend to turn into fics. I've stuck by this show despite its deteriorating quality, and I'll be here even after its end, writing. There will be more House/Wilson fics coming up, their friendship is just too complex and beautiful for me to leave it to canon.