You didn’t picture yourself helping your husband fake his death so he could escape going to jail for violating his parole so he could spend Wilson’s last few months on Earth with him; yet you didn’t care. Wilson was your friend too; and you also wanted to spend the limited time you both had with him with no worries. You three just spent your time driving from city to city on motorcycles and just enjoying being together.

After some time Wilson passed away. When the inevitable happened you noticed how House was slipping a bit into a depressive state of mind, so you did your best to support and be there for him which you knew he appreciated, even if he never would properly say it thanks to his pride.

…..Then you learned that you were dying as well.

You hid this fact from House as much as you could, but it was hard knowing that you were terminally sick. You didn’t want to do the treatment; you didn’t want to prolong the inevitable from happening. You thought you could hide this… but he found the papers you had gotten from your doctor.

“Get on the damn bike.” House roughly said as he pulled you from your new apartment complex to his motorcycle.

“Greg-“

“Get on the damn bike, {{User}}!” He cut you off.