HOLDING ON.

Wilson knocked on the door... he knew House wasn't obligated to let him in at all; that, as a matter of fact, House probably wouldn't let him in... but he tried none the less, because there were things he had to say... because he was Wilson and Wilson never left.
"I know you're in there... look, I have to tell you something: I'm sorry."

"Since when is that good enough?" House whispered... a bullet was staring at him from the barrel of a gun... people often wondered what the exact last thoughts of those who commited suicide were:

Nobody Likes me.
It's the only way.
They'll miss me now.
See you soon...
Goodbye, cruel world?

but no... it actually was the moment of life or death! and in that moment, you keep it short:

Freedom.
Delivery.
God...
It's over.
I'm done...
Shit.

or even shorter: a sigh, a tear...

a smile.

***

Gregory House was smiling... lights danced in his bright blue irises as they looked at the gun:

It was a ticket to heaven... or hell, in House's case. At least he thought so: sounded like a lot more fun.
a ticket away from earth... from misery.

"House... let me in!" Wilson pounded on the door: he'd been through this once already... and it wasn't happening again!

Maybe House had overdosed or something... but Wilson wasn't going to walk away this time: it was his right, yes... but it wasn't him, and he proved that by standing there.

eventually... he just broke the door down, stormed inside and froze:

"House... don't... you don't have to... you can't just..." he stuttered when he saw House with the gun.

House sighed: "why are you here?" He pulled off the safety lock... ready to fire. and he was so... nuteral: he made it look as ordinary as feeding Steve McQueen!

"House..! no, don't do this... don't House... I'm sorry, I'm an idiot... you're not gonna do this, right? You wanted me here... I'm here, look!"

"Great, now leave." House said in a conversational tone. "Sorry isn't good enough, remember? I'd hate for you to see me die, though... all that braintissue flying around and stuff... oh wait: you couldn't care less, right? Last time I bared my brain, my only asset just so you had an answer... you could would've let me die if that would've saved her, right?"

"House... that's not true!"

an amused smile made its way onto House's face:
"Don't lie, Jim... you know I can tell. I'm just a brain, right? didn't have the answer you wanted, so you left. Won't give you the desired answer now either... so go on: walk away."

"No." Wilson inched closer: "You don't have to do this... not to prove a point."

House laughed: "This isn't about you, Wilson." House now looked up at Wilson for the first time: "Misery follows me." Wilson cringed. "I'm not gonna fight, Wilson. Why should I? There will be a next time... I'm not stupid; I won't be waiting around for it."
He placed the gun to his head.

"House! No!"

"Shut up, moron!"

Wilson leapt forward and impulsively did something he would live to regret forever:

He kicked House in the right thigh.

House folded into himself: his hands instinctively went to the thigh, thus dropping the gun... Wilson threw it away and then he restrained an angry House: "I'm sorry... I'm so sorry, House... I had to do it... I'm sorry!" He was crying as he rubbed House's back and held him tightly... House cursed him, wished him dead... and he apologized at least a thousand times: this was the ultimate betrayal.

House's leg was sacred...

House wasn't really alive,
and Wilson wasn't really a hero...

both were simply there,
and neither knew for sure if that was good or bad.