A/N: Hoopla! Okay, so this is a one shot that I'd written a while back, but not for any specific characters. I've since revised it to make it relevant to the world of House M.D. I hope you enjoy and check out my other stories. Thanks so much for reading!

"He's never looked this bad before," I hear one of the nurses say as I pass by them. I am too tired, too drained to respond to their not-so-private conversation. I know who they're talking about…of course I do. Giving them a withering look, I retreat into his room. Before I even take sight of him, I shut the blinds in the room, blocking the view from the nurses' prying eyes, for I know that my husband isn't well and this is our time.

"Someone out there you don't like or do you just want me all to yourself?"

His playful but weak voice startles me and it is all I can do not to jump as I turn to face him. It is only then that I realize what the nurses were gossiping about. My husband's face is now paler than usual; his emaciated frame is nearly lost in the covers and I feel I might be sick from the sight. His striking blue eyes bore into me with that sad, knowing look they always have; he knows that today is the day.

I put on a smile for him and we both know it's as factitious as can be. I then take my usual seat beside his bed and take his bony hand in mine. He seems so frail and fragile now…not at all like the man I married. We sit in silence for a few moments, knowing neither of us particularly enjoys idle chit-chat and yet we're also too afraid to vocalize what we're really thinking.

He begins to violently cough and I tense as I look from him to his monitors. He'd been having the coughing fits more and more frequently as the cancer progressed and especially after it had metastasized. Every cough was another moment lost – another moment of his life violently ripped away.

The harsh fit lasts for nearly fifteen minutes and by the time his breathing has returned to a semi-normal state, I'm nearly sobbing. Three months…Three months we'd had to cope with the prognosis of death. Three months for me to mourn and come to terms with his impending death and I'd still failed miserably. I hadn't even begun to think of life without him; I couldn't. Now as every breath, every second is hailed as possibly his last, I cannot help but be absolutely terrified of living the rest of my life without him. As the thoughts occur to me, I feel my breath being sucked away. My chest tightens and I struggle to maintain what little composure I seem to have left. He cannot see me cry.

"Don't," He rasps, taking my hand back in his. He, of course, knows what I'm thinking. He could always read me like an open book. "I don't want you to be strong for me."

My eyes meet his as he tells me this and just looking at him is breaking my heart. All the tears I've refused to shed cascade down from my eyes as the dam I'd built falters. As this happens, he pulls me into his once strong arms, holding me so close that I can hear his heartbeat as I openly weep. He knows I need this; he knows I need him and he's determined to make me feel safe.

"What am I going to do?" I ask him between sobs.

"You're going to move on and live your life, Allie," He tells me as his heartbeat weakens. He strokes my hair, trying to help calm me down. I steal a glance up at the monitors. We've not much time left.

"I love you," I tell him and I wish I could do more to help him; to cure him.

"I love you, too," He tells me as his breathing is becoming more and more labored with each passing second. Two rounds of chemo and radiation hadn't slowed the disease from ravaging my husband's body; the treatments I'd insisted he take had seemed to be more deleterious to him than the cancer's symptoms had been. His chestnut hair had fallen out with alarming ease; his stamina and vigor for life were replaced with intense exhaustion and a reclusity of new heights. He had begun losing weight as well, dropping pounds he needn't lose. It was the beginning of the end.

"Allie," He says and I turn my attentions back towards him. His breath is coming in short gasps that are few and far between as his pulse weakens further. "Don't forget how much I love you," He tells me and I can hear the finality of it in his voice. He's saying goodbye.

I lean down to kiss him as he breathes his final breath. The room is suddenly cold as the monitors' melodic beeping is replaced with the harsh cacophony of the flat-line. Our lips meet for the last time and I pull away as a flurry of doctors and nurses enter the room. One calls the time of death and I allow a sob to escape. The sound is almost more piercing than that of the monitor, but I cannot stop. I look at the lifeless form on the bed before me and I finally break down completely. Wilson gathers me in his arms, trying to comfort me, even though we both know it's a futile effort. Greg's gone and now there's nothing more left to do. I can't see it, but Wilson is crying too, though he's not matching the intensity of my sobs.

Two husbands ultimately lost to cancer and here I am being comforted by an oncologist…how fitting. I, Allison Cameron, am a widow a second time. I look upon my husband's face one final time before Wilson ushers me from the room. I sob.

A/N: So not my best work, but not the worst either, right? And yes, I realize that House was a bit out of character, but like I'd said, I'd wrote this without any particular characters in mind…at least not consciously in mind. Anyway, please review!