It had been a week since Amber's death. House couldn't make it to the funeral, as he'd been moved from ICU after two days but was still hospitalized. On top of all the other guilt he felt, he keenly regretted not being there for Wilson. Wilson was still home, having spent the week involved in contacting Amber's family, making funeral arrangements, and moving his stuff from her apartment. He couldn't stay there after that first night, when he'd found the note under her pillow. It was just too hard to be surrounded by all her things. He gave the landlord notice, returned to the hotel, and let Amber's parents go through her belongings.

Wilson hadn't been to see House since the day House woke from his coma. Cuddy was a nearly constant presence in his room, and had given Wilson updates on his condition, but she didn't press him to see House; she knew he needed space and some time to recover a little. But House was about to be released, and Cuddy thought the chill between them had gone on long enough, so she stopped by Wilson's hotel room on the night before House's release. She knocked on the door and got no response. She knocked again.

"Who is it?" Wilson asked. Cuddy shuddered at the sound of his voice. It was like the voice of a robot, dull and lifeless.

"Cuddy. Can we talk for just a minute?"

"Yeah, I guess." Wilson opened the door and Cuddy walked in.

"How are you doing?"

Wilson shrugged. "Okay."

"It was a beautiful service. Are her parents still here?"

"No. They left. They'll be back in a couple weeks to finish clearing out the apartment. If you're here to find out when I'll be back to work, all I can say is I don't know, 'cause I just don't think I can do it right now."

"Of course not. Take as long as you need. No, I wanted to let you know that House is going home tomorrow. He still has a way to go, but he's ready to be released."

"Thanks for letting me know."

"That's it?"

"What else?"

"I just thought that now that he'll be home, and you can visit him privately, you might want to, I don't know – see for yourself how he's doing."

"I'm not sure I'm up for that."

"Are you angry with him? Is that it? Because he's not the one to blame, Wilson. He did everything he could to figure out Amber's case, putting his own health at risk several times. Why do you think he did that?"

"Because he's obsessively addicted to solving the puzzle."

"You know better."

"Because he's used to his mind working like a damn computer, and when it couldn't he was frustrated beyond belief."

"No, you know better."

Wilson stared at Cuddy and then looked away. He sat on the bed and looked like he was about to break down completely. Finally, he said, "Because he's my friend."

"Right. He's actually way more than your friend. He values you so much that he was willing to risk his life to help Amber, to help you."

Wilson teared up briefly, wiped at his eyes so Cuddy wouldn't notice, and then asked "How's he really doing?"

"The brain swelling is down, and the skull fracture's starting to heal. He still has headaches and some bouts of short-term memory loss, and he gets dizzy sometimes when he tries to stand, but -- like I said, why don't you go see for yourself?"

"I'll think about it."

"Please, Wilson. Do more than think about it. He needs to see you. He thinks you hate him, and it's not helping his recovery."

"I don't hate him. I just hate the situation."

"I know. And I understand."

"What time is he going home?"

"Probably around noon."

Wilson nodded. "I can't make any promises. But I'll try to stop by his apartment in the afternoon."

"Thanks, Wilson." Cuddy turned to leave, then turned back. "You look exhausted. Have you been sleeping?"

"Not much."

"Well, try to get some rest. Maybe a sleeping pill?"

"I've tried them. I still can't sleep."

"See him. Maybe that'll help."

Wilson laughed derisively, and said, "Or just give me more reasons for insomnia."

"Wilson… I know this is hard." She put her hand on his arm. "Just take it slow."

"Thanks for coming by, Cuddy. And thanks for looking out for him."

"What else would you expect me to do? Someone has to."

"And that was always my job."

"No, it's a job we share, Wilson. Don't feel like it's all on you. I do it because he matters to me. Both of you matter to me. Good night. Try to sleep."

"I will. Thanks again."