After his patient, Charlotte, died, all Chris Taub wanted to do was pack up his things and go straight home. He wanted to go home and do nothing but hug and kiss his darling wife, and confess to her how much of an ignoramus he's been, and how sorry he is and how important she is to him and how he's so glad she's his wife and how much he loves her; and always will.
It's funny, Taub thinks to himself on the unusually long drive home, how it always seems to take a tragedy to help someone realize just how lucky they are.
He tries not to hear his ass of a boss's voice mocking him, telling him he wants to prove his love to her simply out of guilt.
He does feel guilty, but he also sincerely and truly, madly and deeply, loves his wife; just sometimes he's not sure he's worth her love…and so, he cheats.
Maybe it's watching a dying man confess his sins to his dying wife, then staying loyally by his side with eyes full of genuine love he rarely showed her as he holds her hand close to his heart, and remain by her side, until the very end.
Maybe it's knowing that Kutner had once claimed him to be a friend and then, in the end, when he could have asked Taub to help him, decided instead to take that friendship for granted.
He feels let down. He feels a fool.
House would call him a hypocrite for feeling let down, but Kutner's a hypocrite too. (He can recall a conversation about suicide in which Kutner stated clearly, "It's people like me who don't do it. When you've gone through as much as I have, the only way out is up." )
He feels cheated. God's laughing at him---because he's cheated people too.
He's let people down (primarily his wife) countless times, so it really shouldn't make him this angry because he knows how the world works: but nevertheless, it does. He feels angry for many reasons, not only because he was lied to.
Angry and guilty, but mostly sad---sad that he couldn't be there for Kutner the way Kutner had been there for him. Sad because a potentially great doctor had thrown his life away. Angry because he'd done so. Angry because Kutner chose the coward's way out. Angry because Kutner knew how he felt about suicide---but, in the end, did the unthinkable anyway. Angry, too, because he had been so self-involved with his own seemingly insurmountable personal problems that he hadn't stopped to ask Kutner at any point how he was doing. Guilty again, because Kutner had always stopped and asked him.
If Kutner considered him a friend, he should have come to Taub and at least made some effort to let him know that he felt suicidal. Or perhaps Kutner felt rejected because he never acknowledged a friendship existed…it's not like he made any effort to be Kutner's friend when he was alive, no matter how many times Kutner tried to bond with him over and over again.
It was much easier when he felt numb, because then he could convince himself that Kutner didn't matter. Kutner was just a colleague; someone he'd worked with now for almost two years' time. They never got together outside of work, but then again, he didn't get together with anyone. In fact, Kutner was the closest thing to a friend he'd had in a very long time, and he'd often confided in Kutner with regards to his marital woes, as though Kutner---being single, over ten years his junior, and never married---would possibly understand.
What was a friend, anyway? Someone who was always there to listen; be a shoulder to cry on? Someone who knew everything about you, possibly knew you better than you knew yourself? Was that even possible, that someone could know you better than you knew yourself? Life wasn't as black and white as it sometimes seemed. He knew the answer wasn't that clear-cut, but sometimes he wished it was, like knowing why a seemingly happy, incredibly brilliant colleague would suddenly decide to stupidly take his own life.
Sometimes he wasn't sure how much he really knew Rachel, even though they'd been married now for almost seven years. Sometimes he wondered how much she really knew him. (He'd gotten away with so much in the past, and during the whole time he'd been cheating on her, she'd never had a clue.) Some times, she felt like his best friend. (She was the person he could always count on being there, no matter what.) Usually he felt this way after they made love, because that was when he felt most closest to her heart. As he lay with her heart beating passionately beating against his chest, he couldn't help feeling as though the universe made sense again, when before everything had seemed entirely upside-down. He knew she still loved him, even then, after everything.
But now, as far as Chris Taub was concerned, there were no easy answers to anything. He thought he'd known Kutner at least to some degree but unfortunately, as it turned out, he hadn't known him at all. (Apparently, he wasn't alone in that department; no one had.)
Maybe Kutner had only thought he'd known Taub as well, since they did nothing that typical friends usually did. Sure, there was the age difference, but maybe that was an excuse...maybe he'd misjudged Kutner. Perhaps they would have found something in common other than comparing the accuracy of their individual medical knowledge. Maybe Kutner would have wound up disappointed. (He wondered what Kutner would have thought about Taub's skipping his own funeral…perhaps he'd be just as pissed off as Taub is now. (Then again, Kutner's spirit probably currently has better things to focus on than him.)
Exhausted being an understatement, Taub puts the finishing touches on Charlotte's paperwork before leaving so that they can get her body to the morgue. The rest of the team, including Cuddy, is presently at Kutner's funeral. He'd selfishly refused to go, telling himself Kutner wouldn't have cared if he stayed with the patient or not; the patient would have been important to Kutner as well.
He calls House to inform him of the patient's death, knowing House could care less about Kutner and probably didn't attend---but, surprisingly, he receives no answer. Typical: her attending who should be directly responsible for her life doesn't answer his phone and leaves the responsibility up to someone else---once again this time, it's him, as usual. (Always the goat---and now, since Kutner's not there to bare some of the burden, even more so. His train of thought makes him nauseated: always thinking of himself…)
Perhaps he's misjudging House as well. House had always treated Kutner as though he was a little lost boy---which could possibly be more accurate than he'd thought, Taub realizes. Now he wonders just as selfishly (as though it could possibly mean the same for him): Was House's treatment of Kutner all just an act?...
Knowing how well Kutner shielded his pain from all of them, it's too hard to tell what anyone's really feeling or thinking anymore. He wonders how House is dealing with all of this. (Probably numbing himself half to death in some bar or getting stoned out of his gourd.)
He asks his subconscious how he's dealing with this. His subconscious replying sagely, with a knowing nod and a wink: Now you know what your parents and peers felt all those years ago when you were young and stupid too, thinking that suicide was the only way out.
Knowing that he could have wound up exactly as Kutner, realizing the only difference was that someone had cared enough to come to his aid, before it was too late. You didn't care enough, his subconscious accuses him darkly.
It had given him a jarring case of déjà vu, watching Charlotte writhe about in an epileptic fit, after she'd previously injected herself with an unnecessary overload of penicillin. It had been a stubborn attempt to kill herself so that her husband could receive her liver and live, and while he'd been initially disgusted by this act, he understood it. It was odd how the only difference between them was that she had done it selflessly out of love, when he had done nearly the exact same thing, conceitedly and out of hate.
He knew it was useless trying to figure out Kutner's reason. He didn't even try. During the long drive home all Taub could think about was how he was possibly going to explain himself to Rachel when he got home.
She'd know immediately, with only one look at his face, that something was terribly, horribly wrong: and, possibly worse, she'd also know that he'd been crying. He didn't want her to think him weak, but he hadn't been able to stop the tears from coming. All day he'd done a masterful job of holding them back and, in the end, Dr. Chase had been right—he wasn't cold-hearted, he'd simply been too stubborn to face it. Not only did he selfishly refuse to go to Kutner's funeral with the others, but when it all came down to it, he'd failed to diagnose his patient in time. The illusion of his independent self-assertiveness shattered, he'd wound up sobbing alone like a motherless child.
He parks the car in the driveway and, after composing himself, forces himself to get outside and head up the walk to their front door. He lets himself inside to an unexpectedly bright foyer, feeling oddly like an intruder---and is relieved to find Rachel relaxing on the couch, watching television with a glass of red wine.
Upon first sight of his face, she flips the television off and stands up, eyes wide with concern and questioning.
Before she even reaches him, he's crying all over again like an idiot, and before she can even ask him what's wrong it's all pouring out of him like he's opened Pandora's box and there's no turning back once he's started. He tells her about Kutner and the gun and Charlotte and the late diagnosis, and how he never saw the first one coming but there was no way for him to know, and how he should have seen the second one coming but didn't he foresee that one, either.
He knows he's scaring her, because she's never seen him look this lost or act this vulnerable in front of her, not once in the entire eight years they've been married. (The only other time he ever remembered being inconsolable was when his brother Randy---who he'd been very close to---had died suddenly from an automobile accident. She wasn't with him then. He wonders whether he would have become as depressed as he'd become, if she had been. So depressed that, eventually, he'd wanted to take his own life too....but that was nobody else's responsibility but his own. If only he'd known back then what he knew now: that life was full of alternatives; they were just sometimes hard to find.)
She doesn't say a word, simply wraps her arms around his shaking body, and now he's sobbing silently against her shoulder because it's so nice to be loved by her---by anyone--- even after he's treated her so thoughtlessly; even when he doesn't think he really deserves it. She's rocking him back and forth gently as though he were her child, affectionately kissing his neck from time to time while caressing his wet cheek.
Like she might a young boy, she takes him by the hand and coaxes him gently over to the couch, sits him down and encourages him to start from the beginning. By the time he finishes, they're both crying, and she holds him in his arms, and he hugs her back as though she's the only thing that's keeping him from flying up into space and he loves her more than words could ever say.
She pours him a glass of wine and holds him, while he watches the flames of the fire flicker like angels across her face. She makes him feel so safe and loved that he winds up telling Rachel things he'd never imagine he would before. He confesses to her about his own suicide attempt when he was in med school---something that he'd once decided he'd never tell anyone he didn't have to--- and when she cries for him, he tells her that it's okay (because it is; it was a lesson he had to learn).
Rachel tells him that a friend of hers once killed herself when she was in high school, and as she talks about her friend she weeps, and he can tell that they were close. He tells her that he's so sorry that she had to go through that. After his glass is empty they go to the bedroom and get under the covers, still talking quietly. They don't make love, but it doesn't seem necessary, because this is as intimate as they've been in years.
They wind up falling asleep sometime close to five am. In the morning over a breakfast of his usual milk and cereal and her usual bread with toast, Rachel suggests that they should both pay a visit to Kutner's parents. She suggests that he should apologize for having missed the funeral.
At first he adamantly refuses, because he's not sure it's his place to do so. He's afraid that going wouldn't bring closure because there never is any when someone kills themselves, because there is no real answer to why they did it. He's also afraid to face Kutner's parents, because maybe they will think he's a jerk for missing their only son's funeral, and simply refuse to see him. Except Rachel points out that he's got nothing to base this knowledge on, and so before he can simply jump to conclusions and change his mind, she insists that he call Cuddy so that he can take the whole day off.
Cuddy is more than agreeable---in fact, she seems pleased---that he's decided to pay his respects and visit the Kutners. However, she warns that House might have his head when he returns, so she begins to tell him the particulars about the team's new case. He should at least put in his two cents' worth into the differential (so that House doesn't think he's abusing mourning privileges, because that is most definitely what House would think). According to Cuddy, he needs to prove to House that he still cares about the case enough to want to keep his job.
Right now Taub doesn't really give a crap what his boss thinks and, though it surprises him, he doesn't really give a crap about the case, either. Currently, he only gives a crap about what he'll say to Kutner's parents---a matter of which remains unresolved. However, unfortunately he knows that Cuddy's right---and the last thing he wants to do is give more fuel to the fire. House already treats him like crap and he doesn't want to have to deal with House's harassment on top of everything else.
So, in order prevent himself from becoming House's personal scapegoat yet again, he humbly puts in his committed two cents. Cuddy seems satisfied and gives him permission, as well as the directions to Kutners' parents' house, which is on the outskirts of Princeton. Gratefully relieved, he thanks her profusely for both her time and discretion, and promptly hangs up so that Rachel can call in sick herself, so that they can have the day off together. She's already agreed to come along with him, because he needs her support and after the intimate night they've had, it seems only right that they do this together.
On the way to Kutners' house, Rachel considers stopping at a local bakery to buy the Kutners a pie. Taub surprises himself when remembering that Kutner once mentioned that his parents were also Jewish (just like Taub) and that they'd probably also appreciate some white fish and some matza-ball soup, too.
Rachel listens, subdued into silence as he described the seven-day mourning period of "Sitting Shiva", during which the bereaved did nothing but sit on low stools or the floor and mourn the person that was lost. He recalls that when his brother Randy had died, watching in horror as his father, a proud man, silently ripped a large gaping tear just above the pocket of his brand-new shirt. (His mother had explained to him gently that this was part of the mourning process, and that this act showed to everyone how much is father missed his brother, and how much he cared.) He remembers vaguely the house being as dark and quiet as a tomb, a single candle being the only source of light, and how it felt oddly comforting to sit in the dark, even though he didn't expect it to be.
Walking into the Kutner's house brought back a swirl of memories Taub had thought had been long forgotten. It's dark just beyond the periphery, and he can smell the feint scent of a candle burning just beyond the doorway. They're promptly greeted by Kutners' adoptive Uncle, a soft-spoken, sorrowful but gentle-eyed man who's almost as short as Taub and introduces himself as Peter. In response to Peter's asking how they had both been connected to Lawrence, Taub finds himself replying stoically, "He was, um, a colleague": but then Rachel jabs him in the side with protest, and he visibly flinches in response, realizing how inaccurate that was. He knows that Kutner was so much more than that, but he's still in a daze and can't relate---somehow, he still can't seem to bring himself to say the word "friend".
He is relieved as Rachel saves the day by adding, "They were very close," and Peter holds the door open, smiling tearfully, allowing the Taub and his wife to enter. He leans into her for support (and she lets him) as they make their way respectfully down the dark corridor and into the living room.
Kutners' parents are both sitting stiffly on short-legged stools, making them very small and lost, though they are surrounded by family. It takes Taub a moment to adjust his eyes to his surroundings, because all the windows are draped and only a working fireplace is illuminating the small, cramped space. "Their names are Julia and Richard," informs Peter, "they don't mind if you say hello."
The first thing Taub notices about Richard is the white shirt he's wearing, and the small tear across the breast, same as his father had done. Richard's eyes are hallow and unseeing, and his expression one of silent misery. Julia's haunted expression seems almost at peace in contrast to her husband's, who seems entirely unaware that Taub and his wife are standing there in front of him. "Mrs. Kutner," says Rachel, gulping for air beside him, sounding so nervous that she might say the wrong thing that his heart aches with love for her, "My name is Rachel Taub. I wish I'd had a chance to have known your son…and I'm… so, so sorry about your loss."
The mother who had just lost her only son returns the statement, much to Taub's astonishment, with an unbreakable spirit and a heartbreaking smile. "Thank you, dear," she says. "How did you know my Lawrence?" she asks.
"Hello, Mrs. Kutner…I'm Dr. Chris Taub." Before he can hesitate, he's holding his hand out to her as though they're about to shake on a business deal, taking her soft hand and smiling at her like an idiot. "I worked with your son at Princeton Plainsboro," he gently explains, as though that means anything now.
He's shocked by how widely she can smile through her grief, and wonders if she feels that she has to put on a brave front. He can tell she's holding back tears. He wants to tell her it's not necessary, that it doesn't do any good...that the pain will force her to confront it eventually. He wants to say all this but knows it's not his place (and what does he know about losing a child?) so he remains silent and respectfully holds his tongue, as she nods in acknowledgement, "Oh yes, you're Lawrence's special friend…He mentioned you a couple of times…he said so many wonderful things. I was hoping I'd get to meet you… I'm sorry that it has to be under these circumstances."
She's apologizing to him? Kutner called him his 'special friend'? Even mentioned his name? Said "wonderful things"?... Somehow it doesn't compute; somehow, he can't quite believe it. She must be thinking of somebody else.
"He was…a brilliant doctor," he hears himself saying instead of running down the list of questions on his mind. "You should be proud of him…I know that I am." Lies…Kutner was brilliant with medicine, but he was stupid when it came to living. Only an idiot takes the coward's way out. There's nothing to be proud about the fate he chose.
He can't say this to Kutner's mother, so he substitutes by saying, "He was a lot of fun to be around…always had a smile on his face…he never seemed to have a bad day." More lies…everyone has bad days occasionally. That Kutner didn't---was that a sign, a bell, a red herring? Something that should have made him pause and ask, "Are you okay"?
"I'm sure you know this yourself," he hears himself saying (because he can't think of anything better to add) "but he was a very compassionate individual…cared about the patients immensely…he was possibly the most compassionate young man I've ever met."
(His voice hitches as he says this, but he's not even sure why. )
"Yes," agrees Julia softly, fondness in her eyes (and he knows that she can see right through his clinical façade), "he was, indeed, very kind…our Lawrence was very special…we knew that from the start, from the very first day that we adopted him, and took him into our home. He was different, and we could tell from the very beginning. We could tell he was special just by looking into his eyes…there was a whole world of possibility in there just waiting to burst forth into the world."
Rachel sniffles beside him, gasping as she struggles not to omit her sobs, and he delicately places a palm on the small of her back, and she immediately silences, seemingly comforted by the gesture.
"I had…very high expectations for him, myself," he confesses with caution and a halting voice to Julia, as his throat feels suddenly very tight and it's becoming increasingly more difficult to pronounce certain words. "He would have done amazing things for medicine, and brought a lot of good to the world." It's another alternative; it's what could have happened. It's a nice story…It's what he'd like to believe.
"I'm sure he would have," agrees Julia Kutner, nodding at him affectionately, smiling bravely through her tears: and his heart breaks just a little bit more, at the sight of it.
In the silence that follows, Taub pauses to steal a careful glance over at Richard, longing to ease the man's grief a bit. Yet he knows there's nothing he can do. Richard is like a phantom, wondering aimlessly in another dimension: a world where only pain exists, and there are no doors to help find the way back.
"Lawrence never had a brother, you know," Julia's telling him, redirecting his attention solely back to her. He doesn't understand the connection; doesn't know why she's telling him this. "He had foster siblings," Julia adds hesitantly, "but…he said they always acted like he was an inconvenience; someone that his foster siblings had to look after because he was so young; someone who was simply forced to tag along."
Taub's heart sinks down to the very pit of his stomach as he realizes where she might be going with this, but he won't dare himself to even entertain the possibility. Even as he rejects the notion, he suddenly recalls vividly the first time Kutner invited himself to join Taub in the cafeteria, silently expressing an almost desperate need for equal amounts companionship, attention, sound advice and lunch money. What occurred once soon became ritual, as Taub paid for Kutner's lunch each day and Kutner became his loyal lunch partner. He'd always secretly wondered why Kutner had chosen him when he could have easily chosen Foreman; Foreman, having seniority, obviously had more money than he did.
"He always wanted to have an older brother," Julia continued, her eyes holding him in place (in spite of his urge to walk away), "someone that he could look up to…"
He's looking away from her now, because he's almost certain he won't be able to hold his face in place if he continues looking her straight in the eye.
"You were the closest thing that he had to a brother, Chris," Julia said, smiling fondly up at him; he can sense her smile now, without even looking. "You should know that."
He still can't look at her, not even as Rachel slips her hand into his own and gives it a little squeeze for comfort.
When he finds himself able to speak, he whispers a trembling, barely audible "Thank you" in her direction, as he forces himself to look at her. She's smiling at him with such affection, as though she's known him all his life. He doesn't know what else to say. He's uncertain of the protocol when it comes to these particular circumstances. So he just smiles a small, tentative smile, and then he adds a short "goodbye" before his emotions can betray him.
"Thank you for giving me the chance to meet you," Julia says, eyes shining brightly with unshed tears, stopping him before he turns towards his wife and prepares themselves to leave. "You meant so much to Lawrence…I'm glad he got the chance to work with you."
He nods, but doesn't speak, because he can't. "Let's go, sweety," he says, giving Rachel a tender pat: to which she promptly complies, pausing to tell Julia a heartfelt goodbye.
Taub takes another longing glance towards Richard Kutner. The man still hasn't moved, and it's clear he's got a long way to go before reality sinks in.
He stops by the lit candle and, remembering that Lawrence Kutner's heritage, softly recites a short Hindu prayer he'd learned once from a friend: "Let your eye go to the Sun; your life to the wind; by the meritorious acts that you have done, go to heaven, and then to the earth again." He hopes that somewhere Kutner has forgiven him for his own ignorance. To show how much he means it, he tears a small hole over his heart. Rachel hugs him from around the waste, and he wishes he could thank Kutner for this day, even if that's a strange thought to have.
Somehow when they both go outside, everything seems brighter.