Guardian Angel
Chapter One - Tumbling Downhill

"Rachel, look, I'm sorry, but I told you that my boss--"

"Oh yes, blame it on your boss, again. I'm really starting to lose faith in you, Chris, I really am."

Taub stared incredulously at his wife, stared at the un-shed tears in her eyes, stared at the hands balled into fists at her sides. The picture of his angry spouse drained energy from him. He knew that she had called Wilson just to make sure that House really wasn't keeping them at the hospital.

With a sigh, Taub ran a hand over the remainder of his thinning hair, turning his eyes to the floor. "I guess that I'm on the couch tonight."

For a moment, he thought he was imagining it, he swore that he heard her growl under her breath before hollering, "Just get out of my sight!"

Without another word, Taub trudged out of the room, knowing better than to talk back, even if it were for the last word. He tugged at the tie wrapped around his neck, loosening it before throwing it to the floor.

He wasn't cheating on her. At least, not this time. But maybe what I'm doing could be considered cheating... Cheating life and death, that is.

As he sat on the couch, he noticed a bottle of beer sitting on the coffee table in front of him. Upon sighting it, he lifted his eyebrows at the object that definitely hadn't been there before, seeing as he had just arrived from the hospital moments ago and his wife was an extreme neat freak. He reached out to grab it, huffing a sigh when realization dawned on him.

"Damn, you're really having fun with this, aren't you?" Taub whispered under his breath, adopting a tone much too quiet for his wife to hear, let alone anyone within arms' reach.

A chuckle rang in his ears, and as soon as he heard it, he knew that it was only for him, only his ears could hear this hollow sounding laugh that had plagued his thoughts for the past week.

"Of course I am. Wouldn't you, if you were me?"

"Well, I'm sure that having a bullet buried in your brain must be oodles of fun," Taub muttered, knowing in the back of his mind he must look like someone who belonged in the hospital he worked in, talking to nothing. Surely if I told someone that I could hear him, they'd send me there straight away. Or maybe to a mental institute.

"Well, if I knew that I would end up doing this, then do you think I would kave killed myself? I really don't know what I did to deserve this."

Sinking into the leather of his living room couch, Taub replied, "Oh, well, that makes me feel better about having a spirit following me around, making me talk to myself in public."

"Hey, it's not like I'm the one making you talk back to me. You're doing that by yourself." The voice paused for a moment, as if catching himself from his verbal lapse. "Well, just think of me as your guardian angel, Chris. After all, I can see and hear things things that you can't."

Taub scowled at that point, twisting the cap of the beer in his hands. It popped off as soon as he gave one flick of his wrist, startling him as it slipped loose in his grip. He lifted his eyes skyward and tightened the fingers wrapped around the neck of the bottle.

"As much as you'd like to think I'm in some sort of otherly world, I'm actually sitting right beside you, so stop looking at the ceiling," the voice stated just as Taub opened his mouth to speak. His scowl deepened as he gulped down some of the amber contents of the bottle.

"Although I do admit this is really freaking cool, I don't know why I ended up with you, of all the people I knew."

Setting the bottle back on the table, Taub rolled his eyes, pulling his shirt out of his pants as he replied, "Maybe it has something to do with you still being able to contact the living world. Have you tried talking to anyone else?"

The voice seemed to consider this, a low humming sound filling Taub's ears. "Actually... When I saw you again, I started to panic. But if I got too far from you, something would tug me back to you. I can't resist it; like, if I put a certain distance between us, then I would just freeze and slowly float back to you."

Taub downed the rest of his beer, slamming it back onto the table as he settled more comfortably on the couch. With his head on a cushion, he reached under the sofa and retrieved a gray blanket he stored there for nights like this. He stretched out his legs and heard the voice yelp into his ears.

"Woah! You... Your legs go right through me..." The exclamation was startling in his mind, but it softened as though the speaker realized that it was quite an obvious outcome of Taub's actions.

Tiredly, Taub glanced over at the general direction of his knees, nodding absently. "Yes. I'm sorry if it's such a shock to you that you're not solid, seeing as you died a week ago."

Yawning, he snuggled into the building warmth of the blanket as he was faced with silence. he figured that he would be let alone to sleep for the night, as he was sure that the other knew how much it was needed to deal with their-- his boss. He winced at the slip; ever since the voice appeared in his head, he'd dropped back to old habits and referred to him as if he were still living. The memories of their first meeting three days ago played through his mind, lulling him to a deep sleep.

With a groan, I dropped my head onto the table, seeing a blurry reflection of my face in the dark wood of the bar. It surprised me to see how terrible I looked; dark bags under my eyes, wrinkles deeper than usual, the lack of hair screaming at my bloodshot eyes.

I didn't know why I was still here. It had officially been one week since they found his body, and yet I didn't know better than to go home to Rachel, where I could drink in company. The comfort of my loving wife would have been warm. Maybe that's why I prefer to be here, comfortably numb in this cold state of mind.

The dim lights of the bar winked at me from the fourth bottle of beer sitting in front of my head. The thumping beats of low music in the background reminded me of the fact that I would have to go to work again tomorrow, the sound resembling that of a cane hitting linoleum floors. I grimaced, sitting up to down the rest of the contents of my drink.

Damn, this was pretty pathetic. I shouldn't be feeling this, this hollow loneliness that had settled in the pit of my stomach. The drinks never filled it. The consoling words of Thirteen, Cuddy, even Wilson never filled it. Not even the warm, slightly suffocating love of Rachel could fill it, and it aggravated me to no end. I shouldn't even be feeling it. It was only Kutner. We were never that close anyway.

Were we?

The dark insides of the empty bottle seemed to tell that we really were. Otherwise, I wouldn't be spending so much money on the beer that used to fill it. Otherwise, I wouldn't be spending so much time trying to convince myself that he really didn't mean so much to me as to bring be to these lows. But as I glanced down at my watch, I remembered the time I had spent with him, the time that I had taken to be with him.

I thought he was just a kid, when I first saw him sitting in the chair below me in that lecture hall two years ago. Feet propped up the the chair beside him, covered in shoes I only really saw on teenagers nowadays, collar open and loose around the base of his neck, revealing the shape of his clavicle, a pair of jeans topping off the casual attire. The urge to confirm that yes, he was here to compete against me and the other thirty-eight applicants sitting with us bubbled in my throat.

It dimmed after the weeks of working with him, almost disappearing every time he took hold of the defibrillators next to a crashing patient. It dimmed after we were both selected to work with House together, along with Thirteen and Foreman. It dimmed when he heard that his parents had been shot in front of him. It dimmed when he told me that he had set up an on-line clinic under House's name. It dimmed when he left me to apologize to someone he picked on in high school.

Other things seemed to stir in me when he was around. Conversations about a friendship that I never really noticed before made me feel as if I really did mean something in someone's life, along with exchanged cups of coffee; watching him get screwed over by House over a cat made me question his capacity of intelligence, but when I saw his rebuttal, it only amused me further.

I knew what it was like to have friends, but never one like Kutner.

I paid for the last beer I had, heaving myself off a bar stool. Heading over to the door, I opened it, feeling a rush of cool April air hit my body. A shiver ran through my spine, so I tugged my jacket closer to my body as I made my way down the street. The bar was pretty close to my house; not close enough to attract drunkards by the shining porch lights, but at least within reasonable walking distance. More the reason to stop by for a quick drink.

I didn't want to go back home. I didn't want to face my wife, my life, reality. I didn't want to see that the world was getting over Kutner's death when I was not. I don't see why I'm still on his death when other people aren't. It annoys me. In the back of my mind, I have an odd feeling that I've said this before, but something seems different this time around.

Stopping in my tracks, I take a look around, feeling the presence of another person. After scanning the area for a moment, I see nothing but the yellow lights of the streetlamps hanging above me, casting an eerie glow. As I look down, my shadow seems larger than usual. I don't recall gaining any excess weight...

"Don't worry, Taub, you're not getting fat."

Startled, I looked around again. Huffing, I realize that I already looked around, and that the voice was still ringing in my ears, as if the words had been whispered loudly into my ears. Panic was settling into my veins, my mind already buzzed from the alcohol, rational thoughts escaping me. I raised shaking hands to my ears, feeling my eyes widen uncomfortably.

"Wh-Who's there?" I ask to nothing, turning on the spot as I search for the source of the voice. Could someone have slipped something into my ear when I was drinking? I dipped a finger into my ear and felt nothing. What the hell was happening? I hadn't had that many beers. I could still walk in a straight line, after all.

"Can't even recognize my voice? It's only been one week, man. Maybe it changed when I died..."

My breath hitched in my throat when the voice registered in my mind. What the hell? Kutner was talking to me in my head? Was I going insane?

"What the hell... K-Kutner? Is that you?"

"Of course it's me! What other dead man do you know that would talk to you?" Kutner paused, and I could practically hear the smiling smugness in his voice as he added, "I know what you were thinking earlier. It's great to hear that I matter to you so much that I plague your thoughts at night."

I rolled my eyes, dropping my hands to my sides. "Well I'm sorry if the death of a colleague upset me." Inhaling deeply, I started to walk again, just in case someone saw me talking to myself in public. My hands were still shaking; I could hear them rattling against my pockets, my keys jangling in response to the vibration. "I just... I guess I must really need some sleep. I can't believe that I'm talking to myself just because my grief is starting to get to me."

"Dude, listen to me. This is not just some mental thing weirding you out. This really is me! I know it must seem insane to you, but you have to hear me out, man," he pleaded, his voice adopting a barely controlled stressed tone. The strangeness of it stood out to me; maybe being dead made him lose his control... "I... Don't stop talking to me. Please...? This is freaking me out just as much as it's freaking you out, man."

The fear in his voice struck me. I swallowed an newly developed lump in my throat. I knew somewhere in the back of my mind that the alcohol in my system was making me somewhat irrational, listening to the pleads of the dead, but I couldn't find it in my heart to deny the frightened... spirit. Yes, that's what he was, a spirit. He hadn't come back to life or anything, just... tagging around me, I guess...

Shaking my head, I figured that it was too much stress on my alcohol ridden mind to try and figure out just what the hell was happening at this moment. Instead, I decided that I might as well humor him to keep that soft, pleading voice from revealing itself again. "If this isn't some stress and beer getting to me, then just what the hell is this, Kutner?"

"Honestly, I don't know..." he replied, voice disheartened to a soft murmur. "But... I don't really know what happened. I know I shot myself. After that, it was just... black. When I could see things again, I don't even remember feeling anything. I saw my own funeral. I saw my parents, and Cuddy, Wilson, Foreman, Cameron, Chase, and Thirteen there. I... I didn't see you or House there..." Kutner's hollow voice was getting quieter and quieter as he related his faint memories to me. "I saw you crying at the hospital, though... That was when I felt a pulse of pain, but it was really weird... I had no body, just a desire to see what was happening to you guys at the hospital... Not my family, not my other friends..."

I could sense that the revelation was just occurring to him, enthusiasm finding its way back into his voice.

"I saw you crying... And then it went black again... The next thing I knew, I saw you sulking again, at some bar or something. Not this one though. I think this was a few days after they buried me," he continued. I grimaced; this was a recollection of my "private mourning", as Rachel liked to call it. "That same pulse of life ran through me again, except this time it was longer. Then... it fades out to today. I found myself at the bar, sitting beside you. Except that... I wasn't. I wasn't really there, because I know that I was dead. I couldn't be there. But I saw you, and then the pain was there again, and I could hear everything that you were thinking about me. It was as if you shouting it aloud to me, that's how hard it shook me. You walked out, and I followed you, and now we're here." I heard him swallow, and the eerie emptiness of the sound elicited a shiver from my body.

"So you're saying that... I brought you back to earth?" I asked, thoroughly incredulous. A flush was burning my cheeks, but I wasn't so sure that it was just the alcohol anymore. "It was me that made you... feel again?"

He laughed, but it was somewhat dry. That lump returned, and I gulped it down, recognizing that kind of stoicness used to detach yourself from situations that really blew you away.

"Yeah, I guess you did, Chris," Kutner said, his voice light as if he were admitting a huge secret to himself. I suppose that he was. "And I have a feeling you'll be stuck with me for a while."

Somehow, that didn't seem as bad as he made it out to be.

A/N: Sorry, inspiration struck me when I saw Amber yesterday. This idea must be in the process of being written by thousands of writers, but hey, would you pass up a chance to write Kutner coming back to life after last week's episode? I admit the idea will be very, very cheesy when I finish, but hopefully I'll do it at least a little bit of justice...

Sorry for a bit of OOCness, Taub is drunk and Kutner is dead. Is there anymore to say?