Four Women

He didn't remember much. He didn't remember taking the pills. He didn't remember Wilson breaking down the door. He didn't remember the gurney, the bright lights, the ambulance ride, getting his stomach pumped.

He remembered, vaguely, feeling like shit and wanting it all to be over.

And now, in his room, he remembered hovering, concern, murmurs, hands on his forehead, hands on his wrist. The steady beat of a heart monitor.

He opened his eyes. Wilson, looking like he was going to cry.

He closed them.

Opened them again, an older woman—his mother?—saying his name over and over again: "Greg, Greg, Greg, Greg . . ."

He closed them again.

Opened them.

A woman standing by his bedside—tall, lithe, regal.

Stacy.

"You idiot," she said.

"I'm feeling much better," he said. "Thanks for asking."

"What the hell were you thinking?"

"That I would never have to have a conversation like this again."

"It's not funny, House. That wasn't a suicidal gesture. That was an actual suicide attempt."

"I'm a go-getter," he said. "I don't like to do things half way."

"If Wilson hadn't come at that precise moment. . ."

"He always liked to get in the way of a good time."

"You took the coward's route," Stacy said.

"I never said I was anything less than a coward."

"The man I knew was a not a coward."

"I'm not that man anymore."

"Of course you are."

"You have no idea, Stacy. You have no idea what I've been through."

"I know everything," she said. "All of it. Cuddy. The car. Prison. But I never took you for a quitter."

"I didn't quit on the world. The world quit on me. There's a difference."

"Bullshit," she said.

"It's gotten so much worse than you can possibly imagine," he said.

"What? Your leg?"

"It started with my leg. Yes."

"We both know that when you're happy, you can manage the pain."

"Happy?" he chuckled grimly. "What's that?"

"Wilson said you were happy."'

"For a blink of an eye, Stacy. It was an illusion. A cruel joke the universe played on me to show me the good life that I can never have."

"God. When did this self-pity creep in?" she said, derisively. "The Greg House I knew would hate the pathetic shell of a man lying in this hospital bed."

"Believe me, he does."

She shook her head.

"What happened to you, House? You had confidence. You were funny. Sexy. Yes, you were an asshole sometimes. But you were a swashbuckler, a hero."

"Heroes don't drive their cars into other people's homes," he said.

"No, but they save lives."

"I save complete strangers lives," he said. "And I ruin the lives of everyone who is stupid enough to love me."

"You didn't ruin my life," she said evenly.

"Didn't I?"

She paused. "No. . . not ruin. You put me through the ringer, but I emerged stronger. And for that, I'll always be grateful."

"Hooray for me," he said ironically.

"And you know, despite it all, I've never stopped loving you," she said.

"Then you're a bigger fool than I thought."

"Perhaps. But I've always thought you were worth loving. I still feel that way. I only wish you agreed."

He closed his eyes.

####

More voices. Shadowy figures. The stench of concern. His mother again, "Greg, my baby. My son. . ."

He kept listening for the one voice he wanted to hear. But she wasn't there.

####

He opened his eyes again. A beautiful, wide-open face, practically moist with compassion: Cameron.

"How are you feeling?" she said softly.

"What are you doing here?"

"I came as soon as I found out."

"But why?"

"Why? Because you're my mentor. My teacher. My. . .friend. Because I still care about you."

"Why?"

"Because you're a good man, House. Underneath all the sarcasm and the bile— you've always been a good man."

"You've always wanted me to be a good man."

"I saw the real you," she said, stubbornly.

"You saw an idealized version of me. The real me is a terrible person."

"Everything you did—even the bad things—was always for a reason," she protested. "To get to the truth. To save a life. To teach a valuable life lesson."

"Then why did I drive a car into Cuddy's house and nearly kill four people?"

"What?" she said, genuinely taken aback. "You wouldn't do something like that."

Out of the corner of his eye, he looked at her. Saw the shock registering on his face.

"So you hadn't heard," he said.

"No! And I . . .don't believe you would do something like that."

"Believe it."

"But. . .why?"

"Because I was out of control. My whole life has been spiraling out of control."

"There must've been some reason. Some greater good you were trying to achieve. . ."

"No. I'm a miserable son of a bitch. And I want the whole world to be as miserable as I am."

"Cuddy must've done something to provoke you."

"No," he said. "Her only mistake was being stupid enough to love me."

"I was. . .stupid enough to love you."

"But you don't really know me, Cameron."

####

Darkness again. Fewer voices. A kind of eerie calm. The damn heart monitoring still beating. He couldn't even kill himself right.

He opened his eyes.

A woman was curled up, asleep in a chair next to his bed. He squinted. It couldn't be. . . But it was her.

He used to watch her sleep. He used to watch her sleep and watch the rise and fall of her chest and marvel over his dumb luck.

"Cuddy," he said softly.

She stirred, blinked, woke up.

"Hi," she said groggily.

"You came," he said.

"Apparently so."

"But why?"

"I'm not so sure myself," she admitted.

"I never thought I'd see you again."

"You never thought you'd see anybody again," she said.

He gave a grim smile. She was always so good at calling him on his bullshit.

"There's so much I want to say to you," he said.

"Don't House. Not now. Just focus on yourself. Focus on getting better."

"I'm sorry," he said.

"But death means never having to say your sorry, right?" she said.

"I'm not dead."

"But you wanted to be."

"Yeah. . .But I'm here now. And I need you to accept my apology."

"If it means you'll stop hurting yourself. Yes, House. I accept your apology."

They were quiet.

"Why'd ya do it?" she asked finally—almost a plea.

"Because I fuck up everything beautiful that I touch."

He looked at her.

She got up from the chair. Took his hand.

"If you died, a part of me would die, too. You know that, right?"

"No," he said. A stray tear rolled down his cheek. He hadn't even realized that he'd been crying. "I didn't know that."

"No matter what has happened between us, you're in my heart. You're part of me. I'll never stop loving you."

"Take me back," he said, not afraid to let the desperation register in his voice. "I'll leave Princeton. I'll follow you anywhere. To the end of the earth. I'll make it up to you. To you and Rachel both. . .I want to to be happy again."

"We'll see, House. Just close your eyes. Try to get some sleep. We'll talk in the morning."

####

Sunlight pouring through the curtains. House blinked at the light.

Wilson was sitting in the chair next to his bed.

"Welcome back, friend," Wilson said, with a soft smile. "Thanks for scaring the shit out of me."

"Sorry," House said.

"It's okay. It's good to sink to the bottom. You have no place to go but up."

"Leave it to you to put an optimistic spin on my suicide attempt."

"I mean it, House. And I'm going to help you every step of the way."

"That's what I'm afraid of."

But he smiled, to let his best friend know how much he appreciated him.

"So where are the four femme fatales?" House asked.

"Excuse me?"

"My mother. Cameron. Stacy. . .Cuddy."

"What? They're not here, House."

"What do you mean they're not here? They all came to visit me last night—to see me."

"House you've been unconscious for the past two days. No one has been here, except for me."

House's mouth dropped open.

"But Cuddy. . .she was here. In that chair. She told me she loved me," he said.

"House, you dreamt it."

House was quiet for a long time.

"And my mother? Stacy? Cameron?"

"No, House. Just me and the doctors."

"It all seemed so real. . ."

"The subconscious is a vivid place," Wilson said. "Especially yours."

"Fuck," House said, under his breath. "I thought she still loved me. I thought she was going to forgive me. . .I'm such a fool."

"You thirsty, House?" Wilson said, deftly trying to change the subject. "You want me see if I can wrangle you some fruit juice from the cafeteria or something?"

"I'd prefer a scotch neat," House said. "But I'll take the fruit juice."

Wilson smiled wearily, got up.

When he left the room, he approached a woman in the waiting area.

"You didn't go visit him last night, did you?" he whispered.

"No," Cuddy said. "I . . wanted to, but I didn't dare."

"He was talking crazy. He said you'd been to see him."

"I hope you didn't tell him I was here."

"No," Wilson said, somewhat testily. "You asked me not too, so I didn't. But I wanted to, Cuddy. He was crushed. He thought you forgave him."

Cuddy sighed, looked down at her hands.

"You are going to go see him, right?" Wilson said. "I mean, you drove 8 hours in the middle of the night to be here."

"To make sure he was alive."

"You knew he was alive yesterday. But you stayed a second night."

Cuddy closed her eyes.

"I can't leave yet," she admitted. "I don't know why. But I can't."

"Then go talk him. It's what you both want."
"I don't know if I can. . ."

To be continued. . .