You don't know there's nothing, you haven't been there.
Those words were haunting him. The aftermath was lying in front of him. Maybe if he hadn't said anything, House wouldn't have taken such a gamble with his life. He was probably giving himself too much credit, too much influence over his friend's life and decision making process but clearly something lead to this decision. He couldn't help but blame himself.
"So did you want to die? Or were you just trying to see the white light?" Wilson managed to whisper.
His question wasn't answered. House didn't move or make any motion to acknowledge he'd heard his friend speak. He was still, lifeless. Wilson sat down and let out a sigh of frustration.
House's hand was burned terribly. It looked like it hurt. He wondered if that pain, combined with the pain of his leg was killing him. Wilson figured House was pain free now. His face void, his body so painfully still. He couldn't help but reach out and brush his hand through the older man's hair. Maybe it would rouse him.
"You're such an idiot. I can't even comprehend what you were thinking here! Since when did you care what I said? Why did you even take it to heart?" Wilson sighed.
House remained unresponsive to him.
"So did you prove yourself right? Or were you wrong? When are you going to tell me I told you so?" He asked.
But his friend made no response, no explanation.
He sighed, running his hands through his own hair now. He was tired. He'd been there for hours, woken by the frantic call from the new duckling candidate who'd been paged when House did his stunt. He'd paced for what seemed like forever waiting for them to give him information on his friend's condition. He'd dealt with the staff and tried to figure out House's patient in the diagnostician's absence.
"Why do you always have to be right? What the hell made you think that this would go well? Just to prove some idiot wrong? Just so that you could say I told you so to him and a dying man? You're such an idiot!" Wilson's voice shook slightly.
But there was nothing coming from the House.
"I'm never going to forgive myself for this. I'm never going to forget that that last thing I said to you challenged you to do this stupid stunt. You're such a bastard House."
He heard the sound of the door open and he didn't look away from his friend lying there. The room was cold and dimly lit. He felt the slight chill as he looked one last time at his friend's face, then to the intruder on his moment. It was Cuddy, as expected, somberly waiting by the door for him. He looked at her briefly before taking in a shaking breath and stepping away from the table.
"It doesn't seem right, seeing House lying there in a morgue for something so ridiculous. He's smarter than that." Cuddy whispered.
"Can I just have one more minute?" Wilson said.
"No one's rushing you James. Take your time." She smiled sadly, patting his arm and leaving, her heels clicking loudly in the empty and echoing halls.
He turned once more and went back to the side of the table. He pulled the sheet up and just before bringing it over House's face he looked at him again. He felt the tears stinging in his nasal cavity, and they were starting to fill his eyes. His friend was gone forever, and he was partly to blame.
"I hope you were wrong, House." He whispered.
With those as his final words, he slipped the sheet over the older man's head and left the morgue.