Thought of this while listening to the song Perfect – Pink

Carefully, Doctor Gregory House stared at the gun in his hand. He had contemplated suicide many times, but now he actually had the means. He had lost everything when Cuddy decided that she did not love him, and even when he was needed most, House felt that Wilson was beginning to move farther away as well. No one else cared for him besides those two, and if both of them were gone, who would be left for him to turn to? Whom could he rely on to keep him from letting his mind and love for Vicodin take over again?

Looking at his perfectly arranged desk with the two letters sitting side by side, addressed to Lisa Cuddy and James Wilson, House double-checked the bullets in his gun, put the barrel to his chest and fired. As the buck of the barrel caused the bullet to go slightly high, House felt a shooting pain close to his heart and then nothing as he fell unconscious.

:::

Slowly, Wilson paced in front of House's door contemplating what he was going to say. He knew that House was depressed and the last time something like this happened, House had OD on some stolen pills in his apartment. Worried now, Wilson raised his hand to knock when gunfire erupted from behind the closed curtains.

"Code Blue," Wilson yelled at the top of his lungs, fear infusing his words. "Get me a crash cart!"

Without a moment's hesitation for politeness, Wilson punched through the glass, ignoring the pain erupting in his left hand and wrist as he unlocked the door and ran in. Stopping short at the scene, Wilson immediately went from friend mode to doctor mode, trying to hold in the shock. There was a neat bullet hole in House's chest, bleeding heavily and right above the heart. Ripping strips of cloth from his jacket, Wilson tried to stop the bleeding, but only managed to slow it.

There was the sound of running feet in the hallway but that did not matter to the friend. All that mattered was that his friend was close to death. Rather than feeling for a pulse since he did not trust his trembling fingers, Wilson grabbed the stethoscope from around his neck, placed the earpieces in his ears and placed the cold metal on his friend's chest.

Listening carefully, Wilson was alert enough to hear a single feeble beat before nothing, no respiration or a pulse.

"Greg," Wilson cried as he ripped the stethoscope from his ears. Pressing down firmly on the man's chest, Wilson counted under his breath. "1, 2, 3, 4, 5," he whispered after each compression. "Come on House, breathe dammit."

Wilson could hear the crash cart rolling up behind him, but there was no time for an endotracheal tube House needed air, now. Taking a deep breath, Wilson tiled his friend's head back slightly and moved the man's jaw open. Pinching his friend's nose shut, Wilson placed his mouth on House's, forming a seal as he exhaled sharply. Doing the same thing once more, Wilson placed an ear to house's chest, but there was still nothing.

Distraught, Wilson began to let the tears fall. Ripping his friend's shirt open, Wilson bared the older man's chest as he grabbed the defibrillator paddles a nurse had handed him. "Charge to 200 joules," he called.

"Charging," a familiar voice called from behind him.

Turning, Wilson found himself staring at Lisa Cuddy, whose eyes were filled with pain, fear and determination. As she nodded, Wilson placed the paddles to his friend's chest and hit the shock button. As House jerked into the air, Wilson quickly felt for a pulse, but there was still nothing.

"Please House, don't do this," Wilson whispered as a nurse bagged the other doctor. "Please, don't die."

:::

House was no longer in a world of pain or fear; he was in a world of happiness. Here, in this world of white, everyone was happy and there was no pain. House could see Amber and every friend and family that had died, and they were all happy. However, it was not to last. Below, House could see his body, Wilson's desperate attempts to save him, Cuddy's tears, and the overall pain that his death was causing. He knew that he needed to go back, but here there was no leg pain.

Suddenly, someone called a time and House watched as Wilson tried once again to save his life. Now returning, House got one last glimpse of Wilson fighting off Cuddy's attempts to pull him away before he felt the pulsing pain of the bullet wound and the beat of his heart kicking back into life.

Sitting at the side of his best friend's bed, Wilson was exhausted but in no way ready to leave the man. House had obviously been feeling like there was no reason to live anymore, and when he woke up Wilson wanted to prove that someone did care. Picking up the note his friend had left once more; Wilson read the words and felt tears start to choke him up.

James Wilson the note read briefly. I am sorry for all the hindrance I have caused over the years. Feel free to take any pay that I have in the bank and I hope that will cover the costs of what I owe you. I am sorry that I have pushed you away. Goodbye old friend,

Gregory House, MD

"House," Wilson whispered as he tucked the note into his breast pocket. "Why didn't you tell me you have felt this way over the years?"

As expected, there was no answer and Wilson knew that the man would probably not last much longer. House was currently in the ICU, an endotracheal tube helping him breathe. There was a large bore IV in his arm, pumping fluids in as well as pain medication. Folding his hands, Wilson put his head in them and began to honestly cry. Struck with tears, he did not hear Cuddy walk in but he did feel her arm on his shoulder.

"James," she said gently, like a mother to a distraught son. "You need to get some rest or at least drink something."

"No," Wilson said sharply. "I cannot leave him again! Last time I did, he almost crashed and I wasn't here to save him."

"Wilson," Lisa said her tone now sharp. "You are not being rational. Either go down to the cafeteria and get a glass of water and some food or I will personally sedate you and start an IV of fluids."

"No," Wilson insisted, his eyes red and bloodshot. "I am not leaving his side!"

"Then I am sorry," Lisa, said as she stabbed Wilson in the shoulder, the syringe dumping its payload of Haldol into the man's shoulder.

:::

Slowly pulling himself out of the dark pits of unconsciousness, House stared at the ceiling for a few minutes before he got his bearings. There was something tight in his chest, right above the heart and there were a murmur of voices to his left. Content to lie in the bed for now, House turned his head to the left and saw Wilson in the other ICU bed, Cuddy speaking to him sharply but quietly.

"You two are pathetic," House said as he sat up.

Within seconds, Cuddy was at his side, pushing him back down. "Lie still," she ordered sharply. "You took a bullet right above the heart and lost over two pints of blood. In my opinion, it was bordering on three. On top of that, your heart stopped for over 20 minutes."

"House," Wilson said, surprised as he sat up. "House, how are you feeling," he asked, taking out the IV and swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

"Stop right there James Wilson," Cuddy barked as she forced Wilson back into the bed. "If you move another muscle, I will personally put you in four point restraint and keep you sedated on Haldol for at least a month."

As Cuddy moved back towards house, she felt both pain and sorrow. Her suicide note had been longer, but in essence, House had admitted his love for her, and then told her that his last regret was not showing it.

"House," Cuddy said as she sat next to the sleeping man. "I love you too."

Getting up, she double-checked Wilson's sedation, made sure that House was breathing normally and walked out of the room back to her office when she heard the Code Blue call.

"Code Blue, ICU Room 5," a nurse's voice rang over the intercom.

No Cuddy thought desperately as she ran for the elevator. Please, do not let it be him!