Lisa Cuddy had done a lot of things she regretted in her lifetime. She had chosen the wrong boyfriends, gone to work in mismatched socks, mistaken the salt for the sugar, lied to people she never intended to hurt and let herself get hurt by people she expected nothing less from. She had made more serious mistakes and she had risen above them, all of them. But there was one thing she was proud of never, ever having done: never, not once, had she let a patient die.

Until right now.

The sound from the machine – a loud, painfully continuous beep – couldn't possibly mean anything else. Nothing. Ella Louis-Quagmire was undoubtedly, one hundred percent dead. No matter how much Cuddy wanted to deny it, no matter how long she stared at the teenager's still body, she would continue to be dead.

She felt… Sick. Disgusted. Maybe if she'd done something different. Maybe if she hadn't been that rough with the blade, or… Maybe if she'd been a better freaking doctor, period. If she were more prepared. Less nervous.

Now a thirteen-year-old girl was dead, and it was all her fault, her blood still all over Cuddy's scrubs and gloves.

Was it even possible to feel this nauseous and not throw up?

Her head was spinning, unable to come to the realization that Ella really had passed away. More than that; unable to realize that Cuddy had failed at the one thing she thought she was invincible at: Medicine. Saving lives. Helping people.

Instead, she was about to step out of the operating room and break a family's heart by admitting that instead of saving their daughter's life, she had ended it.

"Dr. Cuddy? Are you okay?" The nurse asked her softly, to which she shrugged. What else could she do… Or say? Actually, if she spoke, it was very possible that she would have an emotional breakdown right then and there. If there was one thing she couldn't do right now, it was breaking down. A family needed her – no, Cuddy, they needed you before you killed their damn daughter.

"Dr. Cuddy. If you want, I can get another doctor to… I mean, she was your first… Wasn't she?"

As good as the nurse's intentions were, this really wasn't necessary. Cuddy didn't need anyone's sympathy, not when she was busy trying her hardest not to fall into a pit of self-loathing.

"I'll do it, thanks."

And she ignored her dizziness, her nausea, and her impossible urge to just run away, and stepped out of the operating room right after hastily taking her gloves off.

Now how do you tell someone you killed their kid?

There they were, eagerly standing in the waiting room. Cuddy had changed out of the bloody scrubs and into her normal clothes, covered by the white coat that hid every failed doctor. Including herself. Looking professional and presentable, yet bearing the worst possible news she could break to the teary-eyed couple who stood in front of her.

"Mr. and Mrs. Louis-Quagmire… I'm afraid I have some really bad news."

The look of dread in the woman's face bore the rest of the story, but that didn't mean she wouldn't have to tell it. Mrs. Quagmire was already crying, her husband holding her hand in both of his with a stoic look in his red-rimmed eyes.

"Your daughter, she… The surgery, it…" Fuck, Lisa, bring yourself together! If you start crying in front of that girl's parents… "It had some major complications. Ella lost too much blood, and she… I'm sorry. She passed away. We did everything we could."

Never had that sentence sounded so wrong and meaningless. Sure, she had done everything she could. But that was obviously not enough. Everything she could didn't bring Ella back to life.

By the time she'd finished trying desperately to comfort Ella's parents and signing the exhausting paperwork, Cuddy was sure she couldn't feel more broken. Every bit of her ached for home, for comfort, for something to tell her she wasn't the horrible mess of a doctor she saw in the mirror.

Her hand was shaking so badly when she reached for the phone, she had to erase and redial three times.

There really was only one thing she could do to feel even slightly better.

Not that she really deserved to, anyway.

"Cuddy? It's almost midnight. What happened?"

The familiar, friendly voice on the other side was all it took to make her throw that no-tears resolution to the wind and begin to sob like a little kid.

"Cuddy? Cuddy. What's going on? What's wrong? Do you need me to go there and pick you up or something?"

"I… Wilson, I… I'm sorry…" She meant to say she was sorry to bother him on his day off, but halfway through the shaky sentence, Cuddy realized she was just sorry in general.

"That's it, I'm picking you up. Are you at the hospital?"

"Yeah… Can I s… Can I spend the night at your place?"

"Of course. I'll be right there."

Before she could thank him, he hung up the phone, leaving her to gather her things while still weeping continuously. By the time he texted her I'm here, she was already in the hall, eagerly waiting for the familiar car.

It took her only a few seconds to hop onto the passenger's seat, nestling on it as quick as she could and refusing to look anywhere but the window. She was suddenly aware that all the comfort in Wilson's mere presence was nearly outweighed by the guilt she felt, the obvious judgement and disappointment there would be in his tone and his eyes when she told him what she'd done.

"Cuddy?" He reached for her shoulder tentatively. "Are you hurt? What happened?"

"Just drive, please…" The woman managed to choke out. "I'm not hurt. I just… Let's not talk about this for a while."

Wilson sighed, but did as she had told him. Every once in a while, he'd glance at his friend, huddled on the passenger's seat with her gaze fixed upon the glass window – and wonder what the hell was wrong with her.

The car ride was tense, but short. Wilson helped her out of the car, and she didn't pull away when he drew her into a tight embrace in the middle of the garage, but it was only a few seconds before she regained her composure and let go of him, gently taking his hand instead as he led her to the elevator and into his apartment. Still completely silent, she threw her purse on the coffee table and dropped down heavily on the couch.

Seconds after she had closed her eyes in an utter loss of words, she felt a weight by her side, and the warmth of Wilson's hand on her own. It was a good, comforting interaction, one she couldn't help but respond to by lacing her fingers through his.

"Can you talk now?" He asked.

The answer came all at once, so quick he had to pay close attention to understand. Not that this was a problem – Wilson was focused solely on his friend, whose eyes were still closed and whose entire demeanor spoke of guilt.

"I lost a patient today."

Cuddy searched her friend's eyes for any signs of disappointment, surprised and almost frustrated when she found exactly none. She had ended a life, damn it. Did nobody understand the gravity of this?

"Did you do all you could?" Wilson's voice wasn't angry or disappointed as he spoke. His expression was serious, studying her face carefully.

"Yes." She answered simply, with a heavy sigh; she could feel the burn of fresh, hot tears dangerously close to falling from her eyes, and the all-too-familiar lump tightening her throat. Something that certainly wouldn't go unnoticed by anyone who paid attention – let alone Wilson.

"How did they die?"

"I was… I was operating her leg. She was in a… A car accident, and lost so much blood, I…" She swallowed hard, the tightness in her throat making it hard to breathe. "I couldn't… I mean, even during the surgery, there was… She lost too much blood…"

"Hey. Hey." Wilson's grip on her hand tightened, his thumb gently rubbing the back of her hand in what he hoped was a soothing gesture. "See? It wasn't your fault. It's terrible, yeah. But it wasn't you."

"I could have done something. I could have tried harder. I could…"

"Shut it, Cuddy."

The woman's eyes widened in surprise at the unusually bossy words, but she obeyed. There really wasn't much of a point in rambling anyway.

"Listen to me. I know what's got you so worked up."

"The fact that I just killed a thirteen-year-old girl might have something to do with it." She snapped.

"I said shut it. Let me talk."

Wilson's harsh words were followed by his free hand reaching for hers, his fingertips softly stroking it in random patterns.

"Why did you want to become a doctor?"

Her silence and a raised eyebrow made him chuckle.

"You can answer now, Cuddy."

"Because… Because I wanted to h-help people. Save lives…" And then she was crying again, much to her own embarrassment. "Save lives, not… Not take them."

"Right." Wilson seemed unaffected by her remark. "So you thought you'd never lose a patient, because it was totally up to you whether they lived or died. Because nothing that happens to them can overpower a doctor, right?"

"That's not what…"

"Cuddy, I've been there. I'm an oncologist, for God's sake. I don't know if you've heard of it, but cancer patients die. A lot." Cuddy allowed herself a small chuckle at the way he said it so matter-of-factly. "Does the fact that I lose patients make me a bad doctor?"

"Cancer isn't the same as a leg injury."

"None of them can be completely controlled by us."

And then she sighed deeply, lowering her head in defeat.

"I know… I just wish it hadn't happened. She was thirteen, Wilson."

A small smile curved Wilson's lips as he replied, sliding his arm around her shoulders and pulling her gently to him:

"Nobody wants it to happen. I'm just saying it does."

"Did you… Did you feel like this too?"

She settled into his embrace, her head on his shoulder, her eyes closing in slight relief.

"I believe alcohol was involved. I definitely know puking was involved the next morning. Oh, and did you hear about the crazy doctor who broke down crying in the freaking bus stop after he left work?"

They both laughed quietly.

After a few minutes of comforting, friendly silence, Cuddy began to realize just how completely exhausted she was after the rough day. Wilson must have been feeling the same way – after all, she had woken him up in the middle of the night with a weepy phone call.

"Can we go to bed?" He was the one to suggest it. "It's… Whoa. Late."

"Sure. I'm sorry I woke you up on your day off."

"It's okay." He smiled. "Come on, you're staying with me tonight."

Cuddy's eyes widened a little as Wilson got up and motioned for her to follow him.

"I can sleep on the couch, it's okay…"

"Nope. You're sleeping with me. Unless… Unless you're really not okay with it, in which case, fine, you can have the couch. But it's not as comfortable as the bed, and there's no handsome doctor sleeping on it." He winked with a shy smile, his face turning a light shade of red.

The woman smiled as she got up to follow him. She knew he was just playfully flirting with her; there was nothing serious about it. She knew it so certainly that there was no hesitation or awkwardness when, a few minutes later, she curled up in Wilson's bed wearing only her underwear and his t-shirt, and he wrapped a protective arm around her waist.

She nestled contentedly in his gentle embrace, closed her eyes and let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding. Granted, she still wasn't feeling okay – nor would she be in a long while – but the truth was that, in the comfort and safety of a friend's company, everything was as good as it could be.

A/N: I like this story. Kind of a lot. Ship goggles optional.