"Why do you care?"
"I'm your boss. I have to care."
"No." He shakes his head slightly, in too much pain to move it more than a few centimeters in each direction. "Why?"
Why do I care? He's an insensitive, irritating, egomaniacal, uncaring, manipulative bastard. He's a giant pain in the ass.
But it's more than that.
He's nearly died three times in the past two days and twice it was for Amber. Well- once it was more for Wilson.
Definitely for Wilson.
Wilson has been the only constant in his life for a good while now. Ever since Stacy left him. The first time. Possibly even before Stacy left him.
He needs Wilson.
He needs someone whether he would like to admit it or not. And he pushed Stacy away. He pushed her away so many times that she's not coming back.
But Wilson- He was never able to shake Wilson.
I only hope this time is no different.
I can't imagine that it would do anything but finally break him.
Truly break him.
He's not as broken as he likes to believe that he is. He's only damaged. And damaged can be fixed.
"You're crying."
I nod my head at him slowly. What else can I respond to such a statement?
"Why?"
I stare at him. "You were in a coma, House. I thought you were dead!"
No snide or crude remark follows my statement for once in his life. I watch as his eyes travel downward to where my hand remains laid over his. I must have fallen asleep like that.
He surprises me by turning his hand over to clasp mine. He's forever surprising me. Being more hostile and crude than the day before. Finding yet another cure to another incurable.
He brings his eyes back up to meet my own I can almost feel the pierce of their icy blueness.
"Amber?"
His voice is almost inaudible and very un-House-like. Full of emotion. Slowly, I shake my head, but he already knows. The question is simply for confirmation. "Wilson took her off Bypass last night."
His eyes close and I watch his chest rise and fall as he takes a deep breath.
"It's not your fault."
He makes no response; my words meaning nothing to him.
"How's Wilson?" he asks after several moments in silence. His voice is hardly above a whisper.
"I don't know," I reply. And I don't. Not really. Distraught? Depressed? Beyond repair? Even with the pain that Wilson is in; I somehow feel that House will come out of this worse. He'll fool those that don't know him, or even a few who do-
But not me.
And certainly not Wilson. If Wilson's still talking to him.
"You should be sleeping," I say softly. "Let me give you something."
"No," he replies firmly.
"Why are you being so stubborn? You've had a heart attack and you were in a coma! Not exactly a routine couple of days…even for you."
"I want-" his eyes squeeze tightly in what I take as concentration. "I want to feel. Something. Anything."
"I- is that why you tried to prevent us from giving you any morphine?"
His lack of response is enough of an answer for me. "That's absurd! Pain is not an emotion." I pause, "not that type of pain."
"Tell that to Wilson."
I close my eyes, pursing my lips.
"Why are you still here?"
I look back up at him in exasperation. "Because you need someone here and there's no use in trying to deny it. I'm not leaving until I have to." I soften my tone at him, "You are human, Greg."
"Don't do that! Just- don't."
His sudden raise in voice causes me to jump. He's looking at me in…anger? "What are you talking about?"
"Greg!" he exclaims. "You don't…not you. Not now, because of this."
I remove my hand from his and begin to rub my temples. I had know that this may be a bad idea, but with all that had happened, I hadn't suspected that House would still be this much of an ass. I should have known better.
"I care for you, House."
"You shouldn't."
"Well it's a little too late for that," I round on him. He stares at me and I know that I went too far with him. He only woke up minutes ago and we're already arguing.
"I should go," I finally say, standing. Before I can make to leave, he reaches out and grasps my wrist.
"Don't."
I'm not used to this side of House. The House that actually needs someone, and apparently, isn't too ashamed to admit it…in a round about way. Apart from a few rare occasions where he has shown his vulnerability to me he tends to hide every bit of his emotion and feelings. This only makes being near him harder.
"I can't," I say softly, holding back tears that once more threaten to fall. "I have stuff I have to do."
"You're lying."
"What do you want me to say, House? That seeing you like this kills me? That I want to take back all the horrible things that I've said to you in the past even though you shot back an equally, if not more, horrible remark right back."
He doesn't respond to my statement, continuing to stare at me.
"Let me go, House," I nearly whisper.
And he does. I'm not sure if it's a good or a bad thing that he's finally listened to me. He may be giving up.
But I remember when I wanted to give up on that plane, when I thought that I was dying. He was worried about me. You can't fake that.
Now I'm worried about him.
Taking a deep breath, I lean down and place a kiss on his cheek. By the look he gives me when I stand back up, that probably wasn't the right course of action.
"Why are you doing this?" he asks. "You don't have feelings for me. Stop trying to trick yourself into thinking that you do. You can't fix me by pretending that you care about me."
"I love you."
The words are out of my mouth before I can even comprehend what I was about to say to him. I just told House that I loved him. The- Gregory House. The same Gregory House that has tormented me since I hired him.
As quickly as I can, I turn away from him and walk out of the room.