Hesitation
"What?" House snaps into the phone.
"House." The voice at the other end is calm and steady. "I'm standing on the roof of the hospital. I'm going to jump."
"Wait, what? Wilson, why?" House fumbles for his keys, more on autopilot than anything else.
"I want to die."
No shit, Sherlock. "Wilson. I meant why do you want to die? What happened?"
"Nothing happened. Nothing ever happens. That's the point. It's the same old thing, over and over again. I get a patient. I diagnose the patient. The patient dies. Or with you. I think you care. I need you. You're not there."
"Wilson, I will be there. I'm coming right now. Just stay where you are and don't move, okay?"
A bitter laugh.
House feels sick.
"I can't stay here. I wait five, ten minutes for you to get here? I might not do it, and I need to do it. No hesitation."
"Wilson, if you can just wait a few minutes, I'm coming!"
"But don't you see, House? You're coming for you, not for me. That's the irony of it all."
"What do you mean, Wilson? You're not making any sense!"
House is in the car now, with Wilson on speakerphone.
"You're only coming to save me because without me, there'll be no one to save you. If I wasn't your only friend, if you can even call us friends, you can bet your sorry ass you'd ignore this call and leave me here to die alone."
"That's not why I'm coming and you know it."
"Do I?" The incredulous words chill House to the core. "It doesn't matter, anyway. That's not why I'm calling."
"Why are you calling?" House asks, dread surging through him. He knows why - this call is Wilson's suicide note - but he hopes desperately that just this once, he's got it wrong, that this is all just some kind of sick joke.
"I thought it would be appropriate," Wilson responds after a moment. "I mean, you never called me. Not once. I thought it would only be fair that I never call you. But then... I decided I didn't want to be like you. I wasn't going to cause that much pain. That's not why I'm doing this, to cause pain - it's to end the pain. I'm not selfish like you."
House feels a stab of anguish at his friend's words. I wasn't being selfish. I just wanted to stop the pain, like you do now, he wants to bite back. But that's not what Wilson wants - or needs - to hear right now.
Instead he says: "It's not too late - I can change! Come on, Wilson, give me another chance!" House hates the sound of his voice - high, fragile, pleading. Broken.
Another bitter laugh. "People don't change, House. Isn't that your own cynical worldview?"
"Not unless they have to, no," House relents. They had both known he would, under the circumstances. "But I have to, don't I? You're not leaving me much choice."
"So now this is my fault?"
"Your life, your decisions." House winces as soon as the astoundingly insensitive words leave his mouth. You idiot, he chastises himself.
A long silence, and House is half-scared his friend has already jumped. But then:
"I don't want to argue with you. That's not why I called. I called to tell you that I love you. It's not really your fault that you weren't there for me when I needed you. It's a defence mechanism. You can't help it."
"I love you too, Wilson. I would have been there, you just had to ask me!"
"I shouldn't have to ask, House. God knows you never did, and I was always there for you. Anyway, that's all I called to tell you."
House lets out a shaky breath, close to tears.
"Wilson, please," House pleads. "Just wait a couple of minutes. I'm almost there. We'll go back to mine, have a beer, watch a movie, stay up through the small hours of the morning. Normal! It can all be normal."
Wilson laughs, but this one isn't bitter, it's full of regret. "To think that used to be enough."
"Wilson! I can see you! Just wait, please! I love you, Wilson; you can't do this to me. Please!" He is through the hospital doors, running as fast as he can towards the elevators. Cuddy has seen him, has seen his urgency, his fear, and is following him. "Wilson," he says into the phone, so Cuddy knows who it is. "We'll find you a counsellor; I can come with you if you want me to! Come on, buddy, give it a few weeks. If you still feel like this by the end of the month, I'll help you. Assisted suicide." He prays Wilson won't see through the lie. He would never give up on his friend like that. Cuddy's eyes widen as she figures out what's going on. The elevator stops and the doors open.
"You must be desperate." Voice suddenly flat. Emotionless.
"I am. I can't lose you, Wilson," he insists. Tears are flowing freely now, he knows the other man can hear them, knows Cuddy can see them, too, but he just can't stop them. He has much greater worries right now than his reputation.
"I'm sorry, House. I have to do this – for me. I love you. Goodbye."
Click.
The line goes dead.
House bursts through the door to the roof and propels himself across the tiny space, lunging at the oncologist.
But he is too late.
Wilson steps off the rooftop.
House watches him fall.
"No!" he screams. "No no no no no!"
He hears a sickening crunch.
He retches violently.
His dinner splatters across his shoes.
He screams again, wordless, full of pain.
He feels arms wrap around him, but he yanks away.
He can't see Cuddy anymore.
Only him.
And he wonders how he didn't see this before.
People are appearing below him.
Rushing around, checking his pulse.
House steps shakily onto the ledge, sobs wracking his body.
He hears Cuddy cry out, and then he steps.
No hesitation.