'You'll choose yourself over everybody else over and over again, because that's just who you are.'
Lisa Cuddy remembered saying those words to House. She remembered the way he brushed them off and shut off from her, which only proved her right. In a way, he had already chosen to shut himself away from her. The way he had with everyone.
He had shut Stacy out over his leg, choosing to resent her over the fact that he was inconvenienced by pain rather than recognizing that by doing what she did, Stacy had saved his life. He had shut her out over the Vicodin, and that she wouldn't 'let him have one little thing'. He abused James in that passive aggressive way that he always had, and never talked to him when it really mattered, shutting him out even though they were friends. He shut out his team, for not meeting his expectations for them. Even though everyone knew that they were set unrealistically high, and he alienated them when he pitted them against each other.
At times, she believed that he even shut out his true self. He picked the easiest path for himself time and time again, because he was old and tired and too caught up in the addiction cycle to care for what would make him happiest in the long run. He was a typical addict. He chose himself over patients, over friends, administrators or family. He chose his fear of being alone over his wife, which ironically, but not unexpectedly, made her leave him.
Hearing the story of how he died from James and Eric, how in the end he chose himself there too only solidified her belief. Getting high off of heroin, and just standing in front of the door, watching them until the beam fell and he was consumed by fire. He could have escaped. But he didn't. Escaping meant facing problems.
He could have done the difficult thing, run from the building and unselfishly spent six more months with his best friend, after weaseling out of the charges for flooding the hospital, like he always did. He could have at least tried. But he was House.
She never once regretted being so short with him in their relationships. She never once regretted telling him that he was a selfish asshole of a person, who wanted nothing more than his own happiness.
She sat through the funeral and not a tear fell for him. He had been cruel, manipulative, and while yes, he had saved many lives, and could have saved many more, he had endangered and manipulated enough people to outweigh the pangs of remorse of a life cut short. Most people were dry eyed until James stood at the podium to speak.
James was the most affected. James had needed him, had considered him a best friend, a confidante, and God only knows how much more. James who was dying, and scared of it. He could barely get a sentence out at first, and struggled to keep his composure. But still, in the end, he told the truth. He told the truth about House, and reminded everyone what a selfish man he was.
Nobody blamed him for it, because they agreed, because out of everybody, James Wilson had taken the most collective shit from Gregory House, because they knew the grieving process and because they all knew how he really felt.
Three months had passed and she still didn't regret him. Wilson had gone off on his trip to tour the country 'in House's honor', because 'they had planned to' and she hadn't heard from him since. She went to get the mail one day, and inside the mailbox was a tiny parcel with her name and address in a familiar, barely legible handwriting. There was no return address, but it was postmarked Vegas.
She dismissed the idea that it was House's handwriting, and chalked it up to Wilson was getting worse and saying his goodbyes. It was early, but not unheard of.
She opened the box, and inside there were only four things. Bubble wrap, an orange bottle with a white cap, a Polaroid picture, and a postcard of a casino saying 'Wish you were here'. She pulled the bubble wrap out of the box, and tossed it in the garbage can, pulling out the postcard. On the back were six words written plainly in House's handwriting.
"You were wrong." The note read, "I chose him." She stared at it in disbelief, before picking up the Polaroid. It was of James, smiling and happy, with House right beside him. If she squinted really hard she could just see what looked like gold bands on their left hands. Still in a state of shock, she picked up the pill bottle. The prescription was made out to Gregory House, and it was full of Vicodin.
Lisa Cuddy had always prided herself on knowing when to back away from House, and up until now she had never regretted saying those horrible, yet true, things to him. But now. As her cheeks grew wet and the world became blurry around her, she thought, that just maybe, she could have been wrong.