Mending Wilson's Rock
Usual disclaimers apply.
Post-ep for 04x16 Wilson's Heart aka the saddest episode in the history of man.
She drove House home from the hospital. Wilson had called earlier to say that he was taking a few days for himself and to get things settled with the Volakises – What horrible circumstances under which to meet your girlfriends' parents, she'd thought to herself – and so if she could take House home, that would be really helpful.
"Have you been to visit House in the past couple days, Wilson?"
"Look, Cuddy, Amber's parents are here. I've got to go."
So there she was, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel, watching House out of the corner of her eye fiddling with his hospital bracelet as they waited for the light to change.
"We can take that off when we get to your place." He nodded, turning his focus to the cartoon movie that was playing in the car next to them. "You okay?" Another nod. Cuddy should have expected as much; House had barely muttered three words in the past six days.
She wasn't sure if House was feeling guilt or grief or some tragic mixture of both. She wanted to reassure him, to tell him Amber's death wasn't his fault, to grab his hand once more as he finally let go of whatever it was that had been holding him back the past few days. However, that wasn't how House and Cuddy worked. House and Cuddy never discussed feelings; why fix what had never been whole?
As she parked the car in front of apartment 221B and walked around to help escort House inside, she began mentally listing all that she would give to hear one of House's snarky brush-offs – the chocolate stashed her in desk…her life's savings…hell, she'd even start eating meat again if he would just leer down her blouse.
Clutching his waist, Cuddy guided him through the door and straight to his bedroom. She'd worry about getting his clothes out of her car later. Sitting him down on the bed, she crouched down to untie his shoes, acutely aware of his gaze upon her. That was the one thing he hadn't lost this week – that soul-searching stare. She vaguely wondered what he thought of her in this moment, but mainly she wondered if he was thinking critically at all after his seizure. Cuddy knew that House would deal with whatever physical maladies the fates threw his way, but if anything took away his genius? She didn't want to think about the ramifications of that.
She helped ease House under the comforter and turned to leave him to rest. The pressure she suddenly felt on her right hand shocked her – House had a vice-like grip on her fingers. "He hates me." His voice was raw and scratchy from disuse.
"What?"
"Wilson – he hates me, right? That's why you're here and not him."
"No. No, House, Wilson doesn't hate you. Why would you think that?" She moved to sit on the edge of the bed, never losing physical contact with House as he slowly, quietly recounted the events of the night of the crash – his getting drunk and having his keys taken away, calling Wilson but getting Amber instead.
"If it weren't for me, she'd be alive." Now he seemed to be looking at anything but Cuddy, obviously ashamed of himself.
Cuddy took a few moments to let everything he'd told her sink in and then nodded resolutely to herself before letting go of his hand to grasp both sides of his stubbled face. "Gregory House, look at me. Look at me." She waited until he finally did. "Okay, you've got a point – Wilson probably doesn't like you very much right now." House's gaze fell. Cuddy gently but firmly shook his head until he re-focused on her. "But, he doesn't hate you. Wilson could never hate you; you're his best friend. Yes, you screwed up by getting drunk, but you were smart to call for a ride. You did not make Amber take those pills. You did not cause the bus accident.
"Now, Wilson's in a bad place right now, as are you. He needs some time to himself to re-group, and when he comes out of that, you need to be there for him. You need to be his rock, House, and I know you're not used to that, and I know it scares the hell out of you. But it's a fact. It's what comes with the job of being someone's best friend. And if you need help with that, I'm here for you. First, though, you need to get better, which means you need to rest. Okay?" She let go of his face so that he could nod. "Okay. I'm going to go get your things out of my car, and then I'll be in the living room. All right?"
She stood to leave, but once more he took her hand. "Thank you, Cuddy." It was her turn to simply nod as she left the room. Instead of going outside, however, she sat down on the chaise lounge, the same one she'd slept upon one week before, put her head in her hands, and began to cry.