Wilson had never discovered who'd ratted him out for rolling medical marijuana in his office. Did it even matter now? He knew the investigators were playing them all, forcing cooperation, but some were better at the game than others and it bothered him that he'd never found out. It was too late anyway; he and the Fellows, even Cuddy -- they were all in too deep, drowning in the depths of deceit. Everyone was in danger of losing their license, their livelihood, their reputation -- it had all become a means to an end; whose means and what ends, he didn't know, but as usual, as always, it had all been about House.
Did House know about the information Wilson had fed to the cops, driblets at a time, building up an unshakable case? Did he know the D.A. had the forged prescription? The morphine syringe? That the last time they'd spoken of Ezra Powell's death Wilson was wearing a wire, to cement the last piece of the puzzle?
It seemed House knew none of that, for the name he shouted as he squeezed the trigger was "Moriarty!" and Wilson understood at last the extent of his friend's depression over the failed ketamine treatment.
The gunshot was a thunderclap in the conference room, the bullet a hammerblow striking Wilson. The force of it staggered him, and he stumbled backwards before his traitorous knees refused to hold him up and his legs buckled beneath him. Time seemed to telescope and move very slowly, and he sat on the floor for a moment before deciding that was too uncomfortable. He lay back, hearing shouts, and then a loud thump. Probably either House or the gun hitting the floor.
He lifted his head just enough to look down -- the front of his lab coat, normally so pristine, was blooming red like a bright poppy in the snow. He took slow, shallow breaths, feeling his life drain away with every fading pulse. Two bloodstains on the floor now, he thought. Cleaning crew will be really pissed.
Cameron and Chase were beside him, hands pulling at his shirt, horrified looks on their faces. Chase was yelling something, but the words were broken up and swallowed by the roaring in Wilson's ears.
He wasn't even seeing me. Some other danger, Wilson was thinking. And then, as the darkness rolled up and claimed him, House was right to shoot. Only wish he'd done it for the right reasons.
fin