A/N: This is the second story. It's sad. Warning - Major Character Death


I Started a Joke...

Wilson came home late. It had been a crazy day at the hospital. One patient he knew was dying finally gave up her fight and another who had been doing better took a dramatic turn for the worse. Wilson sat by his side and could feel the moment the energy in the room changed. He was tired of fighting the cancer and he wanted it to be over. Without the will to live, he faded away. It was if he willed himself to die since he couldn't will himself to get better. Wilson took it as a personal defeat. He thought that one might make it.

House had said he was making Swedish meatballs. That was the only upside to Wilson's day.

"House?" He didn't smell any meatballs. The lights were off. House had left early to make the meatballs. Wilson guessed that really meant his leg was bothering him. He imagined House falling asleep in his bath tub. He'd sneak in and scare him. Then he'd make him get out and make him some of the promised meatballs.

Wilson saw the bathroom door ajar. The idea of scaring House was enough to make him forget about his patients. Wilson imagined House sleeping, snoring lightly. He'd get right next to House's ear then yell. House would jump up. Wilson would laugh. House would balk. Wilson would kiss him and say he was sorry even though he wasn't. He'd offer to wash House's back. House would tell him he should do it from inside the tub for maximum efficiency.

He knew it wouldn't really go like that. He had worked up the courage to kiss House, but only twice and only with them both fully dressed. Maybe today was the day though. Life was short. If he wanted to be naked in a bathtub with House, and he knew certain parts of him definitely wanted that, he should do it.

Wilson slipped his shoes off in his bedroom. He tiptoed to the door and pushed it open slowly. He saw House's arm hanging out of the tub. Wilson guessed he was solidly asleep to keep his arm in that position. He crept forward.

He immediately knew this was wrong. The red tinged water clashed violently with House's pale skin. Wilson pulled the metal pipe off House and struggled to pull House up. He was cold. Wilson struggled to pull him out of the tub.

Wilson hated emergencies. He was never good at them. This was different. He somehow managed to get House on the floor. He tried CPR. The medical part of his brain knew there was no point. The emotional side wasn't ready to give up. After 15 minutes he called 9-1-1. His voice broke on the word 'dead'. He couldn't stop sobbing.

The police had to restrain Wilson. He wouldn't let go of the body. The medical examiner was an acquaintance and assured Wilson she would take good care of House. She asked Wilson if there was anything she could do for him. It was heartbreaking to hear him beg between sobs to "bring him back".

It was several hours later before he felt up to calling Cuddy.

"Wilson, do you know what time it is? This better be important."

"House…" He couldn't say the words. They were caught in his throat choking him. "Greg…."

Cuddy sat up in bed. She was could tell something was seriously wrong. Her first thought was House was in another motorcycle accident.

Wilson slowly got the story out. He had to stop to catch his breath several times. It was a rambled tale.

"Asleep in the tub…not asleep…safety railing…hit his head…drowned…

…dead…can't leave me…"

Cuddy couldn't keep from crying. She loved House whether she admitted it or not and the devastation in Wilson's voice was far too evident. She shook Lucas awake.

"House is gone," she said softly. Lucas struggled to wake up.

"What, babe? Gone where?" Lucas heard her crying and sat up to hold her. "Hey, it's okay. He'll be back. He's never gone long. I wish he would be."

Cuddy pulled away from him. Lucas tried to pull her back, but she pounded her fists against his chest.

"He's dead," she screamed. She collapsed back into his arms. "He's dead," she whispered.

Lucas didn't know what to say. He hadn't really wanted House gone forever. He petted her hair trying to soothe her.

"How'd it happen?" He imagined a drug overdose. He'd been watching House lately and he'd noticed the stiffer gait and his attempts to hide his increasing pain. He probably scored some street drugs. He hated to think of House's death coming down to one of those self destructive genius stereo-types, but maybe someone would learn a lesson from it.

"He drowned."

"Drowned? Did he get stoned and fall in a swimming pool?" Lucas hoped it wasn't a toilet. He didn't like House, but that was an indignation he didn't deserve.

"Bathtub. Wilson is hysterical, but it sounded like the safety railing broke, he was knocked unconscious, and drowned. It's so pointless." She clung Lucas tighter. It was the kind of accident that could happen to anybody. House wasn't an "anybody". Lucas was.

"Honey, sweetie, it's okay," Lucas said gently cradling Cuddy's face and turning her to face him. "It's a joke." She shook her head. "No, really. I know you told me to leave them alone, but I played a little joke on Wilson and House. I put a opossum in their bathtub and then I loosened the safety rail. They figured out it was me and they just want to make us feel bad."

Cuddy continued to shake her head.

"You didn't hear him. It's true. Why would you do that? Why would….oh my god! You…you killed him." Cuddy scrambled away from him.

"No, he's fine. I'm telling you, he's playing a practical joke. It just isn't funny."

"Rigging his safety railing is?" Cuddy felt sick to her stomach. Her boyfriend had killed House. It was almost too much to bear. She was sure it couldn't be true. There had to be a mistake. There had to be.

The official cause of death was drowning. The M.E. explained to Cuddy how House had pulled the railing into his face as the back of his head hit the tub. He was knocked unconscious. If he hadn't drowned he still might have died from the head injury. It had been a nasty accident.

Only Cuddy knew it wasn't an accident. Could she ever look at Lucas again knowing what he'd done? Not knowing if he'd meant it to be fatal? And how could she look at Wilson every day, see him suffering, thinking House had caused his own accident by not properly installing the railing. She wished House was alive so he could help her decide what to do with cold, logical precision. Instead all she could do was cry for what all of them had lost.