Note: I'm so sorry it took me forever to update this! A bunch of stuff came up and I got really busy. But here is the next chapter of 'Shattered'. I hope you like it; there will be three more after this- the conclusion of the episode, 'Dying Changes Everything' and then I'll conclude with 'Birthmarks'. I really hope you've been enjoying this fic and I love reading all of your reviews!

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Chapter 3: Acceptance

"Sorry, wide stance," House said to break the silence in the bathroom. Regardless of the situation at hand, he had to get Thirteen to do her job; he needed her and the team to help him save Amber. And having her crying in the stall of the woman's bathroom wasn't going to do anything significant.

There was silence and then he heard a weak voice from the other side of the stall. "You're right. I'm screwing up."

"Why are you screwing up?" He didn't realize he snapped until after he spoke. Play nice for now- you need her to help.

Either Thirteen was used to it or she didn't even notice. "I didn't even like her."

"Did you hate her?"

"Not enough to want her dead."

Good. "So it's not guilt. That just leaves fear." He paused. "A young woman dying. A young doctor dying, in fact. Sound familiar?"

The sound of footsteps wasn't what got him up first; he knew the comparison in general was going to make her leave. Reminding Thirteen that she could possibly be dying was striking a nerve- hopefully one that would get her head out of her ass. The stall door opened and the young doctor pulled back a bit in surprise when she saw House blocking her only exit. She sighed in frustration and averted her gaze from his.

"Yeah, I'm at risk for Huntington's," she forced out. "I've dealt with it."

"By not getting tested," he stated, tilting his head to the side a bit. No response. "Dealing with it by not dealing with it. It's clearly working beautifully."

"You are the champion of not dealing with your problems."

"My grandson gave me a mug that says that." Of course it was sarcasm, but he just wanted Thirteen to cut her crap and do her job. "Okay, enough hand-holding. Deal with it, get back in there, or pack your stuff."

But when he looked at her, he saw anger in her gaze. It wasn't something he wasn't expecting since he usually acted like an ass, yet he thought she would just take it and move on. Instead she responded, "You're screwing up this case worse than I am." With that, Thirteen slipped past House and walked out of the bathroom. House leaned against the stall, closing his eyes and slamming a fist against the wall.

He knew she was right- he was paying more attention to Wilson's faulty judgment way more than his more logical one. Then again, House was in love with Wilson- not to mention he had been hit by a bus the night before and had a heart attack that morning. His judgment wasn't all that great, either. Still even then, he would have done what was necessary instead of pressing pause. Keeping her cold would only make her worse in the long run. She was going to die if he kept listening to Wilson. But if he didn't do as he said, House would lose his only friend. And that thought along tore at his heart.

"What do I do?" he muttered to no one before limping slowly out of the restroom.

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House woke up to the sound of yelling. It was faint but getting closer. He recognized Wilson and Cuddy's voices right off the bat; something happened with Amber. Cuddy must have tried warming her up, House thought, preparing himself for the bickering to get louder. Surely enough, the fight carried on right in front of his recliner. His head, which was still throbbing, was only feeling worse with each loud word. In an attempt to get them to stop, House slipped between them. The only acknowledgement he received was Wilson barely glancing at him and Cuddy leaning back slightly to give the MD space.

"Inside voices," he muttered, knowing it wouldn't help. Sitting over by his desk seemed a lot quieter than right at the recliner. But that was only because they had finally stopped yelling. Blue hues shifted up toward the two, only to catch the last of their debate. "House wanted to warm her up- you just guilted him into changing his mind."

Wilson sighed and House wanted to scoff. It was sort of the truth; Wilson was the family. House should have just followed his own judgment right from the get-go. But with his friend- hell, more than friend- there, he just didn't want to disappoint him. To lose him. Because losing Amber now meant that House could very well lose Wilson. Cuddy turned toward House, but the MD's gaze was on Wilson. "Heart, liver, and now her brain," the Dean stated.

"Auto-immune fits best," House started. I'm sorry Wilson… He lowered his gaze to the desk before him. "Crash trauma could have set it off. Start her on prednisone, then we'll warm her up again." From where he was sitting he could feel the anger in Wilson rising again. House knew he had to do what was right now, not what Wilson wanted. Honestly, House felt torn. He avoided Wilson's gaze, yet he still felt the glare from those chocolate brown eyes burning into him.

"House," the oncologist started, sounding very strained, "if this is some other infection, the steroids will trash her immune system."

He dared a glance up at his friend, then to Cuddy. He couldn't say no and that gaze got the message to Cuddy. As she turned back toward Wilson, House looked down. I'm sorry. No matter how many times he would say it, he knew it wouldn't change Wilson's mind. He was angry- he had every right to be; his girlfriend was dying and he needed his best friend to save him… even though his friend's head felt like it was going to explode and he was still exhausted from ODing on the bus that morning. Before he knew it, Cuddy was walking out of the office, which made House look up. The look in Wilson's eyes shook him to his core- the oncologist was beyond angry. "You can't do this."

"That's not a good argument," House replied, "that's not an argument at all… I'm sorry."

Wilson tilted his head up in frustration, biting back a curse at House. Instead of speaking, he kicked at the empty chair in front of him and moved to storm out of House's office. He wanted to go after him, to try to hold him and let him know everything was going to be okay. But was it really? Whatever was wrong with Amber now spread to her brain. If it were to get worse… House didn't even want to think about it. So he started to call Taub and let him start the treatment. As he was hanging up, his brow furrowed lightly. Wilson returned, but he was a lot calmer and perhaps even nervous? His hands were clasped in front of him, his knuckles brushing lightly against his lips. He was thinking something, that wasn't hard to figure out. Slowly, House hung up the phone and waited patiently for Wilson to speak.

"Cuddy's right. I was afraid to do anything," Wilson started. "I thought if everything just stopped, it would be okay…"

A nod was the first part of his reply. At least Wilson was talking sense now- good time for that comfort. "And it's gonna be. Taub's starting the treatment, we're doing everything-"

"Not everything." Electricity. Before House could speak again, Wilson took a couple of steps toward his desk. "Before you warm her up… You said you wanted to try deep brain stimulation."

Electricity. His blood ran cold. "But there's no reason. We know the symptom, we know what I saw."

"What if it's not the rash? What if you noticed the rash in the ambulance or when we were putting her on bypass? What if there is still something else stuck inside your head?" The more Wilson pushed his argument, the more House couldn't believe his suggestion. Sure at first he was willing to go through with it, but that was because he felt like there were no other options left. Now that they had a symptom and a treatment for it, what was the point of risking his life now? Except, there was a point, and he was standing right in front of him, suggesting he do this reckless stunt. Which meant this: Wilson loved Amber more than he cared about House. That realization struck House harder than that bus, crushed at his heart more than anything.

"You think I should risk my life… to save Amber's?" he wanted to be clear. Was this really what Wilson wanted? To risk the chance of losing not only his girlfriend, but his best friend? If that was the case, House wondered if he and Wilson were even best friends to begin with… The nod from the oncologist only hurt the MD even more. This was crazy- this whole thing. To have House give up his life to save Amber, the woman he so envied, just to make Wilson happy? House lowered his gaze. Wilson wasn't thinking straight- he was so scared of losing Amber he wasn't making rational decisions. But House was so scared of losing Wilson he wasn't making rational decisions either; he would be a hypocrite if he said no. Not to mention the chance of ruining whatever was left of the friendship he had with Wilson. If it even was a friendship at that point. He would rather have something from Wilson rather than nothing. That is, if he were to live through the brain stimulation. He let out a soft chuckle and then looked up at Wilson, giving him a nod. He was going to do it.

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He wouldn't admit it openly, but House was scared. He didn't want to die; not like this. Sitting in that chair with those bolts and a needle going in his head. Hell, he didn't want to have Wilson see him die- if he still cared, anyway. House was doing this for him- to make him happy. Would he still be happy if Amber lived and House died? Blue hues shifted toward Wilson. I need you… if the fear wasn't evident, the worry was. But there were no words of comfort; just a nod from the oncologist and then he walked out of eyesight. House was alone.

"I'm inserting the IPG probe into your ventral hypothalamus," Chase announced as he did what he told House. Once the needle was in place, Chase glanced over at Wilson who now stood by the machine. "Give me three volts." Wilson turned the knob on the machine and then pushed the button.

A rush of electricity flooded through House's mind and a flash of light brought him back to the bar. Everything was in black and white, but he knew he was back at Sherry's talking to the bartender. There was no sound coming from the bartender's mouth- there was no sound at all. Just silence.

"I can't hear him," he stated.

"Can't hear who?" Wilson asked.

"Everything's in black and white," House replied, his eyes shifting around as he looked at the bar.

"Who was talking? Is Amber there?"

This isn't going to work. His eyes shifted upward to talk to Chase. "You're supposed to be jolting my hypothalamus, not petting it."

Rolling his eyes, Chase shook his head. "We don't want to overload it."

"As long as I'm risking my life, I might as well be watching a talkie." That came out more bitter than he intended. Though Wilson took it as a go-ahead and looked at Chase. The youngest doctor shrugged and averted his gaze.

"Increasing from three to five volts," Wilson spoke, turning the knob once again. He looked at House. "Sending impulse." The MD tensed up and grimaced as a higher rush of volts coursed through his brain. They were really pushing it now.

The keys were ripped out of his hands. The bartender practically glared at him before lifting the keys and jingling them in front of House's face. "You're not getting them back," he said, moving to walk away from the drunken doctor. House merely sighed and shook his head. At least he had Wilson to call. He flipped open his cell phone only to find that the battery was dead. Rolling his eyes, he looked toward the idiot tending the bar. "Hey! You take my keys, you gotta give me a phone call." He outstretched his arm, swaying on his stool from the simple motion. Yeah, he definitely wouldn't have made it home on his motorcycle. Seeing the reason behind House's statement, the bartender handed over the phone. House started to dial Wilson's number and then put the phone to his ear.

"Who're you calling?"

House looked to his right to find Wilson standing on the bar. He was still in his scrubs even though everyone else was in their normal clothes. The crippled doctor looked at the caller id on the phone and then showed it to Wilson. "Dial-a-Wilson."

"I was on call."

His brow furrowed. "I-" he stuttered, finding nothing to say. What was there to say? House screwed up- big time.

Wilson's gave averted from House. "Amber was home."

This is my fault… "I told her to find you," his voice was quiet, "have you pick me up." He took a breath and then closed his eyes.

Before he knew it, Amber was at his side at the bar. House rolled his eyes, letting his arm fall against the bar. "I said to find Wilson," he said rather loudly.

"He's working," she replied, "And I'm willing to suffer this indignity on his behalf." House lowered his gaze.

"Does she seem sick?"

He looked up at Amber once again at the sound of Wilson's voice. Nothing seemed to be wrong with her… yet. He shook his head. "Not yet."

"Come on, time to go," the blonde said, taking House's arm and trying to get him up off of the stool.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," he muttered and then called to the bartender, "Need another round and a drink for… what passes for a lady around here." His gaze returned to Amber, who looked anything but pleased. "What's your poison?"

"Nothing." she turned toward the bartender. "We're leaving."

"We're leaving, leaving, leaving, leaving…" he taunted before saying, "Cosmos." Amber rolled her eyes in irritation. "I saw Wilson buying cranberry juice." He rolled his eyes as well. "I'll have another and she'll have a Cosmopolitan."

"The obstinate drunk thing is not flattering. Come on, you called for a ride."

The drinks were set down in front of them. He looked at Amber once more. "Drink your drink, or I'll drink them both."

She shook her head and reluctantly grabbed her glass. "One, and you leave voluntarily." After clanking their glasses together in a silent toast, House and Amber drank the alcohol in both of their glasses. Amber's brow rose expectantly but House didn't budge from his seat on the stool. "Let's go."

"Need another Cosmo here!" he called to the bartender. A sneeze caught his attention. House looked over as Amber was leaned forward, her hand over her nose and mouth.

"She sneezed," House muttered.

"What color is it?" Wilson asked.

Amber muttered a 'thank you' to the tender before she wiped her nose on a napkin. Deep blue hues watched her closely, and then looked down at the napkin. Almost sounding disappointed, House replied, "Looks like snot. Seems like a cold."

"Nothing else?"

There's got to be something else… House's voice came out in a whisper, his eyes almost looking hazy as his mind still stayed in the bar. "No."

Finally, House tried to get up. But once he was on his feet, he stumbled into someone's back. Blowing off the incident and the glares from the table, House started to limp for the door.

"Where are you going?"

"Do you think I paid?"

Without warning, he felt his arm being lifted up. His gaze turned toward Amber as she made herself into a human crutch for House. "House, what are you doing? You can barely walk." They got to the door by the time House came up with a response. "Go home. I'll take the bus."

"Hey, someone's gotta pay for this!" the bartender called. The blonde glanced over their shoulders and then looked at House. Reluctantly, she let the drunken doctor go and returned to the bar. However, House kept going and managed to get on the bus. It was crowded, but he didn't care. As long as he got home he would be fine. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of red and orange flames. His cane was being held in front of him. He looked up to find Amber standing in the aisle. "You forgot something," she said, handing him the cane.

Setting it down to rest against his leg, House said, "Boy, you never give up, do you?"

Amber sat in the seat across the aisle. "Yeah, I'm an idiot like that."

A lazy smile appeared on the MD's features. "You doing this for me, or for Wilson?"

"For Wilson."

He nodded lightly. "Well then, it's even more impressive." He then lifted his hand in a toast, "Salut."

Once again, Amber sneezed. With a groan, she kept her hand over her nose and mouth. "Ugh damn, do you have a Kleenex?"

"I got a sleeve," House offered, looking down at his hands, "I got two, actually."

"I'm gonna need more than that," she replied, shuffling through her purse. "I'm getting that nasty flu." House's brow furrowed and he slowly turned so he was facing Amber more. He caught the sight of Wilson in his sky blue scrubs out of the corner of his eye, but he still stayed focused on Amber.

"Is that it? The flu? Is there any rare complication?" the oncologist asked.

"No. It'll explain the rash, but nothing else." He paused, his gaze lowering toward Amber's hands. The wheels started to turn in House's head and his eyes widened. "Unless…" No…

"What?"

He ignored Wilson for the time being, watching Amber very carefully. She withdrew a pill bottle from her purse. Everything in House froze. He leaned back, finally putting two and two together. His gaze shifted toward Amber's face. If she took those pills, it would explain everything. Though there was a catch… She dumped two pills into her palm as House watched on in dread. "Don't do it," he whispered. But it was too late; the pills were already being swallowed. Defeated, House's shoulders slumped as he looked at Amber that asked only one question: Why?

"It wasn't the flu," House mumbled quietly, his eyes to the floor of the bus. "It's what she did for it. She has Amantadine poisoning." This is all my fault. My…

"The crash destroyed her kidneys," Wilson started, "her body couldn't filter the drugs, she ODs on Amantadine, explains the heart, the liver…" House closed his eyes. As Wilson explained what they should do, he was slowly accepting his losses. Amber was far gone now; the Amantadine was going to kill her no matter what they did. And by losing Amber, that meant Wilson was going to go, too. And it was all House's fault. Maybe if he had called someone else, maybe if he had just gotten drunk at home… but no. Amber was on that bus with him whether he liked it or not and there was absolutely nothing they could do to save her.

She was dead when her heart stopped in the ambulance. I already lost Wilson in that ambulance.

Finally, House worked up the courage to look up at Wilson. The look in his eyes was grave and held sadness in them that Wilson caught immediately. "What? What is it?"

I can't do this… He lowered his gaze again, finding it easier to explain to Wilson that way rather than looking at him. "Amantadine binds with proteins. Dialysis can't clear it out of the blood." I'm so sorry… please don't leave. "There's nothing we can do." I didn't mean for this to happen… "I'm so sorry."

Wilson's gaze had been on Amber the whole time. It was starting to sink in for Wilson at that moment. House didn't want to be the one to break the news, but there was no one else to do it. He felt completely crushed; his heart aching with each beat it made. "Amber…" Wilson whispered.

A tear fell down the side of House's face while he sat in silence. He knew he had to accept this- accept the fact that Wilson was gone. But he couldn't bring himself to do it; Wilson was his only friend, his love. And to have that taken away because of a mistake he made- it was too much. He already lost the chance to tell Wilson his feelings because Amber came between them, and now this… I don't want this.

"Amber…" Her head turned to look at House, the lights of the garbage truck shining behind her and only getting brighter…

"He's seizing!" Chase exclaimed, watching as House started shaking violently in front of him. "Wilson, I need help here!"