Chapter 4
Early the next morning, Wilson woke up with a headache. He picked up the bag of vicodin and his glass of cognac and headed towards the kitchen. He rinsed out his glass, set it on the counter and picked up the bag of pills. He shook his head, not knowing why he was even considering taking another vicodin, but he wanted one. He wanted to be numb.
Opening the bag, he took out one of bottles, popped off the lid and swallowed one pill dry. Instantly he gagged. He filled his glass with water and washed the pill down. He shook his head, wondering how House could have dry swallowed his pills as often as he had. He washed the glass, grabbed the bag of pills and headed home for a quick change before going to work.
"Doctor Cuddy?" Foreman lightly knocked on her door.
"Hi, come in." Cuddy's eyes were bloodshot and had dark circles beneath them, she looked tired. It was clear to Foreman that she had been up most of the night. He himself had a hard time sleeping that night, hoping that yesterday was all a sick nightmare. Seeing Cuddy confirmed that he was indeed awake and not dreaming. He took a seat.
"Now that House is," she nodded her head and couldn't quite bring herself to say the word, "Well, I'd like to offer you the head of diagnostics position. Your team would remain the same. I understand if you would like some time to think about it."
Foreman knew this would be what the morning's meeting would be about and he had considered the pending proposition all night. Did he want House's job? The responsibilities that came with it, the demands, the forces that in part created the very things that Foreman disliked about House? He wondered if he would become House all over again, or if he could take the department to new levels. He was overwhelmed with the idea of following in the footsteps of someone so gifted at his career, someone so miserable, so alone.
"I'd like to accept." He said, knowing he was most emphatically not Greg House.
Cuddy looked relieved, "Good. We've got a meeting scheduled for ten am in your conference room with your team, myself, Wilson, Chase, Cameron, Stacy and House's parents. I'd appreciate it if you would inform your team."
"Stacy?"
"He had a will."Foreman nodded his head, "We'll be there." It sounded odd to him to call the conference room and House's team, his own.
Stacy ducked her head into Wilson's office and found him sitting with his head in his hands, arms on his desk, eyes closed. He looked like hell.
"Are you OK?" she asked him.
He took a deep breath and looked up at her, folding his arms on his desk, "No."
She was slightly taken aback by his honest comment. She knew he was not OK, and would likely not be for some time, though she expected the charismatic doctor to put his best face forward or to at least mask just how much pain he was actually in. Though Wilson did neither and instead sat in his office looking tired and worn, profoundly affected by the loss of his best friend.
"Have you," she looked at him wondering to what depths House's death would affect Wilson, "Have you been drinking?"
"I had a single glass of cognac last night." Wilson conveniently neglected to mention the three vicodin since, "I'm just tired. Not sure what to do now, it's all so surreal. You know, we faced this possibility so many times with him and he always bounced back. I never really thought we'd lose him." Wilson licked his lips. They felt slightly numb.
"I'm heading to the conference room, care to join me?"
Wilson stood up, "Sure."
As they approached the door to the conference room, Cuddy approached them.
"Can I have a word with you?" Wilson asked her.
"Sure, we'll meet you inside, Stacy." Stacy nodded and headed into the conference room.
"Wilson, why don't you take the rest of the day off?" She was shocked by his appearance.
"I'm fine. Listen, I'd like to have my office moved."
Cuddy stared at him, he did not look like the James Wilson she knew, "Why?"
He glanced down, apparently very interested in what his shoes looked like, "Because that's where he died, I don't think I can conduct my day to day business from that office. As soon as I enter the room, I'm taken back to that moment."
"I'll see what I can do."
"Thanks."
He opened the door for her and stepped inside the conference room, where everyone else was already seated.
Cuddy addressed everyone, "Stacy, you know doctors Wilson, Chase, Cameron and Foreman. I'd like you to meet doctors Hadley, Taub and Kutner, House's new team." Stacy nodded to each of them. "Before we get started, I'd like you to know that Dr. Foreman here has agreed to take on the head of the diagnostics position, and his team will remain the same."
Cameron offered her congratulations, Chase lightly punched him in the shoulder and Wilson nodded his head.
"OK, so we are here because House left a will and Stacy is the executor. Stacy." Cuddy nodded to Stacy.
"Good morning. I'm afraid Greg's parents won't be able to make it, they're on a cruise in Europe. They send their sympathies and asked that Dr. Wilson and I arrange the funeral in their absence." Cuddy pursed her lips and shook her head. Several of the others in the room looked down, not expecting to hear this news.
Stacy paused and began again, "For those who don't know me, Greg and I had a very close relationship and were nearly married but some things just weren't meant to be. When we last saw each other I encouraged him to create a will, and this is why we're here today."
Stacy proceeded to read the contents of House's will, item by item. He left his parents several photograph albums, a considerable amount of money, and his old car. He left Stacy his education diplomas, Steve McQueen (to which she laughed), and his piano (to which she cried).
"So we now come to Dr. Cuddy. Greg left you a personal note saying 'Cuddy, I leave you with my thigh master to help you with your double-wide, I never used it in rehab anyway." Cuddy laughed out loud, "He's also left the turntable and all his records and a hospital donation in the amount of one million dollars."
Cuddy gasped and shook her head, unbelieving in House's generosity. Wilson shook his head, "And he always borrowed money from me?"
"Cameron, he left his gameboy, magic 8 ball and pearl necklace that was his grandmother's." Cameron brushed the tears away from her eyes.
"Chase, you are to receive his bike. This is an addendum; I don't remember this being a part of the original will." Chase covered his mouth with his hand, completely unaware that House would leave him anything of any value, much less his beloved bike.
"Foreman, he left you all of his medical books, journals and medical supplies. He's left you his 'thinking ball', television set and his sneakers." This time it was Stacy who smiled as she glanced at the shoes Foreman was wearing.
Stacy continued on, "He's also left a personal note for Dr. Wilson, 'To Jimmy, my best friend. I bequeath my apartment and all of its contents (other than what is otherwise mentioned in this will). I give you my guitars, and all of my worldly possessions. Don't sell them on ebay.' Surprise, surprise." Wilson half smiled without looking up.
Stacy went on to say, "He's also said that any future member of his team not mentioned in this will is welcomed to whatever they'd like from his office. So I guess that would mean you," she said as she motioned to the three newest members of his team. She then finished reading the will which included a few random people not present and then concluded the meeting.
Kutner stood up and walked over to the whiteboard, picked it up and headed towards the conference room door, all the while struggling with the whiteboard, stand and the cane hanging from it.
"Hey, where are you going with that?" Foreman asked.
"Well, he said we could take anything we wanted from his office. So, I'm taking the whiteboard."
Cameron laughed out loud, Chase hung his head chuckling.
"Kutner, we still have work to do. We need the whiteboard, it's staying. Put it down." Foreman looked at Kutner, wondering how he would be able to work with such an apparent moron.
A short while later, Stacy sat in Cuddy's office, chatting, "He looks awful."
"I noticed too. He's been drinking I think."
"He told me that he only had one drink last night." Stacy said. Cuddy sighed.
"I'll be heading back home in an hour or so. If you need any help with the funeral arrangements, let me know."
"Thanks Stacy, I'll see you Saturday."
"Ya, Saturday." Stacy hurried out of Cuddy's office, not wanting to cry in front of her, she held it together for as long as she could that morning and couldn't keep it in any longer.
Foreman stood in what was now his office, though it was still untouched since the day prior, complete with all of House's belongings. Several boxes sat in the far corner and he picked one up and began placing what once belonged to House in them. He separated the few things mentioned in the will and set them aside for those who would receive them. The other items were placed into boxes that would be sold at the Hospital's thrift store, with the proceeds earmarked for the free clinic.
After a while, Foreman stood, stretched his arms and walked into the conference room. He saw Kutner removing House's cane from the whiteboard.
"What are you doing?"
"We have a patient, need the whiteboard." Kutner said.
"Leave the cane, it stays until after the funeral. It can hang off to the side." As often as Foreman and House butted heads, he still respected the man and felt it his duty to offer up this small gesture as a sign of respect for his former boss.
"Who's the patient?" Thirteen asked as she and Taub took seats at the conference table.
"Eight year old girl, wakes up every night throwing up but shows no symptoms during the day. No fever, no memory of the vomiting." Kutner said.
"Weird."
"Definitely. Differential diagnosis?" Foreman asked as he picked up the whiteboard marker.
Just as he turned towards the whiteboard to start writing, Wilson walked in through the conference room door, "House I need a consult on…" he stopped, shook his head as he looked around at Foreman and the others and said, "I'm so sorry. I don't know what I was thinking, I completely forgot. How could I forget? Excuse me." Wilson turned on his heel and headed back to his own office.
"OK folks, differential diagnosis?" Foreman asked again, with a sigh.