Hi everyone!

Sorry it took me so long to post this chapter. No major catastrophe, just real life getting in the way and keeping me busy way more than I'd have wanted... Yeah, the excuse is as boring as it is real. Sorry.

Anyway, here's the new chapter. I hope you'll like it. Clues to keep up with the timeline are in there, but in short, in case some of you wonder: this takes place after Cuddy sent the letter, but obviously before House has received it…

All in good time… all in good time. ;P

"The shattering of a heart when being broken is the loudest quiet ever."


** I Will Always Choose You **

- Chapter 9 -

"House? HOUSE? I know you're in there!"

Wilson has been banging on his friend's apartment door almost incessantly over the past minute. But House doesn't feel like answering, or even less getting up to open to his friend.

"For Christ's sake, open that damn door!" the oncologist says reproachfully, knocking again. "Don't make me smash it…" There's a brief silence following the lame threat, as if Wilson thought it alone was enough to make House budge. Which, of course, it isn't. Instead, House sighs and keeps staring in front of him at the various objects that lie on his coffee table.

Then, probably suddenly remembering about the spare key above the doorjamb, something House sincerely thought he'd have used way earlier, Wilson slides it inside the lock. "Fine," he says, as he finally opens the door, "I'm coming in."

The place is plunged into darkness and, apart from the faint yellow lights that come from the street lamps on the sidewalk and shine through the windows, all Wilson can see is shadows. A little disoriented, he narrows his eyes to try and adjust to the dimness in the room and instantly reaches for the light switch beside the door. When the chandelier's light comes on, House groans loudly.

"Turn that fucking light off!" he barks.

Reluctantly doing as he's told, Wilson takes a tentative step forward, in the direction where he's located his friend's voice: the couch.

"You haven't shown up at work today," he says, half-worriedly, half-relieved, coming closer. "I'm glad to hear you apparently didn't die."

"Sorry to disappoint you, but I'm still alive," House deadpans sarcastically.

Just before he reaches the couch, Wilson trips over something on the floor and almost loses his balance.

"What the fuck?" he exclaims.

"Ah yeah, forgot to say, you probably wanna watch your step," House warns him with a slurring voice. "I've kind of started some spring cleaning lately but actually, I haven't gotten to the cleaning part yet…"

Wilson looks down at the object on which he's stumbled and recognizes a book, thick and big, probably an encyclopedia. Now that his eyes have gotten accustomed to the semi darkness a little, he can make out his friend's silhouette, slumped in the couch with his legs stretched out and his feet crossed at the ankles, lying on the coffee table.

"What the hell have you been doing?" Wilson asks, coming closer and indeed spotting more items on the floor that give him the weird, unsettling impression that House has emptied half his book shelves and thrown everything randomly on the ground around him. "Why didn't you show up at work?"

"I had other things to do," House says flatly.

He's twiddling something between his fingers, something with which he makes an intermittent, metallic, clicking sound and Wilson is wondering what that is until a small flame briefly lights his friend's face and another clicking sound quickly follows making the flame disappear.

A zippo lighter.

Something is off and Wilson feels a cold shiver run down his spine as he's slowly lowering himself to sit on the couch's armchair, next to House. On the coffee table, he can make out the shapes of different objects, but he's not really sure what they are. A spoon maybe? And something else, that looks like a small wooden box.

"What's with the sudden urge for cleaning?" he asks cautiously, trying to look around him for more clues that would explain the mess, or why House wasn't at work.

"I'm celebrating," the diagnostician replies gloomily, his voice indicating anything but him being in an actual mood for celebration.

"Celebrating what?"

House shifts to the side a little and turns toward the oncologist.

"No fault divorce requires for couples to live at least 18 months apart," he starts explaining cryptically. "I'm lucky that the time I spent in jail can be included in that period-"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Wilson retorts, getting unnerved.

"Dominika. She came here two days ago and made a new attempt at convincing me to play the perfect husband. God, those Russian girls can be really stubborn!"

"You can't blame her for trying," Wilson offers lamely.

"I said no and she doubled her offer, which was tempting for, like, thirty seconds but, thing is I realized that unlike you, I'm really not the married type. So I filed for divorce. Should be official in a couple weeks. Hence the celebration…"

Once again, House plays with the zippo lighter in his hand and lights it briefly. This time, it lasts long enough for Wilson to identify something else that lies on the coffee table: a syringe. He gulps, and his palms suddenly get sweaty.

"House… House?" he whispers, his voice low, while staring intensely at the syringe on the table. "Did you…"

"And you know, that's funny," House interrupts his friend's question, his mind obviously single-tracked on his thoughts only. "Coz had Cuddy never been married I wouldn't have been familiar with no fault divorce law in New Jersey."

Wilson is too preoccupied by what he just saw to pay attention to his friend's ramblings so he slowly gets up and walks towards the nearest lamp by the bookcase, striding over the discarded items on the floor.

"I'm turning the light on," he says, walking the talk.

House cringes and grumbles in irritation but doesn't protest this time.

Now that the room is lit, Wilson can clearly see, without the shadow of a doubt, what's lying on the table and the sight of it instantly makes him feel queasy. There, in front of him, is gathered everything that usually makes up a heroin kit: a spoon, a syringe, a tourniquet, and a small bottle that contains a clear, colorless liquid.

"And since we're talking about Cuddy," House carries on, oblivious of his friend's reaction, "did I mention that she was also here the other day when Dominika showed up?"

"What's that?" Wilson demands angrily, visibly not registering what House just said, his attention solely focused on the items on the table.

"Why do you have to be so annoying?" His remark almost doesn't sound like a question. "That is exactly what it looks like," he replies dismissively. "You're missing the point Wilson. I'm telling you Cuddy was here, too. We had sex."

That last bit of information seems to suddenly grab Wilson's attention.

"House," he warns worriedly, sighing heavily and studying the syringe which, luckily enough seems to be unused. So far.

"She was here, in my apartment," House repeats. "She came… first, quite literally, and then, well you know what I mean."

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"Goddammit, I'm telling you that Cuddy was here! We had sex. Twice."

Wilson is standing in front of the couch and looks down at him, shaking his head, visibly dismayed.

"And then she left."

"Are you hallucinating again?"

"Don't you hear what I'm saying? She came back and we had sex and then she left me! Again. She left."

"House, it's ok." Wilson says reassuringly, leaning toward the coffee table to take the bottle of clear liquid in his hand. A quick glance at its content indicates him it's still apparently full. But that doesn't explain the mess or why House is seated here, in an obvious daze, mumbling incoherent things. Swiftly, he places the bottle in his pocket and scans the room around him.

"I haven't taken the drug," House says, in a low voice as if speaking to himself. Pushing himself off the couch's backrest, he sits up straight and leans down to place the zippo lighter on the coffee table, next to the spoon.

"Yet," Wilson says reproachfully.

House shrugs but makes no comment. Instead, he grabs something next to his lap and holds it up in the air. A bottle of scotch.

"But I may have taken a bit of this. More than a bit, actually."

He uncaps the bottle and takes another swig of the amber alcohol, wincing at the burning sensation. Then he hands it to Wilson.

"Wanna celebrate with me?" He asks with a crooked grin.

"I have a hard time finding anything worth celebrating, here," Wilson tells him harshly.

"You're right. People shouldn't celebrate divorce. Divorce is supposed to be sad," he slurs. "How about marriage, then?"

"You're not making any sense," the oncologist says, accusingly. "Which is it: are you and Dominika getting a divorce or are you staying married?"

"Oh, no, no, no" House replies, shaking his head theatrically, "Dominika and I are definitely getting divorced. I'm not talking about me, here. I'm talking about Cuddy…"

"House, you need to stop that nonsense with Cuddy and you two having sex or whatever. You're not thinking straight. I can understand how this is difficult for you to-"

"Oh you can?" House snaps coolly. "Tell me Wilson, what is it exactly that you can understand? Really, I need to know how far your empathy goes. The woman I love, and I mean, not just the one I want to fuck, or be with, no, the woman I love shows up here, she tells me she doesn't want to see me, but then we have sex, and then she leaves and I'm alone. ALONE, Wilson. So tell me, what do you understand? Coz yeah, you're right: this doesn't make sense and I, for one, don't have a fucking clue why. Can you explain that to me? Do you know why she did this?"

Wilson sighs heavily and looks at his friend with concern but without saying a word. He's unable to say anything rational because nothing seems rational to him in that instant. How is he supposed to tell his drunk, deluded friend that what he thinks happened obviously only took place in his mind? He and Cuddy having sex? This is absolutely crazy. Still something really did happen, otherwise House wouldn't be here, numbed and with a heroin kit on his coffee table on top of that. That is what worries Wilson the most. He's been clean for a little over two months now. Why would he suddenly fall off the wagon? Certainly not because he and Dominika are going separate ways. For what he can gather, that's something that doesn't seem to affect House much. Silence hangs heavily in the air between them for at least an entire minute.

"Life is shit Wilson," House finally says with a sad voice, breaking the silence. "I'm clean. I go find her. I'm doing everything right, you know… I get my shit together. I'm getting divorced. But then… Turns out she is getting married! Isn't it ironic? There's got to be some kind of pattern here, what with the other guy always getting her first…"

Wilson frowns dubiously and panic slowly starts pervading him. It feels like the shock, or whatever it is that hit his friend, hit him harder than he first thought if House is now referring to a time that is long done and gone.

"House, Cuddy is not marrying Lucas," he says cagily.

House forces a laugh that comes out more like a strangled moan and he raises the bottle to his mouth, again taking another swig before answering with sarcasm:

"Wilson, I'm not dumb. Of course, I know she's not marrying Lucas. She dumped him! For me… And God, how fucking well that went… No, she's marrying another guy. She told me. Yep, right after we had sex. They're engaged. She had sex with me, but she's marrying Mark." He spat the name disdainfully, as if it was some kind of gross word. "Cuddy's a slut, Wilson. We should celebrate that too, what d'ya say?"

He tries to raise the bottle but Wilson snatches it out of his hand before he can bring it to his mouth. Something suddenly doesn't sound so completely crazy and as improbable as it has until now.

"What did you say the guy's name is?"

House closes his eyes and his head bobs from side to side a few times.

"Mark," he answers, his eyes still closed.

Wilson remembers having heard Cuddy mention a man named Mark a while ago during their ritual phone calls. It was not long after she'd moved to Philadelphia and she was slowly trying to live a normal life again, trying to get past the traumatic events of a still recent past. He remembers about her saying that she'd met a nice guy, Mark, and that she was considering dating him… and then, realization suddenly dawns on him.

"Cuddy came here," he says, still a little in disbelief.

House opens his eyes and tilts his head up to look at his friend, nodding solemnly.

"Cuddy came here," he repeats, stone faced.

"And you…"

"And we had sex, yeah. Twice," House confirms, raising two fingers in the air, a bitter smile forming on the corners of his lips.

"Jesus Christ! What is wrong with you guys?" Wilson exclaims angrily.

House pouts like a child that's been caught red-handed doing something stupid.

"She came here!" He defends himself nonetheless. "I didn't ask anything."

"You had sex!"

"And then she left…"

"That is so beyond the point. The real question is: why did you have sex in the first place?"

House's eyes widen and he stares at Wilson with a 'duh' face.

"You obviously never had sex with Cuddy if you need to ask that!"

Wilson rolls his eyes skyward in exasperation.

"What? You never had sex with Cuddy, right?" House inquires, half-teasingly, half-seriously.

"House! Can you be fucking serious for once in your life? This is every kind of wrong and…"

"Oh come on, I know you tried to hit that, too! Don't deny it."

"I'm not talking about me. I'm talking about you, and Cuddy… and Mark," Wilson reminds him spitefully, intentionally poking a sharp stick right where he knows it will hurt.

Sadness instantly clouds House's face over and he lowers his gaze, trying to avoid the oncologist's judgmental stare.

"She's getting married," Wilson says with a softer voice.

"She's getting married," House repeats, his voice barely above a whisper.

Wilson heaves a deep, helpless sigh and slouches on the couch next to House, looking dramatically defeated. Not knowing what to say, he brings the bottle of scotch to his lips and gulps a large sip out of it. House turns to the side to look at him and puts out his hand, indicating he wants his share of alcohol, too.

"No," Wilson says, moving the bottle out of his reach. "You've drunk enough already."

"But we're celebrating," House replies sheepishly.

Wilson jerks his head to the side and glowers at the diagnostician. House gets the hint and bites his lower lip, looking away abashedly. Silence settles in the room for a while.

"What's with all the mess?" Wilson finally asks, pointing at all the objects scattered on the floor.

"I was looking for something."

"Oh you were looking for something? Something like what?"

"Something I'd lost. Something I…. needed to find."

"And what would that be?"

"Not what you're thinking about," House says, making a face and sounding annoyed.

"You don't know what I'm thinking about," Wilson tries to defend himself.

"Oh please! I know you. And I know what you mean. But you're wrong because I wasn't looking for the heroin. You happy now?"

Wilson frowns dubiously and takes a deep breath, looking down at his lap, as if he was still trying to comprehend what happened. He raises the bottle of scotch to his mouth and swallows several gulps then tilts his head back against the couch's backrest, staring at the ceiling in silence.

"Where did you get it?" he asks after a while, a bit of sadness registering in his voice.

"It was stashed behind the bookcase. I stumbled on it completely by chance."

"House, I'm not stupid!"

"Wilson, I'm not stupid!" House says, mimicking his friend's upset tone. "If I wanted to shoot up heroin, I'd have injected myself with a dose already. I didn't take the drug. As a matter of fact, I'd completely forgotten about it-"

"Yeah, sure! You're a recovering addict and I'm supposed to believe you when you say that this heroin kit was here, in your apartment, by chance; especially when it was put right in the middle of your coffee table, ready to be used, just when I came in?"

"I was going to throw it away."

Wilson puffs and shakes his head distrustfully.

"I'm clean," House says stubbornly. "I have no intention of taking heroin or any drug-"

Wilson sighs resignedly and sits up straight. Leaning forward, he lays the bottle of scotch on the table and starts putting the different items back inside the wooden box.

"So you wouldn't mind if I took these with me, eh?" he says challengingly, glancing at House above his shoulder.

House sits up, too, and snatches the zippo lighter before Wilson can get it.

"Not the box," he simply replies, looking away. "My father got it in Vietnam."

Without a word, Wilson empties the box and gathers the items inside his hand before putting them in his jacket's pocket.

"Did you find what you were looking for?" he asks, plunking himself in a more laid-back position.

House is seated on the edge of the couch, his elbows resting on his knees and his head bowed down. He's playing with the zippo lighter again. And in his right hand, he's holding something that Wilson can't see but which looks like a piece of paper.

"Yeah," he says with a raspy voice.

Every now and then, he's bringing the flame of the lighter underneath the piece of paper, without ever putting it close enough to set it on fire.

"What's that?" Wilson asks, curious.

When House doesn't answer, he pushes himself up and sits on the edge of the couch next to House to find out on his own. House doesn't even try to conceal the paper out of Wilson's sight. He just holds it in his hand and he hears his friend sigh heavily as he finally sees what it is.

"A picture of Cuddy?"

House imperceptibly nods and once again brings the flame close to the edge of the photograph, but not close enough to burn it.

"When did Cuddy ever wear a Sleeping Beauty costume?" Wilson asks, matter-of-factly.

"A long time ago," House answers, with a sad, melancholic edge to his voice. "I should burn it, right?"

He shoots his head to the side to meet his friend's gaze and looks at him quizzically.

"You're asking my opinion? House, my opinion is: I don't have an opinion!"

"Thanks. You're being very helpful. As usual," House replies sarcastically.

"Fine. Give it to me. I can burn it for you if that's what you want," Wilson says, putting out his hand in House's direction.

Immediately, House closes his fingers tightly around the picture and moves his hand away.

"Nuh-uh. I… I'm not… ready to do that just yet." He glances at Wilson and sends him a shy, embarrassed look, as if he were feeling ashamed of himself for showing such weakness and sentimentality about a damn, stupid photograph.

Wilson nods empathically and House returns his focus to the snapshot for a short while, the pad of his thumb softly brushing the outlines of Cuddy's silhouette on the picture almost unconsciously.

"She doesn't love me, does she?" he says, after a few seconds, his voice low and unsure.

Wilson sighs but doesn't say anything. What is there to say, anyway? Everything is so fucked up and wrong, and… sad mostly. It breaks his heart to see his friend in such emotional misery, but what can he do when, in truth, he has a hard time processing the whole thing himself, already? So instead, he bends over and takes the remote control.

"Wanna watch TV?" he asks, with fake enthusiasm.

"No."

"Want me…" he slowly starts getting up, "to help you clean this mess?" He offers, though with reluctance.

House gets up too, clutching his hand around his bad thigh and staggering a little.

"No. I think I'm gonna puke," he says, with a smirk. "So, unless you want to hold my hair out of my face and stroke my back affectionately, I don't really need you here."

"You sure?"

"That I don't want you to stroke my back? Yeah, I'm sure," House deadpans mockingly. "I'll be fine," he adds when Wilson still doesn't move.

"Ok. If you say so."

"Puke. Kinda imminent," House warns, his face theatrically contorting in a grimace.

"Alright, alright, I'm going! Just… You sure you're ok?"

Wilson's hand instinctively pats his jacket's pocket where he's put the various items from the heroin kit. House doesn't fail to notice and rolls his eyes.

"I was gonna throw it away," he says.

"Yeah."

"Oh for God's sake, Wilson, stop being such a drama queen! These past two days don't exactly rank amongst the best I had in my life, but I had worse… I will have worse," he says, looking his friend straight in the eyes defiantly. "I'm fine."

"What are you gonna do now?"

"Now? Like I said, as soon as you leave me the fuck alone, I'm probably gonna puke my guts out then I'll go to bed."

"That's not what I mean."

"I know what you mean. But, I don't have the answer to that... yet. I'll just take it one little puking step at a time if you don't mind. Geez, I'm getting divorced, Wilson! You of all people should know I need some time on my own to get over it!" House exclaims, throwing his hands up in the air with extravaganza.

Recognizing his friend's deflecting strategy, usually indicating that the walls are up and the conversation is definitely over, Wilson has no other choice but to give up. He sighs resignedly and walks towards the door. Just before exiting House's apartment, he turns around and looks at him with a sorry smile, conveying the best he can everything that has now become useless to add.

"I'll see you tomorrow at work?"

"Yeah. Good night, Wilson."

"Good night, House."

# # # # # # #

He shouldn't do it - he knows that - because that's none of his business and he hates being caught in the middle of something so screwed up there's more than a good chance he'll be the one ending feeling guilty – or worse – but, since the minute he got home, Wilson has been feeling the compelling urge to call Cuddy. He's dialed her number a few times but so far, he's always hung up before the call could get through. Except, he just can't let go. Not after he's been forced to flush the content of a bottle filled with morphine into the toilet. Not when he knows where that bottle came from and not, when he's seen how much what happened a few days ago has left his friend in a state of complete misery.

No, he just can't.

So for the fourth time this evening, he dials Cuddy's number but this time, he waits until she picks up.

"Wilson? You've heard," she instantly says, not bothering with the usual greetings.

It undeniably catches the oncologist off guard, to say the least.

"Wh… What?"

"Garrison," she explains. "Heart attack. This afternoon, right in the middle of a Board meeting. They did everything they could…"

"Garrison's dead?" Wilson exclaims, a bit shocked.

There's a bad joke about the job as Dean of Medicine at Princeton General that says the spot will never be available, unless Garrison dies of a heart attack behind his desk… And now… Who'd have thought that it would actually happen?

But, that's obviously not what Wilson is calling for. As much as it saddens him to hear the news, there's something else he needs to discuss with Cuddy. So, even though it may be a bit harsh, he loses no time dismissing the subject.

"Wow," he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "And here I thought Deans of medicine didn't have a heart."

Cuddy doesn't fail to register the change of tone in her friend's voice and it startles her a little.

"What? What do you mean?"

"What do you think I mean, Cuddy? Or shall I get used to your future, new married name, already?"

A heavy, almost deafening silence falls at the other end of the line and Wilson assumes that Cuddy is stomaching the shock of his not so very subtle and quite straightforward allusion. Then he hears her take a deep breath.

"What are you talking about?" She asks with a wobbling voice and it's clear that she knows, at least partly, what Wilson is referring to, which considering there's only one way he can have heard about it means that she's undoubtedly in trouble.

"Spare me the fake, surprised tone," Wilson snaps angrily. "You, Cuddy? Really? You had to do this? Now, on top of it! Jesus Christ, I'm gonna tell you the same thing I told House but, what the hell is wrong with you? Seriously?"

"I… I don't wanna talk about this," she says sheepishly.

"I'm sorry but you don't really have a choice! You're getting married and… and you find nothing better to do than to sleep with House?"

"This is none of your business."

"Oh, you think? I'm not talking about you getting married, even though, I'd have thought you'd have at least told me… I'm… I don't understand you, Cuddy. Why did you do this?"

"Wilson, I'm sorry too but again, this is none of your business." She's desperately trying to sound assertive but there's no denying the fact that ashamed, and utterly confused is what she's feeling the most in that moment.

"Yes, it is! You know where I was this evening?"

Of course she knows. She knows he was at House's place and just picturing the scene makes her feel sick.

"I… Please, Wilson, it's complicated," is her only, very lame answer.

Since the moment when she's sent her letter to House, she's been reliving the night she's spent with him and, 'in complete disarray' doesn't even begin to cover how she's been feeling ever since.

"Complicated? That's all you have to say? How about, fucked-up? Stupid? Wrong? For Christ's sake, Cuddy, you think having sex with House is the clever thing to do? You really think he's in any way capable of handling you rejecting him a second time?"

Cuddy remains stubbornly silent but Wilson doesn't care. He has to let it out once and for all because the anger that's been boiling inside of him since he's left House's apartment won't leave him and he just have to let off steam and release his pent-ups feelings on someone. And who, better than Cuddy, deserves to be given a piece of his mind in that instant?

"I know he came to see you," he carries on, on a roll. "And frankly, had I known, I would have tried to talk him out of it because this was supposed to be pointless, wasn't it? I mean, I've been here, for you over the last two years. We talked about what happened on countless occasions. I know what you've been through, but I also know what you want. What you told me you wanted… And that never included screwing with House, ever again."

"I… I know what I said," she falters out. "But I… maybe, I…"

"WHAT? You're having second thoughts, now?"

"I… I don't know, I…"

"You're getting married!"

She gulps audibly and Wilson's mouth falls agape, in shock.

"You're… Don't tell me you're not getting married," he says, sounding completely aghast.

"Wilson, please, listen… I… I'm coming to Princeton for Garrison's funeral in a couple of days. It's scheduled Friday and I… Please. Don't tell him anything."

"You're not getting married?" Wilson repeats, dismayed. "Why the hell did you tell him that? You think you can play with his feelings like that? You think it's some kind of game?"

He's fuming with anger now and Cuddy feels cornered, like a wild animal caught inside a hunter's net.

"I DON'T KNOW!" She shouts, and a sob breaks her voice on the last syllable. "I know I screwed up. I… It wasn't supposed to happen. I thought…"

"Jesus fucking Christ! I don't believe it."

"I know what I did was wrong and, I owe House an explanation. I… I don't know what to do but Wilson, you need to understand things haven't been easy for me, too-"

No. Wilson doesn't need to understand that. He's sick and tired of that unhealthy, on and off relationship his two friends have been in for way too long now. But most of all, he's sick and tired of being caught in the middle of it and always having to do damage control so that none of them would crumble into pieces. She broke up with him. She left him. And House, well House may be an asshole of the grandest kind but he doesn't deserve to suffer like he is suffering now.

"Cuddy, you can't see House," Wilson interrupts her, with a determined voice.

"What do you mean I can't?"

He doesn't think twice about what he's about to say. Maybe he's wrong and maybe it's not up to him to decide but he knows what he saw at House's place tonight. He knows what kind of damages he's capable of doing to himself. And he knows Cuddy is unable to handle that. Worse, she's unwilling to.

"I was at his place this evening," he says. "And you know what he was doing when I arrived?"

He takes her silence as a cue to carry on.

"He was… well not exactly doing because I got there on time, but Cuddy… there was a heroin kit on the table, right in front of him and I swear to God, I don't know-"

"Oh God! You mean… he's using again?"

"I didn't say that. But it was there. And honestly, do you really think that was a coincidence? Right after you showed up, had sex with him and then broke his heart again, leaving him with the impression that you'd just used him like he was some kind of disposable fuck?"

He hears her gasp in shock at the other end of the line and then she starts crying, almost silently, barely sniffing, but he can hear it all the same.

"Cuddy, House is fucked up and what he did to you was wrong. You know I am not and will never condone it but, you need to stop hurting him like this is revenge or something. He's a good man. He doesn't deserve that."

"He's using again?" she repeats incredulous.

"What do you think? You broke up with him once. Do you not remember how it went after that? I'd have thought that you, of all people, would know how much House can completely lose it when it comes to you…"

"I didn't, I…"

"Of course, that's not what you wanted and you and House have a complicated history and things are not simple," Wilson enumerates, a bit judgmentally, "but, unless you're absolutely sure what you want…"

"I don't know, Wilson. I mean, I can't just…"

"Yeah, you can't. That's your problem, Cuddy. You can't just decide." Wilson sighs bitterly and closes his eyes, as he takes a deep breath.

"I'm sorry," she says with a very low voice.

"I'm sure you are," he half-snaps because what he really means to say is: you really should be.

"Please, just make sure-"

"I will," he simply answers before she's even finished her sentence because he's guessed what she wanted to ask him.

"I'm sorry," she says again, the quiet sobs ever so slightly altering her voice.

After he hung up, Wilson stares at his phone for a long while, replaying the conversation in his head once again. Maybe it wasn't up to him to decide. Maybe he is wrong, but he did what he thought was right. And that's for the best, he thinks. It has to be.


A/N

Thank you so much to all of you who have read and reviewed the last chapter of this story: OldSFfan, oc7ober, Faby, Huddy4Ever, LapizSilkwood, IHeartHouseCuddy, freeasabird14, JLCH, linda12344, Abby, Housebound, Jaybe61, HuddyGirl, bere, Alex, lenasti16, paulac45, vicpei1, bladesmum, precioussoulandsweetcheeksiin1, Boo's House! You are all wonderful people and I can't thank you enough for taking the time to let me know your thoughts! You rock.

Also, a big thanks to all of you who have stopped by since I first posted this story and have added it in their list of favorites, or put it on alert. Thank you for adding me, as an author, in your list of favorites, too. That's a great honor and I'm very grateful to know that you appreciate the stories I write.

Sometimes, I wonder if I'm moving this one too fast; other times, I'm afraid that maybe you'll think it's going too slow… I'm just trying to fix some of the things that have been ruined, but I'm aware I certainly won't solve everything. In the end, I just hope you won't be disappointed…

I'll post next chapter asap. Teeny tiny spoiler: House will get Cuddy's letter… ;P