Chapter 9
Blind

Wilson walks into House's room at the end of the day, intending to stay for around an hour. It's been a long, dreary day, and all he wants is some time alone with his friend. He now kinda gets why House likes hanging around in the rooms of coma patients. It's so wrong, but there is a kind of peace that cannot be found elsewhere in the bustling hospital.

A nurse exits the room with an untouched dinner tray. She offers him a sympathetic glance, and he returns with a hopeful – if there's ever such a way of describing it – grimace of his own.

When he walks in, he takes one look at House, and he grins.

"I know you're awake, House."

House reluctantly opens his eyes with a dramatic sigh.

"Any reason you're pretending to be asleep?"

House blinks at the ceiling before shrugging. The victorious feeling in Wilson starts to wilt.

"You gave us all quite a scare," he ventures tentatively. "How are you feeling?"

House shrugs, but acquiesces with a question of his own. "How bad?"

"Bad enough."

"Feels that way."

"Neuro check."

"Wilson…" House tries to whine, but he comes off sounding winded, especially since it tapers off into a weak cough. He accepts the water that Wilson passes to him.

"This wasn't just some bang of the head, House. You had a skull fracture. A grade three concussion. A bleed, to boot." He adds firmly in that no-nonsense tone he reserves for only a certain childish genius diagnostician best friend, "Neuro check."

House only turns away Wilson, and closes his eyes again. Wilson sighs, already exasperated, but he stopped himself from lapsing into a lecture. House is probably feeling way more crappy than usual, thus the greater lack of cooperation than usual. "It's me, or I get Foreman up here."

House pinches his lips together, and almost childishly gives in, sulkily turning his head towards Wilson. He winces as he moves, and he reaches up clumsily again towards the tubes and bandages.

Wilson smacks his hand away lightly, and in a repeat of what happened earlier in the day, says, "Don't touch."

"It hurts."

"Of course it hurts. You have a whole laundry list of injuries. So don't move."

They run through the gamut of exercises, and Wilson can already see by the end of the neuro check that House is tiring. He's just about to ask House to continue resting when House slowly extends his hand.

He extends it imperiously, to be exact, gesturing for the chart.

Knowing there's no stopping House, Wilson grabs the chart, and passes it to House, who clumsily holds it up to read. Wilson surreptitiously watches as House digests the information on the chart. He can see the exact moment that House realizes what exactly recovery entails for the next few weeks, and months. There is a flicker of… something in House's eyes before he seems to clam up, tossing the chart to the foot of the bed just too carelessly.

"Chase needs to work on his handwriting."

House-speak for I don't want to discuss this.

Wilson persists.

"House…"

"Where's my mom?" House cuts Wilson off as he presses the controls, raising the head of his bed.

"She's returned to the loft for some rest."

The look of relief on House's face is unmistakable. As Wilson catches sight of it, he remembers how perplexed he was earlier at House's relationship with Blythe when he realized House had kept so much from her.

One thing's for sure, it's bordering on screwed-up.

But who is he to comment, when his own relationship with House is bordering on dysfunctional? Somehow, despite all that has come between them – normal friendships would have fallen apart by now – they always somehow end up together again. Overlooking each other's faults, forgiving (or just forgetting) each other's misdeeds, choosing to be each other's friend.

Wilson knows that people say it's weird that a person like him would be friends with House. He's perceived to be the good one, and often, he is seen as too good for House. But he knows he too, is deeply flawed – and House is the only person he's comfortable enough with to be who he really is. House seems to be the only person who can bring color to Wilson's dull, dull life as an oncologist with a tendency for unhealthy relationships with women.

So yeah, he has to do something. He needs to get their friendship back to whatever it was before this whole mess. He doesn't even know when it all started, when it started to go all downhill.

"House…" Wilson hesitates, but decides to just get it out of the way. "I owe you an apology."

Almost instantly, House stiffens. He stops the mechanical movement of the bed, leaving it in an awkward half-up-half-down position that is not quite letting him sit upright, nor letting him lie comfortably. He doesn't say anything, only staring at the right corner of the white ceiling.

As Wilson speaks, his voice seems far too loud, far too grating in the heavy silence.

"I shouldn't have asked you to move out. I should have remembered that you needed to stay with me, as Nolan said, so that I could help you stay clean… And I just let – "

"I don't need you to help me do anything," House sullenly replies, still pointedly not looking at Wilson. "I can do it on my own."

"House…"

"I was fine after I moved out. I don't need your help. I'm fine on my own."

"I shouldn't have thrown you into the deep end for Sam… I might have overlooked some things…"

"Your loft, your money, your decision."

"House…" The familiar feeling of exasperation that seems to permeate his conversations with House makes its appearance. "I'm trying to apologize here. Please at least give me a chance to do so."

"Nothing to apologize for."

"No... Just - "

"You did what you thought was necessary."

"House. Please."

There is only the sound of machines beeping in the room as Wilson waits with bated breath for House to give him a chance to try and make things as right as they can be.

House turns to look at Wilson, an inscrutable look on his face. "Does it look like I can go anywhere?"

That's the closest Wilson's going to get to a go-ahead.

"I shouldn't have asked you to leave the loft so soon… And I shouldn't have paid your team to bring you out – that was insensitive of me."

To his immense surprise, House nods. "Okay."

Wilson is incredulous. "That's it? Okay? That's all you have to say?"

House throws Wilson a scathing look. "What else am I supposed to say? Am I supposed to demand that you get on your knees to apologize to me?"

House pokes at the bed's controls, raising the head of the bed to a more comfortable position. He pointedly keeps his gaze on the remote control, as though it's infinitely more interesting than the human being standing bewildered in front of him.

Wilson has a sneaking suspicion that he's not getting the entire picture. "And… I want you to move back in with me."

"You want me to move back with you," House repeats very slowly, processing the idea.

Wilson nods as he sits down in the chair. He pours out another cup of water, and offers it to House. House doesn't take it.

"No."

Wilson puts down the cup of water slowly, treading carefully. These are dangerous waters. One wrong move, and they're going down.

"Why not?"

"Why should I?"

Wilson counts to ten in his head. This is going to be one of those conversations. "Because… if you haven't realized, you are not going to be able to cope for at the very least, the next two months."

"I don't need your help. I'm fine on my own."

"You don't need it, or don't want it?"

A silence that all but tells Wilson the answer. House is not stupid; he of all people should know what the recovery process is going to entail.

He sighs, and rubs at the back of his neck. "I've already apologized, House."

House glowers right back at him despite his evident exhaustion. "I'm more mature than that."

"You don't seem like it right now."

"Wouldn't Sam find me a pest?" House asks mockingly. "I hate her, remember?"

"She'll understand."

"Yeah, she's been real understanding."

Wilson doesn't miss the heavy sarcasm lacing every word. It's House's way of expressing his uncertainty.

"It doesn't matter anyway, because you're moving in even if she doesn't like it."

House regards Wilson with an odd look. "Standing up to the harpy. That's new."

Wilson ignores that statement and its implications. "House… Come on."

With some difficulty, House reaches for the television remote, and turns the TV on. Most obnoxiously, he increases the volume until it is just short of deafening. Outside in the hospital hallways, people peer into the room at the commotion.

"House!"

"What?" House yells over the irritating jangle of some advertisement playing on the screen. "Are you saying something?"

"House…" Wilson says in a warning tone, folding his arms. "Stop it."

"What?"

Despite the dramatics, Wilson can see the lines of pain around House's eyes deepen as the deafening noise from the TV jars his concussed brain.

"Ass." Gritting his teeth, Wilson grabs the remote. House is still too weak to put up any considerable fight. Wilson switches off the TV, and sets the remote down. "Act like an adult, House."

Silence.

"Please… House. I made some mistakes in the past few weeks. And maybe in the past few years… But I'm your best friend. You just need to give me a chance to make it up to you. A single chance."

House keeps his eyes down, pointedly not looking at Wilson. He fidgets, fingering the hospital blanket and rolling the nasal cannula tubing in his fingers. Wilson doesn't know how long it is before House reaches out abruptly, groping around the bedside table for the television remote. He switches the TV back on – normal volume this time. He stares intensely at the TV, a hundred percent focus on the newscaster delivering the evening news.

Bewildered, and recognizing the subtle signs of House tiring, Wilson takes his cue, and watches the news with similar intensity. He tries his best to prevent himself from taking sidelong glances at House.

It comes in the middle of a sports commentary. It's so soft that Wilson almost doesn't think he hears it.

"I'm fine on my own, Wilson."

Wilson keeps his eyes trained on the TV. "I know," he replies softly. "But I don't want you to be on your own."

Together, they look at the moving images on the television. Not really watching, just looking. Wilson can almost feel the uncertainty radiating off of House – he's daring Wilson to make a huge fuss and emotionalize about this. But Wilson knows House's game well – so yes, this sports commentary is highly interesting, and commands all of his attention at the moment.

"You're such a sap," House says, his voice slurring with exhaustion.

By the time Wilson dares to sneak a peek, House is fast asleep – his head turned slightly towards Wilson, remote grasped loosely in his hand. Wilson switches off the television, draws the blankets up around House, and settles down to sit for just a while more before leaving for the night.

As the sun rises over Princeton, PPTH awakens from its slumber, like a sleeping giant. Food carts delivering breakfast make their way through the corridors. Nurses change shifts, and morning rounds are conducted. Visitors start streaming in the hospital doors as visiting hours begin, and a small queue even forms outside the free clinic. The silence that was interrupted only by codes in the middle of the night dissipates as the hustle and bustle increases while the hospital gains steam, gearing itself up for yet another day of treating illnesses and saving lives.

Cuddy finds herself early in her office. Her home, now devoid of any Lucas, seemed far too empty. It was a stroke of luck that Marina had turned up early, allowing her to escape the painfully bare reality. The extra time she now has – Lucas was always trying to sneak morning sex in – is great, but there is now no one making breakfast or drinking coffee or reading the newspapers in her dining room.

It's just her and Rachel now.

And to be honest, and as preposterous as it might seem in the wake of what she's learnt about Lucas, it's lonely. There were only three of them to begin with, and now there are only two.

Cuddy finds herself making her way towards House's room, and before she knows it, she's at the ICU nurses' station, looking through their notes for the night. More specifically, checking how House's night went. She knows he's woken up – Wilson sent her a hasty message yesterday. But it had been too late for her to go see him – she had already been on her way home. She's not sure if she could even face him anyway.

Expecting him to be still asleep, she enters his room quietly, just wanting to sit by his bed alone.

House is awake though, his bed upright and his face blank as he stares at some indeterminate corner of the room; he turns to look at who has entered his room.

Their gazes meet, and Cuddy can see his eyes widen just so slightly in surprise. Then it disappears as he visibly steels himself. She swallows hard, and stops right in the middle of the room, not knowing what to do.

When had it become this awkward between them?

Now, the absence of their friendship has left a gaping hole in her. It's like the flimsy band-aid that covered it has been ripped off, exposing the ugly wound to all. And it hurts.

To her greater disappointment, he turns away from her without a word.

"House…" Her voice cracks slightly.

His response is to start reclining his bed, as though he's about to go to sleep.

"House, please."

He closes his eyes, and still does not respond. She walks over, and sits down on the chair next to his bed. They both know that she's not going to leave. She has no plan for what she's going to say or do. She can only hope that whatever comes out of her mouth will be right.

He exhales heavily, and opens his eyes, staring at the ceiling.

"I have a concussion, skull fracture and my brain bled for the second time in my life. My vision is blurry, I have a headache, and my right leg hurts," he says blandly, "I would really like to sleep now, Dr Cuddy. Or would you like to conduct a neuro check?"

It's just wrong for him to describe so candidly how he's hurting. He never admits it, not when he's in the throes of withdrawal, or when his leg is killing him. He's doing this only because he really doesn't want to talk to her.

She blanches as she realizes how much he's actually trying to avoid her.

"I'm not here as your doctor," she says softly. "I – "

"You're my boss."

She frowns at the inscrutable tone of his voice. "Your friend," she corrects.

House only shrugs his reply, as if saying okay.

"How are you feeling? Any pain?" It comes out more desperately that she wants it to be. They can't even hold a conversation now.

He blinks. "Fine."

He seems content to let the awkwardness linger in the air. She, on the other hand, can barely breathe. She slumps in her seat, wishing for someone to page her right now. She wants so much to make things right, but she also wants to escape from this all. She wants to fast-forward past this difficult part, and head straight to the happily ever after, where things can go back to some semblance of normal.

"What I said that night… at the collapse site… I shouldn't have - "

"It was necessary."

"No, I shouldn't have said all that. I was angry, and I wasn't thinking. I was too harsh, and – "

"You were right."

Her heart starts to beat a little faster at the thought that he's actually agreeing with her. She tentatively reaches out to him, and relaxes slightly when he doesn't shrug off her hand on his forearm.

"No – "

"It saved Hanna's life. You were right. I wasn't objective."

She sucks in a deep breath as she recalls that he doesn't know Hanna's dead. To him, what she said there in the spur of the moment had saved Hanna's life. It didn't matter if it had been unfair or hurtful to him.

How can she tell him that Hanna is dead?

"What I said was untrue. I was mad, House, and I didn't know what I was saying – My words were – "

"You don't get to regret them. They were what you felt. Your words were true."

"Maybe they were at that time," she says desperately, "But they're not true anymore. I just wanted you to save her, and to do the right thing."

"It doesn't matter." He turns away from her, shutting down. She feels him squirm slightly away from her touch, hinting at her to let him go and not touch him. With a pang of hurt, she removes her hand from his forearm.

"Lucas is gone," she blurts out, "I ended it."

She has never felt so inarticulate in her life. She's used to dealing with difficult patients, wrestling with stubborn insurance company bullies, and making impressive impromptu speeches that dazzle donors. But here, now, she's grasping at straws and shooting blind, trying anything to get him back. She's terrified that she's lost him forever. Physically, he's still here. But from what she's seeing now, he's never been more closed off.

Her sudden revelation succeeds in getting the biggest reaction from him so far.

"Why?"

"He… he wasn't who I thought he was. Those pranks…"

A slight nod from House. She can't tell if it's agreement or… something else.

"And he was checking up on you."

House blinks at her. "Oh."

It's not the reaction she's looking for. He's a private man, and being investigated should not sit well with him. He's supposed to blow up, feel angry, and feel wronged. He's supposed to have a stronger reaction than Wilson's.

"We had a huge fight about it… Wilson too. We were here, and arguing in front of you… Chase and Thirteen chased us out."

"Don't 'member," House closes his eyes again, obviously tiring. "Good for you."

"House… I just want – can we start over?"

He doesn't answer. It seems like he's falling asleep. But she doesn't want him to. She needs to get it out now, before she loses the courage to make things right.

She exhales heavily, and summons up the courage to say it.

"I – I love you. I wish I didn't, but I can't help it."

The stunned look on his face says it all; he is speechless.

"The past year… I wasn't fair to you. I never gave you a chance. You came back from Mayfield, and I didn't give you a chance at all. I thought I could find my happiness with Lucas, and I just wanted you to not mess things up for me. But now, after seeing you down there with Hanna… After what I said, after you nearly died again… I realize that maybe I want you in my life."

She hopes desperately that she's getting through to him.

"I just want us to go back to whatever we were before this whole… mess. I just need to know if we can work. "

Based on what he's done – how fiercely he tried to break her and Lucas up, and to try and win her over – she expects him to agree, and for them to fall back easily together again. After all, he's been trying to have her accept him for the past few months right? Now, it's finally possible. It should be simple, really. And she needs him to agree. Because after all this turmoil, she just really wants to be with someone she is sure she loves, and for it all to die down and stop.

"There is no us."

She can remember the exact moment she said that to him outside his apartment. The lack of emotion in his voice now is frightening. He's always been good at hiding his emotions and reactions, but she's always prided herself on being able to catch the split-second moment where his façade slips to reveal his true emotion.

But now, there's nothing.

"House… I love you."

"Words don't matter. Actions do."

His words linger in the air, their implications resounding in the silence. She has no answer to that. She can only stare at him, shell-shocked at how this is going. Almost instantly, she understands. There is no simple solution to this. She was way too naïve, expecting him to run into her arms like a lovesick man finally getting his chance.

But she has irrevocably hurt him over the past year. She alienated him and pushed him away. How can she expect things to magically be okay again with just a few spoken words, when all she's done for the past year is do the exact opposite of what she's just said?

"I'm tired." House closes his eyes, and tilts his head slightly away from her, giving in to the exhaustion. And just like that, their conversation comes to a grinding halt, the palpable hurt and emotions lingering in the air.

"What the hell were you thinking?" Wilson paces around her office, gesturing wildly at her. "Please, tell me what the hell was going through your mind when you waltzed into his room and did that!"

"I don't know what I was thinking," she admits ruefully. "I just wanted to make things right."

Wilson stops, and leans over her desk. He runs his fingers through his hair. She can see the eye bags that have formed over the past few days, and the grey hair she is sure wasn't there the week before.

"Cuddy. This is House. This is the man who says everybody lies. Words don't matter to as much as actions do. You hooked up with Lucas. You alienated him. You didn't stand up for him when your boyfriend started rambling on about Mayfield in front of all of us. You didn't give him a chance. And now, you waltz into his room, after he nearly dies, and tell him you love him? How else did you expect him to react?"

Cuddy winces at Wilson's brutal honesty. Hearing it like that put her actions in a whole new light.

"Even my own attempt at talking to him last night was very nearly a fiasco. And even though I managed to somewhat get through to him, I don't think I was getting the whole picture." Wilson sighs, and sinks down into her chair. "I don't know what's going on in his mind now, Cuddy. I can't tell you, because I can't figure it out."

"I thought it would be easy…"

"It's not. Nothing is, with House. Even with any other person, this would be difficult. Do you know what Taub told me yesterday? He told me that House tried to help him fix his relationship with his wife by trying to arrange for them to have dinner together. He said he only figured it out after a week, so convoluted was House's method of trying to help him. House is different now, after Mayfield. He sees the value of relationships. He's been trying to pursue his happiness that has proved elusive all this time after the infarction. And what did you and I do?"

He doesn't wait for an answer. "It's not surprising that he's reacting this way. Any ordinary person would find it hard to trust us again, much less House. I can see it. And you need to see it, and understand it, Cuddy. Because a repeat of what you did earlier is not going to get you through this. He is the last person on earth who will accept that."

"Then what are we supposed to do?"

Wilson's brows furrow, and his lips turn downwards in a worried frown. For once, he cannot say that his worry is for a House who is doing something stupid. For this is House acting like a human, shutting himself off in fear of getting hurt, or having to engage in emotional reconciliations and the such.

Right?

Wilson is not sure. He's never been sure about what goes on in his best friend's mind, but this time, he knows he's trying to feel his way about in the dark, blind.

"I… don't know." He has this nagging suspicion that something that he cannot understand is going on in House's mind. He has no way of anticipating it, or launching one of his famed interventions. For once, he's really at a loss. "We just have to try harder to reach him."

A/N: It seems like every chapter I apologise for the delay in updates! I've been hit by awful writers' block and pesky real life - the words just don't come out the way I want them to. An extra long chapter this time, and here's hoping the words will start to flow soon!