XXIX – Loss
And
suppose I never met you
Suppose we never fell in love
Suppose
I never ever let you kiss me so sweet and so soft
Suppose I never
ever saw you
Suppose we never ever called
-
Fidelity
- Regina Spektor
Nature has made the decision for her.
Blood.
That is all she remembers. Blood – copious amounts of blood.
She had managed to contact Wilson before she had passed out in her living room. He had called an ambulance. He had stayed by her side the entire time. Now, he holds her hand as the doctor tells her that she has had a miscarriage. The embryo had been six weeks old.
He observes her cold, emotionless expression at learning this news.
'You're in perfect health, otherwise,' the doctor says, 'there appears to be no obvious medical reason for this miscarriage. There is some evidence to suggest that spontaneous abortion can occur in times of high stress. Can you think of any significant events that have happened recently?'
She clenches her jaw – staring forward. She does not look at either of the men. She shakes her head.
Wilson knows nothing of the events of that unspeakable night. He will never know.
'She's had a hard couple of weeks,' Wilson says to the doctor, before looking at Lee sympathetically.
She feels pathetic.
'Are you…' the doctor starts, before correcting himself, aiming to be as considerate as possible, 'were you… the father?'
'No!' Wilson says abruptly, before calming himself and delivering his answer in a quieter, more restrained manner, 'no.'
He had meant no offence by this hasty reply, only, the notion had startled him. The memory of the kiss is still fresh, and so is his penitence. He would hate for such a rumour to move through the hospital – House's wrath would be unbearable. The man is already staring daggers. Wilson is not sure if he will ever be forgiven.
'Her partner – the father, he left her,' Wilson says, 'and not in the best circumstances… it has been difficult. Do you think that could have…?'
'Possibly,' the doctor says, nodding his head.
She knows another possibility. On that night she had found him – she had felt a part of herself die. It was a sure feeling. A part of her had died – literally. A part of them. Their child.
She blames herself. If only she had told him earlier, things may have been different. He may not have done what he had done.
The doctor regards her – sensing despondency, nonacceptance, trauma.
'If you would like,' he says softly, 'I could arrange for someone to speak to you… about how you are feeling, we have excellent psychologists at the PPTH…'
She scoffs – marvelling at the irony. She presses her fist against her mouth. She can taste the salty tears in the corner of her lips. Though she stares forward, she can sense Wilson shaking his head by her side.
'I'll give you some time by yourselves then,' the doctor says gently, before leaving the room.
After a long moment of silence Wilson asks: 'how are you feeling…?'
Stupid question, but somehow, he is unable to find more appropriate words. It is not as if he isn't well versed in dealing with grief reactions. It is as much a part of his daily routine as cleaning his teeth. But this is different. He is not objective this time. He cares. Really cares.
The question is irrelevant. She hasn't even heard it. She turns to him, clutches his arm.
'Please don't tell Greg,' she says, desperately.
She does not want this to be the defining moment. She does not want this to bring them together.
'Wha…?' he stutters.
'Please.'
'O…ok, it's not my place…' he says.
'No,' she replies, 'I won't tell him either. I don't ever want him to know.'
'Bu…'
'I don't even want him to know that I've been admitted to this hospital as a patient… do you think he will find out? Can he find out?'
'I…'
'He can't know about this,' she continues.
'Why?' Wilson asks, intrigued by her determination to conceal this.
She looks at him with her large, worried eyes.
'He didn't even know I was pregnant,' she says, 'I don't want him to feel… bad… culpable. I don't want him to feel as if he is tied down.'
Wilson is astounded. She will not even allow herself to grieve in this moment – her primary concern is House – protecting him. He is angry at this. He thinks that she is the one who needs protection.
She appeals to him once more. 'Please?'
'Ok… yeah, ok,' he agrees, patting her hand.
Of course, this is futile. Secrets cannot be kept from House.
'Lee was admitted to this hospital as a patient,' House says, barging into Wilson's office, confronting the man for the first time since he had witnessed the kiss, 'you signed the admission form. What happened?'
'You,' Wilson hisses, pointing his pen at House, 'have no right to know!'
'Fine,' House says, turning to the door, 'you know I'll find out anyway, the next clue is to discover which ward she was admitted to…'
This is true. He could discover this information in a matter of minutes.
'She was pregnant,' Wilson concedes.
House turns back to the angry man who is now standing behind his desk, hands on his hips.
'Right,' House spits, matter-of-factly, as if he has just confirmed something, 'she's good isn't she? Very hard to resist. How long had you two been fucking behind my back?'
'WHAT!…how could you think that?' Wilson shouts, his face red, veins bulging at the collar of his shirt, 'that woman is absolutely in love with you. She was pregnant with your baby, you ASSHOLE! She miscarried!'
Of course he knows it was his baby. He never really believed that she would sleep with Wilson. He had only entertained and nourished this idea in an effort to further justify their separation. Even so, the hurt he had experienced when attempting to convince himself of this lie, was real and raw.
Wilson notices that the colour has drained from House's complexion. In all the years he has known the man, he has never seen such an expression on Gregory House's face. Sheer devastation.
'She wasn't going to tell me?' House asks, his voice small.
'Well, can you blame her?' Wilson shouts, 'you've sent her a pretty clear message that you don't want anything to do with her – that she meant nothing more to you than one of your hookers. She probably felt like she couldn't tell you. I found her lying on the floor, bleeding, House! She called me because she couldn't call you! She couldn't rely on you!'
House swallows hard. The words smash into him. I found her lying on the floor, bleeding. She called me because she couldn't call you! He blinks back tears.
'And you know what else?' Wilson says harshly, 'I think she's trying to protect you. She doesn't want you to be hurt by this – so she's taking it on herself. She's taking it all on her own!'
Wilson is remembering the arrival of the ambulance. Lee had been significantly distressed and so she had been sedated. As she was succumbing to the effects of the gas, she had clutched at Wilson's shirt and whimpered: 'Greg…Greg?' He remembers hanging his head. He had felt ashamed on behalf of his friend – remembers losing respect for him at that moment.
'You don't deserve Lee,' Wilson says, against his better judgement.
He is able to see the hurt in House's eyes, but he continues despite this. 'I feel sorry that she ever met you.'
House barely hears these words. His perception of his world has changed. A blur. Buzzing confusion. Wow, you've really screwed up this time Greg, he tells himself. You are a monumental fuck-up. She can't trust in you. She can't rely on you. She can't count on you. She can't confide in you.
He leaves the room.
