_

_

_

George shook his head as he closed the door to Wilson's bedroom three weeks later. Wilson was a complete and total mess, to say the least. Once he arrived back home from the memorial service, he had locked himself in the bedroom and refused to come out when anyone or anything beckoned him. In that time period, he had only eaten about ten meals and had about four showers. He had practically grown a full beard and was truly starting to reek. It was all very pathetic and unnerving to George.

George had "borrowed" Wilson's keys, since Wilson wasn't planning on going anywhere anytime soon, and had a copy of the key to the apartment made for himself. Wilson would rarely get up to answer the doorbell. Besides that, George had taken care of everything else, too. He had kept in contact with Wilson's work, begging them for an extended leave of absence for his brother due to Wilson's little mental breakdown, and paid his bills for him.

If that wasn't bad enough, Wilson had stopped talking altogether last week. George spent all of the time he was not working or sleeping with Wilson, and when he came by Monday night, Wilson refused to say anything. He tried to make light conversation, tell him that it was actually close to eighty degrees outside, ask him if he wanted anything to eat, but Wilson wouldn't speak. He just lay on the bed, his arms strung out perpendicular to his torso, and kept his mouth shut.

Everyday he came by after that Wilson had been crying. He noticeably tried to hide his tears from George, but he was not very good at it. He was trying to be as sympathetic to Wilson's needs as a man could possibly be, but at some point it was starting to become too much for him to handle. As he left the house that night, he decided upon something. It was time for someone to shake Wilson by the shoulders and help him brave the world again. He needed to set up an intervention.

***

"Wilson? It's George." Pause. "I know you're there, so I'll just talk." Another pause and an audible sigh. "I just wanted to make sure that you were awake. You should get up, get out of that room…eat something, take a shower…"

Wilson hung up the phone even though George was still talking on the other end. He didn't want to listen to George ramble on and on anymore about how he was crazy and wasting his life. He didn't care what George thought about him; he never once asked for his opinion or anyone else's for that matter. It's funny how when you don't want to hear it, that's when everyone will tend to speak up.

He couldn't even defend himself, either, because he was choosing to refrain from speaking. He knew that that was probably the strangest thing he could have done yet, but he didn't care. If he had something to say he would say it, but until then he wasn't saying anything at all. Nor was he going on with life as usual. It was just too soon for him to even think about continuing with any sort of daily routine that did not include Mary.

Tears rolled down his face and onto his yellowed t-shirt, but he didn't even notice. He had cried thousands upon thousands of tears since Mary's death that he had accepted it as part of life now. The doorbell rang, and he jumped. He continued to remain horizontal, without realizing that he hadn't gotten up. The bell rang again and he rolled off of the bed. As he went to exit the room, he passed the mirror mounted on the side of the bedroom wall. He stopped to look in it, rubbing his fingers over his coarse facial hair and wet cheeks. George wasn't kidding, he really did look like disorder had swarmed him.

He walked out into the living room. To avoid looking at the couch or the kitchen, where he and Mary would often frequent, he looked down at his feet as he walked to the front door. As he did this, he took notice the size of his stomach. He had lost a decent amount of weight and was much skinnier than he had remembered himself being.

The doorknob was cold to the touch, almost piercing his skin at contact. The doorbell rang once more as he turned the knob and pulled. The person who stood before him frightened the fragile Wilson, so much so that he took a few steps back from the doorway.

Eric didn't say anything for a while, forgetting why he was there altogether. Wilson looked ten times worse than he had felt as his most dreadful point about two weeks ago. To some extent, he was over his daughter's death, but seeing Wilson before him in the state that he was in reminded him ever so quickly of how bad he and his family had gotten earlier. All of their pain together, though, could not match what Wilson was apparently feeling.

"Oh, I'm sorry. How rude of me; I didn't mean to stare." Wilson didn't say anything. "Could I have a few words with you son?" Eric asked, motioning to go inside.

Wilson stepped aside and allowed his father-in-law access to the apartment. He watched as Eric walked directly over to the sofa and sat down. Grudgingly, Wilson did the same.

"So, how are you doing?" No answer. "Right, I was told that you weren't speaking. Your brother called me. He told me about…this little phase that you are going through, your appearance and lack of motivation and such. I have to say that I didn't believe him, because I always thought of you as such a strong person, but after seeing you…" Wilson nodded. "George wants me to help you. He thinks that you need help. I…I don't want to push you or anything, but if you want to talk I'm here for you." A silent speech hiatus. "On a personal level, I hope that you will talk to me. I'd like to talk to you. I think it would be good for us. We're bound together by the union between you and Mary."

Wilson would have been OK if Eric hadn't said Mary's name. The mere mention of her and he lost it. Wilson blubbered in front of the reverend, his hands covering his face as tears poured viciously from his eyes. He put all of the strength he had left into stopping his tears, but his efforts were futile. There was no stopping true emotion.

Eric wanted to reach out and embrace Wilson but he refrained from doing so. From the second that he had opened the door, Eric had felt the hostility that was coming from Wilson, and he understood why he felt that way. However, it wasn't that he or any of the other Camdens were trying to shut him out or be impolite, but they were blindsided by the death of their beloved Mary. No one knew how to react, and they didn't want to say something out of anger or sadness that they would regret later. That was their explanation for the distance, at least the explanation they liked to tell themselves.

Wilson stopped crying for a moment and looked up at Eric. Eric sensed that Wilson wanted to say something to him, so he tried to coax him with his eyes. He didn't think he had done a very good job, but it worked nonetheless. "I don't know what to do with myself Reverend. She was my whole world; she meant everything to me. "

"I understand," he said sympathetically.

"I guess…I guess I'm not moving on because I can't. I have to get over her death before I can begin to let go of it and continue on with everything else. But I don't know how to get over her, to get over any of this." He started to cry again. "I wasn't prepared to lose her. I never really thought-" His voice was drowned out by his sobs and eventually he stopped speaking again.

"I'm sure you didn't. Most people don't; it's much harder to function when you have that mentality."

"I've been comparing this to when I lost Billy's mother, because that is the only thing I can compare it to. But I guess I shouldn't be doing that, because it was hardly the same. I was so young, and we were only married for… I kept myself busy with Billy. And although I hate to admit it, little by little I forgot about how life was before everything happened and focused on my new life. I had to. But I don't have that driving force to help pull me together."

"What about work?"

"I hate my job. I've been thinking about quitting and doing something I would actually have some sort of interest in. Besides, I could afford to be out of work for a while. I have the money from my father, and I'm sure this is the sort of thing he would want me to use the money he left me for. That would be OK with him."

Eric's eyes turned sympathetic again. "I heard about your father. I'm so sorry Wilson. He was such a good man." Wilson nodded, agreeing. "How did you deal with that?"

He sighed. "I didn't, and that probably isn't helping me now. Plus my mom, and the divorce. I'm emotionally burnt out." His eyes glazed over again. "Mary would have been able to help me; she had been trying to help me cope, but then she got sicker. I-I need her."

"It seems like we have a lot to talk about Wilson," Eric said.

Wilson was slightly taken aback by Eric's assumption that he would just discuss everything that was and had ever bothered him with Eric. He always was a tad audacious, though, if Wilson remembered correctly. "I'd much rather just talk about Mary, if you don't mind Sir. Those other issues can stay unresolved; I'd be perfectly fine with that."

Eric smiled a little, which made Wilson very angry. For the past few days, he couldn't help but think that it was Eric and Annie's past wrongdoings that had killed Mary. If she hadn't had the extra stress on her about her family and everything that that necessitated, she could have very well lived much longer, or enjoyed the time she did have a little more. At her happiest, Wilson knew that she was never completely happy. Their disapproval had always set her back. Her parents stole such a big part of Mary from her, and from him as well, that Wilson resented them for that. It could have just been the depression talking, but he wasn't too jovial.

He took a deep breath and cleared his head. Wilson couldn't be thinking like that. Mary wouldn't have wanted him to have that kind of relationship with her family. Wilson stared in Eric's eyes and promised himself that he would build the kind of relationship with his in-laws that Mary never had a chance to have, the kind of relationship he had never had with his own parents. She would have wanted everyone to be happy, and more importantly for them to be friends. Speaking terms wouldn't be good enough for Mary. Wilson had to go above and beyond for her, simply because she was still his everything.

"So," Eric said, tears in his own eyes, "could I ask you a few questions…about Mary?"

Wilson nodded approvingly. This was how he was going to deal with everything, by facing life head on and confronting Eric and the rest of the Camdens with his and Mary's life together. He owed them that much, and he owed it to himself. He wanted no regrets, no guilt, and most significantly, no lying.

***

That Saturday, Wilson rang the doorbell to the Camdens house. He remembered the last time he had been there, and all of the times he had been their prior- when things used to be happy and innocent. Now…not so happy and not so innocent. The door opened to reveal a tired but pleasant Annie. One step closer to being happier and once again innocent.

The Wests were joining the Camdens for dinner that night. Annie's idea, and Wilson's acceptance, based upon his new interaction policy. The table was set when they arrived, and the trio sat right down in the dining room after a few weak hellos. Billy sat next to David and Sam, and the boys instantly started to chat it up. Their voices were the only ones in the entire room.

The dinner was a special one; Wilson could feel it. Friends of the Camdens had been inviting themselves over to eat with them to keep them company and get their minds off of everything. Tonight, Annie had shooed them all away- this was going to be a strictly "family only" dinner.

Annie, Lucy, and Ruthie came in with plates full of food. They sat down and everyone knew it was time to eat. The boys quieted down and the twins looked to their father at the head of the table; Billy did the same, as did everyone else. "Who would like to say Grace?" Eric asked.

Wilson spoke up. "I would, if you don't mind." Eric smiled at him reassuringly and nodded. The table bowed their heads and clasped their hands together. "Dear Lord, thank you for this food that you have so graciously bestowed upon us. Please bless everyone here at this table, and the one person who couldn't be with us this evening. " He hesitated, but then continued. "It's been one month and nine days since you have taken her, Lord, and I know that we are all still trying to cope with the loss. Please give us the strength to continue, because mourning can often be a long and tumultuous road. Make sure that you continue to watch out over Mary up there, and let her know that we all still love her, because although this meal will be gone in about a half an hour, out love for her can never be swallowed and forgotten so simply." He paused as a tear of remembrance for the breathtaking wife, adored sister, darling daughter, and amiable friend rolled down his cheek. "Amen."

_

The End

_

_

A/N: That's it, the end! I am so, so sad. You have no idea. I usually don't cry when I am writing these things, because I generally have done them over about four times already in my head by the time I type them, and because I don't get that emotionally attached to my stories, but I cried writing the last paragraph. This whole chapter, while I had the basic idea, was done on the fly. I like it, except for the Wilson/Eric stuff (which was kind of the bulk of the chapter no less.) 

_

I really hope that you all enjoyed the last chapter and the entire story. I aim to please, both my readers and myself. For once, I think I have actually accomplished that. I'm so proud!

As for more works by me…add me to your author alerts or keep checking back. While I don't have any official ideas for a story yet, I can never stay away for too long. I promise you, one day I will be back.

_

_

Your reviews have meant a great deal to me throughout this story. They are the motivating force and inspiration that kept me going. I want to thank each and every one of you for your reviews. They truly mean the world to me.

_

_