Chapter 17

"Cirrhosis? That's impossible. She's only 26," replied Chase.

"It's possible and it is," House insisted, sitting back in his chair. "See for yourself. The liver biopsy shows the damage that has been done." House handed the test results to Chase.

"How can this be? For alcoholics, cirrhosis takes ten, twenty years to develop so that can't be the originating factor," Chase started, looking perplexed at the results. "But if she has Hepatitis B it would have presented in the first round of blood tests. How else could she have gotten this?"

"I guess we need to talk to her," House replied, placing his cane against his leg. "When they removed the gallstones the blood tests presented inflammation of the liver. It wasn't hard to find after that. It explains the swelling, nosebleed, bruising, and abdominal pain too."

House stood up and walked to the door. As he was leaving, he grabbed Natasha's chart and walked down the corridor.

"Are you still here, Dr. House?" asked Dr. Cuddy.

"First you want me to do clinic duty, then you want me to leave," House started. "Make up your mind, would you?"

Cuddy was still concerned about House, but he did seem to be walking better and with more ease. "Have you talked to Dr. Wilson yet?"

"On my way now," House answered, waving.

He continued through the corridor, still troubled that he was causing so much stress for his friend. When he approached Wilson's room, he looked in the window and saw him sitting in the chair.

"Top o' the morning to you," House told him, but still looking away.

"It's afternoon," Wilson replied.

"Just checking. You're doing well," House said.

"Thank you for what you did," Wilson said softly.

House stopped for a moment and couldn't look his friend in the eyes. He stared at the floor in silence.

"House?" Wilson wasn't sure what to make of his silence.

"Why are you thanking me, Wilson? What did I do for you? I'm the one that caused most of this stress on you." House still couldn't look him in the eye. After another few moments of silence, House began, "I'm prescribing you antacid medication and no more aspirin. I want you to take it easy for at least a week. If the bleeding or pain comes back, so do you. For now, you're a free man."

When House began to stand up, Wilson stopped him. "Greg, we need to talk about this." Wilson didn't like leaving the conversation the way it was. But House waved Natasha's chart and kept on his way.

He flipped through her chart as he walked down the hallway. Cirrhosis at age 26. He was contemplating the prognosis as to what could have been the cause. House stopped outside her room and looked inside. She sat there, dark circles under her eyes as if she hasn't slept in days. She looked tired and worn. Opening the door, he put his cane first and stepped inside.

"Hello. I'm Dr. House," he told her as he limped towards her bed.

"Hi," she replied, every so softly as if it was taking everything she had.

"I've been reviewing your chart with Dr. Chase. After your surgery we found you have cirrhosis, which is basically damage to the liver." House was trying to put the words in layman's terms for the young woman to understand. However, she had a strange sense of understanding on her face. She didn't seem at all surprised at the diagnosis.

House walked over, pulling up a chair. "You want to tell me what's going on?" he asked her.

"What do you want to know?" she told him.

"Well, for one thing you don't seem surprised. And two, judging by the way your hands are shaking you are scared. And three, this sort of thing doesn't happen overnight." House had a good way of figuring people out. Talking to them was a different story. But his diagnostician skills were superb.

She only looked away as he spoke. "I can help you," he replied quietly.

Natasha finally looked at him and shook her head.

"Well, then I can just run a lot more tests and figure it out that way," he told her, trying not to get too assertive.

"I knew it would catch up to me," she said, barely audible.

"You knew what would catch up to you?" he asked.

"Everything. The stress, the insomnia. The alcohol." She said, again, looking away.

Her words stung like a sharp sword. Looking at her face he didn't know what to say. Trying not to attach himself, House tried focusing on her words.

"How long have you been drinking?" House asked her gently.

"About 15 years," she told him, still looking away.

"Natasha, look at me," House instructed.

Trying to fight his request, she looked in his eyes. House saw sorrow in her young eyes. Deep down, the soul of herself was damaged. She was lacking a component of truth, a truth to be free of something deeper, more passionate than he was expecting.

"Why?" he asked her.

She only smiled at first which House knew was in her defense. Can't get too close…he knew it too well. Don't trust, don't tell, bury it deep inside yourself. Seeing her face of despair he wanted to reach to her, but it was against his self-conscious belief that to get close you have to be close.

She went on to tell him about her life, the life of hurt she lived. She drank herself to sleep every night. House sat and listened silently as she spoke of her grief.

Sadly you and I

To the begin, to the end

Imagine a world apart

Until we meet again

House walked steadily down the corridor after checking in with Natasha. The faster he limped, the more his eyes became blurred with tears. He kept his head down in fear of being seen.

Seeing this young girl in this state was devastating. He was doing this to himself. The thoughts of the days were getting too much. He turned the corner and walked down the long hallway. As he turned the corner to find an empty room, House bumped square into Dr. Wilson, almost knocking him over.

"Sorry, wrong way," said House with his head down as he turned quickly and started the opposite direction. He hastily brushed away his tears as he limped away.

"Greg!" Wilson replied as he took a few steps to catch up to House. Wilson put a hand on House's shoulder and stopped him. "Greg….what is it? What's wrong?" Wilson asked concernedly. "Talk to me," Wilson begged. Just then House broke down and tried again to go the opposite direction of Wilson.

"Come with me…now," Wilson demanded. He held his friend and guided him into an empty room. Wilson held his friend's shoulders and tried to talk with him. "Greg…it's ok…you can talk to me," Wilson said softly. House then collapsed into Wilson's grasp, sobbing. Wilson knew his friend needed him now more than ever. He held House for twenty minutes while he broke down.

Same as before

The waters race

The tides part

You greet me at the door

Aside from what they believe

Depression…We have met once again

Another day…me and you.