A Light That Never Goes Out

Normally he had no truck with maudlin moods, but lately he had been pried out of his usual complaisance and it made him cranky. He had fooled himself at first. He hired her because of her beauty, she was his ornament. Now, of course it was different. It was disappointing, finding out that she wasn't just the girl on the team. She was a person, with her own needs. She needed him for something he couldn't give.

She knew before he did that he didn't want to be in this world without her, but she left anyway, leaving him to piece it together. Twice he had to beg her to return. She had demanded his attention, and even then he wriggled out of it. Bait and switch. He was used to getting his way, always. He hadn't made any promises. But he knew. He knew that he betrayed her.

He pulled out the bottom drawer and saw the bottle there. His old pal Jack. House peered into the red coffee cup. It was fairly clean. The clock said it was a scosh past four. He thought for a moment. Propriety said that he needed to wait until after five. That's not what he was waiting for.

Finally Wilson floated past the window and House motioned him in. "About time. What were you doing anyway?"

"Some of us see patients you know. So what's got your panties in a knot?" He went to sit down, but House stopped him.

"Close those blinds. Lock the door." His hand was on the neck of the bottle. Wilson did as he was told.

"Now what? Did you find an old joint in your Grateful Dead cassette case? I can dig up a hemostat if we need to." He slumped into one of the seats.

"Grab a glass." He put the bottle on the desk.

"I'm disappointed. I thought at least we'd be looking at pictures of naked women. You don't need me to get drunk with." He held out a mug he grabbed off the bookcase.

"Yes I do, Cuddy won't fire both of us."

Wilson clucked, "She can't fire you. Your job here is a condition of your settlement."

"Do you ever get tired of raining on my parade?" He poured.

"So why are we drinking? Are we celebrating?" Wilson held his mug aloft, as though to toast.

"No. For courage." House swallowed his three fingers worth and reloaded.

Wilson put his down on the desk. "I was going to wait for the Wizard to give me that."

"Right after he gave me a heart?" Jack did not taste very good with the remains of coffee.

"Oh. You're in that mood." Wilson decided to drink after all.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. Nothing." He said quickly.

The two Vicodin he took previously had relaxed him, the alcohol enhanced their effect. He leaned forward. "Oh, go ahead; tell me what you're thinking. That's why I asked you in here."

"Well, I know that you don't have a case right now, so you're either bored or you're in an introspective mood. Since you've got The Smiths playing on your iPod, I'm guessing introspection. Frankly, that always scares me." He swallowed more of the liquor listening to the line, 'If a double-decker bus, crashes into us…'

"You know James…" He lost his thought, or he still hadn't actually formed it.

"Yes Greg?" First names, never a good sign.

"I've made a mess of things, haven't I?" He set down his mug. And gazed out his window onto the parking lot.

Wilson scanned his brain, what things exactly was House talking about? Stacy? Cameron? His life in general? "I'll go with yes. To whatever things you're referring." He gulped the last bit of liquor in the mug and set it down. House poured him another.

"I'm tragic and it makes me fascinating." House said, fiddling with the song selection, choosing to replay the song. "At least to her."

Cameron. Now he knew what he was working with. "There's an awful lot that makes you fascinating. The tragedy is just one part of an extended tableau…"

"Less of it if you don't mind. This is my pity party. But you know what the real tragedy is?"

"Genocide in Africa?" Wilson settled in. He wasn't going to be home in time for dinner. Not tonight. Not that Julie was making dinner.

He shot him a look. "The real tragedy is that I've been mourning something that never existed." He thought about taking another shot of Jack, but instead, put the bottle away.

"Oh?" Wilson didn't know what else to say.

"She came in here and told me that I was 'the one' but that I could never make her happy. Not like she is with Mark. What kind of shit is that?" He paused, "Said I made her lonely."

"If it's any consolation, I hear the same thing from Julie." Wilson admitted.

"That's my point. Why is it our fault? They liked us for our intensity in the first place. Got all damp with how devoted we are to our work. Why stay with me if it's a guy like Mark who's going to make you happy? Why date me at all? He's ordinary and I'm—not. It's not even like we're the same species." He shook his head at the unfathomable. "I wouldn't have done that to her. I knew that she was good for me from the beginning." He trailed off, lost in a memory.

Wilson didn't know if he meant Stacy or Cameron. "She has needs too."

"But it's her job to find someone who can fulfill them. Why does she keep coming after me? You know that I'm all wrong for her." He hit a couple of buttons on the iPod and the English Beat's, I Confess played. "That's the stuff. I've ruined three lives." He echoed the lyric.

"Maybe she knows that you can fulfill her needs. Cameron is different from Stacy."

"You know what's really galling? The fact that I've let all these years slip by thinking that if only…if only it weren't for this leg," he slapped the offending appendage, "that things would have been different. Apparently I had lost her anyway; the leg was just the cherry on the shit sundae."

"So what's going to change?" Wilson asked.

"Change?" House blinked.

"Let's do a differential diagnosis on this." Wilson got up and walked over to the whiteboard concealed behind the wooden cabinet. "Okay, so the symptoms are self-pity, loneliness, irritability and nostalgia. What are the possible causations?"

"Smart-ass." House wore the barest hint of a smile.

"I'm serious. You're a scientist, let's approach this scientifically." The dry-erase marker was poised for ideas.

"Fine. Put heartbreak, disappointment, and disability on there."

Wilson scribbled them down and added one, addiction.

"Hey, that's a whole other show Dr. Phil."

"You know, I'm the last one to challenge you, being your closest friend and all…"

"You're my only friend."

"That too. I cut you too much slack. Let's get real here. Your addiction has stunted your emotional growth. As long as you confuse emotional pain with physical pain, you won't be able to move on from where you are." Wilson became passionate, putting both palms on his side of the desk and leaning in to emphasize his point.

"That's not fair. Give me some credit. I've just had a breakthrough. I also have a very painful physical injury. There's not an awful lot of moving on from that." House did his very best impersonation of a puppy dog.

"Poor 'oo." Wilson mocked, "Seriously Greg. Unless you find some other way of dealing with your chronic pain, I don't see how you can have a future with anyone."

House stood, "I've tried all kinds of therapies…"

"You've got a choice." Wilson sat, hoping to get House to stand down as well.

House paled, "You mean…"

"It's been an option all along. You would get back so much. Imagine being able to be active again. The muscle isn't going to grow back." This wasn't the first time the suggestion had been made.

"I've heard the expression costing an arm or a leg; I just never thought I'd have to pay that price."

"Think of it as a half-off sale. You get to keep your arm." Wilson smiled. "Promise me you'll think about it." He glanced at his watch. "Let's share a cab home."

"You just want to prove to Julie that you were with me." House shut off his computer.

"That too."

Cameron looked at her date. Liam was a nice enough guy. For a guy who thought that Bill was too ordinary a nickname for William. He was still talking about some real estate deal he had made earlier in the week. She was desperate to get home. Dating was exhausting. It was a lot of work being on the market. If she wasn't out trolling for guys she was out on dates with them. Two or three nights a week of that and the laundry started to pile up.

Liam got into a discussion of interest rates and she found herself daydreaming about spending a quiet evening with House. House would know when to shut up and leave her alone.

She knew right away that she wouldn't sleep with him. Sometimes she did sleep with her dates. Occasionally she'd even have fun, but those nights were few and far between. The biggest disappointment was that as soon as she was done that they didn't just disappear. Thanks for the tumble, now get out. She thought about needle-pointing a pillow with that motto. A smile played at her lips. Liam thought that it was evidence that she was falling under his spell.

They lingered over dessert and when he dropped her off, she extended no offer to come up for coffee. It was ten by the time she was in bed, a respectable enough hour. It was after nights like this that she cursed her husband for dying. "It's your fault I'm in this situation." She'd say out loud. She also cursed him when she was trying to find an intact pair of stockings with her date waiting for her in the living room.

She turned on the television and watched her friends Carrie, Samantha, Charlotte and Amanda try and sort out their love lives. "If women like that can't have good relationships, what hope is there for me?" Secretly she related to Carrie and her relationship with Mr. Big. Maybe there could be a happy ending after all.

The next morning Cameron beat House into the office. She turned on the computer and grabbed the stack of mail and began sorting. Journals in one pile, letters in another, those always got priority from her, the last was junk. She opened the letters and scanned them. Some were letters of thanks, those she answered. Others were letters begging for his help. Those she'd analyze and leave out for him to decline or accept. After an hour she sat back and thought about getting another mug of coffee. She glanced up and saw the whiteboard. The word that stood out to her was heartbreak, although addiction certainly grabbed her attention.

She debated whether or not to erase it. Instead she got up to close the cabinet; at least it wouldn't be exposed to anyone who happened into his office. She had one side closed and was interrupted in closing the other side.

"Good morning Dr. Cameron!" House was awfully chipper for a man who should be nursing a hangover. Then he saw what she was doing, "Uh. Thanks."

She blushed, "No problem. There's a letter there that you should see. Foster at Mercy has someone she wants you to look at."

"I'll read it in a minute. So what are you doing?" He sat down in his seat and scanned his e-mail, avoiding eye-contact.

"What I always do, taking care of..." She stopped, not really able to finish the sentence.

"I appreciate it." He said simply, turning to his computer screen to avoid her expression.

She smiled. "I know."