CHAPTER THIRTY: Reflections

When Cuddy arrives the next morning, she has a plan, and she wastes no time implementing it. House, sans monitors, is already comfortably settled on the couch for the day, and he and Wilson are enjoying a cup of coffee. Rather, Wilson is enjoying his; House is sipping at his cup with little enthusiasm, but at least he's trying.

"Good morning, gentlemen," she says, smiling widely.

House turns to Wilson. "Something's up. She's figured out a way I can put in my clinic hours from the couch."

Cuddy smiles even more widely. "No, but not a bad idea; I'll give it some thought and get back to you on that. Actually, I've taken the day off." She looks at Wilson. "And you are going to take the day off. Get out of here. I don't care what you do, where you go, as long as it's not the hospital. In a couple of days, one of you is going to have to come down with the flu, and I don't want anyone thinking you were there while you were contagious. Besides," she says, glancing at House, "you already have a full patient load."

"You always know just what to say to make me feel special," House deadpans to Cuddy.

She ignores him and continues to speak to Wilson. "I'll stay with House. Just let me know what's going on with him, and get going."

Wilson thinks about this briefly; there is something he'd like to do. "I'd appreciate it. And he's doing much better; almost no sign of the anaphylactic reaction, and--"

"Hey!" House interrupts. "I'm right here, ya know. And my mouth works just fine, thank you."

"We're well aware of that," Wilson tells House dryly. "But since when does the patient give report on the patient?"

"Since the patient happens to be head of the Diagnostics department," House says, mildly indignant. "And since the patient," he says, looking sidelong at Wilson, "diagnosed his own anaphylactic reaction, thereby saving his own--"

"Shut up, House!" Cuddy and Wilson say in unison.

"And you're not being fair," Wilson points out to House; he's getting tired of hearing about this. "Over ninety percent of anaphylaxis cases present with visible skin lesions on the face, neck, and chest. Leave it to you to fall within the ten percent who hide them on their palms."

"Yeah, I planned that part on purpose, just to make it harder for you," House mumbles, still sulking at having been told to shut up.

"Wouldn't surprise me if you did," Cuddy observes. "And I want report from Wilson; I prefer my facts to be… well, factual."

"What's that supposed to mean?" House isn't sure whether or not to be hurt.

Cuddy smiles at House with exaggerated patience. "You have just the slightest tendency to… umm… either underplay or overplay, House. At least when the patient happens to be… you."

"You really know how to hurt a guy." Now the sulk has become a full-blown pout. It's clear that House is having fun, and Wilson and Cuddy smile at each other.

"C'mon into the kitchen," Wilson says to Cuddy. "I'll get you some coffee, and maybe you can get report without the editorializing."

House gives both of them a token glare, but immediately begins to amuse himself with the TV remote.

As Wilson pours the coffee, he tells Cuddy in a low voice about House's panic attack, and its aftermath. "You were right," he says. "Something has changed, elementally, for him. And he's apparently decided to give it a go. It was… something. Seeing him trust, without condition. Thought I'd never live long enough to see that."

"I still haven't seen it," Cuddy says. "And I may never have that privilege. I'm not even certain I deserve it."

"You saved his life," Wilson says quietly.

"Maybe that's what he can't forgive. Maybe he made the choice he did because, if he couldn't live normally, he wanted to die. When I approved the surgery, I took that option away from him. And the odd thing is, I'm still not sorry I did it." Cuddy looks at Wilson, and her eyes are conflicted.

"I'm not sorry you did it, either," Wilson tells her. "And I don't think he wants to die anymore. I'm just not sure he wants to live."

"I know what you mean," Cuddy says. "The fight's gone out of him. But give it a little time. Maybe he didn't want to live the way he was, when the breakthrough pain and the medication and… our denial… were what his life consisted of. That's all over now, but he hasn't even had a chance yet to enjoy it. When his overall health begins to improve, maybe the fight'll come back."

Wilson smiles, but the expression doesn't hide the fatigue and the worry. "Hey, thanks for today. It'll do me some good to get away for a while, and it'll do him some good not to have me hovering over him."

Cuddy laughs. "Is that your polite way of saying he'll enjoy getting away with murder because daddy's leaving him with the lenient babysitter today?"

Wilson gives her another tired smile. "No, it's…. He's got a different relationship with you. Since he's been ill, I've had to be the bad guy so much that… well, something's missing now. The equality, I guess. And I miss it. But with you, he can still be more like he used to be, before. It's good for him. Something that hasn't changed. Believe me, I'm grateful for that."

Cuddy has a sudden flash of understanding; Wilson's willing to sacrifice his friendship with House, if he must, in order to save him. "You've got to be one of the most selfless people I've ever met," she tells him in admiration.

"Tell that to my ex-wives," Wilson says ruefully, but in his mind he's hearing House. 'Bros before hoes.' And he remembers all the fights he'd had with those wives when romantic dinners and concerts and even sex had been interrupted, because House had called, had needed him. Maybe House should be writing the alimony checks. And then there's House's voice, again, arrogant and pleading at the same time. 'But we're okay?' Wilson hopes they're okay after all this; he's having the same realization as Cuddy had. Yeah, I'd give up the friendship to save the friend.

Cuddy sees how sad Wilson's suddenly become. "Hey, you look like you just lost your best friend," she says, and wants to take the words back as soon as they're said.

There's a stricken look on Wilson's face as he turns to her. "Things have changed so much," he says. "It's good; pain's under control, he's gonna regain his health. And he trusts me, maybe for the first time. As a doctor, I'll really be able to help him now. But am I gonna get House back? That selfish, egocentric, brilliant bastard, who somehow still manages to be the best friend I'll ever have; is he gonna come back? Or is gaining his trust gonna lose me his friendship? Because the reason it's always worked for us is we're not as different as everyone thinks we are, you know."

Cuddy's trying to understand; she sees that Wilson is tortured, that he's really thinking out his friendship with House for the first time, but she's not certain she knows how to help him through this. All she knows is that she cares deeply about both of them, so she's willing to try. "Tell me how you're alike."

"I'm as selfish as he is, Cuddy. You don't go through three wives because you're an expert at putting their needs before your own. And I've got my own ego problems. I was willing to quit my job, a job I'm passionate about, because Vogler threw me off the board. And I couldn't stand how that would make me look to my colleagues, to the medical community." He shakes his head, apparently upset with his own failings.

Cuddy reaches out, puts her hand on his arm. "I understand what you're saying. But I still see more differences than similarities between the two of you."

"And that's part of it, too," Wilson says. "One of the things that drives me crazy about him is also something I really admire. He speaks his mind, and damn the consequences. He doesn't question himself. And, while his code of ethics doesn't fit any normal definition,"—Wilson pauses and smiles when Cuddy rolls her eyes at the understatement—"he never wavers from it. Might not always agree with him, but you gotta admit, that's an admirable way to live."

"I've never looked at it quite that way, but you're right," Cuddy says.

"I don't know, Cuddy." Wilson sits down and rubs at his temples. "I can't explain it any better than that, except to say that he's always been there for me. No matter what happened, no matter whether he thought I was right or wrong, he's always been there. Only one who has."

Cuddy remembers telling House during the pain control treatment that he was the one constant in Wilson's life; she hadn't realized, at the time, just how much that meant to Wilson. "You're not gonna lose House. He's there for you even when he's the cause of your problems. He was down in my office ranting within, probably, a minute of your telling him you were resigning. He was willing to do for you what he wouldn't even do for himself. Hmm… maybe he isn't as selfish as he seems."

"I know all that. I even know that he cares. What I don't know is…." Wilson pauses and takes a deep breath. "This last week has stirred up a lot of demons for him. Some of them he's facing down himself. And others, I'm forcing him to face. He's never gonna take care of himself; that's just… who he is. So I'll be there to do that for him. And right now, that's okay. But I'm afraid that as he gets better, stronger, he's gonna let me be his physician, but he'll shut me out as his friend. I'm afraid that he's going to realize everything I'm forcing him to deal with, and he's gonna… resent me for it."

"No, he isn't. As a matter of fact, if he didn't have an aversion to all things warm and fuzzy, he'd be thanking you for it. Right now."

Cuddy and Wilson turn to stare at House as he finishes speaking, looks intently at Wilson for a long moment more, then slowly turns, leaning heavily on the IV pole, and leaves the kitchen entryway.