When Cuddy returned from the party, she stopped by the closet beside the door to hang up her winter wear, noting the moist footprints in the hall. She was mopping into the kitchen when, through the partially closed bathroom door, she saw her husband vomiting into the toilet; then he stood up, flushed and limped to the sink to rinse out his mouth. Exiting the washroom, he saw Cuddy brandishing a bottle of breath spray.
"Thanks."
"Cameron tells me you've made your decision. That was quick."
"I'm tired of thinking about it."
"House, I can't authorize this."
House stared at her, intrigued by her opinionated words. "Huh. I'm a little over the age of consent. And I don't have a medical proxy."
"What about Stacy?"
"We were having trouble before my leg infarcted. I put on a clock on it."
"Be that as it may, we're not doing this procedure. I trust the neurologist you hired to perform your brain surgery, but you're not getting EST."
House didn't appear too upset by her words. He shrugged it off. "Okay. I won't pressure you."
"Are you serious?"
"Serious," he echoed. "This isn't the only hospital in New Jersey." He limped past her, and she stood motionless, realizing that for a time uncounted, he was right.
Limping into the bedroom, House didn't even look up when he saw Wilson's familiar attire hovering by the door. He went to the bed.
"You know you're going to forget me," Wilson said.
"Yeah. I know."
"And you're okay with that?"
"No. I'm not," House snapped. "But I'm even more not okay with seeing dead people. And if you were the real Wilson, you'd be helping me through it. Because you want me to stop taking pills."
"Yes, and it would be completely irrelevant," Wilson sighed. "Because you don't want to stop taking them."
"I don't want to need them!"
Coming up the stairs, Cuddy paused at the sound of his passionate monologue. She finished her ascent and hovered behind the wall to eavesdrop.
"I've said it before, I'll say it again. I don't take advice from a ghost."
Cuddy stood in the shadows, listening to him speak to literally no one. And her heart ached for him. She knew House suffered from delusions; and based on what Cameron had told her, he wasn't putting on a show for her now. Unless he had been putting on a show for Cameron—but she couldn't believe that. She couldn't believe he would use an existing issue as an excuse to forget her forever, and she couldn't believe he had the power to manipulate an emotion he habitually fought to suppress. She put her head into her hands and listened awhile longer, then smoothed back her hair as she came to her decision. Leaning her back against the wall, she turned her face to the door. "House," she said, and he stopped communicating with the dead; materializing in the doorway. Still leaning her back on the door, she looked up at his embarrassed face. "You win. I'll make the appointment."
