Disclaimer: Not mine. None of them.
A/N: I know I said this was a oneshot, but I couldn't help myself. This is the continuation. Wilson faces Cuddy.
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Wilson walked into Princeton-Plainsborough Teaching Hospital, headed straight for Cuddy's office. He stormed in without bothering to knock. "Why wasn't I called?" he demanded.
Cuddy looked at him. She looked tired and had red-rimmed eyes, but didn't seem surprised to see him, "What can I do for you, Dr. Wilson?"
Wilson closed the door, "Why wasn't I called?" he repeated, impatience in his voice.
Cuddy raised her eyebrows, "Why would we call you?" She was confused. She stood, gathering papers, "I was under the impression you made it very clear that you never wanted to see him again last year."
Wilson visibly slumped, "But to have a lawyer tell me." He held up the letter, "Bring me this letter..." He rubbed his eyes, trying to keep the tears in.
Cuddy sighed, "Truth be told, Dr. Wilson, if I had any inclination you wanted to know, I would have called you. In all honesty, it did cross my mind, but..."
Wilson looked at her, "But?" he prompted.
Cuddy gave him a cold smile, "But I didn't."
Wilson knew he had no right to get angry at her. He ran a hand through his hair, his breath hitching, "Did he suffer?" He didn't know why he wanted to know the answer to this question, but he had to know.
Cuddy's face softened fractionally, "Yes, James," she whispered. "He suffered." She looked down at her desk, "When House stopped taking his pain medication, he still refused to let us take his leg. After four months of agonizing pain, he elected to be put into a medically induced coma." He looked at him, "He gave up."
Wilson brushed tears away from his eyes, "Why? Why did he stop taking his pills? Why did he want to die?" He was angry.
Cuddy continued as if he hadn't spoken, "Last month, he slipped into a real coma. Last week, I, as his medical proxy, elected to try and repair some of the muscle damage. Pretty much the same thing we did last time, but on a much higher level. He would have lost most use of his leg, but this was short of him losing his leg." She looked up at him, "His heart was too weak, he died on the table." She brushed a tear away.
Wilson took deep breaths, "Why?" The anger was gone; now he was just resigned.
Cuddy glared at him, "Because his best friend abandoned him." She walked to him, "He asked for you, you know. Begged everyday."
Wilson paled, "Then why wasn't I called?"
Cuddy walked to him, her papers in her hand. "We did call. Three times. You never answered. Left messages. You never called. We told him you didn't leave a forwarding number. I don't think he believed us."
Wilson looked down, tears falling down his cheeks, "Why did he leave me everything, Lisa?" he asked softly.
Cuddy gave him a small smile, "You were always the only one that really mattered." She walked to the door, "We're using the money he left the hospital for the diagnostics department." She opened the door, and then turned around. "The funeral's tomorrow." She dug a piece of paper out of her stack. "Here's the information. If you want."
Wilson took it and nodded. "I'll come."
Cuddy nodded, "Just stay away from his fellows. New or old."
Wilson was confused, "Why?"
Cuddy shrugged, "They blame you," she stated simply.
Wilson looked down, "And you?"
Cuddy gave him a bitter smile, "I blame you both." She paused, "It was good to see you, Dr. Wilson. If you'll excuse me." She left the room.
Wilson nodded, "Thank you, Lisa," he whispered to the empty room.
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