Chapter 5: Try Hard Get Barred

Wilson stumbled out of House's room, his vision completely blurred by the tears now flowing steadily down his cheeks.

His friend was so lost. Lost to circumstances, lost to cruel fate, lost even to Cuddy's and possibly his own friendship. But mostly lost forever to hope.

House's piteous question kept ringing in his ears.

"Why didn't you just let me die?"

Wilson couldn't even think of a reasonable answer. Nothing that involved what was best for House anyway. The only answers that rang through his mind concerned his own and everyone else's selfish need to hang on to him, to cling desperately to him as though House was a lifeboat in rough seas even though it was House himself who needed saving most of all.

Why hadn't he simply let nature take its course? Why had they worked so hard to save him when at last House might have been freed from all his pain? Surely no one would have questioned the death of a man so permanently hell bent on self destruction and whose body bore the damage of so many years of that injurious lifestyle?

But no. It was not his or anyone else's decision. House's life should not be forfeit simply out of some misguided sense of charity or compassion. House still had an obligation, to those around him, to his friends though they were few, and especially to his patients whose illnesses only he could diagnose. Perhaps he even had to go on living in order to fulfill some unknown debt that still remained part of his destiny even though it was clear that fate had long ago taken an antagonistic line against Gregory House.

Besides, Wilson had finally come to the cheerless conclusion that he didn't think his own life could go on without the man he loved like a brother.

In a kind of fog, Wilson stepped off the elevator. He had just taken out his key to unlock the door to his office when he heard a familiar voice behind him.

"How is he?"

Wilson spun around on the spot and saw the slightly stooped, disheveled figure of Lisa Cuddy standing in front of him. Her usually immaculate clothes were wrinkled, her features careworn.

"He's . . . he's . . . he had to be sedated," Wilson said, his voice cracking at the last word. "How's Rachel?"

"She's alright. She's with my mother. I had to come. I had to . . ." Cuddy weaved a bit precariously in her heels.

"You need to sit down. And so do I. Let's go into my office."

Cuddy nodded and followed as Wilson opened the door and entered the darkened office. She made a beeline for the couch as Wilson moved to open the blinds.

"No. Please. Can we just . . . leave it dark for now?"

"Sure," Wilson said as he walked over to his desk and sat down behind it. He raised his hands to his face and dug the heels of his palms into his closed eyelids. He felt a headache coming on, a migraine for sure.

The two were quiet for some minutes until Wilson leaned forward, rested his elbows on his desk and asked, "Are you going to see him?"

"I . . . don't know."

Wilson involuntarily drew back. "After all that's happened, you don't know?"

"A lot's happened to me too Wilson," Cuddy said, her voice acquiring a certain edge to it. "Or have you forgotten?"

"No, of course not."

"Then can you blame me for being cautious?"

"No, but . . . Cuddy, House risked his life to save your child. Can you honestly say to me that his actions don't make up for, even erase some of the things he's done?"

When Cuddy spoke, her voice was as sharp as a knife, stabbing into Wilson's heart. "Maybe my daughter wouldn't have needed saving if House hadn't been there to begin with."

Wilson let out a breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding. "You . . . you blame House for what almost happened to Rachel?"

Cuddy lowered her face but kept her eyes locked on Wilson's shocked features from beneath her brow.

"Yes," she whispered.

Wilson closed his eyes. He felt as if all the air had left the room.

"He only wanted to set things right with you. He only wanted to help you. He wanted to apologize to you so that you could move on. And still," Wilson opened his eyes again and glared at Cuddy, "You still want to blame him for everything?"

"People who get close to House always get hurt. It was one thing when it was just me. But now, it's my child, my daughter. And I can't let that happen. Ever again."

"He SAVED your child's life!"

"Only after he put her in danger."

Wilson's breathing became shallow as he felt the blood rise to his face. "No. You did that yourself!"

"How dare you!"

"How dare you?" Wilson volleyed back. "Maybe you forget who you're talking to?"

Cuddy paused. She had forgotten. With all her emotions, she hadn't thought of who else Wilson had loved besides House. And lost.

"I'm sorry Wilson. Really. But Amber was an adult and made her own decisions."

"Just like you. You KNEW what he was, who he was. For over twenty years you've known him. You knew he was an addict. You knew he was volatile. Unpredictable. And YOU still chose to go out with him. You still chose to bring him into your daughter's life."

"You sound just like my mother."

"And now you have the unmitigated gall," Wilson continued, "to pretend you didn't know who you were dealing with? Is THAT how you get through your day? By blaming him for everything?"

"He admitted it himself that he WAS to blame!" Cuddy shrieked.

"Of course he did! Because he loves you that much. And hates himself almost just as much."

"Well maybe there's a lot there to hate."

Wilson shook his head, lowering his gaze. "I can't . . . I don't believe this. I can't believe you're saying this. Not now. Not after all he's been through."

"What about all I've been through? All Rachel's been through?" Cuddy said, her nostrils flaring. "I quit my job, a job that I loved. I had to uproot my daughter, my entire life, just so I could . . ."

"No, you didn't HAVE to do any of that. Again, that was YOUR choice Cuddy."

"You think I CHOSE to leave Princeton Plainsboro behind?"

Wilson was struck dumb. Finally, after several long moments, he once again found his voice. "So that's what you left? You left . . . a job? That's what's most important to you? Friends, associates, a man who truly loved you, they don't count as much as a damn job?"

"I didn't mean . . ." Cuddy began before she became lost for words. "People say and do things," she continued after awhile, "that they don't really mean in the heat of the moment. It doesn't mean anything."

Wilson looked steadily at her and said, "You're wrong. It means everything. Those are the moments that define who we really are Cuddy. The moments we don't have time to think or prepare ourselves for what we want to say and do or how we want to appear to others. Those are the moments when the real person no longer hides in the shadows of their carefully constructed societal persona. All that crap falls away and all that's left is what really matters. That's when you see a person's true heart."

Cuddy stood up, a look of quiet triumph on her face. "Yes. Like when House drove through my dining room window. That's the volatile, unpredictable mad man he really is."

Wilson nodded slowly. "Yes. He was hurt. He was wounded. And in that moment, he wanted to die."

Cuddy started to interrupt but Wilson waved her off and continued. "He only told me about it right before this last time he went to see you. He wasn't trying to hurt you or me or anyone else. He was trying to kill himself."

"I didn't . . . I never thought . . . I never knew . . ."

"And he's also the same mad man who didn't even hesitate, who threw his cane at a speeding SUV right before he threw himself in front of it. To save a child. Your child. He's one in the same person Cuddy. House is crazy AND courageous, rational and unpredictable, he can be so right and then so spectacularly wrong. He's all those things. You can't separate it out. That's just who he is."

Cuddy staggered back a step or two, shocked into silence. So Wilson went on.

"His first words. Do you even know the first thing he said when he woke up?"

Cuddy, still speechless, shook her head.

"He called Rachel's name. He started fighting us because . . ." Wilson choked up but then soldiered on. ". . . because he was still fighting that SUV, he was still trying to save Rachel. He wouldn't calm down until we assured him that she was alright. Didn't even ask about himself, about his own injuries. He didn't even know . . ." Wilson could go no further.

"Know what? What didn't he know Wilson?" Cuddy's eyes showed luminous with emotion in the darkened office.

Wilson took the forefinger and thumb of his left hand and squeezed tightly on either side of the bridge of his nose. He just had to finish. He had to get through this. He had to unload some of his sickening emotions onto someone else.

And Lisa Cuddy, the woman who stood in front of him now refusing to acknowledge his best friend's selfless act or even the magnitude of his love for her and her daughter seemed as good a person as any.

"I had to tell him that his right leg had been amputated."

"What?" Cuddy screeched.

"You didn't know?"

"No. I mean, of course not. Why didn't you tell me earlier?"

"Because House only this minute woke up so we could tell him. He just now found out himself."

Both Cuddy and Wilson were silent. Minutes passed. Finally, she spoke up.

"What did he say? How did he react when he found out?"

Wilson grimaced before replying, "He asked me why I didn't let him die instead."

Cuddy closed her eyes and dropped her head.

"Maybe, maybe . . ." she spoke so quietly, her voice was no more than a whisper. "Maybe you should have let him die. Maybe that would have been the best outcome . . . for everyone."

Wilson felt the hot tears press against his eyes and roll quickly down his cheeks before he had time to try and stop them.

"No," he said stoically, shaking his head.

"If House were . . . gone," she found she couldn't even say the word. "He would finally be free from his pain. Maybe it would be a mercy to just . . . let him go."

"And would let you off the hook too, is that it? You would never have to think about him again. Never have to deal with him again."

"I'm NOT just thinking about Rachel and me. But I suppose you and even House will somehow find a way to blame me for even thinking that too."

"God!" Wilson almost shouted. "This isn't about that. For once this isn't about you. Can't you see that?"

"No. Because House always makes everything about him."

"Is that what you think? Really? Do you think this was just an elaborate scheme of his to try and somehow win you back? And that what happened between the two of you is only about who's wrong and who's right? Who's to blame?"

She raised her face and her eyes to him once more. Her cheeks were streaked with silver tears.

"Isn't it?"

"No," Wilson said evenly. "What House felt for you, what he still feels for you was never about that. When House went to your mother's place this last time, he only wanted to help you, to let you move on. If you can't see the depth of love it took for him to do that, how much he loves you, how much he loves Rachel. If you can't appreciate what he's done and everything he's given up for you, for the both of you, then I don't know what else to tell you."

Wilson stood up and walked to the door as he finished his thought, "No, House will never be the perfect man you seem to want him to be. In fact, he's possibly the furthest person from perfect and normal as a person could possibly be. But all I can say is that if you're so selfish and narcissistic and narrow minded to refuse to see that he gave you everything, he risked his life, he lost his leg for you, for Rachel then I feel sorrier for you than I do for that poor, suicidal, crazy genius upstairs who's had himself cut in half."

Wilson had reached the door when he heard Cuddy behind him.

"Wilson?" she said.

He turned to face her one last time, the tears unbidden and unstoppable streaming down his handsome face.

"Do you know the last thing he said before we put him under? He called your name. House woke up calling for Rachel and went out calling for you. And you won't even go upstairs for one second and tell him, tell him . . . ?"

"What should I tell him Wilson? Should I lie to him and tell him I've forgiven him? Because I haven't. I haven't forgiven him for . . ."

"For just being who he is?" Wilson shook his head sadly. "He never really had a chance with you, did he? The whole time he spent loving you, tying himself in knots to try and be the man he thought you deserved, you just marked the time, waiting for an excuse, any pretext to break his heart. You knew you couldn't control him, you knew he'd never live up to whatever artificial standard you set for him, a standard that not even Superman or Batman, certainly not House could ever live up to. You don't have a clue about what you need and as for what you want, you run away from it as fast as you can."

Cuddy shivered as she heard her friend echo nearly the exact words House had said to her so many years ago, "What you want, you run away from. What you need, you don't have a clue. What you've accomplished makes you proud, but you're still miserable."

"Wilson, I . . ."

"Goodbye Cuddy. I hope you find what you're looking for. Although I know you never will. Because you already had it. But once you had it, you had to throw it away with both hands."

Without another word, Wilson opened his office door and walked out. Where he was going, he had no idea.

But just before the door closed behind him, he was sure that he could hear Cuddy, still sitting on the couch, crying like a little child.