Taub sits alone in the cafeteria now. He doesn't read a book or a newspaper, doesn't do anything work-related. He just sits and eats his lunch. Then leaves. He doesn't hurry, and he doesn't linger. He also doesn't look around. Eyes on his plate, watching his hand bring each forkful to his mouth. It looks like he's tallying the number of bites it takes to finish a meal. I think I get it. It's like he's surprised at how much food he actually has to finish. Without Kutner sitting across from him, distracting him with conversation and sneaking morsels off his plate, it must seem like the amount of food never diminishes.
It's heart-breaking. How did we even get here?
I want to go over there. I want to sit with him, engage him, so that maybe he can come out of his cone of silence for a little while and talk about something other than obscure diseases. But is it my place? Do I know him well enough to do that? What would I even say? What can you say to a man whose best friend shot himself out of nowhere? I know how to tell someone they're dying, how to prepare a family for the last few weeks or months of their loved one's life. I can find the right words for that kind of grief. House says I've mastered it, even elevated it into an art. But this…..this has left me speechless. I could barely bring myself to approach House after it happened. Even then, as I looked at that horrible bloodstained floor and struggled to keep my emotions and stomach in check, I said the wrong thing – that he only cared about the mystery, not about Kutner himself. I was wrong about that. He cares, more than he even realizes.
House thinks he knows all and sees all. It maddens him that he didn't see Kutner struggling. He's freaked out. Hell, I'm freaked out too. Everything you think you know about a person turns out to be so off, so wrong, and you wonder if you can ever trust your perceptions again. I didn't really know Kutner that well, and I'm overwhelmed by all of this. How much more so for Taub? He spent the most time with him. I don't know what they talked about, but if Kutner had opened up to anyone, it would've been him. It should've been him. Now Taub is left not only asking why it happened, but also why he wasn't deemed worthy of Kutner's confidence.
What should I say? That I know how he must feel? I sort of do, but only to a degree. House has pulled some stupid stunts, but he's never succeeded in ending his life. I'm not even sure if that was the ultimate goal for half the things he's done. But it was Kutner's goal. You don't put a gun to your head unless you really mean it. There's no getting around that fact.
Even losing Amber, which I'm still not completely over, one year later, doesn't give me the wisdom to help Taub. Amber's death was an accident, as much as I wanted to blame House, to blame anyone. I had the chance to say good-bye, to be with her as she slipped away. She made her peace with it. Didn't lessen the pain for me, but at least it wasn't magnified by her feeling angry or bitter or fearful. I shudder to think what was going through Kutner's mind just before he…. Was he panicky? Was he numb? Was he at peace with the decision? Did he weep? Did he even care?
Taub looks older to me. He's in his early forties, I believe, but when Kutner made him smile, he looked younger. He doesn't smile like that anymore. His eyes have that world-weary look, like House's, the one of so much regret. Regret for every harsh word spoken, no matter the context; for not asking the right questions, seeing the right clues; for all the things left unsaid. Regret for not going to the funeral, or at least down to the morgue for one last look, which even House managed to do, in a weird demonstration of his morbid curiosity and twisted affection. Regret for not being able to stop it. And even if there was no power in heaven or earth to prevent Kutner's death, there's the regret for not being there, not holding on to him while the life rushed out of his body, so that he knew someone cared. In that moment, Kutner was, in fact, alone.
That's how Kutner died - alone in his apartment, crushed by the weight of some sadness so deep no one ever noticed it. Taub must think of that all the time. I'm sure of it, because it's what I've envisioned House doing at some point or another. That's why I'm having so much trouble with this – Taub is living my nightmare.
He gets up and places his empty tray near the wastebin. He throws out his trash, turns, and walks out of the cafeteria. And I can't go after him because House is headed to my table, probably in need of some form of comfort himself, which only I can provide. I missed my chance. I waited too long. I spent so much time wondering what I should say, what I needed to say, that I wound up not saying anything at all. I wonder if that's what happened to Kutner? Did he wait too long to say anything to anyone, until he had no words? Next time I see Taub, I won't hesitate.