It's half past 6 PM, and I am finishing my case work in my office. I pause to stretch the crick in my neck and my eye catches sight of the lone figure on House's balcony, adjacent to my own. It's Taub. He sits on a bench with his face downcast in the dying light of day.

I know House has left for the day; he never stays past 5:00 if he can help it, and I know his leg was bothering him. I assume that Foreman and Thirteen are together, wherever they are. This is might be the only moment I get to reach out without someone interrupting and making things awkward. I hesitated before, in the cafeteria. I resolved not to do that again, so I get up and make my way to the glass door, opening it and stepping out into the warm spring evening. Taub doesn't acknowledge me, but I am positive he hears me coming.

"Hey," I say. Genius opening line. I'm gathering my thoughts together; I want to be sure to ask the right questions, then let him talk as he needs to, but at the same time I don't want to coddle him. Taub is not the type of person who would appreciate someone tiptoeing around him, assuming he has some fragile psyche.

"Hey," he replies, dully. He doesn't meet my eyes. He looks out to the horizon where the sun is sinking behind buildings and trees. What does he hope to see?

"How are you doing?" I try to sit on the dividing wall between the two balconies as casually as possible. He flicks his eyes at me like he doesn't know why I would be asking a question like that, and then silently resumes staring back out towards the sunset. "I know you've had a rough couple of weeks…"

"Months, actually," he interrupts, a little too quickly. "What with trying to keep my marriage together, and my finances going up in flames, and of course, the ever-enjoyable daily self-flagellation that is this job." His voice remains level, but the bitterness is palpable. "But you were just referring to the recent death of my colleague, am I right?" He looks back at me. The look on his face is that of a dare. Like he is saying, Go ahead, and give me your platitudes on grieving.

"No, I was referring to the recent death of your friend." Ok, he's going to try to downplay his friendship with Kutner. I see where this is going. He figures it won't hurt so badly if he denies that Kutner was anything beyond a coworker. A coworker's death is sad, but not that devastating. You can bounce back and move on. A friend's death, especially a suicide, changes you forever. And the death of a crucial person, a best friend…..it's not just something you shrug off.

He doesn't take the bait. Instead, he shakes his head and again turns away. "Well, to answer your question, I'm doing just fine. Peachy dandy." This guy is good with the sarcastic deflection. And he's been doing it since the moment he heard the news. I wonder what Kutner would say about it. He'd call him on it. At least I think so. Kutner encouraged honesty; in his childish naïveté, he thought the truth was the best course, even when it hurt.

"Is that why you eat lunch by yourself, and barely speak to anyone? That why you're still sitting here at this 'self-flagellating job' instead of going home to your wife?" Again, Taub looks at me. This time, it's a look of frustration, a look that's wondering why I am doing this to him.

"It's not going to work, Wilson. I know your Spidey-sense was tingling at the thought of helping the neediest person in your purview, I can even sort of appreciate that, but I don't need this. It is what it is. Kutner decided he didn't want to live, and he didn't have the courtesy to tell anyone he wasn't going to be around anymore. Everything else, whatever conversations we had, the lunches, the fun and the games, whatever - it is meaningless now. Just forget it, please." His voice is raised now. He isn't shouting, but it's a tone that in no uncertain terms means that he doesn't wish to pursue the topic any further. It's like talking to a damn brick wall. Well, actually, to be honest….it's more like talking to House.

"Look, I get that you're angry. I know you're pissed off about what Kutner did. I don't blame you. But Kutner was still a good-hearted, generous guy whom you genuinely liked. Do you really want that hatred of what Kutner did poisoning your memories of who he was? You will never forgive yourself if you decide to taint what you have left." I turn to go back to my office. So much for good intentions. Obviously this isn't going anywhere, and I am just as frustrated as Taub. I'm not sure why I thought it would go any differently. Had I expected a loving tribute from a man who was so angry at Kutner, he didn't bother going to his memorial service? He wasn't ready. Judging from the harshness of his tone, he might never be. But I want to say one more thing. "Denying your friendship with Kutner doesn't erase it, you know. I tried doing that once. The truth always wins out in the end, and I think you know that. Whatever." I throw my hands up, indicating I'm now done with the conversation. "Look, I just saw you out here, and I wanted you to know that if you ever needed to talk, about Kutner, or whatever, that I was here to listen. And I still am." I sigh, and turn to go.

I have almost reached my office door, when he speaks again. "No one wants to talk about him."

I turn around slowly and look at him. It was so quiet, I'm actually not sure if he really said it or if it was my imagination. His anger and the sarcastic veneer are gone. Now he just looks lost, and confused. Suddenly, it's like he's a little boy who has just had his first experience with death and none of the adults have bothered to explain it to him. He continues.

"I started talking to Thirteen about him yesterday - she liked him - but she just changed the subject back to the patient and then went to find Foreman. He doesn't want to talk about him either. I don't know why…." He trails off. Taub's face is so open now; the mask has fallen away, and I suddenly realize this is the first time I have ever really seen him. The first time he has let anyone see him. Did Kutner see this side of him? Is that why Taub has been hiding from everyone since Kutner died?

He hasn't talked about Kutner's death because no one has been willing to listen. Suicide is too delicate for polite conversation. I don't want to let him go back into hiding now. "I'd like to talk about him."

"Why? You barely even knew him." It's not an accusation. It's just a simple, gently stated fact.

"That's true. I didn't know him as well you did. But I liked him. He was a good man. I would have liked to know him better. Tell me about him."

He pauses for a moment and considers my invitation. I hold my breath.

"Okay."

I nod. "You want to grab a beer?"

"Yeah." Taub manages a small smile. We both head to our respective offices and get our jackets and wallets. I will treat him to a drink or two, or ten, and let him talk as much as he needs to. I doubt there will be any miraculous healing in one night. But I'm willing to see this through, until whatever feelings darkening his heart are purged. I am hoping that maybe tonight, the small crack in Taub's hard shell will start to widen a bit. Perhaps a little light can begin to shine through. We'll see.