2008

"I don't want to be in pain, I don't want to be miserable. I don't want him to hate me."

"Well… you can't always get what you want."

House opened his eyes, and the blur of colors around him gradually came into focus.

Cuddy leapt up from her seat, grasping his hand tightly to her chest.

"Hey. I'm here. Blink if you can hear me."

She felt the weight of the world fall off her shoulders as he blinked. Slowly, but definitely. She felt tears of relief pool in her eyes.

The first thought he had was that he needed to go be with Wilson. "I gotta…" He was so weak; it was barely a whisper.

She hushed him. "No, shh. Don't talk. Just rest."

The fog in his head made everything blurry, and he couldn't remember what he needed to do. So he closed his eyes, and went to sleep.

The next time House opened his eyes, Wilson was standing in front of him. Based on the way Wilson looked, House knew. Amber had died, then. His eyes connected with Wilson's, but before he could even gather himself to say something, anything, Wilson gave a sort of bitter smile. His eyes were all red around the edges, and his clothes were wrinkled and disheveled, House noticed.

Then Wilson turned around and walked away.

House was vaguely reminded of a particular Christmas Eve. He stared at Wilson's back, a little voice telling him in his head that he'd really done it this time.

Never mind the fact that he'd risked his intellect, and even his life. Never mind the fact that he had pushed so hard his heart had given out for the third time in his life. Never mind the fact that he had pushed himself to the limits for Wilson and for Amber.

Yeah, he'd really outdone himself this time. This totally beat the whole Tritter debacle. This one took the cake.

He dropped his head back down onto the pillow and waited for sleep to come and take him away.

Cuddy was about to walk into the room when she stopped at the door. House was in the bed, staring at the television. But she could tell he wasn't really watching it. Her heart tightened as she looked at him with a critical eye. There was a slight air of defeat around him. He looked like he'd aged ten years in the past week.

She knew for sure that Wilson hadn't come see him once after the night Amber died. She had been awake, but had pretended to be curled up and sleeping in the chair when Wilson came in. She had expected them to talk. But there were only the quiet footsteps of Wilson walking away.

She had heard the faint plop as House dropped his head back onto the pillows. It was a while before she had dared to open her eyes. When she did, she saw the single tear track leading down from the corner of House's eye.

She had adjusted her position slightly, bringing her arms and head to rest on the bed. Then slowly, subtly, she had reached over to cover his left hand with her own, disguising it as unconscious movement in her sleep. He hadn't shirked away, nor had he acknowledged her. She was fine with that. She expected that reaction. He would have seen through her poorly disguised attempt at comforting him anyway.

It was when he squeezed back, and held on tightly as he drifted off to sleep that she realized how upset he must have been, to allow her to comfort him.

They never spoke of that moment again.

She slipped into the room. "Hey."

He glanced at her briefly, before turning his head back to the television.

"How are you feeling?"

He shrugged.

He'd been like that the whole time in the hospital. For once, he wasn't wreaking havoc as a patient and pissing off all the nurses. He was passive and subdued. Sure, head injuries tended to do that to you. But Cuddy was sure it wasn't entirely because of his head injury.

"Maybe we can discharge you in a day or two," she said hopefully, trying to spark some reaction from him. She wanted desperately for him to insist on being discharged AMA, or tell her how her nurses aren't doing their job, or simply make a fuss and insist on cable television in his room.

Nothing.

"Okay."

His voice was flat. She could tell his walls were raised so high right now they were probably thicker and taller than the Great Wall of China. He had fortified himself, keeping his emotions in a cocoon, and there was a huge "Keep Out" sign on display for all who dared to even think about trying to pry.

She sat down for a while, looking through her Blackberry. In the background, the monotonous tone of the weatherman predicting the weather for the next week droned on. House stared determinedly at the small television.

"Her funeral's later today," he mumbled.

"Yeah."

"You're going. And so is the team."

"Yeah."

A pregnant pause. Cuddy was apprehensive to say more, not knowing where the conversation was leading. Push, and he might shut her out forever.

It came so softly she almost thought she didn't hear it.

"Don't think Wilson wants me there anyway."

"House…"

He muted the television and turned away from her. "I'm tired."

"House… I - "

"I'm going to rest now."

He turned away from her and closed his eyes, effectively ending the conversation. If it could even be considered a conversation.

Chase slinked into the hospital room, and sunk into the recliner. House looked at his former fellow. The one person he trusted to do the DBS, and who had helped him in his quest for the answer.

"Cuddy screwed you over for doing the DBS?"

"Uh… yeah, pretty much."

House was silent for a while. Saying thank you was never a forte of his.

"Thanks."

Chase shrugged. "You're welcome. You would have found someone else to do it for you anyway... You wouldn't have stopped till you got the answer."

"So what punishment have you been damned with?"

"Clinic hours. Double. Next two months."

House snorted. "Typical Cuddy."

Another silence fell over the two doctors. Not an uncomfortable one, though. Chase had been around House for too long for it to be so. He used to be under House's mentorship, but now… they were more like equals.

It was a while before Chase could broach the question that had been lingering on his mind all this while.

"Do you regret trying so hard to find your answer?"

House stared out the window. He was silent for so long that Chase thought it was a sign that the conversation was over, and it was time for him to leave. He stood up, but House's answer came just as he was about to step out of the room.

"No." House's voice was soft, like the whisper of the wind. "But coming back… a little."

Chase stood there for a moment, contemplating House's words. He understood the implication behind the statement, and was about to offer words of… what words could be used to comfort someone in this situation, especially if it was House? There were no reassuring words to be offered. Chase knew that. Words didn't make anything better. They didn't change the cold, hard truth that was reality.

He opened his mouth, about to say something... to apologise, perhaps? Or maybe just to -

"Bye Chase."

And that was that.

"No driving for the next few weeks. Definitely no alcohol. No consults, no work at all. Plenty of rest." Cuddy stood in front of House's bed, looking through his chart. "Your team will take turns coming to check on you once a day. I'll give you an additional week off, after which your team will take turns giving you lifts to work."

He nodded his head, eyes falling briefly onto the floor before he raised them to look out the window.

Usually, she would be lecturing him, and he would be trying to evade her concern, snarking back or releasing his formidable wit on her. But this time, she just didn't have the heart to. Nor did he have the strength or will to rebel against her.

He was seated there on the bed, legs hanging slightly off the ground. He was gripping the hospital-standard forearm crutch he would be using for the next few weeks tightly. His balance was still a bit off. She had passed him the cane, and he had accepted it with no remark of how it was "so not cool".

He really looked like a small, lost child.

Of course he was lost. All his hospital stays had usually ended up with Wilson bringing him home, and they would usually have an argument about whether or not House should sit in the wheelchair as per protocol.

But this time, one particular oncologist with floppy brown hair was missing. And Cuddy was here to bring him home instead. She had cleared her schedule just for this.

Cuddy hesitated. Then she went to sit next to him on the bed. She could feel him shirk away slightly. But somehow she sensed it wasn't because she was invading into his personal space, nor was it because he was uncomfortable.

Going with her instinct, she placed her hand gently on his forearm. "House…"

"I'm fine."

"He'll be back. Just give him some time."

House didn't even know what to say to that.

She could sense him tense slightly. The silence hung in the air, oppressive and she couldn't help but feel that a sense of defeat and resignation wafted off him.

He finally made himself say it.

"You don't know that."

Cuddy bit her lip. "He just needs some time to get over his grief. He's asked for two months off…"

House stared at his crutch. He hated the hospital crutches. He wanted his cane back. But he can still see his cane flying through the air as the world around him spun and spun and didn't seem like it was going to stop soon.

Cuddy sensed that he wasn't altogether there with her anymore when he closed his eyes, and she squeezed his arm gently. "House?" He opened his eyes, but didn't turn to look at her. "You know I'm here for you. If you need anything… I'm here."

She knew it wasn't enough, but it was all she could do.

House nearly died too. She hadn't been particularly close to Amber, but the whole bus crash saga had awakened in her some sort of feeling towards House. He'd fractured his skull, had a heart attack, seized and had been in a coma, all in the span of three days. It had definitely been the three worst days of her life.

House was her friend. So was Wilson. Watching them ride out the rollercoaster that was the past three weeks had been absolutely terrifying.

"You did your best."

"Wasn't enough."

"You nearly died, House. You gave Wilson a chance to say goodbye."

"Wasn't enough."

It was my fault anyway.

Then he seemed to clam up, and he drew himself up. Cuddy could almost see him push his feelings away, burying them deep down somewhere in that place where no one could get to them. She knew what had just transpired between them had been extremely personal and emotional, especially for him. Only Wilson really got to see this side of House.

It was almost fascinating to watch House draw up his walls and put on his facade. She could almost hear the 'click' as they snapped into place.

It was Kutner who approached her a few days later.

"I think House is having absence seizures." Upon seeing Cuddy's eyes widen in worry, he rushed to clarify himself. "Very short ones. For about six, seven seconds each time." He hesitated, not knowing whether or not he should voice his particular concern. Heck it. "Uh… And I don't think he's been sleeping very well."

"He told you…?"

"Um, this is House we're talking about right? I just thought… he's been drinking a lot of coffee, and looks – for lack of a better word - hungover…"

Cuddy was about to interject angrily when Kutner continued, "But he hasn't been drinking… I uh, took the liberty of removing all the alcohol from the house."

Cuddy surveyed the young man standing in front of her, slightly surprised at his observation skills and willingness to take the initiative. She could see why House had chosen to hire him despite his specialty of sports medicine now. Something told her that Kutner was far more involved in checking on House than the other fellows. She could only imagine House's reaction to Kutner's actions, and she kind of admired Kutner for daring to actually throw out all the alcohol.

"You threw out the alcohol?"

"I think House would fire me if I did that. I told him I'm… safekeeping them till you clear him."

She smiled slightly before sighing and putting her pen down and closing her laptop. The week had passed so quickly, thanks to the upcoming Pediatrics benefit that had her working till the wee hours of the night. She had only managed to visit House twice; each time, it had been at night and he had retreated into his bedroom after a while, saying he was tired.

Part of her suspected that he was afraid to open up to her again. Or that he didn't really know how to face her after their conversation the morning he was discharged.

"I'll check on him tonight. Thanks, Dr Kutner."

He's on the bus again. In front of him is the answer.

This is a dream. This is why he hasn't been sleeping.

Wake up, House. This is not real.

Something tells him that he needs to find the answer, fast. He needs to push himself to find the answer. He knows the answer. It is somewhere in his mind.

And suddenly, the world falls apart. It is Amber, in front of him, her hair flying around her face, backlit by the approaching lights. It's like a halo.

Then the world spins and he feels himself holding on desperately to something. A chair? He can feel the bus roll over and over, and it doesn't seem to want to stop anytime soon. There is no gravity. There is the tinkle of breaking glass, the grating sound of metal crushing metal, the screams of hapless passengers...

He spots Amber's hands in front of hers, and he reaches out. So close. So damn close. Their fingers touch, and he clasps her hand, and despite the fact that he's still being flung about, he almost sighs in relief. He's got her. He is protecting Wilson's girlfriend, Wilson's loved one. Wilson loves her. He needs to catch her, for Wilson.

Then her hand slips out of his, and his heart stops. He lets go, and he too, flies through the air.

Then everything just blissfully stops.

"House? House. Wake up." Cuddy shook his shoulder, trying to rouse him. He was shifting about on the couch, mumbling, limbs twitching and jerking. "Wake up, House. You're having a nightmare."

He jerked awake, eyes filled with panic and distress before he slowly took in his surroundings and relaxed into the couch. He brought his right hand up to wearily rub his eyes, but Cuddy couldn't un-see the sheer panic that had been reflected in his eyes. She could hazard a guess at what the dream was about.

"What are you doing here."

"Just checking on you. Everything okay?"

"Other than the fact that my team is trespassing every single day, everything's peachy."

"Brought you some food. Come on, I bet you haven't eaten."

"Is it one of your health food things? Vegetarian with no meat and all that organic rubbish? Because there's no way I'm going to eat any of that."

He sounded rather normal, but Cuddy could tell he still wasn't himself. He was good at putting up the false front though.

"They're good for you, you know. And no, I know you better than that… I picked up some Chinese."

"Hmmph."

"You're welcome," she replied dryly.

As expected, he didn't react well when she passed him the additional meds. But he took them anyway. Too willingly, in fact. Cuddy couldn't help but feel uneasy at how compliant he was compared to his usual standards.

"Kutner says you haven't been sleeping well."

The truth is, he hadn't been sleeping much at all. The nightmares of the crash still plagued him. Perhaps two, three hour naps each time.

"I've never been one for much sleep," he shrugged. In a desperate bid to change the subject, he went on."And Kutner's nose is too big for his own good. Taub's is still bigger and uglier but Kutner likes to poke his everywhere."

"He's concerned for you."

"Yeah well, being concerned for me doesn't equate to confiscating all my alcohol."

"I told you no drinking anyway. You have a head injury."

"I bet he's pilfering them. If I find anything missing, I'm going to make him buy me the best bourbon I spot in the store. And do all my clinic hours."

She watched him take the pills, and then followed him into the bedroom.

"You want to tuck me in?"

She rolled her eyes at him. "Go to sleep."

As he sat in bed, waiting for the meds to take effect, she sat at the foot of his bed. He had this overwhelming urge to tell her how he was terrified that Wilson wasn't coming back. Or that he didn't want to sleep because of the nightmares, and was secretly glad that she had given him the zolpidem.

Drowsiness slowly crept up on him, and before he knew it, the words were coming out of his mouth.

"I nearly died too, you know…?"

Cuddy's breath caught in her throat, and she closed her eyes.

"Amber made a mistake getting me to come back…" he mumbled, all defenses and ability to hide anything gone under the influence of drugs and sheer exhaustion from the lack of sleep. "Wasn't enough… It's always never enough…"

"House…"

"Wilson hates me."

Then he closed his eyes, and escaped from the harsh reality that was his world in the aftermath of the bus crash.