A/N: So this is going to be sad and angst-ridden. People are going to get mad and throw things at me...heavy things...things that will hurt me...possibly hospitalize me. So stock up on tissues, chocolate and mood-elevators! That is all...
House stepped inside his apartment, feeling overwhelmed with how his day had gone. It has started out relatively easy; Go in at noon, mock his team, mess with Wilson and Cuddy...just a normal day. Until she left for the accident scene.
He hadn't intended on going there, but it seemed as though there was a magnet drawing him to it. And then, meeting Hannah. He wanted oh so desperately to save her. What happened to her wasn't something she deserved. It wasn't something anybody deserved. Except for maybe himself.
He had done everything right to save her. Everything. And yet, she still died. House questioned himself. Should he have let Cuddy amputate her leg right there? Was he right in making them wait?
Maybe he should have let them take her leg. Maybe then she would still be here, instead of lying in the morgue, waiting to be claimed.
It seemed to him that everything around him was coming undone. And that he was truly alone in this world. Everyone was leaving or moving on. Amber. Kutner. Hannah. Wilson and Sam. Cuddy and Lucas...
A pang reverberated in his chest as he thought about Cuddy. She told him how she felt that night. She told him the truth. She didn't love him. And she didn't need him in her life anymore. Another pain tore through him.
He shook his head, trying to rid himself of the night as he walked down the hall to the bathroom. House studied his reflection in the mirror, wondering if he deserved to get away with only a few cuts and brusies. Hannah's face came to mind once more, and anger bubbled up from within him. He grabbed both sides of the mirror and pulled forcefully. The mirror pulled away from wall and he threw it into the tub, shards flying in every direction. Sitting in the hole in the wall was the one thing that could make this night disappear. Without any hesitance, he grabbed the two bottles and limped into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him.
He was ending this pain tonight. He was done being miserable.
Wilson stood in front of House's door, waiting for his friend to answer. He had tried texting and calling him, but House hadn't answered yet, so Wilson had opted to go over to the apartment.
"House!" He called out. Wilson listened for any indication of movement on the other side of the door, but heard nothing. He sighed and reached for his key, hoping House was just in the shower.
The apartment looked relatively normal as he walked in. Maybe slightly cleaner than it had been during the time he had lived there. Wilson looked into the kitchen, but saw nothing. He slowly began making his way down the hallway towards the bathroom. A surge of panic gripped him as he noticed the missing mirror and a hole in the wall. Wilson quickly picked up his pace, nearly jogging the rest of the way to the bathroom. He saw the broken shards of the mirror in the tub and quickly turned towards the bedroom door.
The door was shut. Definitely not a good sign. He threw the door open as adrenaline coursed throughout his body. His eyes searched the room for House before landing on the bed. Wilson made his way over and kneeled down beside him.
House was lying face-down in the pillow and hesitantly Wilson laid two fingers on his neck, searching for a pulse. It was faint, but still there. His eyes went wide and he began to shake him. "House!" The yell echoed off the walls of the small room. "You can not do this! You can't! Not after what you went through!" He shook him harder, before seeing a white slip of paper in House's hand.
Wilson ignored it for the moment and pulled out his cell phone dialing 911. "This is Dr. Wilson. I need an ambulance now!" He fed the operator the information and received the dispatch information. Wilson ran his fingers through his short hair, frustrated with what was happening. He thought of the slip of paper again and grabbed it quickly.
His heart constricted as he read the words that were scrawled in familiar handwriting.
'I've loved her for twenty years and I'll love her til I die.'
Wilson stuffed the note into his pocket and tried to rouse House once more. "House, you need to listen to me, okay? You need to hang on until we get to the hospital. You need to hang on. You can't give up. Don't do this, okay?"
Within minutes the sirens sounded and he sighed in relief once he heard the EMTs enter the apartment. He turned back to House. "You're going to be okay," he reassured.
Cuddy sat behind her desk, attempting to finish her report on the crane accident before going home to sleep when Wilson burst through her office doors. "What the hell did you do to him?" He was pissed as he stalked up to her desk.
"Good morning to you, too," Cuddy replied curtly. "And I have no idea what you are even talking about."
"House!" Wilson yelled. "Who else would I be talking about?" He began pacing the length of her office.
"I don't know, and I didn't do anything to him. I haven't seen him since early this morning."
"You had to have said something or done something to him, Cuddy."
She stood up quickly. "Why is it that I had to have done something to him? Why is it about me and him?" She began getting frustrated, hating how everyone assumed something about their personal life.
"This!" Wilson reached into his pocket and threw the folded up note at her.
Cuddy grabbed the note and huffed, hoping this would explain what was going on. Her blue eyes clouded with tears as she read the paper. Hesitantly she looked up to Wilson. "What's going on?"
Wilson seemed to have calmed slightly. "House is in the ER fighting for his life. He had vicodin in the apartment and took it."
She dropped the note on her desk and jogged out of her office, Wilson following her as she entered the ER. The sound of the moniter flatlining was all she could hear as she entered the area where House was. Cuddy watched the doctors move around his body, one getting the crash cart, another manually pumping his heart. She could hear the buzz of the machines working. "Clear!" A jolt ran through her body as the paddles came down on him. The line was still flat. "Charge again!" The doctor shouted. "Clear!" House's body convulsed. "Again!" The nurse charged the paddles once more.
"Come on, House. Don't do this," Cuddy whispered softly.
His body convulsed again, but the monitor didn't change. The doctors and nurses stood there for a moment, debating on trying again. Slowly the doctor looked up at the clock. "Time of death, 8:12 AM."
She could literally feel her heart begin to shatter into pieces. "No," she whimpered. Cuddy shook her head. "No. No, no, no. NO!" She walked up to his body and began to pound on his chest. "Wake up! Wake up, House! You can not do this to me! Wake up!" Tears began pouring down her face and her vision blurred. "Don't leave me alone, House. Please! Come back! I'm sorry. I didn't mean it, I swear. Just please come back. Please..."
Wilson grabbed Cuddy's hand and pulled her to him, cradling her to his chest as she cried. He could feel his own tears begin to fall.
Cuddy pushed away from Wilson, not wanting to feel his arms around her, only wanting House. She walked back over to his body and softly put her hand over his heart. Her sobs were the only sound that filled the room for a few moments. "I ended it," she whispered. "I broke up with Lucas because I realized how much I love you and how much you are a part of my life. I love you, House, and I'm sorry I never got the chance to tell you that. I'm sorry I made you think different. I'm sorry I told you that I didn't. I'm sorry..." Cuddy closed her eyes, feeling an unbareable ache in her chest. She laid her head on his chest and took a deep breath. "You were it for me, and now...I don't know how I'm going to do this anymore...How do I become this person who isn't a mess just because they lost someone they loved? How do I live without you here with me?" Cuddy laid there there for a moment before sitting back up and wiping her eyes. "I need to call his mother." She kept her eyes on House's body.
"I can do that, Cuddy," Wilson replied, his voice wavering.
She shook her head. "No, I should to it. It's my fault he died, so I should be the one to call." Cuddy quickly stood up and walked out of the room, not giving Wilson a chance to respond. She ignored the sorrowful looks her staff gave her as she walked to her office. Once inside, she drew the blinds, not wanting anyone else to see her break down. Cuddy moved to her couch and laid down, feeling utterly exhausted. She closed her eyes, wishing she could take back the last few days; wishing she could fix everything.
Her eyes opened and she scanned her office, wanting to find something that could occupy her mind. There. A book on her shelf caught her attention. She cocked her head to the side, almost as if she was studying it. It was out of place. Cuddy moved from her place on the couch and walked over to the shelf. She pushed the book a little, wanting it to move further back in when she was met with resistance. A frown graced her features. Cuddy pulled the book from it's spot and gasped. The book fell from her hand as she reached in the niche and pulled out an orange bottle.
He hid a bottle in her office and she never knew about it. It felt as though the universe was mocking her with this. As if him dying wasn't enough, they had to throw in this last little detail. Her hand tightened over the bottle until her knuckles turned white from the pressure. She turned on her heels and headed towards her bathroom, wanting nothing more than to flush the pills.
But something inside her made her stop in the doorway. She turned to her desk and stared at it for a moment. Her breath caught in her throat as she sat on the floor behind her desk and opened the bottom drawer. Beneath all the papers that were stashed away was a photo. One that had been taken a few years ago. One that she absolutely cherished.
Hesitantly, she reached inside and pulled out the picture. Cuddy let her eyes trace the glossy paper, memorizing everything in it. Neither of them were looking at the camera. Instead, they were both focused on the piano they were sitting at. She smiled softly at the memory that came to mind before looking back to the bottle that she held. She'd give anything to have that happiness back, to have that feeling of being lost within him.
A soft pop echoed through the room and she counted the number of pills. A full prescription. Her body shuddered as she stared at the white pills in her hand. She could take them and be with him once more...
It would be so simple to do...
Her blue eyes drifted back to the picture that was clutched tightly in her left hand.
It would be worth it just to see him again. To hear his voice.
There was no hesitance when she did it. Half the bottle disappeared as tears fell from her eyes and hit the photograph. There was nothing to do now but wait.
Wilson walked into the clinic, his heart heavy with the grief of losing his best friend. His eyes automatically landed on Cuddy's door and he noticed the drawn shades. He wondered how she was holding up. Wilson tried to ignore the sympathetic stares he got as he walked to his boss's office. "Cuddy?" He called out softly while rapping on the door. There was no answer. He sighed and walked in, shutting the door behind him. "Lisa?" His voice sounded louder in the quiet of her office.
Fear gripped him as he noticed an arm peaking out from behind the desk, half a bottle of pills limply gripped within the hand. He ran towards Cuddy and dropped to his knees beside her body. 'Please tell me you weren't this stupid, please...please!'
He checked her pulse, noting that it was still strong. 'Thank you...' Wilson grabbed the bottle of pills and shoved him in his coat pocket. "Cuddy, you need to wake up. Wake up." He gently tapped her cheek as she roused.
Her eyes were glossy as she opened them. She could feel the picture still in her grasp, but not the bottle. And the eyes she met weren't blue...
"Cuddy, how many of these did you take?" Wilson asked while pulling the bottle back out of his lab coat.
Everything was disoriented, like she was underwater. Her vision blurred as tears fell. "You're not him," she slurred. "Cuddy," she heard him say. Her stomach lurched violently as she sat up and grabbed the trash can by her desk. Wilson winced slighly as she puked. He let his hand graze her back lightly as her body expelled the drugs.
She felt like hell. Complete and utter hell. Wilson pulled her back to him, hugging her and she allowed herself to finally sink into his embrace. "Why?" He asked her.
The hand not holding the photograph gripped his lab coat tightly. "I miss him," she whispered. He nodded in understanding, letting his tears fall and mingle with hers.
One Year Later
She stood at his grave, one finger tracing the letters that were engraved in the stone. "It's my fault," she whispered. "I did this to you. I made you do this." Cuddy wiped a tear away from her eye. "I never meant for it to go this far." More tears were building. "If I didn't trick you, if I didn't tell you that Lucas and I broke up even though you knew we were lying to you...This wasn't supposed to happen. House...Greg, I'd give anything to have you back."
Snow began falling from the gray sky above her. She allowed the coldness to seep into her skin. "You loved me for twenty years; and I shot you down because I thought you didn't really care. But you loved me. And I ended up killing you." Snowflakes landed on her eyelashes before melting and mixing with her tears. "I'm sorry, House...I never wanted this. I wish I could change everything...Then maybe I would have told you sooner..."
She placed a pale yellow rose on the ground in front of the stone. "You were it for me. Always you..." Cuddy kissed her hand and dropped it to the stone. "Goodbye, my love..."