At least I finished it
I roughed out this fic a year ago, but it never quite developed the way I though it would/should. Still, it hits a couple of decent notes so I finished it off and well, now you can decide whether it was worth the effort.
It's essentially an alternate ending to the Tritter arc and it's H/W stupid screwed up friendship with a healthy helping of Cuddy.
"Dr. Wilson, would you join me in my office for a moment?"
Wilson stopped in the middle of the hall and turned to look at the therapist, Marissa G. if her name tag was to be trusted. Then he gestured back down the hall, toward the inpatient unit which is where he really wanted to go. "Is there a problem?"
"Greg is fine," she said with professional smile of reassurance. "But it would be helpful if I could discuss his treatment plan with you."
"Oh, sure. Okay." Wilson followed her into the office. It was nice. Not as nice as his divorce lawyer's office, but better than a typical social service 'we're only scraping by on a government pittance' office. He had to hand it to House; when he finally agreed to go into rehab, he'd chosen a program that obviously had the funding to provide him with the amenities to which he was accustomed. Wilson made a mental note to ask Cuddy if House had strong-armed her into forcing the hospital to pay for his stay.
"So," Wilson said as he settled himself into a chair. Marissa sat directly across from him, brushing back her shoulder length blonde hair with one hand as she opened a file. "How is House?"
"He's progressing."
"Really?" Wilson asked. He was understandably skeptical about House progressing through anything but a scam intended to get him certified as clean and sober and keeping him out of prison.
"How much do you know about drug rehabilitation therapy?" Marissa asked, ignoring Wilson's mildly sarcastic tone.
"A little," Wilson said. Seeing her gaze suddenly become more interested, Wilson quickly added, "Not for myself, but I've dealt with addiction as a doctor. And as a friend, obviously."
"Then maybe you're aware that part of the recovery process involves identifying certain habits associated with substance abuse. Typically, most abusers have particular places, activities, even 'friends' who have been part of their addictive behaviors," Marissa explained. "We try to guide our patients into recognizing and eliminating these habits. We find this tends to reduce the temptation to use again."
"With you so far." Wilson had tried that very method with his own brother. He didn't know if the habits had led him back to the drugs or the drugs had led him back to the habits, but either way it hadn't worked. "But House's case is a little different. The people he most frequently associates with are his colleagues, and he can't just stop talking to them."
"He could work at a different hospital."
"Trust me," Wilson said, thinking of all the different hospitals House had worked at, and from which he'd been fired. "It would be nigh on impossible for House to get a job at any other hospital. He certainly wouldn't be able to keep it. And the bottom line is that House does need pain medication, so...."
"Medication, not narcotics," Marissa said. She made a notation in the file, not bothering to look up at him as she responded. "You're right, though, in thinking that Greg will have a more difficult time because of both his professional and personal situations."
"What can I do to help?" Wilson asked, leaning forward with his arms resting on his thighs.
"Greg needs to minimize his exposure to risk factors as much as possible. Given that he can't eliminate his physical disability or his easy access to drugs, it's more important than ever that he make a clean break from the people associated with his addictive behavior."
"House isn’t hanging out on street corners or in crack houses.” At least, Wilson hoped House hadn’t been hanging out in those places. Wilson could never be entirely certain. House did have an unhealthy curiosity about the sordid underbelly of society. "His most frequent associates are his professional colleagues. I'm practically the only person he interacts with on a social or personal level."
"And you're the person who writes his prescriptions, who makes excuses for his behavior, cleans up his messes," Marissa said, giving Wilson a pointed look.
"You...you think I'm contributing to his addiction?" Wilson sat up, staring at the counselor.
"You're an enabler, Dr. Wilson. In therapy Greg has come to recognize your role in his addiction. Now it's time for you to recognize it." Marissa gave a little shrug. "Assuming that you want to help him...."
"Of course I want...." Wilson bit off his words, his arguments, and took a deep breath. He knew he'd contributed to House's addiction. He knew he was an enabler. He also knew House would continue to be an addict whether Wilson enabled him or not. Refusing House would only clear Wilson's conscience, not solve the problem.
"I'd be more than happy to give up writing his prescriptions," Wilson said. As always, he'd play the role expected of him...as best he could. "I never wanted to write them in the first place."
"And yet you did write them," Marissa said. "That seems to be a recurring theme in your relationship with Greg. You tell him you don't like what he's doing, then you help him do it anyway."
"Have you met the man?" Wilson asked sharply. "House is going to do those things, with or without my help. If I'm there, at least I can try to minimize the damage he does to himself or anyone else."
"That's an excuse, Dr. Wilson." Marissa gave him that sad, pitying look that…that Wilson had used so often himself when it came to matters of House. "You make excuses for yourself; you make excuses for Greg. And all these years of excuses rather than responsibility have led to the possibility of prison, loss of his medical license, loss of...."
"He's in trouble because he shoved a thermometer up a cop's ass," Wilson snapped. "An event, I'd like to point out, I was not present for. If I had been, I might've been able to stop him."
"I'm not saying you directly caused Greg's current legal difficulties, but the fact that you've never forced him to face the consequences of his prior actions certainly contributed to his inability to anticipate the consequences of this action."
“I am making him face the consequences,” Wilson argued. “I seem to be the only who is.”
“By making a deal with the police. Is that really for Greg? Or for you?”
Wilson stared at the counselor, counting to ten. He didn’t speak until he could trust himself to not launch into a justification or an explanation or anything else she could twist into proof of his unsuitability to be House’s friend. “Let’s cut to the chase--you think I am House’s biggest problem?”
“Addiction is Greg’s biggest problem,” she said. “You are potentially his biggest obstacle to beating that addiction.”
~~**~~
"How is he?" Cuddy asked, falling into step with Wilson as he exited the elevator on the fourth floor. Mildly startled at her presence, Wilson shook off his surprise and crossed to his office, Cuddy's heels clicking rapidly behind him.
"The therapist says he's progressing." Wilson allowed Cuddy to precede him into the office, then carried his briefcase to the desk.
"Right," Cuddy said skeptically. "What do you say?"
"I don't know. I...didn't see him." Wilson busied himself sorting out the stack of paperwork his secretary had left on his desk while he was out.
"Why not? I thought that's why you went there."
"So did I." Wilson gave a rueful shake of his head. "The therapist had a different idea. Apparently I'm part of House's addictive behavior, and they've agreed it would be a bad idea for me to see him."
"You know better than that," Cuddy said, incredulous. "You're not part of the addiction. You're part of the effort to stop the addiction."
"I am the one who wrote his prescriptions," Wilson said reluctantly. He grimaced. "Even when I wasn't the one who wrote them."
"Because he needs pain medication," Cuddy said, her hands thrown out in exasperation. "And as far as that goes--we've all written scripts for him."
"She mentioned that, too. Apparently I'm the worst offender because I'm the only one House has any significant personal relationship with." Wilson gave a bitter laugh. "And yet, despite that, she's joined the 'Wilson is guilty' bandwagon because I made a deal with Tritter."
"Would you stop paying attention to what Cameron says?" Cuddy said sharply. "You know damn well she'll attack anyone who does anything with, to, or for House without her permission."
"Cameron's savior complex is a given, but you were just as angry about the deal," Wilson said, pointing his finger at her as he dropped into his chair.
"Because I knew House wouldn't take it, not because I thought you were wrong."
"It's a moot point. The damage is done, and I can't undo it even if I wanted to."
"At least he is in rehab," Cuddy pointed out as she leaned against the front of the desk.
Wilson merely shook his head and swiveled aimlessly in his chair. "As a legal maneuver. He'll go right back to his old ways as soon as he's out."
"Then we'll have to encourage him to stay clean," Cuddy said. "We'll have to make sure he doesn't fall back into his old ways, not easily."
"Yes, we will," Wilson agreed. "That's why I'm leaving."
"Excuse me?" Cuddy stood up straight and stared at Wilson.
"House is the only reason I've stayed in Princeton. I've got three bad marriages under my belt, no kids, my practice has been decimated…. If my presence is actually detrimental to House, then why am I here?" Wilson sighed. "Maybe it's time for a fresh start, for both of us."
"That is the biggest load of self-serving crap I've ever heard. And I've heard a lot of it from House," Cuddy retorted. "Okay, so you suck at marriage. It's not like you’ve had to go without female companionship. And you can rebuild your practice. Hell, with your reputation, you'll be swamped with patients within a month."
"It's time."
"You are not leaving," Cuddy insisted.
Wilson shook his head. “I think I am.”
~~**~~
"How's the leg?" Seated at a small table in a small consultation room that shared its bland décor with the rest of the rehab center, Cuddy watched as House limped heavily around the room, pacing despite the obvious pain he was having.
"Still attached to my body," House retorted sharply. He looked around, puzzled. "Where's Wilson?"
"What do you mean...?"
"What's this lawyer's name?" House asked, not waiting for her answer to the previous question.
"Smucker. John Smucker."
House stared at her, one eyebrow raised. "And with a name like Smucker, he has to be good."
"Shut up," Cuddy muttered. "He is good. He's the best, and you need the best."
"I need some hopped up junkie to take Tritter out," House said. He stopped pacing and leaned over, gripping the back of a chair with both hands. "I would've done it myself, but I'm not a hopped up junkie, all insinuations to the contrary."
"House...."
"Sorry I'm late." The lawyer, Smucker, barged through the door and tossed his heavy briefcase on the table.
"Hope you know I'm not paying you for that time," House said. Cuddy sighed and dropped her head into her hands. House wasn’t paying for any of the time but more importantly, he couldn’t afford to piss off his lawyer.
Smucker gave him a hard look, then dismissed the argument as unworthy. "I don't have long. I've got a meeting scheduled with the D.A. in thirty minutes and long story short--I think we can still get a deal."
"Really? But I thought...." Cuddy began as she lifted her head hopefully.
"She really shouldn't be here," Smucker said to House. "She's a potential witness, and her presence here could be construed as an attempt on our part to influence her."
"It's Cuddy," House said in obvious disbelief. "No one influences her. Just look at the way she dresses."
"There is nothing wrong with wearing a pretty blouse," Cuddy snapped.
"Nothing at all," House agreed. "But if I had any influence over you, you wouldn't be wearing any blouse."
"Anyway...I've been doing a very thorough investigation of Detective Tritter's actions." Smucker paused to give House a pointed look. "You will be paying me for that time."
"Pfftt," House scoffed as he resumed pacing.
"Although Tritter doesn't appear to have actually broken any laws, he's certainly strained them to the breaking point," Smucker continued. "And given that this has obviously been a very personal vendetta, I think we may have enough leverage to work a deal. Ideally, I'd like to be able to prove the original traffic stop was bogus because that would allow us to have all evidence subsequent to that event tossed out. It’s unlikely, I admit. Still, when you add Tritter's harassment of Doctor Wilson to everything else, I think it's enough to call his judgment into question."
"See?" House told Cuddy. "I'm the injured party here."
"Please," Smucker said. "You're not innocent, Dr. House, not by a long shot. This will only prove that Tritter's as guilty of abusing his power as you are."
"And that's enough?" Cuddy asked.
“It might be," Smucker said, hefting his briefcase from the table. He paused to glance at Cuddy as he opened the door. "In the meantime, I don't want you discussing the case. Don't say anything to anyone."
House turned on Cuddy the moment Smucker had left the room. "So where is Wilson? Too busy saving one of his cancer kids to come visit?"
"Wilson's gone."
"What do you mean? Gone...?"
"Gone, just like you wanted," Cuddy said, unable to keep a sharp edge from her tone. She wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to keep it out. "The fact that it came from your therapist and not directly from you was nice humiliating touch. Fortunately, Wilson's used to being humiliated by you."
"I have no idea what you're talking about." House looked genuinely baffled, which puzzled Cuddy.
"Wilson's your enabler,” she explained. “In order for you to have a reasonable chance at recovery, he had to go. So he did."
"He couldn't just pack up and go," House argued. "His house...no, Julie already got that. But his practice...."
"Had already been shut down, thanks to you and Tritter," Cuddy said. "He said he had nothing left to keep him here. Said he was going to make a fresh start."
“When?” House asked sharply.
“Last week.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then find out," House said, glaring. Then he turned away. "I need him for my case."
~~**~~
“Cuddy,” Wilson sighed.
“House honestly didn’t know.”
“When has House ever honestly done anything?” Wilson asked sharply. He stood in the middle of his hotel room and put his hands up in a gesture of peace. He knew none of this was Cuddy’s fault. She was simply the only one within blaming distance at the moment.
“I believe him,” Cuddy said simply. “I don’t think he had any idea the counselor was going to talk directly to you.”
“It doesn’t really matter.” Wilson turned and walked to the window, staring out at the purpling sky. “Whether House agreed or not, she was right.”
“She was not right,” Cuddy said vehemently. “You are not the problem. You’re part of the solution.”
“If I’m part of the solution, then why is there still a problem?” Wilson asked, turning back to look at Cuddy.
“Because...because House is a stubborn, self-destructive ass. Because no one can stop him. Because no one has that power. You and me, we do what we can to keep him from going completely over the edge but we can't save him.”
“In the end, House is the only one who can save House.”
“Exactly,” Cuddy said with a sigh of relief. The feeling didn’t last long.
“Then I need to stop interfering and give him a chance to save himself.”
“Where will you go?” Cuddy asked, defeated.
“I’ve been talking to some people. In Boston.”
Cuddy stepped forward and hugged him. “Let me know if you need a reference.”
~~**~~
"No deal," House said.
"What?" The lawyer looked at Cuddy as if waiting for her to translate. Cuddy merely shook her head, as puzzled as he. House continued to pace the consultation room, leaning hard on his cane.
"I said no deal," House repeated tersely. "You said you were confident you could win."
"I said reasonably confident, but only an idiot turns down a deal like this."
"So call me an idiot," House said. "Let's go to trial, let's drag Tritter out from behind that tin badge of his and make him face the consequences of his actions."
"Turning down a deal, going to trial for no better reason than to get the last word in this pissing contest is...insane," Smucker argued.
"If I take the deal, then I look like the loser Tritter says I am. This way, I get to tell my side of the story," House said.
"Your side of the story being that you assaulted a police officer, forged prescriptions, and stole drugs?" Smucker summarized sarcastically. "As your lawyer, I would strongly advise against that."
"Tritter screwed Wilson over, too. He should get a chance to see Tritter sweat."
"Oh, god," Cuddy sighed as she realized what House was doing. House glanced at her, then looked away, maintaining his air of defiance. Cuddy leaned forward to get House’s attention. "Wilson’s not coming back, House. You can't make him come back."
"If we go to trial, Wilson would have to be here, wouldn’t he?" House asked the lawyer.
"I would need Dr. Wilson's testimony to corroborate our claim that Tritter was on a personal vendetta, yes. But...."
"There you are," House shot at Cuddy. She simply shook her head sadly. House looked back at Smucker, his eyes hard. "Tell the D.A. no deal."
“It’s against my better judgment, but you’re the boss.”
House waited, watching the lawyer through shadowed eyes as he packed up his briefcase and left. Then he turned on Cuddy. "Where is Wilson?"
"I don't...."
House slammed his cane on his desk, making Cuddy jump in her seat. "Call him. Get him back here and I promise you the best sperm this side of the Atlantic."
"You...." Cuddy gritted her teeth as she glared at House. "You are a miserable, selfish child and right now I'm torn between calling Wilson so I won't have to deal with you anymore, and not calling Wilson because he's already done his fair share of dealing with you."
"You'll call."
"I just said...."
"You'll call because you know I need to make this right with him," House said.
“Maybe you should’ve thought about that a couple of months ago.”
House ignored her criticism. "I can't make it right if I can't talk to him. You’ll call."
~~**~~
"I said no deal," House argued, struggling to keep up with Smucker as they walked down the main hall of the courthouse.
"It's not a deal. The D.A. dropped the charges entirely."
"He can't do that."
"Of course he can." The lawyer stopped abruptly, almost tripping House as he turned into him. "He can, he did, and this should be good news."
"It is." Cuddy caught up to the two men, moving quickly in her high heels to compensate for her shorter legs. She looked up at House. "It's excellent news."
"That was my only chance to get Wilson somewhere I could talk to him," House told Cuddy as the lawyer made a hasty retreat. He ripped his tie off and shoved it in his pocket. "That was the only god damn chance I had to make him listen."
"You would've risked prison just for a chance to talk to Wilson," Cuddy said quietly.
"I wouldn't have gone to prison," House insisted, but he kept his eyes down, focused on the handle of his cane. He glanced up, meeting her eyes briefly. "Isn't that a good thing? Aren't you and Wilson always telling me I should learn to think of others first?"
"Your therapist would probably argue that it's evidence of your unhealthy dependence on Wilson."
"My therapist has her head up her ass," House said.
"For what it's worth, I agree," Cuddy said.
"Then help me. Do something. I know you can be devious, so come up with a plan. Flash your boobs at him, flash your ass at him," House said. "Cry a few tears--you know what a sucker he is for helpless women."
"House...." Cuddy threw up her hands. "Fine, I'll...think of something."
~~**~~
House looked up in disbelief when Wilson strolled through his office door as if it hadn't been weeks since he'd done it the last time.
"Surprised you remembered where my office is," House said, trying for a casually sarcastic tone.
“Cuddy pointed it out.”
“So how did she get you here? Was it the tears? Or did she hit you with both barrels?” House asked, putting his hands up to his chest and fondling imaginary breasts.
"Cuddy said you wouldn't leave her alone." Wilson gave House a pointed look as he settled into the chair in front of the desk. "She threatened to kill you, which means she’d go to jail and I’m tired of making prison booty calls."
"But you're here, right?"
"Only in an effort get you to shut up and leave Cuddy alone."
"But you...."
"We're bad for each other." Wilson shrugged. "Not news, I realize, but I was certainly not prepared to realize just how bad we are for each other. It's not healthy."
"Who gives a crap about healthy?" House said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "It's fun. We have fun."
"Not so fun anymore."
"You're afraid it'll escalate."
"Of course it'll escalate," Wilson snapped, his calm mask slipping at last. "Last time it was Vogler and your job...and my job and Cameron's job and damn near Cuddy's job. This time, with Tritter, it was your job and your freedom. I really don't want to see how much you'll risk next time."
"I'm not going to die," House scoffed.
"Yes, you are," Wilson said flatly. "I've seen it: an empty pill bottle, a pint of Jim Beam and a pool of your own vomit. It's ugly, House. It's pointless and ugly and I'm not going to watch it happen."
"You didn't watch this time," House accused, shaking his finger at Wilson. "You left me to die."
"I thought...maybe it's what you wanted."
House’s expression sobered. “It wasn’t.” His words were hesitant, though, and Wilson let out a resigned sigh.
“Keep going like this and it won’t matter whether you want to die or not--you will.”
“Wilson,” House said quietly.
“I can’t do it anymore. You’re destroying your life. And in the process you’re destroying my life, you’re destroying Cuddy’s. It’s got to stop.”
“And you going away will make it stop?” House asked, meeting Wilson’s gaze directly.
“For me it will.”
~~**~~
“It’s not forever.”
House looked up at the sound of Cuddy’s voice. He was seated at his desk, his back to the room as he shot rubber bands at the balcony door. He turned to see her, backlit by the hallway lighting. He held his hands up, gesturing at the room. “You don’t think Wilson can live without this place?”
“I don’t think he wants to.” Cuddy walked slowly toward him. “He did this for you.”
“I wish everyone would stop doing me favors,” House said, turning away to stare out at the snow falling with the night. “I don’t want them and they don’t do any good.”
“And yet without those ‘favors,’ where would you be?” Cuddy asked. “In prison? Living on the street? Dead?”
“But Wilson would be here,” House pointed out. “He’d have his little bald family. You’d have less gray hair. You might even have a husband or a kid. It would probably be a mutant freak but....”
“I don’t have gray hair,” Cuddy said.
House let out a soft snort. “My point is....”
“I know what your point is.”
“Then pay attention. I don’t want your help. I don’t want Wilson’s. What I want is for everyone to go about their business as usual and leave me alone.”
“You remember that philosopher you once quoted to me?” Cuddy asked. House cocked his head to the side, frowning. Cuddy prompted, “Jagger.”
“Ah, yes.” House nodded. “You can’t always get what you want.”
“But sometimes you get what you need.” Cuddy turned toward the door. “He’ll be back, House. When you need him, he’ll be back.”
House leaned back in the chair and watched Cuddy’s ass as she walked away. “Guess that means it sucks to be Wilson, huh?”
Cuddy looked back over her shoulder and smiled. “Good night, House.”
“Night, Cuddy.” House listened to the faint whoosh of the door closing, then got up and started to gather his things. Slinging his backpack over his shoulder, he leaned across the desk to turn off the small lamp. He glanced out the window again, looking northeast, toward Boston.
“Good night, Wilson.”
It's essentially an alternate ending to the Tritter arc and it's H/W stupid screwed up friendship with a healthy helping of Cuddy.
"Dr. Wilson, would you join me in my office for a moment?"
Wilson stopped in the middle of the hall and turned to look at the therapist, Marissa G. if her name tag was to be trusted. Then he gestured back down the hall, toward the inpatient unit which is where he really wanted to go. "Is there a problem?"
"Greg is fine," she said with professional smile of reassurance. "But it would be helpful if I could discuss his treatment plan with you."
"Oh, sure. Okay." Wilson followed her into the office. It was nice. Not as nice as his divorce lawyer's office, but better than a typical social service 'we're only scraping by on a government pittance' office. He had to hand it to House; when he finally agreed to go into rehab, he'd chosen a program that obviously had the funding to provide him with the amenities to which he was accustomed. Wilson made a mental note to ask Cuddy if House had strong-armed her into forcing the hospital to pay for his stay.
"So," Wilson said as he settled himself into a chair. Marissa sat directly across from him, brushing back her shoulder length blonde hair with one hand as she opened a file. "How is House?"
"He's progressing."
"Really?" Wilson asked. He was understandably skeptical about House progressing through anything but a scam intended to get him certified as clean and sober and keeping him out of prison.
"How much do you know about drug rehabilitation therapy?" Marissa asked, ignoring Wilson's mildly sarcastic tone.
"A little," Wilson said. Seeing her gaze suddenly become more interested, Wilson quickly added, "Not for myself, but I've dealt with addiction as a doctor. And as a friend, obviously."
"Then maybe you're aware that part of the recovery process involves identifying certain habits associated with substance abuse. Typically, most abusers have particular places, activities, even 'friends' who have been part of their addictive behaviors," Marissa explained. "We try to guide our patients into recognizing and eliminating these habits. We find this tends to reduce the temptation to use again."
"With you so far." Wilson had tried that very method with his own brother. He didn't know if the habits had led him back to the drugs or the drugs had led him back to the habits, but either way it hadn't worked. "But House's case is a little different. The people he most frequently associates with are his colleagues, and he can't just stop talking to them."
"He could work at a different hospital."
"Trust me," Wilson said, thinking of all the different hospitals House had worked at, and from which he'd been fired. "It would be nigh on impossible for House to get a job at any other hospital. He certainly wouldn't be able to keep it. And the bottom line is that House does need pain medication, so...."
"Medication, not narcotics," Marissa said. She made a notation in the file, not bothering to look up at him as she responded. "You're right, though, in thinking that Greg will have a more difficult time because of both his professional and personal situations."
"What can I do to help?" Wilson asked, leaning forward with his arms resting on his thighs.
"Greg needs to minimize his exposure to risk factors as much as possible. Given that he can't eliminate his physical disability or his easy access to drugs, it's more important than ever that he make a clean break from the people associated with his addictive behavior."
"House isn’t hanging out on street corners or in crack houses.” At least, Wilson hoped House hadn’t been hanging out in those places. Wilson could never be entirely certain. House did have an unhealthy curiosity about the sordid underbelly of society. "His most frequent associates are his professional colleagues. I'm practically the only person he interacts with on a social or personal level."
"And you're the person who writes his prescriptions, who makes excuses for his behavior, cleans up his messes," Marissa said, giving Wilson a pointed look.
"You...you think I'm contributing to his addiction?" Wilson sat up, staring at the counselor.
"You're an enabler, Dr. Wilson. In therapy Greg has come to recognize your role in his addiction. Now it's time for you to recognize it." Marissa gave a little shrug. "Assuming that you want to help him...."
"Of course I want...." Wilson bit off his words, his arguments, and took a deep breath. He knew he'd contributed to House's addiction. He knew he was an enabler. He also knew House would continue to be an addict whether Wilson enabled him or not. Refusing House would only clear Wilson's conscience, not solve the problem.
"I'd be more than happy to give up writing his prescriptions," Wilson said. As always, he'd play the role expected of him...as best he could. "I never wanted to write them in the first place."
"And yet you did write them," Marissa said. "That seems to be a recurring theme in your relationship with Greg. You tell him you don't like what he's doing, then you help him do it anyway."
"Have you met the man?" Wilson asked sharply. "House is going to do those things, with or without my help. If I'm there, at least I can try to minimize the damage he does to himself or anyone else."
"That's an excuse, Dr. Wilson." Marissa gave him that sad, pitying look that…that Wilson had used so often himself when it came to matters of House. "You make excuses for yourself; you make excuses for Greg. And all these years of excuses rather than responsibility have led to the possibility of prison, loss of his medical license, loss of...."
"He's in trouble because he shoved a thermometer up a cop's ass," Wilson snapped. "An event, I'd like to point out, I was not present for. If I had been, I might've been able to stop him."
"I'm not saying you directly caused Greg's current legal difficulties, but the fact that you've never forced him to face the consequences of his prior actions certainly contributed to his inability to anticipate the consequences of this action."
“I am making him face the consequences,” Wilson argued. “I seem to be the only who is.”
“By making a deal with the police. Is that really for Greg? Or for you?”
Wilson stared at the counselor, counting to ten. He didn’t speak until he could trust himself to not launch into a justification or an explanation or anything else she could twist into proof of his unsuitability to be House’s friend. “Let’s cut to the chase--you think I am House’s biggest problem?”
“Addiction is Greg’s biggest problem,” she said. “You are potentially his biggest obstacle to beating that addiction.”
~~**~~
"How is he?" Cuddy asked, falling into step with Wilson as he exited the elevator on the fourth floor. Mildly startled at her presence, Wilson shook off his surprise and crossed to his office, Cuddy's heels clicking rapidly behind him.
"The therapist says he's progressing." Wilson allowed Cuddy to precede him into the office, then carried his briefcase to the desk.
"Right," Cuddy said skeptically. "What do you say?"
"I don't know. I...didn't see him." Wilson busied himself sorting out the stack of paperwork his secretary had left on his desk while he was out.
"Why not? I thought that's why you went there."
"So did I." Wilson gave a rueful shake of his head. "The therapist had a different idea. Apparently I'm part of House's addictive behavior, and they've agreed it would be a bad idea for me to see him."
"You know better than that," Cuddy said, incredulous. "You're not part of the addiction. You're part of the effort to stop the addiction."
"I am the one who wrote his prescriptions," Wilson said reluctantly. He grimaced. "Even when I wasn't the one who wrote them."
"Because he needs pain medication," Cuddy said, her hands thrown out in exasperation. "And as far as that goes--we've all written scripts for him."
"She mentioned that, too. Apparently I'm the worst offender because I'm the only one House has any significant personal relationship with." Wilson gave a bitter laugh. "And yet, despite that, she's joined the 'Wilson is guilty' bandwagon because I made a deal with Tritter."
"Would you stop paying attention to what Cameron says?" Cuddy said sharply. "You know damn well she'll attack anyone who does anything with, to, or for House without her permission."
"Cameron's savior complex is a given, but you were just as angry about the deal," Wilson said, pointing his finger at her as he dropped into his chair.
"Because I knew House wouldn't take it, not because I thought you were wrong."
"It's a moot point. The damage is done, and I can't undo it even if I wanted to."
"At least he is in rehab," Cuddy pointed out as she leaned against the front of the desk.
Wilson merely shook his head and swiveled aimlessly in his chair. "As a legal maneuver. He'll go right back to his old ways as soon as he's out."
"Then we'll have to encourage him to stay clean," Cuddy said. "We'll have to make sure he doesn't fall back into his old ways, not easily."
"Yes, we will," Wilson agreed. "That's why I'm leaving."
"Excuse me?" Cuddy stood up straight and stared at Wilson.
"House is the only reason I've stayed in Princeton. I've got three bad marriages under my belt, no kids, my practice has been decimated…. If my presence is actually detrimental to House, then why am I here?" Wilson sighed. "Maybe it's time for a fresh start, for both of us."
"That is the biggest load of self-serving crap I've ever heard. And I've heard a lot of it from House," Cuddy retorted. "Okay, so you suck at marriage. It's not like you’ve had to go without female companionship. And you can rebuild your practice. Hell, with your reputation, you'll be swamped with patients within a month."
"It's time."
"You are not leaving," Cuddy insisted.
Wilson shook his head. “I think I am.”
~~**~~
"How's the leg?" Seated at a small table in a small consultation room that shared its bland décor with the rest of the rehab center, Cuddy watched as House limped heavily around the room, pacing despite the obvious pain he was having.
"Still attached to my body," House retorted sharply. He looked around, puzzled. "Where's Wilson?"
"What do you mean...?"
"What's this lawyer's name?" House asked, not waiting for her answer to the previous question.
"Smucker. John Smucker."
House stared at her, one eyebrow raised. "And with a name like Smucker, he has to be good."
"Shut up," Cuddy muttered. "He is good. He's the best, and you need the best."
"I need some hopped up junkie to take Tritter out," House said. He stopped pacing and leaned over, gripping the back of a chair with both hands. "I would've done it myself, but I'm not a hopped up junkie, all insinuations to the contrary."
"House...."
"Sorry I'm late." The lawyer, Smucker, barged through the door and tossed his heavy briefcase on the table.
"Hope you know I'm not paying you for that time," House said. Cuddy sighed and dropped her head into her hands. House wasn’t paying for any of the time but more importantly, he couldn’t afford to piss off his lawyer.
Smucker gave him a hard look, then dismissed the argument as unworthy. "I don't have long. I've got a meeting scheduled with the D.A. in thirty minutes and long story short--I think we can still get a deal."
"Really? But I thought...." Cuddy began as she lifted her head hopefully.
"She really shouldn't be here," Smucker said to House. "She's a potential witness, and her presence here could be construed as an attempt on our part to influence her."
"It's Cuddy," House said in obvious disbelief. "No one influences her. Just look at the way she dresses."
"There is nothing wrong with wearing a pretty blouse," Cuddy snapped.
"Nothing at all," House agreed. "But if I had any influence over you, you wouldn't be wearing any blouse."
"Anyway...I've been doing a very thorough investigation of Detective Tritter's actions." Smucker paused to give House a pointed look. "You will be paying me for that time."
"Pfftt," House scoffed as he resumed pacing.
"Although Tritter doesn't appear to have actually broken any laws, he's certainly strained them to the breaking point," Smucker continued. "And given that this has obviously been a very personal vendetta, I think we may have enough leverage to work a deal. Ideally, I'd like to be able to prove the original traffic stop was bogus because that would allow us to have all evidence subsequent to that event tossed out. It’s unlikely, I admit. Still, when you add Tritter's harassment of Doctor Wilson to everything else, I think it's enough to call his judgment into question."
"See?" House told Cuddy. "I'm the injured party here."
"Please," Smucker said. "You're not innocent, Dr. House, not by a long shot. This will only prove that Tritter's as guilty of abusing his power as you are."
"And that's enough?" Cuddy asked.
“It might be," Smucker said, hefting his briefcase from the table. He paused to glance at Cuddy as he opened the door. "In the meantime, I don't want you discussing the case. Don't say anything to anyone."
House turned on Cuddy the moment Smucker had left the room. "So where is Wilson? Too busy saving one of his cancer kids to come visit?"
"Wilson's gone."
"What do you mean? Gone...?"
"Gone, just like you wanted," Cuddy said, unable to keep a sharp edge from her tone. She wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to keep it out. "The fact that it came from your therapist and not directly from you was nice humiliating touch. Fortunately, Wilson's used to being humiliated by you."
"I have no idea what you're talking about." House looked genuinely baffled, which puzzled Cuddy.
"Wilson's your enabler,” she explained. “In order for you to have a reasonable chance at recovery, he had to go. So he did."
"He couldn't just pack up and go," House argued. "His house...no, Julie already got that. But his practice...."
"Had already been shut down, thanks to you and Tritter," Cuddy said. "He said he had nothing left to keep him here. Said he was going to make a fresh start."
“When?” House asked sharply.
“Last week.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then find out," House said, glaring. Then he turned away. "I need him for my case."
~~**~~
“Cuddy,” Wilson sighed.
“House honestly didn’t know.”
“When has House ever honestly done anything?” Wilson asked sharply. He stood in the middle of his hotel room and put his hands up in a gesture of peace. He knew none of this was Cuddy’s fault. She was simply the only one within blaming distance at the moment.
“I believe him,” Cuddy said simply. “I don’t think he had any idea the counselor was going to talk directly to you.”
“It doesn’t really matter.” Wilson turned and walked to the window, staring out at the purpling sky. “Whether House agreed or not, she was right.”
“She was not right,” Cuddy said vehemently. “You are not the problem. You’re part of the solution.”
“If I’m part of the solution, then why is there still a problem?” Wilson asked, turning back to look at Cuddy.
“Because...because House is a stubborn, self-destructive ass. Because no one can stop him. Because no one has that power. You and me, we do what we can to keep him from going completely over the edge but we can't save him.”
“In the end, House is the only one who can save House.”
“Exactly,” Cuddy said with a sigh of relief. The feeling didn’t last long.
“Then I need to stop interfering and give him a chance to save himself.”
“Where will you go?” Cuddy asked, defeated.
“I’ve been talking to some people. In Boston.”
Cuddy stepped forward and hugged him. “Let me know if you need a reference.”
~~**~~
"No deal," House said.
"What?" The lawyer looked at Cuddy as if waiting for her to translate. Cuddy merely shook her head, as puzzled as he. House continued to pace the consultation room, leaning hard on his cane.
"I said no deal," House repeated tersely. "You said you were confident you could win."
"I said reasonably confident, but only an idiot turns down a deal like this."
"So call me an idiot," House said. "Let's go to trial, let's drag Tritter out from behind that tin badge of his and make him face the consequences of his actions."
"Turning down a deal, going to trial for no better reason than to get the last word in this pissing contest is...insane," Smucker argued.
"If I take the deal, then I look like the loser Tritter says I am. This way, I get to tell my side of the story," House said.
"Your side of the story being that you assaulted a police officer, forged prescriptions, and stole drugs?" Smucker summarized sarcastically. "As your lawyer, I would strongly advise against that."
"Tritter screwed Wilson over, too. He should get a chance to see Tritter sweat."
"Oh, god," Cuddy sighed as she realized what House was doing. House glanced at her, then looked away, maintaining his air of defiance. Cuddy leaned forward to get House’s attention. "Wilson’s not coming back, House. You can't make him come back."
"If we go to trial, Wilson would have to be here, wouldn’t he?" House asked the lawyer.
"I would need Dr. Wilson's testimony to corroborate our claim that Tritter was on a personal vendetta, yes. But...."
"There you are," House shot at Cuddy. She simply shook her head sadly. House looked back at Smucker, his eyes hard. "Tell the D.A. no deal."
“It’s against my better judgment, but you’re the boss.”
House waited, watching the lawyer through shadowed eyes as he packed up his briefcase and left. Then he turned on Cuddy. "Where is Wilson?"
"I don't...."
House slammed his cane on his desk, making Cuddy jump in her seat. "Call him. Get him back here and I promise you the best sperm this side of the Atlantic."
"You...." Cuddy gritted her teeth as she glared at House. "You are a miserable, selfish child and right now I'm torn between calling Wilson so I won't have to deal with you anymore, and not calling Wilson because he's already done his fair share of dealing with you."
"You'll call."
"I just said...."
"You'll call because you know I need to make this right with him," House said.
“Maybe you should’ve thought about that a couple of months ago.”
House ignored her criticism. "I can't make it right if I can't talk to him. You’ll call."
~~**~~
"I said no deal," House argued, struggling to keep up with Smucker as they walked down the main hall of the courthouse.
"It's not a deal. The D.A. dropped the charges entirely."
"He can't do that."
"Of course he can." The lawyer stopped abruptly, almost tripping House as he turned into him. "He can, he did, and this should be good news."
"It is." Cuddy caught up to the two men, moving quickly in her high heels to compensate for her shorter legs. She looked up at House. "It's excellent news."
"That was my only chance to get Wilson somewhere I could talk to him," House told Cuddy as the lawyer made a hasty retreat. He ripped his tie off and shoved it in his pocket. "That was the only god damn chance I had to make him listen."
"You would've risked prison just for a chance to talk to Wilson," Cuddy said quietly.
"I wouldn't have gone to prison," House insisted, but he kept his eyes down, focused on the handle of his cane. He glanced up, meeting her eyes briefly. "Isn't that a good thing? Aren't you and Wilson always telling me I should learn to think of others first?"
"Your therapist would probably argue that it's evidence of your unhealthy dependence on Wilson."
"My therapist has her head up her ass," House said.
"For what it's worth, I agree," Cuddy said.
"Then help me. Do something. I know you can be devious, so come up with a plan. Flash your boobs at him, flash your ass at him," House said. "Cry a few tears--you know what a sucker he is for helpless women."
"House...." Cuddy threw up her hands. "Fine, I'll...think of something."
~~**~~
House looked up in disbelief when Wilson strolled through his office door as if it hadn't been weeks since he'd done it the last time.
"Surprised you remembered where my office is," House said, trying for a casually sarcastic tone.
“Cuddy pointed it out.”
“So how did she get you here? Was it the tears? Or did she hit you with both barrels?” House asked, putting his hands up to his chest and fondling imaginary breasts.
"Cuddy said you wouldn't leave her alone." Wilson gave House a pointed look as he settled into the chair in front of the desk. "She threatened to kill you, which means she’d go to jail and I’m tired of making prison booty calls."
"But you're here, right?"
"Only in an effort get you to shut up and leave Cuddy alone."
"But you...."
"We're bad for each other." Wilson shrugged. "Not news, I realize, but I was certainly not prepared to realize just how bad we are for each other. It's not healthy."
"Who gives a crap about healthy?" House said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "It's fun. We have fun."
"Not so fun anymore."
"You're afraid it'll escalate."
"Of course it'll escalate," Wilson snapped, his calm mask slipping at last. "Last time it was Vogler and your job...and my job and Cameron's job and damn near Cuddy's job. This time, with Tritter, it was your job and your freedom. I really don't want to see how much you'll risk next time."
"I'm not going to die," House scoffed.
"Yes, you are," Wilson said flatly. "I've seen it: an empty pill bottle, a pint of Jim Beam and a pool of your own vomit. It's ugly, House. It's pointless and ugly and I'm not going to watch it happen."
"You didn't watch this time," House accused, shaking his finger at Wilson. "You left me to die."
"I thought...maybe it's what you wanted."
House’s expression sobered. “It wasn’t.” His words were hesitant, though, and Wilson let out a resigned sigh.
“Keep going like this and it won’t matter whether you want to die or not--you will.”
“Wilson,” House said quietly.
“I can’t do it anymore. You’re destroying your life. And in the process you’re destroying my life, you’re destroying Cuddy’s. It’s got to stop.”
“And you going away will make it stop?” House asked, meeting Wilson’s gaze directly.
“For me it will.”
~~**~~
“It’s not forever.”
House looked up at the sound of Cuddy’s voice. He was seated at his desk, his back to the room as he shot rubber bands at the balcony door. He turned to see her, backlit by the hallway lighting. He held his hands up, gesturing at the room. “You don’t think Wilson can live without this place?”
“I don’t think he wants to.” Cuddy walked slowly toward him. “He did this for you.”
“I wish everyone would stop doing me favors,” House said, turning away to stare out at the snow falling with the night. “I don’t want them and they don’t do any good.”
“And yet without those ‘favors,’ where would you be?” Cuddy asked. “In prison? Living on the street? Dead?”
“But Wilson would be here,” House pointed out. “He’d have his little bald family. You’d have less gray hair. You might even have a husband or a kid. It would probably be a mutant freak but....”
“I don’t have gray hair,” Cuddy said.
House let out a soft snort. “My point is....”
“I know what your point is.”
“Then pay attention. I don’t want your help. I don’t want Wilson’s. What I want is for everyone to go about their business as usual and leave me alone.”
“You remember that philosopher you once quoted to me?” Cuddy asked. House cocked his head to the side, frowning. Cuddy prompted, “Jagger.”
“Ah, yes.” House nodded. “You can’t always get what you want.”
“But sometimes you get what you need.” Cuddy turned toward the door. “He’ll be back, House. When you need him, he’ll be back.”
House leaned back in the chair and watched Cuddy’s ass as she walked away. “Guess that means it sucks to be Wilson, huh?”
Cuddy looked back over her shoulder and smiled. “Good night, House.”
“Night, Cuddy.” House listened to the faint whoosh of the door closing, then got up and started to gather his things. Slinging his backpack over his shoulder, he leaned across the desk to turn off the small lamp. He glanced out the window again, looking northeast, toward Boston.
“Good night, Wilson.”