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He had never felt more broken as he finally left Amber’s side, the sharp, tearing emptiness in his chest worse than any pain he had ever experienced.
After collapsing on the first seat he could find outside that room and staring blankly at the floor for a few minutes, Wilson’s mind drifted to House for the first time.
He didn’t want to think about House. He didn’t want to think about anything except Amber, but he suddenly realized with a jolt of fear that he hadn’t heard anything about House since they had taken him down to the ICU.
He could be dead too.
The tearing sensation intensified as Wilson got to his feet shakily and headed towards the ICU, his grief dampened by terrified numbness.
He dimly noticed how fast he was moving. Not quite running, because part of him didn’t want to know the answer and didn’t want to see it. Once he reached the hallway, he slowed down as he looked through the glass sliding doors.
House was alive.
Unconscious or possibly just asleep (Wilson refused to even consider a coma), but alive.
As relief swept over him, his grief came crashing back at full force, along with a surge of guilt over how could you be relieved right now?
Wilson stepped through the doors as they opened for him, his feet almost as heavy as his chest, and a lump grew in his throat as he looked at House. Not in a coma, he gathered from the monitors. Or not now, he thought with a heavy heart.
House’s battered head rested safely against his pillow, his hands on his stomach almost protectively, and Cuddy was curled up in the chair next to him, sleeping.
He practically killed her, some part of him thought resentfully, and he almost went along with it, wanting so badly to be angry and blame House.
But he couldn’t. It wasn’t House’s fault, it never had been. He never could have known that Amber would come to pick him up, that she would follow him onto the bus, or that that particular bus, in that exact place at that exact moment, would wind up in a horrific accident.
He especially couldn’t have predicted that Amber would happen to take a medication that her severely damaged body would be unable to handle.
But House had been determined to save her even before he remembered who it was he needed to save, Wilson realized, and suddenly felt like crying again. Ever since House had arrived in the ER after the crash, he hadn’t let it go for a minute that someone was in danger, despite Wilson trying to convince him otherwise.
He felt like he was going to be sick as he remembered House frantically following his subconscious around, risking his health and possibly his life again and again by putting strain on his severe head wound.
Even after his heart had stopped during the bus recreation — and Wilson hadn’t allowed himself to think about that moment, not wanting to face what he had felt while desperately pounding on his best friend’s chest as he died before his eyes — House had never given up, even suggesting that they drill into his cracked skull just in case there was some clue left in his amnesia-addled brain that could save Amber, even though it could have killed him…
Wilson’s heart went cold. And he told him to do it anyway. Tears started to roll down his cheeks as panic and bile rose in his chest. He had been so desperate for Amber to live, so blinded by the sudden delusion that House was invincible, that he hadn’t been thinking straight.
His heart clenched as he remembered House looking up at him helplessly, his eyes shining. You think I should risk my life to save Amber’s?
And House had done it. After everything he had already been through and put himself through, he was willing to risk permanent brain damage or even his own death to save Amber, because Wilson had asked him to.
Wilson felt something crumble and give way inside him. He hadn’t even thought about it that way at the time, hadn’t been thinking much at all, but House could’ve died because of him.
Unimaginable pain seared through him at the thought of the light leaving those blue eyes, of never hearing his voice again. The pain was followed swiftly by crushing guilt as he considered that he was just as if not more upset by the idea of House dying than watching Amber die.
He quickly channeled this guilt into a new thought. It was really his fault for being friends with House, it was because of him that she had been in this position in the first place.
Although he knew deep down that it was just as stupid to blame himself as it would be to blame House, he couldn’t help it. He had no idea how to handle this pain, and part of him just wanted to give up and leave everything behind.
…including House.
Maybe it would ease his guilt to simply run away from the pain and regret he would surely feel every time he looked at House and remembered what he had done, the nagging feeling that his friendship with him had led to Amber’s death, and the way he felt about him, which had manifested in a low hum of guilt in the back of his mind while he was dating Amber, and was now the biggest contributor to the crushing, tearing weight in his stomach.
No, it wouldn’t solve anything.
He had asked House to do the procedure in the first place because all he could think about was that Amber was dying and he thought he couldn’t live without her.
He knew he couldn’t live without House.
He had never doubted House’s mortality before that night, but he never would again.
His already broken heart shriveled further as he remembered the confusion, guilt, and finally hopelessness and grief that had crossed House’s face as he relived the events of that night, his eyes wet the whole time with tears that finally fell when he confirmed Wilson’s worst fears.
Wilson didn’t think he had ever seen House cry before, and the memory of the look on his face as he realized Amber was going to die no matter what they did, his beautiful blue eyes finally brimming over with tears, would haunt him forever.
Not as much as the moment when House panicked and started seizing would haunt him, however, when he had really comprehended for the first time that his best friend could die right then and there.
After House had been stabilized and taken down to the ICU, unconscious but still alive, Wilson assumed that the danger had passed in his state of suffocating grief, and he went to say goodbye to Amber, thinking of her and only her while he held her in his arms as she died.
Watching the life drain out of her eyes was the worst thing he had ever experienced.
The image that had swum into the front of his mind as he sat somewhere away from that cold, lifeless room, of House alone (even though rationally, he knew he wouldn’t be), bleeding hopelessly into his brain and his body going just as cold and lifeless, was easily the second.
Tears continued to roll down Wilson’s cheeks as he looked at House, who suddenly looked so fragile in the hospital bed, with bandages over both sides of his forehead and — Wilson noted, his heart twisting — a slightly pained expression on his face even in sleep.
Wilson wiped away his tears with his sleeve, breathing heavily to calm himself down a bit as his eyes started to burn.
He just stood there for a minute, watching House while his lungs and his heart ached. I could’ve lost everything tonight. For the first time, he was able to push down the guilt about being grateful that he hadn’t.
Then House’s eyes fluttered open, and he looked around groggily for a second without moving his head, since it was probably too heavy and/or painful. He saw Wilson out of the corner of his eye, and his gaze focused on him.
Wilson couldn’t hide the storm of emotions that had made its way from his heart to his face, and he wasn’t quite sure what he should be feeling at that moment. The combination of relief that he was awake, fear that he might still have brain damage, and undeniable…care and affection…for House made him tense and uncertain.
House lifted his head slightly from the pillow to really look at him, with what Wilson was sure was great effort. He looked hopeful but genuinely scared in a way Wilson wasn’t sure he had ever seen on House before, and it hurt.
House clearly thought that Wilson might blame him for Amber’s death the way he could tell House already blamed himself, and was terrified that Wilson would hate him for it. That he would leave him.
Wilson started to consider that House might also think that he didn’t even care whether or not he lived after what had happened, but that idea hurt too much to think about.
Wilson wanted to run. He couldn’t help it, because he couldn’t stand being here looking at House anymore, not after everything he had been through and put House through just to lose Amber to flu pills.
He was torn between just giving up and walking away, possibly leaving everything behind, and staying and having to face everything he felt about both himself and House.
He took a shaky breath as a dry sob roared through his chest, House still looking up at him like a lost puppy, his eyes full of sadness and desperation.
Suddenly, Wilson knew that even though it might seem easier, if he turned and left, it would crush House.
And it would crush him just as much.
He walked forward slowly, his legs unsteady at first, making his way to House’s bedside.
House looked into his face as he approached, his eyes wide with wariness, uncertainty, and hope.
For a moment, he just stared down, avoiding House’s gaze. He couldn’t speak, not knowing what to say to him, and House’s lip started to tremble as his eyes filled with tears, looking down at the bedsheets as his last defenses fell.
He looked more vulnerable than Wilson had ever seen him, including just after his life had been torn apart by the infarction, and the overwhelming guilt he saw growing on House’s face pushed him over the edge.
“I’m sorry, House,” he croaked, his voice rough and quiet after all the crying. House looked up at him in shock, his cheeks already wet, and Wilson felt the dam about to burst.
“It wasn’t your fault,” he managed to choke out just before he broke down in sobs again, leaning down to hug House desperately, being careful not to jar his gravely wounded head. He felt another white-hot stab of guilt as he thought about it, and another sob tore its way through his chest.
“I’m sorry too,” House whispered heavily, slowly wrapping his right arm around Wilson’s back, and Wilson immediately shook his head gently but emphatically.
“No, no, you have nothing to be sorry about. You did everything you could, you even-” He thought the guilt would tear him apart as he began to say it aloud, and it choked off his words as a cry of agony escaped his throat.
“I could’ve killed you,” Wilson sobbed into House’s shoulder, chest heaving as he started to hyperventilate. “You almost…d-died because I…I was too focused on saving Amber to think of anything else!”
“Wilson,” House murmured, rubbing his back soothingly. “It’s okay.”
“It’s not okay, House!” Wilson said angrily, still breathing hard. “I never should have risked your life, even if I was stupid enough to think that you’d be fine and that it could save Amber.”
“I agreed to do it,” House said solemnly, and Wilson let out a shaky sigh, pulling back to look him in the eyes.
“I know. That makes it even worse, because I’ve lost count of the number of times you’ve nearly killed yourself, and somehow you managed to do it several times over the past twenty-four hours.”
He swallowed hard, looking away as his eyes went blurry. “I’m used to you disregarding your safety, your health and your life by now, but this was the first time I did.”
House was staring up at him, but Wilson pressed on. “I just want you to care about your life as much as I do, House,” he said quietly, shakily. “And I don’t ever want you to think that I don’t.”
He started to cry again, and House, gazing up at him sadly, used the hand still on Wilson’s back to pull him back in for a hug.
“I don’t know what I would do if I lost you,” he whispered through ragged breaths. “I…I don’t know if I could’ve gone on if I had lost you tonight, because of me.”
This was House’s cue to start crying, and Wilson’s heart lurched as he heard him sob, curling in closer against his best friend and rubbing his hand along his arm to try to soothe him.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly, as he finally, finally, felt the gnawing guilt in his chest start to ease as House’s breathing steadied slowly, and he pulled back again to check on him, still worried. “For everything.”
“You have nothing to be sorry about,” House echoed back to him, smiling sadly, but the guilt was gone from his eyes.
Wilson smiled back shakily, and turned to look around the room before spotting another chair. He pulled it over next to House and leaned in more easily this time.
He held House’s hand, not thinking about what it could mean and pointedly ignoring the guilt that wanted to make its way back into his chest. This, at least, wasn’t betraying Amber, and his mind could accept that. He just wanted to calm both House and himself down, and reassure himself that House really was okay.
He wanted House to know he was loved.
They both fell asleep before long after the exhaustion and trauma of the past day. Wilson was leaning uncomfortably but contently over the side of the hospital bed, his head resting on House’s stomach, and House was finally able to fully relax against his pillow, his face peaceful at last.
In her chair on the other side of House, awoken and forgotten by both men during their heart-wrenching exchange, Cuddy wiped the tears from her face silently as she looked at them, smiling with relief before turning back on her side and falling into a much easier sleep.