Chapter 1

Wilson let himself into House's apartment after his knocking received no response. He hadn't shown up at work, despite his unsolved case, and after several days of stalking him only to be avoided, Wilson knew something was very, very wrong. The overwhelming silence of the apartment only reinforced this feeling.

"House?" Wilson called, tentatively at first, then a little more frantically as he poked into each room, steeling himself for the sight of his friend in any number of horrible states.

House wasn't there. As Wilson walked back to the front door he saw the envelopes propped on the piano. One was addressed to him, the other to Cuddy. Before he had even reached the piano, he had dialed Cuddy and told her she needed to come to House's apartment immediately.

"Fuck, Wilson," was her choked response. "Is he okay?"

"I don't know," Wilson replied in all honestly. "He's not here. But I doubt it."

"I'm coming," Cuddy said, already in her coat and rushing to her car.

Wilson opened his envelope.

Hey, Wilson.

You always did everything you could. It was beyond your efforts. Don't beat yourself up. You've been a wonderful friend.

House

Wilson felt his eyes sting. He didn't know if he was more afraid, or sad, or angry. After all this time, House couldn't let it end this way. This couldn't be his story. Wilson's knees were weak and he ended up just sort of crunched over the letter, reading and rereading, when Cuddy rushed in. She scanned the room maniacally and then saw Wilson, who didn't even look up.

"Wilson, what?" she shouted.

"It's not good, Cuddy. I don't know where he is and it's not good," he said. He nodded up at the piano and Cuddy saw her envelope. Wilson shook his head quickly, trying to clear his thoughts. "I'm going to find his credit card bill, try to see if I can get into his account, see where he has been…" he trailed off, going down the hall to search House's room.

Cuddy walked over to Wilson's note, discarded on the floor, and read it from her standing position. Just seeing his handwriting was like a knife in her gut. She walked to get her envelope in a daze.

My Cuddy,

I'm so sorry. I guess I couldn't do any better. For what it is worth, I wanted to. I really thought I might be able to. You were the closest I ever came to happy.

I always love you.

House

Cuddy ran to the bathroom and threw up. She lay there trying to catch her breath, to get control of her thoughts, and she heard Wilson typing on a laptop in House's room. God, the pain. She thought of how many times he might have sat just like this, fighting pain and fighting urges to have it easily taken away.

"There's a charge from last night at the Marriot," Wilson called. "Let's go."