Once Wilson had calmed enough to stop sobbing and was sitting back up just sniffling, Cyrus asked him whether he'd like to respond to this before hearing the rest of the letter or if he wanted to wait until the end.

"Umm... can we talk about it now and then maybe take a break for a few minutes before the rest of the letter?" Wilson asked, clearing his throat then taking a big gulp of water.

Cyrus looked at House who nodded, relieved at the idea of taking a break.

"Alright, we'll take five minutes break after this," Cyrus replied.

"Okay, umm… first of all, House… thank you for apologizing. It's what I really wanted all along. And I know you said you were sorry then but just a murmured sorry without all this explanation didn't do it for me. I wanted you to talk to me for once in our friendship, to explain your side and actually acknowledge that someone else besides you was hurting, to actually say it out loud to me. So thank you for finally saying it," Wilson said, meeting House's eyes.

"I was... so angry at you. I did blame you. And I probably would have even if you had explained it then. I loved her. And it felt like you brought her around by hiring her on a trial basis then took her away from me after fighting with her for who was going to get to spend time with me. I know in my head that's not true but it felt like that. I wanted to get away from you, that's why I left and went to counseling. I knew you had been injured and what I asked you to do made it worse. I felt guilty about that but that just made me angrier. I wanted to just mourn her not have to take care of you."

House nodded solemnly. "I get that. In hindsight, better that we weren't together right then."

"But you hired Lucas to spy on me anyway," Wilson said, shaking his head at the audacity of the plan.

"I was worried about you. Cuddy wouldn't tell me anything, I knew you didn't want any contact from me. I was desperate. Even Lucas told me it was a mistake but he took my money anyway."

"Then after I came back to the hospital, you acted like you wanted things to go back like they were before. Before Amber. And that made me really pissed off, like you wanted to just forget that she even existed. And I just wanted to hold tight to every memory I had since we'd had so little time together. You mocked me for having her cup with lipstick stains from that final morning coffee. I just wasn't ready to wash it and let her go yet!" Wilson exclaimed, voice hitching again.

"And then when things seemed like that might one day return to normal, you spiraled into hallucinations and SHE was your hallucination! Your drinking took her away from me and then your drug use meant you got to spend time with her! I mean, I know! I know it wasn't her that it was only your mind, but that's what it felt like! Can you understand that?"

"Yeah, I can," House answered, looking down at his desk briefly before looking back up at Wilson. "I can understand that. Hell, I argued with her to go be with you, that you needed her."

"And after all that, I still stood by you, got you help, took you in afterwards. Why did you wait so long to say this?"

"I thought if I said anything you'd remember why you should hate me and I'd be alone," House answered in a hushed voice. "And after those hallucinations, I was terrified of being alone. I was still in pain, still wanted to use, still raw from Mayfield and the idea of losing medicine, of losing you, the one person who actually gave a damn about me was just too much. And you put me in that room with all of her pictures… it was hard to be in there, to see her picture and wonder if she'd be back in my hallucinations at night. But I did it because I blamed myself too and thought it was fitting punishment."

"You tried to get me to clean it out! To stop talking to her picture at night!"

"For you!" House said, suddenly animated. "So you could live and move forward again."

"Oh please! You're not that altruistic!" Wilson snapped.

"Alright, that's enough for now," Cyrus interjected before what was a cathartic talk spiraled into insults. "Let's take five minutes and then continue on with House's letter. Then you can read your letter, Dr Wilson."

"Fine," he agreed tightly. "I'm going to the restroom."

House was up crutching around the table in the conference room the moment Wilson was out of sight. Cyrus followed him, going to get three more bottles of ice water out of the minifridge.

"Despite the tension level, this is going very well. You two have managed to talk about your feelings while acknowledging the other's feelings as valid," Cyrus said, standing out of the pacing lane. "It doesn't make it any less intense and uncomfortable though. What are your thoughts so far?"

"That I wish I never did this intervention," House growled.

"Are you going to continue?" Cyrus asked, hoping that he would, hoping it was just the very unfamiliar sensation of bearing his inner fears and feelings to Wilson that was behind that statement.

House didn't respond for a full four laps of the table before finally coming to a halt in front of the white boad. "Yes. Because I need the final diagnosis on whether we can stay friends or not and we don't even have all the symptoms listed yet, let alone tested them."

When Wilson returned, House took two of the bottles of water from Cyrus and headed into his office, handing one bottle to Wilson before resuming his seat with the other. Cyrus took his seat as well, pleased that the tension level had settled a bit with the short break.

House picked up the letter again and with a glance at both the other two men, continued reading.

I wanted to try to explain some of the big things that have happened. First up is Vogler. I do understand just how much $100 million dollars would have benefited this hospital, and had it been just a donation it wouldn't have been a blip on the radar. But it came with strings attached, strings that I knew would make practicing medicine here different for everyone else, and for me, impossible. Everyone, my team, you, Cuddy, all tried to get me to just go along with the program, for the hospital's sake, for the money. I could have done more to mitigate the trouble my resistance caused. Wore the lab coat in the clinic at least if nowhere else, for example. Maybe bending a little wouldn't have locked me and Vogler into the power struggle we wound up in but I think maybe it wouldn't have made any difference. My record of standing against the establishment was already there and he wanted to be the puppet master in exchange for his money. A lot of people thought that was only fair. I think if he wanted control he could have just earmarked the money for a particular project or treatment research. He was never going to be in control until he had me firmly under his thumb and that's somewhere I was determined to never be.

Did you know that my team and myself agreed to take cuts across the board to keep the team intact yet meet his budget cut demand? That was rejected. I finally chose someone to fire. He refused my choice and demanded I pick someone else. Then he offered, do this speech and keep your team intact. I know you all thought I should have just done it, been the hero, taken one for the team, pick your metaphor. That it was just one lousy speech. But it wasn't. Whether you think I'm the biggest jerk that ever walked the earth or not, my medical reputation means something to me and I don't think it's bragging to say that it carries influence in the greater medical community. So to ask me to endorse this drug that was just a redux to keep patent rights a little longer, to influence physicians and laud it as a new miracle treatment… I couldn't do that because my medical reputation means everything to me. More than the jobs of my team. More than my own job. After screwing up so much else of my life it was the one thing I had left intact and I wasn't going blow that up too.

Wilson grimaced at the mention of Vogler and nodded along as he listened. House had turned out to be right about Vogler in the long run when he tried to vote people out of tenured positions for disagreeing with him.

Next is the whole thing with Tritter.

Wilson groaned at the mention of him. House grimaced in agreement but kept reading.

The day Tritter came to the clinic I was in a lot of pain and he insisted I run a test for a simple diagnosis. I refused at first and he tripped me up was I was trying to leave the exam room. So I told him I needed a temperature before I could do the test and left him there with a rectal thermometer up his ass for the nurse to find. He'd seen me take a pill for pain and that's what started this whole mess. Even then it wouldn't have turned into much if I hadn't already made some really bad, illegal decisions that wound up affecting everyone around me, especially you. I bought vicodin on the streets. I stole your prescription pad and forged your signature. I stole pills from your patient that had died. I made the choice to do all that myself and really I deserved to have lost everything then. I have no idea to this day why Cuddy chose to lie on the stand for me that day, only that I was a relieved coward and let her do it.

The pain was really getting bad, worse than vicodin could really control but I was determined it was the only thing that would let me be clear-headed enough to practice medicine. I'd already admitted that I was addicted to it and you were making noises about limiting or quitting prescribing for me. Should have been a sign I needed help then but instead I decided to take matters into my own hands, stockpiling pills and the pad against the possible day you finally said no more. I was completely wrong to expect you all to cover for me. To risk your medical licenses, jail time, financial losses. I was so far into denial and addiction that I couldn't even see how irrational that was. So now, I want you to know that I'm sorry for putting you into that position, for accusing you of being selfish for wanting to keep your job and your freedom, the same damn things I wanted. I should have taken the rehab deal, really made a genuine effort instead of circumventing the system. I know that now.

I've taken a lot of money from you over the years, House continued. I don't know why you kept giving it to me. If you don't know the exact figure, you know at least that I am as well paid as you are. It started out as a game, seeing if I could get you to pay instead of me. But then over the years it morphed into a twisted barometer for how our friendship was doing and when I thought you might finally have enough and walk away. When I became too needy for even you. And I know that logically, just thinking that might happen should warn me off doing it but instead I decided that it made more sense to find out just where the line was and stay just barely this side of it. And then it became a thing of how much is too much, when will he say no to me? I always expected there would be an end because everything else in my life had ended. Somehow it made some twisted sense to go looking for it instead of doing something to avoid it in the first place. Like, it was a constant in my life, one of the few constants I had, so I couldn't let it go even if it was actually self-destructive. And I'm making an official offer to pay you back here in front of a reliable witness.

Just a couple other things. One, I'd like to know why you bought me the organ when we were living together and I wonder whatever happened to it?

And the other thing is; remember when you came to take me to my father's funeral and I tried to tell you that I didn't want to go? You told me that I should for my mother's sake? And I did some really crazy stuff and almost got us arrested trying to avoid going? The reason I didn't want to go, beyond him not being my biological father, is that the man emotionally and physically abused me right up until the day I left for college and continued the emotional abuse every contact afterward. You can thank him and my mother's blind denial of it for a lot of the messed up perceptions I have for feelings and relationships.

House folded up the letter and dropped it onto his desk, sitting back and watching Wilson warily for his reaction.

Wilson was stunned and a bit overwhelmed, so he took a moment to sit in silence to think about everything and what to say now that House had laid everything bare.

"Alright. First of all, I'm sorry I forced you to go to his funeral and even worse to give a eulogy for him. I'm sorry I didn't listen when you tried to tell me then, and I do remember you trying to tell me about it. I wasn't in a good enough emotional state myself to stop and try to work out what you were saying. Second, you don't have to pay me back any money. Umm… the organ. I bought that for you because I knew how much you missed your piano and I knew music was a big part of your life and a way you used to work things through. I put it into storage after you moved back to your apartment and it's still there," Wilson explained, "waiting for you to decide what to do with it, since it's yours. Sorry, I didn't realize that you didn't know that."

"You turned out to be right about Vogler and his motives in the long run. Even Cuddy realized that. I still wish you'd have just given the speech though. I mean, I know that your touting the drug would have a lot of sway but you're also the same doctor that recommended cigarettes for colitis. It didn't seem like an insurmountable, never get it back moment to me like you felt it was. I was so angry at you and your stubbornness. Why wouldn't you just put on a lab coat like everybody else? Why did you have to dig in your heels at such a simple request? One that maybe if you had would have avoided some of what followed. Then you wouldn't make a choice to fire someone. Like you didn't want to do the ugly part of being a department head but then you pick and choose the things you like to do with medicine too and delegate the rest so I don't know why that was such a big surprise. And then, when finally against a wall, somehow a damn loophole appears, the big bad wolf is gone! And even though I was thrilled he was gone and good riddance, I was still pissed that you'd managed to escape having to make the hard decision again."

"Now Tritter… he was an ass on a vendetta but YOU… you risked not just yourself and your job but mine! You broke the law, I tried to broker a deal for you, Cuddy perjured herself on the stand for you and you still acted like it was no less than you deserved! Like we were just peons who should do whatever you needed and wanted. If you ever put me into that again, steal my prescription pad, forge my signature, we are done. Do you hear me? I won't let you take me with you down that path again," Wilson said sternly.

"Loud and clear," House answered.

"I have a question related to Tritter that I would like you to answer for me, Dr Wilson," Cyrus said.

"Okay, if I can," Wilson agreed.

"Christmas Eve you found House on the floor of his apartment having vomited after ODing on vicodin. What possessed you to simply walk away and leave him there?"

"Well, he was safe enough, face down, head turned to the side and vomited up what he'd taken. And after all this with the stockpiled and stolen drugs, fake rehab, all of it… I was just so disgusted with him that I figured he was due to suffer the consequences of his actions since he'd eluded all the legal ones he should have gone through."

"So… because he broke the law and wound up ODing on the pills of illegal gain, you felt justified in breaking the law as well? You are a licensed medical doctor, you came across someone in severe medical and one could argue mental crisis. You walked away. You didn't provide aid, you didn't call for anyone else to provide aid. You walked away. He could still have aspirated, he could have had a fatal arrhythmia, thrown another even more devastating blood clot. You knew all this and yet you still walked away."

Wilson sputtered ineffectually, looking for a rational explanation but in the end sighed and nodded. "I did. Oh my god, I did. But I thought he was safely out the other side!"

"And it turns out that he was, but you didn't know that for sure at the time and wouldn't have unless you helped him or summoned EMTs."

"He would have been mad at me for calling, especially after what had just happened with Tritter."

"And that would have been cold consolation had he died or suffered a devastating stroke. There were a lot of strong emotions at play at the time, anger, fear, resentment, I understand the sense of futility and frustration you could have been feeling. I'm pointing this out just to bring it to your attention, that in the midst of these crises, both sides often make bad choices."

Wilson looked over at House miserably. "I'm sorry I should have at least got you up off the floor and made sure it was out of your system, that you were okay before I left."

House nodded his acceptance. "It turned out you were right. That was his question not mine. I understand why you did it, even if it wasn't the 'morally acceptable' thing to do."

"Alright, Dr Wilson, read your letter now please."

Wilson pulled out his letter, fiddled with the paper a bit before taking a deep breath and beginning.

House,

I want you to know that you've been my best friend for over fifteen years now. You're different and you don't put a lot of expectations on me. At least, you didn't at first. But that all changed after the infarction. I don't know everything that happened between you and Stacy but I can understand that her going against your wishes was crossing a proverbial line in the sand that there was no going back from. I knew you needed help and I stepped in to fill the gap and I've been there ever since. In the beginning we had a much more equal friendship and in times of crisis it shifted focus to whichever one was in need. But in the last few years, I feel less and less like an equal. Like whatever I'm feeling or going through is inconsequential to your needs at the moment. You used to look out for me and look after me, okay in your own unique way, but you did as much as I did you. I managed to blow up two marriages over our friendship. I know I've blamed it on you before but the truth is you were a much better relationship than they were and I preferred your company. I like being needed to run to your rescue and after the infarction the need was a genuine crisis that they either couldn't or were unwilling to understand.

But as much as I like being the knight in shining armor and as much as I know that unrelenting pain can make a person do things they wouldn't normally do, say things they wouldn't say, even I have a limit to how much I can take. And once your addiction really took hold, you came to expect me to just support you no matter what. To get you the drugs you wanted/needed and not be allowed to express any concerns about it without getting verbally attacked for it. You acted like you wanted me to care about you but every time I did you mocked me for it.

After Amber's death, I was so angry at you. I blamed you for killing her. It took weeks of counseling to realize that you'd actually had a very small part in her death but even then, every time I thought about you or looked at you, I'd think that she'd still be here if she hadn't run out to rescue you that day. And then I'd get angry that despite someone dying in an attempt to rescue you, you still drink to excess, you still take way too many drugs, and you still need rescuing! I'm only one person who's got problems too, you know. When do I get rescued? Who's going to do it? You? I might have believed it in the early days of our friendship but I don't anymore. And god forbid you get anyone else to help you. You burn every bridge you come to before anyone can even try to reach out to you and I can't figure out why.

And I guess that's the problem. Just like Stacy crossed a line in the sand, I feel like the whole spiral downward that started with the loss of your first team and culminated in your having to go into treatment at Mayfield crossed a line in my sand. I can't keep giving and giving and giving to you and getting less and less to finally nothing back in return. You never admit any fault or take any responsibility, you don't talk about your feelings, you won't listen if I try to talk about mine. I can't do this anymore. I feel like I lost both Amber and you in that crash. Even though you're alive and she's not, the House that I was friends with disappeared. I miss him as much as I miss her. I don't like this shadow that replaced him. This one that constantly needs and constantly doubts and resents any needs and doubts of my own as meaning that I don't care about him.

I have doubts about this intervention. If you take it seriously, we could fix this. We could get back the friend we miss. If you don't… if you take this just as an opportunity to point out all the places I've failed you without admitting any faults of your own, then we're done. And by the way, after speaking with Cuddy and several other people who were there at the conference, I'm sorry. I was angry and hurt and took every opportunity to stab at you to try to make you hurt as much as I did. And when you worked well with your team, especially Parks who had always professed how much she couldn't stand you, I wondered what lies you had told them and how you'd managed to turn them. I never even conceived that you might have at long last opened up to someone and took a risk. And then I was mad because after all the years that I've stood by you and took care of you and defended you, that it wasn't me you opened up to first.

Wilson finished and folded the letter up. "Well, you did take this intervention seriously so I'm happy about that. I thought you didn't care about me anymore and that made me think that maybe you never did but this makes me think that I'm wrong, that you do care and always have."

House said nothing, didn't even look up. Wilson sighed and ran his hands through his hair.

"House? Nothing to say? You still here or did you check out?" he asked with an edge.

"I'm still here," he said, looking up quickly. "I knew you were jealous at the conference but I couldn't figure out why since I was only doing what you said you wanted me to do, working with the team I was on. What you said about opening up to them and not to you… I guess I thought that you knew what I shared with them since you'd been there for it all."

"I knew the facts," Wilson corrected. "I didn't know how you felt or what you thought, only what I imagined you were feeling. And it wasn't just that you opened up with them but that you were actually having fun, making friends with them and we haven't had fun together for quite a while. And I kept thinking why did it have to come down to a threat to lose your job to get you to do that, to loosen up and open up? Why couldn't you just do it, a little bit of the time on your own? Why is it always like pulling teeth to get you to do anything? Just so you know, I am proud of you for sticking with it, actually doing the work, and getting a really good result."

"Thanks," House acknowledged. "I think you're more right than you know though; the House that you were friends with did die in that bus crash, or at least during the aftermath of it. I'm not the same person I was before that and neither are you after what you went through. And we don't know who we are anymore, let alone who the other person is, in order to know how to deal with each other."

"So what do we do about that?" Wilson asked. "We've got a lot of hurts built up on both sides that aren't just going to magically go away. If we do what we've always done, we'll be right back at each other's throats again in no time."

"I don't know. Is there such a thing as friends counseling?" House asked, looking over at Cyrus.

"It falls under the umbrella of family counseling, rarely used, but yes it's available if you both want to do it."

"But would it really help us?" House asked. "Or just be a rehashing of today that keeps ripping off the scab and never lets the wound heal?"

"Well there is a bit of rehashing to be done. Today was a great start but there's a big difference between stating the emotions at play and actually feeling them. Wilson's got a bit of an edge on you there. Think of it like an abscess; you have to drain the infection, which in this case means actually feeling the energy of the emotions good or bad, before you can let the wound heal over. And my role as counselor would be to act like the antibiotics and keep the infection from getting worse or coming back even more severe. It won't be easy and if you both want to do it, you should both be committed to see it through to the end whatever that might be. It could be that although you work everything out emotionally that you won't be as close as you once were, that part of that closeness came from codependency and dysfunction. Or you could wind up with an even deeper and closer friendship. Think about it for at least the weekend before you make any decisions. That's my advice."