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Casting Stones
by Evilida
DISCLAIMER- Gregory House, James Wilson, Lisa Cuddy, Amber Volakis, Cameron, Chase, Foreman, Taub, Kutner, Thirteen and the Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital are all the property of David Shore et al. not me.
Who is responsible for the death of Amber Volakis? The legal system resolves the issue, but the determination it makes is not necessarily the only answer or the best answer. The legal system eventually decided that Edward Lahey, driver of the dump truck, was responsible for the accident that led directly to Amber Volakis's death. Edward Lahey was the father of a colicky baby. He had not had more than two hours' rest at a time for two weeks, and at the time of the accident had been without sleep for eighteen hours. He fell asleep at the wheel, perhaps for only a few seconds, but that was enough. According to the legal system, he is to blame.
But why stop there? I'm not suggesting that we blame a fussy baby - someone has to be innocent, and newborns are the very definition of innocent. Why not take a good hard look at Lahey's unsympathetic supervisor, who warned him two days before the accident that if Lahey was absent or late one more time, he would be fired? Does he seem blameless? And what about the bus driver? The legal system exonerated him and determined that there was no time for him to react, and there was nothing he could have done to prevent it. If he's so guiltless though, why is he still having nightmares? Why did he quit his job?
Maybe it's unseemly to blame the victim, but there's no reason to let Amber off the hook just because she's dead. Amber Volakis was not a person to admit to her own physical limitations. She took pills to control her mood, and pills to limit her appetite and keep her awake. She had to be in control. So when she felt the flu coming on, she took pills to reduce the inconvenience of being sick. If she hadn't taken them, she'd be alive.
Gregory House blames himself. It's true that Amber would not have been on the bus that evening if it were not for Gregory House. However, if you are going to follow the chain of causation that far, why not take one extra step? Ask yourself, why was Dr. House sitting alone in a bar, drinking himself into oblivion that night? The answer is easy. He was drinking alone because his best friend, Dr. James Wilson, was infatuated with a new, much younger girlfriend and was ignoring House. He was in the bar that night because Wilson failed to give House the support and companionship he needed and deserved.
Ask yourself too, why did Amber Volakis get out of her cozy bed in the middle of the night to give Gregory House a ride home? Her family agree that this behaviour was not typical of the Amber they knew. Again, the answer is obvious. James Wilson is responsible. If Amber had not been trying to please her boyfriend, by becoming the kind of giving and caring person she thought he wanted, she would have hung up on Gregory House when he called for a ride. She would have been at home sleeping when the fatal accident occurred.
If you're going to blame someone, blame James Evan Wilson.
The real funeral was being held by Amber's family at her hometown in Salinas, California. The family agreed to allow a memorial service for her friends in Princeton, and even sent a representative, a gruff bearish uncle who avoided looking James Wilson in the eye and refused to shake his hand. The snub meant little to Wilson, who hardly registered it.
Lisa Cuddy was by his side, gripping his hand. She'd come straight from the hospital, where she divided her time between House's bedside and her office. There were dark weary circles under her eyes that she'd tried unsuccessfully to conceal. Other friends and colleagues filled the rows of the Greek Orthodox Church. Most of them were unfamiliar with the ceremony and their participation was awkward and unsynchronized as if they were amateur actors who had missed too many rehearsals. Only House was missing, still in hospital recovering.
Wilson hadn't seen his best friend since the night of Amber's death. He knew that he ought to visit House, but he couldn't do it. House had dealt with Amber's situation in a practical and even heroic way, when all that Wilson had been able to do was dither and delay.
After the ceremony, Wilson, who had done nothing, risked nothing, received public expressions of sympathy and condolence from the other mourners. Cameron impulsively hugged him tight, and Wilson responded mechanically. He was an oncologist, so he'd been to more funerals than he could count, and he knew the drill. A puppet Wilson performed the proper gestures and said the proper words. The puppet was so lifelike that nobody noticed the difference.
House wanted an honest, dispassionate account of the memorial service, so he waited until it was Taub's turn to sit by his bedside. The former plastic surgeon hardly knew Wilson so he could be objective. Cuddy and his old team had relationships with Wilson that would colour their perspective. Thirteen was preoccupied with her own problems and Kutner was too concerned with pleasing his mentor to give an accurate account. Only Taub could be relied upon.
"Her uncle delivered a eulogy. He has a thick accent and his voice didn't carry all the way back to where I was sitting. I couldn't tell you what he said. I thought Wilson might say a few words; I was waiting for him to get up and speak after the uncle sat down. There was a bit of a pause and then one of her colleagues from her hospital spoke. He talked about how dedicated Amber was to her profession, and how bright and focused she was. He said that she seemed so happy for the last few weeks of her life; she was "glowing with happiness" and he thanked Wilson for making that time so special for her.
Then Kutner got up and he talked about how he only got to know Amber recently. He said she always worked herself harder than anyone else. He said that you had to admire someone who had such a drive to succeed and how he wished he had a chance to get to know her better."
"Kutner always wanted to go out with her," House said. "He said she had legs that went on forever."
"At least he had the good sense not to say that at the service. The uncle would have punched him out."
"How was Wilson?"
"He seemed composed. Dr. Cuddy was there with him. She looked more upset than he did, actually. "
"What did he say?"
"I said that I was sorry for his loss and that Amber was a great person and we would all miss her. He said, `Thank you for coming here today. I'm sure that Amber would have appreciated it.'"
"Did he know who you were?"
"Of course, he knows who I am."
"I mean, at that particular point, when you were standing in front of him, did you have the sense that he recognized you?"
"He took my hand and he looked me in the eye. He did that with everyone."
"So you couldn't tell."
"It never occurred to me that he might not," said Taub. "He seemed very calm, not distraught or unstable."
"Early childhood training in suppressing the emotions. It works wonders at times of stress," House said. "I'd recommend it myself if I didn't know the nasty after-effects from personal experience. He didn't ask about me."
"He didn't ask me about you," Taub said. "He may have asked Cuddy. He knows she comes to visit you all the time."
"He didn't. I already asked her. He hasn't said a word about me."
"He's still dealing with Amber's death."
"I was responsible. She wouldn't have been on that bus if it weren't for me. Wilson hates me now. I deserve to be hated. He'll never forgive me."
Taub was uncomfortable with the pain and despair he saw in his boss's clear blue eyes. Witnessing House's naked emotion seemed almost indecent. He averted his eyes in embarrassment
"Anyway," Taub said, desperately changing the subject, "I brought you the notes on our latest patient. Foreman said not to bother you about it while you're convalescing, but who listens to Foreman anyway? Dr. Cameron referred it to the Diagnostics Department. At first, they thought the patient was suffering from Lyme Disease, but there are some inconsistencies..."
Thirteen sat alone in her apartment, still dressed in the black suit she'd worn for Amber's service. It had felt as if she were attending her own funeral. Every tear she'd shed had been for her own imminent death, not for Amber, whom she had hardly known and never liked.
Kutner, Foreman, Chase and Cameron went to a bar after the service. Chase ordered a round for everyone and Cameron gave him a look. When was her fiance going to realize that he was no longer the heir to millions, and that he could no longer afford to spend money like water?
"To Amber," Kutner said when the drinks arrived. Everyone took a sip.
"We're hypocrites," Cameron said. "We called her Cutthroat Bitch when she was alive; we should call her Cutthroat Bitch now. Dying hasn't changed who she was."
"She had changed," Chase said. "Wilson changed her."
"She was trying to be someone she wasn't to impress Wilson," Foreman argued. "Her sudden personality change wouldn't have lasted."
"Amber and Wilson wouldn't have lasted," Kutner said. "He was too old for her and too nice."
"She needed someone a bit spicier," Chase teased. "Someone a bit more ethnic, maybe? You were hoping to be the rebound guy after Wilson broke up with her."
"I liked Amber," Kutner said. "It wasn't just that she was super sexy. That wasn't the only reason."
"Oh yes it was," Foreman said.
Cuddy thanked God that Wilson seemed to be coping. She was already spending more time than she could afford with House and neglecting her work. She didn't how she would have coped if she had had to look after Wilson too. House needed her support; he had no one else. His mother had the flu and couldn't travel, and House and his father had never gotten along. At least Wilson had his family.
Michael and Melissa Wilson were James Wilson's brother and his sister-in-law. They were telling James in great detail the difficulties they'd had finding a good baby-sitter on short notice. James nodded at appropriate intervals. Every once in a while, a passing cousin would wander by. He or she would listen for a while, place a comforting hand on James's shoulder and wander off again. James hoped that the babysitter story would never end, because when it did, he'd have to get up and do something. There was a brief pause, while Michael and Melissa thought of something else to say, and James looked up. Before James could catch her eye and she would be forced to acknowledge his pain, Melissa began to talk about her daughter's upcoming dance recital, and everyone breathed a silent sigh of relief. Another awkward moment successfully avoided.
It was the day after the funeral and Michael and Melissa were helping James pack. He had been living in Amber's apartment among Amber's things, and now that she was dead everything belonged to her family. Michael had invited his brother to stay with him, but even in his current numbed state, Wilson had heard the reluctance in his voice. No one in his family had ever really forgiven James for what had happened with Roy. James was going back to the hotel.
"Is this all there is?" asked Melissa. "I thought you had a TIVO."
"I do. It's in storage. This is everything I brought with me."
"Well, you travel light. I wish I could do that. I always end up packing the kitchen sink."
"Amber already had everything that I needed."
His brother and sister-in-law always looked a bit uncomfortable when he mentioned Amber. "I have to stop doing that," James thought.
Michael drove James in James's car to the hotel. Melissa followed in her car. James handled the paperwork of checking in, and then the three of them went up to Wilson's hotel room. There didn't seem to be anything else for Michael and Melissa to do.
"It's getting late," Michael said, "and it's a long way back to Albany."
"Yes, and this new babysitter is a stickler for punctuality. She actually charges her 'clients' a fine if they're late picking their kids up. It's maddening, but we put up with it because she's really very good at her job."
"She's got some sort of Early Childhood Education diploma," Michael said. "Leah loves her."
"That's good."
"So we'll just head out then, hey."
"Okay, good-bye."
"Good-bye."
When they were gone, Wilson took off his shoes and lay on the bed. This wasn't the same room that he'd been assigned before, when he moved to the hotel after his divorce, but it was almost identical. He'd fallen in love with a beautiful vibrant young woman, she'd lived and she'd died, and all that had changed had been the move from one hotel room to another. He closed his eyes and slept.
Wilson woke up at six in the morning. Now that he was alone he didn't have to appear brave and calm and strong. Wilson started to feel again, and it was not pleasant.
"I want to see Wilson," House demanded.
"He's not at work today," Cuddy said.
"I know that," House said. "I meant that I would go see Wilson."
"You're not getting out of that bed. You almost killed yourself once; I won't let you do it again."
"Bring Wilson to me then."
"Wilson is grieving. I'm not going to drag him to see you. I'll ask him though. I'll phone him and tell him that you want to talk to him."
"Fine, tell him if he doesn't come to see me, I'll go to see him. Then he'll be responsible if I have a heart attack or a stroke along the way."
"I'm not going to resort to emotional blackmail on a man who just lost his girlfriend."
"Then tell him if he comes around noon, I'll buy him a Chinese chicken salad at the cafeteria. It's his favourite."
This wasn't the first afternoon Wilson had spent sitting by a hospital bed, waiting for his best friend to wake up. It was, however, the first time Wilson was directly responsible for House's condition. The brilliant diagnostician looked a decade older than he had a few days ago. He had to be cold, dressed only in a hospital gown and covered by a thin sheet. Wilson touched House's hand, just to reassure himself that his friend was still warm and alive, and then he clutched it desperately. He began to cry.
Cuddy had told Wilson that House was lucid, and that there were no obvious signs of brain damage. His heart muscle had, of course, been damaged, and there might be a more subtle injury to his brain, not immediately apparent but irreversible. House opened his eyes. Wilson was pleased to see that House focused on his face.
"I'm so sorry," Wilson said. "I shouldn't have asked you to risk your life for Amber's. It wasn't fair. I could have killed both of you. Tell me that you did it for Amber - because you loved her. Not for me."
"I did it for Amber," House said. House wasn't sure whether he was telling the truth, but he knew it was what Wilson wanted to hear.
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Legal Disclaimer: The authors published here make no claims on the ownership of Dr. Gregory House and the other fictional residents of Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. Like the television show House (and quite possibly Dr. Wilson's pocket protector), they are the property of NBC/Universal, David Shore and undoubtedly other individuals of whom I am only peripherally aware. The fan fiction authors published here receive no monetary benefit from their work and intend no copyright infringement nor slight to the actual owners. We love the characters and we love the show, otherwise we wouldn't be here.
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