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  Sharp Sorrow, Painful Regret 
 by lilyleia78	

 Stage One: Denial

The part of Wilson that could observe his emotions with detachment was
utterly surprised at the form his first step of grief had taken. As a
doctor, Wilson would have expected (as if one could ever expect such a
thing) that he would skip denial altogether. Instead, his brain reached
for the oldest clich in the book. 

He - no it, his stupid brain - thought this must all be some elaborate
joke that House and Amber were pulling on him. Or maybe they really were
having an affair, and this was their cover. But that was just a knee-jerk
reaction, and he quickly got past it. Selfish and thoughtless though they
were, it wasn't really possible that the two people he cared for most in
the world would be so deliberately cruel. Not to him anyway. 

And then there was the fact of his profession. He couldn't possibly
misdiagnose death. And on the off-chance that he might, there was always a
second opinion from the genius in the office next door.

The option of denying death yanked away so cleanly, Wilson focused on
denying other things. He denied repeatedly - to Cuddy and Henry, to
Cameron and Chase, to Foreman and Taub, and to Thirteen and Kutner - that
he was avoiding his best friend. He couldn't deny it to the man himself,
because he never saw House. He told himself that it wasn't avoidance: he
was just very busy. There were lots of things he was dealing with, like
Amber's affairs, moving, and watching over House's care from afar.

The stupidity of that thought led Wilson to his first breakthrough; he'd
been in denial about his anger toward House. His therapist would be so
proud. 

Stage Two: Anger

Anger was much more fun. There was no room for pain or regret with
all-consuming anger running the show. He almost relished the chance to
tell off the first person who tried to talk to him about his House
avoidance. He stayed up at night rehearsing his outburst. He hoped it was
Cuddy who approached him, maybe she would fire him and he could walk away
from his life. There wasn't much about it he wanted anymore anyway. 

Of course, Cameron was probably a slightly more likely candidate. Her
relationship with Chase (the poor bastard) not withstanding, her feelings
for House were probably going to override her commonsense soon. Then she'd
feel compelled to be his hero and reunite him with his best friend.

Once upon a time, Wilson would have felt guilty for even considering
yelling at Cameron. But now she was his second choice for venting his
House-related anger. She'd been getting on his last nerve for some time
now. Wilson had refused to examine the reasons for his sudden hostility
before Amber, and he'd be damned if was going to start now.

Wilson's explosion, when it came, was actually at the most likely target,
but the one he'd least wanted to confront. 

House was waiting for him in his office when he rolled into work at some
ungodly hour on a Saturday morning. Years of habit made Wilson
automatically note the shadows both beneath and behind those startlingly
blue eyes. The grief he saw there, and his own reaction to it, just made
Wilson angrier. Before he could even think about his carefully planned
outburst, Wilson was screaming every vicious, ugly thought he'd ever kept
to himself at the man he'd always loved best.

House just stood there, leaning more heavily on his cane than usual, and
took it all. His only reaction was an occasion flinch when Wilson said
something particularly harsh or true. They were often the same thing.

When Wilson ran down House reached out and placed his left hand against
Wilson's cheek. He gently swiped his thumb under Wilson's eye, wiping away
the tears Wilson hadn't even notice he was crying. Then the older man
limped out of the office, never having said a word.

Stage Three: Bargaining

His anger spent in such a horrifyingly spectacular manner, Wilson tried
very hard to force the third step. But he didn't know what to bargain for.
He couldn't bargain for Amber not to be dead. He wasn't House; he expected
most of the people with whom he came into contact to die sooner rather
than later. He'd long since come to terms with the fact of life that was
death.

He tried bargaining for the pain to go away, promised to work harder and
give more of himself if the terrifying numbness, punctuated by
breathtaking agony, would just stop. It didn't work, but he never really
expected it to. He didn't really believe he deserved anything better. He
never had, which is why he'd bounced from broken marriage to broken
marriage instead of reaching for the one thing he wanted most. 

Again, his own thought process startled him. What was this thing he wanted
that he thought he didn't deserve? His mind shied away, and Wilson frowned
in puzzlement at his inability to bring the errant thought in line. He'd
almost caught it when House came into his office.

His froze like a trapped animal. Wilson hadn't seen House, even in
passing, since his outburst weeks ago. He stared at his (former?) best
friend and braced himself for the tirade he knew he deserved.

House opened his mouth, reconsidered, and started again. "I'd trade if I
could. If God was any kind of fair, he'd have taken me and let you keep
Cut...Amber. And I'm sorry I can't just switch and make it right."

"You don't believe in God," Wilson noted automatically.

House nodded in acknowledgment. "Even so."

With that, House slowly limped away again. Stupidly, Wilson focused on the
limp. It looked more pronounced than usual. He latched onto this
observation in a desperate attempt at stopping the images House's words
had evoked.

It was too late for that. His imagination was gleefully conjuring images
of House's broken and bloody body lying forgotten in a deserted bus. He
tried focusing on the imaginary Amber whole and beautiful beside him, but
all he saw was the body. If possible, his grief intensified at even the
imaginary loss of his friend.

And with a whimper, Wilson slipped into depression.

Stage Four: Depression

House's words replayed themselves often in Wilson's head. It was just like
House to drop-kick him into the next stage of grief with only three
sentences.

The bitch of the matter was that Wilson himself had never once considered
making that kind of bargain. Not even at the height of his anger would he
have considered exchanging House's life for Amber. The loss of Amber was a
gaping hole in his heart. The loss of House would have removed the organ
completely. 

Even worse, Wilson knew that to lose House that way would have meant the
loss of Amber as well. If House had died in that bus accident while Amber
was safely ensconced in her car or their home, it would have been the end
of them. They never would have survived the blame he would have heaped
upon her for not answering House's call.

And that depressed the hell out of him. He'd truly loved Amber, and it
could have finally been forever. But he wouldn't have her at House's
expense. What did that say about him and his ability to give himself to
someone he'd thought he'd loved unconditionally?

When he asked his therapist that question, she suggested he focus on what
it said about his stupid, screwed up friendship. Those weren't her exact
words, but he got the idea. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to
realize, but he did come to the conclusion that the loss of Amber didn't
have to equal the loss of House, not if he didn't let it.

Stage Five: Acceptance

Of course, grief didn't really fit into nice little boxes he could tick
off as they passed. His depression often slipped back into denial or
bargaining. Either one of those inevitably lead back to anger, and
sometimes Wilson thought he'd never feel truly level again.

But one day he woke up and didn't automatically reach out expecting to
find a sleep-warm body next to him. One day Kutner told the story of
Amber's pied-piper con, and Wilson laughed with no pain. One day he
wandered into House's office looking for a consult and left with a lunch
partner.

One day he glanced across a couch and discovered the ability to love
again. And one day love looked back.  
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