Houses Head

Wilson

House spent the next two days in his room under supervision by a security guard. He struggled with the lowered dose of pain meds and the boredom. Cuddy checked on him a few times a day and just talked about Rachel or how some funding was getting cut from another one of the hospitals many departments.

Foreman came once to ask for his opinion on a case but in reality wanted to check up on House and was rejected of any sort of personal talk. Cameron and chase came a few times as well bringing with them casual talk.

Wilson never came to visit.

House didn't care.

At least he told himself that he didn't care.

He refused to talk with the psychiatrist or anyone else about the incident and everyone had given up with their prying so he was set to be released the next day where he would go home and dope up on Vicodin and maybe call a hooker.

Wilson sat at his desk in his office with all of the lights turned off. It had been two days since he talked to House last.

In front of him sat a bottle of antidepressants. He spun the bottle around to read the label which bared his name and he sighed.

If only he could tell House how he felt.

That he too was struggling.

He too wanted to die.

But he could not show any of these feelings, it's not like him.

Wilson talks away all of his problems with his shrink. No one knows he's on a high dose of antidepressants and teetering on the edge of a cliff himself.

He always felt he had to be strong, he had to help people and be the one to make everything better. That is why he does what he does.

But it's all catching up and this whole House business has him triggered harder then he has ever been before.

Wilson let his head drop as he felt this incredibly painful feeling in his chest. He let out a bit of a whine as a tear slid down his cheek.

Before he knew it Wilson was sitting at his desk arching his back and whaling into his lap.

He thought about House, about his failed marriages and the last patient he had die in his arms last week, it was all so overwhelming.

Wilson had thought about suicide so often the past year but he knew he could never do it. He wasn't brave enough and honestly felt some resent towards House for being able to throw his life around so easily.

He opened the pill bottle and took one, swallowing it dry.

He had been having these outburst fits of crying ever since he found House on the floor, so close to death he felt as though he would die from the shock.

If only House knew how much people really did love and care for him.

When House was released he went straight into a Vicodin binge. Everyone had assumed it was just House looking for attention again or something, so he was released and trusted to go home and be fine like he had been all the other times he's done this before.

He sat in front of the piano, playing very slowly as each key he pressed he could feel all through his body. The drugs felt good and he felt good again for the first time in what felt like an eternity to him.

"Back to work tomorrow" he thought to himself excited to be put on a case and get his brain working again.