A/N: Sorry for the hiatus! Writer's block sucks! Anyways, I'm back! Please read and review!

House stared at the vial of insulin before him. Just one injection and it could all be over. Of course, he didn't think the hallucinations would be gone that easily, but he'd try anything. Carefully, his shaking hands drew the medicine into the syringe and injected it. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the ride for a moment. He felt himself drifting…

(LINE BREAK)

"House?! Shit!"

Wilson ran to the medical cart outside House's office and rummaged in it, finally finding single-dose Ativan. He quickly injected it into the seizing doctor's arm. Slowly, the man's spasms stopped. Wilson knelt next to his friend.

He stays there for a few minutes, checking vitals and generally making sure his friend hasn't died. He does this until he sees a sliver of blue emerging from the older man's eyes.

"House…?"

House moaned. Everything was blurry and his head hurt.

"House, wake up." Wilson. He opened his eyes wider to see a Wilson-colored blob leaning over him. Wilson breathed a sigh of relief.

"An insulin coma, really? You could have died, House!" he exclaimed, helping his friend sit up. House looked around, the blurriness receding.

"Yeah...Amber's gone though…"

Wilson flinched at the mention of his deceased girlfriend, even in the context of a hallucination. "She is?"

House nodded. "You wanna take me to dinner to celebrate? Your treat."

"No! House, no. You could have died. You could have had brain damage! There are other ways to accomplish this. You're really worrying me," Wilson said.

"Fine, I'll go to dinner by myself," House resigned.

"No, you won't. You should go home and rest. You just had a seizure and I don't want you to stress yourself more. Besides, you shouldn't be driving."

"Nope, I'm going out. I'll take a cab."

Wilson sighed, knowing that when House wanted something, he was probably going to get it one way or another. "Fine. But call me if you feel even the least bit weird," Wilson ordered, running a hand through his hair.

"Will do, boss. Now help me up," House ordered back. Wilson grabbed his friend's hand and pulled him to his feet, making sure he was steady before letting go. He reached down to where House's cane lay and handed it to him. House swayed a little, but seemed to be more or less keeping himself up.

(LINE BREAK)

House decided to go to one of his favorite restaurants, which had live performers on Friday nights. They were usually hot, and he'd managed to pick up a few of them in the past. Besides, they made a great Reuben.

He walked in and took the booth closest to the door, all but collapsing into the seat. He rubbed his leg. Falling on the floor hadn't helped the state of the limb, and now he was paying for it.

"What can I get for you, sir?"

"Reuben. Extra dressing."

The waitress nodded and walked away, pad of paper in hand. House leaned back and enjoyed the atmosphere. He fiddled with his cane, looking up at the band setting up on the stage up front. The singer was short and blonde, wearing a white top tied up to show her midriff and booty shorts. House made a purring sound to himself.

Suddenly, the woman turned around. She looked very familiar. Her face was the face he'd been seeing every day for the past month. It was Amber's face.

House fumbled for his cell phone, hands shaking. He pressed one.

"What's wrong?" Wilson answered.

"She's back."

"Amber?"

"Yes. Come get me."

"Okay, I'll be there in five. I assume you're at Sal's?"

"Yes. Hurry."

House hung up the phone and rested his head in his hands. He wanted to cry. He'd really thought she was gone. What an idiot.

He did cry then, shoulders shaking, not making any sound. He needed help.

(LINE BREAK)

Wilson showed up a few minutes later and guided him to the car. He didn't mention House's tear-streaked face or pallor, which was probably for the best.

"Where do you want to go?" he asked instead.

"Home for now. I'll deal with it in the morning."

"Do you want me to stay with you?"

House shook his head.

"Okay. I'll keep my ringer on. Call me if you need anything."

House nodded, looking at the floor.

(LINE BREAK)

When he got home, he got in bed, even though he knew he wouldn't sleep. He stared at the ceiling.

"You really thought I'd be gone?" a taunting voice asked. House didn't answer. He couldn't even look at her; couldn't even think about her.

"Hey!" she yelled, snapping her fingers in his face. She was standing above his bed now, a smug smile on her face.

"Don't think you can just ignore me."

House groaned and turned his head into the pillow, covering his ears. Her voice still rang clear.

"You're nothing but an addict. You've killed thousands of people with your mistakes. Your coworkers hate you. Even your friends hate you. You're worthless."

House screamed in frustration. His fist punched at the air, not connecting with anything. He threw the pillow across the room, toppling a lamp. He didn't care. He finally gave up and sobbed. This was rock bottom; it had to be. He knew what he had to do, but he didn't want to do it. He didn't want to go through it again. But he was pretty sure it was his only option.