A/N: I'm not really sure where the idea for this came from and i don't really know what it's about but my mind wanted to write it and so i did. Let me know what you think.
The only constant Wilson ever knew was House. The man, who would sell his own mother's soul to save his own, was more loyal than any dog and more faithful than Wilson had ever been with any of his wives. There was something comforting about knowing that House was always just around the corner, just down the hall, just down the road, just a phone call away.
People always asked him why he would befriend a man that took advantage of him but Wilson figured that it was actually the other way around, that he was the one taking advantage of House. Because it was always House's couch he crashed on after all three divorces. It was House who always talked sense into him when he was about to do something stupid. And when he really thought about it, it was always House's company that he wanted at the end of the day.
Wilson loved House in probably the most complex way that one person can love another. It wasn't romantic but yet at the same time, it wasn't platonic either. They weren't lovers but yet they were more than just friends. It was by far the hardest relationship that Wilson had ever been in but he got more out of all the days he spent with House, both good and bad, than any of his three marriages.
It was the main reason Wilson stayed. He had no children, no wife, no house, a job that was good but there was better out there. He had nothing that would logically keep him there but he had House.
The thought of losing him was something that he thought and worried about every day. He knew that any number of things could take House away from him in a without a moment's notice, another infarction, another overdose, another gunshot, another cop, another cancer scare. All things he'd dealt with before, all things he couldn't deal with again. Repetition of a known greater evil and all is right in the world; start over new with an unknown lesser evil and it all falls apart.
For House, the only constant in his life was pain. Pain in his leg, pain in his head, pain in his heart. He never allowed himself to let a relationship or person become a constant in his life because everything (including love) was conditional and everyone eventually leaves. No matter how many times Wilson tried to deny it, someone always proved him right. His parents, Stacey, his team and even Wilson.
He figures that's the reason why he's so cynical about people. No one has ever shown him that people can stay together and love one another unconditionally forever. So he takes whatever he can get whenever he can get it and deals with the pain later.
Vicodin, hookers and science are supposed to help him get what he needs and wants with as little pain as possible, but the idea of pleasure never seems to enter the equation.
People make the assumption that the pill popping is just for show and the drugs are all about getting high. What he doesn't tell, is the fact that he's never gotten "high" off the Vicodin because even when he takes too many pills, he's still miserable. To him, getting high would have to involve a feeling of euphoria and a calm state of mind. But his high is everyone else normal and his mind never stops. It's always racing. That's why he has to have a puzzle. Because puzzles give all the racing a purpose. Without purpose, it's enough to make a person go mad.
So he lives a life of extremes and experiences every one of them without a thought to what's in the middle. Too many pills, too many thoughts, too much pain. Everything in excess and it all makes sense. Everything in proportion and the world falls apart.