When House opens his eyes, the colors around him are so vibrant and bright that he couldn't make out what he was seeing. His head throbbed, blood rushing through his ears like a waterfall in his head. He swallowed the bile that climbed up his throat and burned his tonsils. What scared him the most was that he couldn't remember where he was, nor could he get a sense of anything familiar. His hand reached out above him, grasping for something- anything; he was surprised when a hand took his. A voice broke through the roaring in his head, and he felt something soft touch his face. He flinched away from it, but the hand let go of his and held his head still. His face felt wet, and he realized he'd vomited on himself without even realizing. He tried to move into a sitting position, but the hands gently weighed him down.

"You're okay, House. Just take it easy."

He knew that voice, Wilson. His best friend was here, cleaning vomit off his face and holding his hand. It made his lips twitch into an almost smile, because it as just so James Wilson. His hand reached out again, and Wilson held it again, resting his other one on the side of House's head, his fingers running through his short hair.

"House, you overdosed on Vicodin and alcohol. You're lucky I decided to come home early."

Wilson sounded tired, exhausted actually. How long had he been like this?

"How could you be so stupid, House? You're a doctor, you know what happens. Were you trying to kill yourself, or just drive me insane?"

'I wasn't trying to kill myself, I don't think' He wanted to say, but his lips wouldn't move. He couldn't remember what he was trying to do, he couldn't really remember what happened. Cuddy, that was all he remembered. His heart and leg responded to the thought instantly, and pain erupted from his chest and thigh.

Wilson nearly fell over at the blood curling scream that broke out of his friends throat. House's whole body convulsed and tightened, the tendons in his neck straining to break out of his skin. He winced and reached to take House's balled up fists. His friends whole body was shaking with tremors, and Wilson reached for his phone to call an ambulance. The movement must have registered, because House's hand shot out to knock the phone away.

"No," even his voice sounded like he was hearing it from under the water, "Yo' Cn't ccal...'uddy..." He struggled, hoping Wilson would understand. 'If you call an ambulance, Cuddy will hear about this. She can't know, she'll think I'm even more pathetic than she already does.'

Wilson was his best friend, and thankfully he knew him better than he thought. "Okay, okay. But I'm staying right here tonight. If it gets too bad and I think you need to go to the hospital, I'm calling." House didn't respond, but Wilson took that as acceptance. Carefully, he turned House's face back to the ceiling, dabbing at the saliva that was sliding down his cheek. House was in a comatose state, and James wondered what was going through his mind right now. He always wondered what was going through his mind though, since no one ever knew for sure.

As if on que, House's hand blindly found Wilson's collar and gripped it tightly, his empty blue eyes fluttering in confusion. His breaths came quicker, more shallow, and Wilson brought there faces closer together. "It's okay, House. I'm right here, just relax." Wilson felt pressure build in his chest- pity for his best friend. He knew House had always battled severe Depression, and he feared it was going to engulf him after him and Cuddy broke up. He never pictured this happening though, or maybe he had but he as too afraid to really consider it. Manic Depressive episodes and drug abuse were not a good mix.

A single tear rolled down House's blotchy face, and Wilson brushed it away as House cleared his dry throat. He got up to get his friend some water, but House persistently grabbed him again. "I just want to get you some water, I'll come right back."

House held tighter, "No, you said you'd stay," he mumbled, tugging weakly at his shirt to bring him back down.

"I'm not-" House cut him off with an anguish filled sob, his chest heaving. Wilson sunk back down, bowing his head while House decided now, of all times, to let his emotions flow.

Hours felt like they passed, and Wilson's body ached to move. House had grown silent, his head hanging to the side. Wilson wasn't sure if he'd fallen asleep or was unconscious, but his breathing was steady and his heart rate level. He must have dozed off sitting up himself, because when he was alert again he heard heals clicking quietly from down the hall. He'd know that noise from anywhere, and his hairs on his arms stood up.

Cuddy's head slowly popped in through the door, a look of pure grief on her face, but Wilson couldn't bring himself to feel sorry for her. House was his best friend, and he came first. She made him do this, and he couldn't let that go. "You shouldn't be here right now," he said, hoping House wouldn't register any of this.

"I got worried when..." she was to choked up to finish her sentence, and she sniffled. House stirred, groaning slightly, and Wilson leaned over him again. House's eyes fluttered open, his pupils huge.

"I'm hearing things," he blurted, his body starting to shake again.

Wilson rested a hand on his cheek and forced eye contact, "You aren't hearing things, just focus on me. I'm right here."

"I heard her voice," he said brokenly, and Wilson stroked his face in silence.

He heard the clicking of those heals quietly in the hallway again, and the front door quietly close.