This is something I came up with after watching the „Half-witt" episode, because Wilson's reaction to House being so depressed, he faked cancer to get drugs, really bugged me. I mean, he laughed, suggested Pizza and a movie, laughed again and left????? That's certainly not the way I would react – well, I reacted – to such news. So I can only assume he did it out of sheer disbelief and helplessness.

But enough bla...bla...

Contemplations

Wilson went to his office and shut the door behind him.He walked towards his desk and collapsed into the chair. He sat there staring into space for a second, then shook his head in disbelief and said quietly to himself „What the hell, did you just do?"

He leaned forward and put his head in his hands. If anyone had seen him right now they would have said that he looked tired and worried and maybe like someone on the verge of giving up. He kept staring into space, while in his mind, everything he knew and felt about House, seemed to be running in circles.

His friend was depressed, and what was the worst about it, was that he didn't want to admit it. Wilson knew that the way to getting better only went over accepting something was wrong. But getting House to admit something was wrong, was like Sysiphos-work, the moment you thought you had accomplished it, you realized you had to start from the beginning again. And Wilson was tired of fighting the same fight over and over again.

He thought back to the time, when he had first realized that his friendship with House might become a tough one. It was shortly after the infarction and House had come down from group-therapy one afternoon and announced he wasn't going back – ever. Wilson, surprised, had asked why.

„Because it's useless. I'm supposed to be the one who gets treated and I always end up, solving other peoples problems. I'm sick of it! Today the therapist asked me for advice for his marriage." He stomped his crutches on the floor for emphasis. „I mean – what am I, a fucking shrink? I hate people, I hate their stupid little problems, I hate their whining about them. They should all go and do what a sensible person does. Deal with it on their own."

With that he had turned around and left Wilsons office, and Wilson had sat there and stared after his friend, dreading what might come. Shortly afterwards Stacy had left House and the spiral into depression had begun to start revolving even faster.

Wilson had done his best to help House, to be there for him, turn his life around again. But so far, every attempt had been a failure. House simply refused to acknowledge anything that might actually help him, if it came from another person. When Wilson realized, that talking didn't help, he had resorted to manipulative tactics, most of which involved Cuddy's help, but still he didn't get anywhere.

When they'd gotten House to go off Vicodin for a week a couple years back, and House admitted to being an addict, Wilson had at first thought he might have made a breakthrough. For one glorious, fleeting second he actually believed his friend had taken the first step to recovery. But House crushed his hopes with one comment. „I don't have a problem."

But Wilson hadn't given up. He had talked House into trying the ketamine-treatment. But again, he had failed. When Tritter turned up and House went from bad to worse, Wilson thought about giving up, for the first time. He'd thought, that maybe forcing House to face the worst, loosing his licence, was going to change something. And again, he had been fooled into hoping he had achieved something. When House went into rehab and even apologized to him, this crazy, happy feeling of hope had returned. Only to be crushed again...

And now this...

Wilson felt tears prickling in his eyes. He swallowed hard and laughed at his own foolishness. Why was he doing this to himself? Why did he even bother? Why didn't he just let it be. But he knew asking this question was pointless. He would never stop caring and worrying about House, because House was his friend. His best friend and the one constant in his own screwed-up life.

It wasn't just that House needed him, he needed House as well. He was fully aware of that fact. He just wished it could be easier. He wished there was something he could do. Some way to make House understand that life didn't necessarily meant having to suffer. He shook his head again.

He wished this hollow feeling in his chest would go away. Ever since Foreman had told him, about House faking cancer to get drugs, he felt like some part of him was missing, gone into hiding or a coma from shock... or something like this... Maybe that was why he had reacted so stupid. He gave a hollow laugh again, at the memory. „Get some pizza with a friend." Yeah, right...

He felt tired, so tired and empty. So far he had gotten nowhere, on the contrary, House was getting steadily worse. Was there even a point in trying, anymore? He massaged the back of his neck and decided, that he wouldn't solve this problem tonight. Maybe if he slept over it. Tomorrow would be a new day... maybe it brought the answer. Wilson had always been a postive person, he had always believed that things would turn out right, eventually. He only wished that in House's case 'eventually' would come before it was too late.

He decided to call it a day and go home. He needed food and rest. He got up, grabbed his coat and bag and headed out. He walked to his car and got inside, but didn't start it yet. He realized, that he felt emotionally exhausted. And some small part of him, was complaining about all this, not being fair. Why was it always him, who had to give? What had House ever done, to deserve Wilson worrying about him so much? He sighed again, it felt like the millionth sigh of the day. Maybe he should just give up.

He started the car and drove off.

He was lying in bed later, his mind still on the same subject. No, he told himself. He wouldn't give up, and House deserved his help. If only, because noone else had the strength or volition to care. House was his friend and he always would be. One day House would understand that too. One day things would be better again... He drifted off to sleep.

I might continue (depends on the following episodes... and my imagination), but for now it's a one-shot.