First of all I have to ask you to be kind to me in case you are going to read this humble piece of work of mine. This is my very first attempt at fanfiction and the next mitigating circumstance (I hope): English is not my first language and if you think I should rather stay with my first language than let me know.

And then, I guess I should let you know, that I haven't seen any episodes of the third season of House, yet, because where I live we are still stuck on the second season. But as an obsessed fan I dutifully read the recaps on and this story is supposed to take place after Wilson shut down his practice and threw House out of his office.

I'm probably writing totally out of character and I know that the subject is kind of touchy, but the idea of House actually deciding to act on his friend's behalf just wouldn't leave me alone and why I have him do what I have him do? Well, beats me.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. I won't even delude myself that I could think up something like the great characters and stories on House.

Warning: Character Death

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I'm drunk.

This is the only way I could have ended up writing this. I'm totally wasted, otherwise I would have never found the courage to do so. Though, I'm painfully aware that, at least to you, I owe an explanation for my actions tonight. Well then, no turning back now. We are both in for quite a ride.

Today has been a special day. Today has been the end of my life.

But, don't worry, it did not come as quite as shocking a surprise to me as one might think it would have. No. Because when I got up this morning I was quite aware of what was to be.

Actually, I hadn't really slept at all last night. You see, the entire night I pondered about the things you said, the things I said, the things I did. And, finally, the things I had to do.

I sat at my piano, but I didn't play anything. I wanted to, but then I just kept on staring at that small bottle on which my life has been dependent for the last couple of years. I say that in the most negative way possible. Believe me, I never did like the idea of being an addict, but the alternative wasn't that endearing, either.

I don't think I've ever seen you that angry and hopeless before and I have to admit, it kind of shocked me. The calm, passionate James Wilson all shook up and furious - I thought that was something I would never get to see. And, God knows, I've tried to instigate you for years, but somehow I didn't quite enjoy it as much as I thought I would.

So, there I was, thinking about what I had done. And, you know me, once I start thinking, picked up a thought, I can't let it rest until every possible angle has been analysed and dissected. It's a blessing and a curse. Probably more of a curse right now.

Well, what can I say? Frankly, I had known what the conclusions of my thoughts would be even before I started thinking them, but I've been busy pushing them and anything else I didn't want to be aware of as far away from my mind as possible.

I screwed up, Jimmy.

There's no other way of looking at it. I screwed up. Big. Time.

And, if this wasn't already bad enough, I finally let myself realize that I have been pushing you ahead between me and my responsibilities, without wanting to see the ramifications. Deliberately not seeing what this has cost you.

Well, I see now, and maybe I'm not as drunk, after all.

This is going to come as a kind of a shock to you, but I do have a conscience and it's been telling me that I've been treating you pretty lousy, presuming that you are my best friend. I really like to think of you as such, but I'm sure you wouldn't agree that I qualify in this category at this moment.

Ok, my conscience dictates me to say this: I'm honestly ashamed of what I did and also that I'm not man enough to apologize to you face to face. But you know me, I've never been big on the teary confessions and the heartfelt forgivings. Gee, just ask "you know who".

The least thing I could do was try to set things right again. You don't deserve the way you've been treated. Even the ducklings don't. So I did what you've told me to do. I went to see Tritter.

I told him everything. I told him how I stole your prescription pad and forged your signature and how you absolutely did not have any dealings with any of this.

Good news, he believed me. You should have seen him with that grin of triumph on his ugly face. God, I hate that man. Even more than all of my clinic patients combined and that should tell you a lot of the degree of hatred I feel for that … (I'll leave this up to you to fill in the blanks. Use the most colourful language you can think of, and I'm pretty sure you'll get close to what I'm thinking of right now).

The only thing I didn't tell him is why I did it. But that doesn't really matter, because even I'm not that sure anymore. It was stupid, I know that. I knew that. But I just didn't want to have to admit that the ketamine treatment hadn't worked. Because telling you or Cuddy would have meant that my hopes had been shattered. Again.

Your hopes probably, too.

Anyway, I told him the parts he needed to know and he promised me that he will back off of you. And the ducklings. If he doesn't do it I swear I'll make God strike him down. Or Satan. Whoever draws the short straw and has to take me in.

Tritter quite amiably assured me that if I don't have to go to jail for this, which might well be, since it being my first real offence, he still will make sure that my medical licence will be revoked. And I'm pretty confident he'll be as dogged with this as he'd been with everything else. I wouldn't expect any less of him. I mean, you can say whatever you want about that bastard, but you can't deny that he's nothing but thorough. You ought to know.

Even though I'm not sure if this licence business actually needs any of his support. Again, it was stupid.

I was rather surprised that he actually let me leave the precinct tonight. I would have bet everything I own that he'd been dying to lock me up and throw away the key. At least for a little while. Well, I guess with this he's unnecessarily telling me that he's gotten me. Hook, line and sinker.

Well, I suppose now I have to come to the point, where I tearfully explain why I decided to do what I'm going to do. The funny thing is I don't feel anything at all. I guess part of me has been dead for quite a while now and today Tritter has killed the other part by taking away what I've lived for the last couple of years. That would be my job, in case you weren't sure (don't worry Tritter's left me my stash of porn and I left it to you in my will).

I know, that you know, that I had definitely thought about taking this route out of the pain at least once before. And even though Tritter's people have managed to take away all my "secret stashes" they did not find my "secret secret stash". It pays off to be prepared for any circumstances.

Well, there is a song by a group called the Mad Caddies (you should listen to them, they aren't half bad) that pretty much describes the situation I'm in right now:

I'm fucked up with nothing ahead by the end

I know that I'll never get sober

And I'm fed up with this miserable life after death

I know that I've taken my last breath

That pretty much sums it all up. There's only an empty shell left of me and I just don't want to go on living even more miserable than I was before. Besides, I'd promised myself that I would end this charade of a life as soon as I wasn't going to be able to do my job anymore. Hence the "secret secret stash".

Well, I think I've covered all the sentimental crap one's supposed to put into such a note. All that's left for me to say, and you better savor this moment, because this is going to be the only time I'll ever say anything like this (c'mon Jimmy, humor me with a smile), but I've been grateful for having you as a friend. I know that I never really showed it, but you can take my word for it.

Don't mourn me Jimmy, for I fancy thinking that I'm going to a better place, where there is no more pain. I'd really like that. And no idiotic patients. I'd really like that!

I'll see you there, of that I'm sure. But take your time getting there.

Now I'm just going to play the piano one last time.

Greg