This is to cheer up one of my best friends, Indigo Night, hope you and she enjoys.

A/N: READ OR REGRET! Let me first tell you that all of this is based on a paltry amount episode watching, and spoilers for season 5 ending yeah none of it is correct. I KNOW. Don't bother me about it. If you don't like slash, well get off the page. Criticism about grammar, plot holes etc. are fine but don't flame me, it's annoying. Well this is based off the season 5 ender so yeah read if you want.

It was almost impossible to see him like this. House popping Vicodin pills ad nauseum was almost insurmountably better than House lying prone in a sick bed. If Wilson hadn't wanted to see House clean so badly, he might've gotten him discharged a few days earlier. Having to watch House go through mental rehabilitation while suffering Vicodin withdrawal was agonizing. Wilson couldn't shake the hard tugs of guilt on his conscience for making his… counter-part?...psychological misfit?.. antagonist?... co-worker? stay in this god-awful place. Even if this treatment was going to make House a better doctor.

Which come to think of it they hadn't been exactly sure. Would phenomenal diagnostician Dr. Gregory House be better for the sobriety? Or would he loose all confidence? Or would he loose his license practicing medicine because of the rehab and other complications? Somehow if that happened Wilson didn't think it was going to be possible for Cutty to close the door on House. He would practice medicine where ever he damn-well wanted. Maybe he'd set up shop in the mental hospital, if he got desperate.

A smile rippled across Wilson's lips at the thought, drifting the corners of his mouth wide, only to disappear in seconds without an imprint.

He detested these long drives out to the asylum. The trip always impressed the worst kind of loneliness on him. The journey left him alone with too much time to think about things he didn't want to think about. Like Amber. The gray shade of the road was almost the twin tint to her gravestone. He could hardly pass 5 miles without thinking of her, which led to thinking about House's sporadic hallucinations of "evil Amber" and why House would see her instead of him. Wilson was the one who had loved her and lost her, shouldn't he be the one pyschobabbling about her and not House?

The problems were too heavy to ponder now, especially when going to visit his… co-worker.

Parking lines suddenly come into his field of vision.

Was considered a bad sign when you could drive from work to the loony bin on auto-pilot? Probably.

Wilson exited the car at a humiliatingly slow pace and walked up to the entrance at the thrilling speed of pouring molasses. Opening the door alone felt like a Herculean effort, and was getting harder to do every time he came here. What could he say? How could he excuse this? The answer was, he couldn't. For once in Dr. James Wilson's life he was absolutely and unequivocally ashamed to call House his friend.