Disclaimer: I don't own House MD, only the plot.

Okay, after reading my reviews, I decided to completely rewrite this chapter. Yeah, to put it plain and simply, it sucked. But, hopefully this one is better. By the way, I'm sorry for being all critical about "not writing more with out reviews." Sorry. But, I loved the criticism. Honestly!

So, Enjoy!

.

Chapter 1

James Wilson sat up in his bed and rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands, his covers falling to his mid-drift. Scratching his neck, he turned his head slightly to glance at his alarm clock places curiously close to an empty coffee cup. He sighed and lay back down on his pillow as the reality of the red numbers hit him like a ton of bricks. The daunting glow read 3:36 AM; he had to be at work at 5:30.

Over the past few hours, Wilson's mind had been reviewing the events of the last month.

His best friend-Gregory House- (who happened to be the most stubborn person he knew) had admitted himself to Mayfield about a month ago. His reasoning had been that his Viconin abuse had caused him to hallucinate Wilson's dead girlfriend and sex with the DON of medicine, Lisa Cuddy.

Sure, Wilson had gone to visit House several times, but it pained him to see his best friend so open and exposed like a raw burn.

Another thing that had been weighing on his shoulders had been a recent death. About a week ago his mother called him informing him that his father had a horrible stroke. The ambulance had rushed him to the nearest hospital, but he was declared DOA.

Wilson's eyes traced markings on his white ceiling as if they would offer him answers, but instead they haunted him. Through the many years Wilson had lived in that apartment those patterned markings hadn't changed like his life had so much. He envied the unchanging markings, he hated change.

A sudden buzzing jerked him awake. Sometime in his thinking he had finally drifted into some sort of sleeping. He quickly got out of bed and headed out of his bedroom towards the bathroom after turning off the alarm. He turned the shower to a hot setting as he stripped his boxers. After a few moments, he stepped in.

Almost immediately, his wrist started burning. His eyes snapped to it in surprise. The memory replayed itself.

The night before – 12 pm

Wilson laid the phone on his nightstand that he had just been talking to his mother on. It was decided that his father was to be cremated.

Beside where he laid the phone was a picture frame. Inside it was a black and white photograph of his parents on their wedding day. He could clearly hear what his father would say every time he saw the picture.

"Her eyes were so beautiful that day… and her dress…" he would start, each time the ending was different.

Eventually James would cut him off saying with a chuckle, "You can't remember that, you can hardly remember mom's birthday."

Then his father would give him a small side hug while saying, "That's right, but that why I have you, Son."

Wilson looked away as his eyes clouded up. He wandered into the restroom, wiping at his eyes, frustrated. Grown men aren't supposed to cry.

When he got into the restroom, he stood in front of the mirror, prepping himself to shave. After that, he slid the razor across his cheek, his mind still on his father.

A few seconds later he suddenly pulled the razor back like it shocked him- he had nicked himself. Ann odd feeling flooded him as he felt the stinging of it while he watched it bleed… Relief? He began to wonder…He picked up his razor and sat on the bathroom floor in the corner between the toilet and the wall, his intention was to dissect the razor to retrieve a blade. After ten or fifteen minutes of fumbling with it, he got a blade lose. His breath quickened as he held the cold titanium blade to his exposed wrist. His closed his eyes, his mouth suddenly dry. What would House think?

'You're weak. Deal with your emotions, not mask them with physical pain. That's childish.'

And with that thought, he drug it across his wrist.

Now, in the shower, the single three inch long cut was a pink beacon, obvious to the naked eye. It was position right on the wrist bone. He sighed, 'What have I done?'

At work:

Wilson began to fix his coffee, hoping he'd have at least thirty minutes to himself before a patient. But, he had no such luck. As soon as the thought left his brain, Cuddy let herself in. "You have a case, Dr. Wilson." She held out a yellow folder to him.

He motioned with his hand to lay it on his desk as he poured himself some coffee. He then offered her some, she shook her head. "No thanks."

He nodded as she began to leave. She stopped. "You look pale, James," she said politely. "Are you okay?"

'No!' He wanted to scream. He wanted to yelled and pour out everything to his boss and cry like the baby he felt like. But instead impulse kicked in and he answered quickly, "I'm fine."

Note: Yes, I know Wilson's father didn't die in the series, I obviously made that up