A/n: Well I decided to continue with it. I hope those nine reviewers will review this one too. And I hope more will review. Thanks!!


The phone rang forcefully, disturbing James Wilson from his peaceful slumber. At two rings he threw his pillow over his head in attempt to ignore it, hoping it would stop. At three rings Wilson grunted in protest and frustration. At four he yanked the phone off the receiver so hard that for a second he wondered if he pulled the entire damn socket out of the wall.

"Hello?" He said irritably.

"What would you do if I killed myself?" The words slurred together barely distinguishable in any sense.

It was enough to drive any remnants of sleep away from Wilson. His eyes fully shot open, sitting up in bed, instantly regretting it a second later as the room spun in different directions. His sleeping wife beside him was slowly stirring from her sleep to see what the commotion was all about.

"House? What are you talking about?" Wilson asked turning on the lamp on the bedside table.

"What would you do if I killed myself?" the question was repeated.

"House what's going on? Where are you? I'm coming to get you," Wilson stated throwing the covers aside and practically leaping off the bed.

"James!" Julie called out now sitting up as well.

"Where am I?" House repeated the question.

Wilson grabbed his jacket, which was thrown carelessly into his closet earlier that night. He fished around for car keys he knew were still somewhere in one of the pockets. "I'm going to take care of something." Wilson said sparing the sentence to Julie who was now worried about her husband's attitude.

"Is that Greg?" Julie demanded.

She was tired of this conversation. It was the same phone call that they've been receiving for the past couple of months. Lately it had been nearly every single day. And every single day James jumped out of bed, ready to fly to Cambodia if the time so does call for it.

Wilson nodded grabbing his wallet and cell phone from the dresser. "House, call my cell phone right now."

"I'm sorry Jimmy," House slurred.

"House are you crying?" Wilson asked taking his phone and dialing the familiar number himself. "House pick up your other line."

There was a small click before House's voice transferred to the phone in Wilson's right hand. He threw the house phone on the hallway desk as he jogged down the stairs. He slipped on the first pair of shoes he came in contact with before quickly making his way to the garage.

"I don't know what I'm doing Jimmy," House said.

Though Wilson would never admit it that statement had sent shivers down his spine. He had no idea what was going on in his friend's life lately. No, actually he knew exactly what was going on in his life. Stacey was back.

"House stay with me," Wilson encouraged. "I'll be at your place in ten minutes. Just…" Wilson threw the car into reverse, his tires screeching in protest. "Stay on the phone with me…"

"Jimmy, you're my friend," House stated with a small laugh. "I think you'd be the only one to miss me."

"That's not true. Cameron would miss you. Cuddy. Chase, Foreman," Wilson stated blowing the stoplight.

"You think? I don't. I think about what you would do. Maybe your marriage would last longer if I wasn't around."

The short drive to House's own house was cut even shorter by Wilson, who had traveled a good 20 over the speed limit most of the five minute drive. He fished for the spare keys in his pocket jamming the key in its appropriate hole and slamming the door open. He dropped his phone on the couch as he passed it, making his way to House's bedroom.

House was lying on the floor, the phone still on besides him. There were glass shards everywhere and several empty bottles of beer strewn messily on the floor. Wilson kicked the shards away from House's prone body, resisting the urge to gag at the smell of House.

"God damn it House, you're working in four hours!" Wilson muttered frustrated.

He took House by the armpits dragging him onto the bed, pushing him to lie on his sides while he went for the wastebasket. House was barely conscious throughout the whole interaction, instead staring blankly at the wall behind Wilson.

"I want to die sometimes," House said offhandedly.

"Just go sleep Greg," Wilson sighed taking a blanket and throwing it over his best friend's shivering body.

"You're my best friend Jimmy. You really are," House muttered before rolling over so his back was towards Wilson.

A couple of minutes later Wilson heard the familiar soft snore of House signaling that he was truly asleep. He ran his fingers through his hair looking at the mess in front of him. There was an empty bottle of vicodin on the floor, pills scattered around it. Wilson took note that there were only 4 pills left in the bottle, which he was sure he wrote the prescription for three days ago.

Wilson resisted the urge to kick the empty bottle across the room, knowing that it would wake House up. He walked out of the room in hunt for the broom and dustpan he knew all too well where it was placed.

It took Wilson a good twenty minutes to clean the room enough to know that House would be safe enough to walk around in the morning. He took his place on the couch grabbing his own beer on the way. He jugged it in four big gulps before setting it down on the coffee table.

The sound of House's familiar alarm going off woke Wilson from his own fitful slumber. Even from the living room he could hear House groaning in protest yelling a string of curse words while he attempted to dull the pain in his legs.

"You good back there?" Wilson called unsurely.

"What the hell happened?" House yelled back.

"You got drunk," Wilson said slowly making his way into the kitchen, where he knew House would surely limp over to. "Again." He added quietly.

"Damn. I should make Chase do all my hours today, I feel like collapsing," House said appearing in the doorstep.

Had House looked up he would have noticed the dark circles around his best friend's eyes. Wilson's eyes were bloodshot red, and his hair standing up in weird positions.

"Assuming you're not making breakfast would you like to shower first?" Wilson asked when he realized House was sticking his head above the pan in attempt to figure out what Wilson was making.

"What are you my mom?" House asked, but limped away to take his shower.

Wilson sighed out loud once he heard the shower running. It was customary to know to stay where the bathroom wouldn't be seen. House had stopped closing the doors during showers after his infarction.

Wilson moved through the kitchen skillfully maneuvering past the little island in the center, grabbing House's favorite mug from the table and filling it with water. Then he fished for two Tylenols from one of the cabinets before coming back to the table and placing it in front of House's normal place in the table. He took the four sunny-side up eggs and carefully placed them on a small serving plate, placing four waffles on top of them.

By the time House was out Wilson had set the table exactly the way he always did.

"You hungry?" Wilson asked looking away from the sports section of the morning paper to give his friend a once over.

House had dressed himself in the typical t-shirt and jeans. His eyes were bloodshot, and his gait more noticeable than usual. He walked slowly towards his chair, giving a small hiss as he slowly lowered himself into the chair.

"I have a tummy ache," House said slinging his left arm over his abdominal area protectively.

"You have a hang over," Wilson said unsympathetically.

Wilson made sure his chair screeched in protest against the hard wood floor, letting his plate and utensils clang loudly on the sink. House gave an audible whimper of pain and Wilson resisted the urge to laugh at his friend's misery.

"Is this how you treat your bald friends? Tell them they are dying and do a happy dance?" House asked rubbing his temples.

"No, this is how I treat my friend who is being a complete idiot and decides to drink himself until he was shit face," Wilson said grabbing his shoes from the living room.

"Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed," House muttered, mentally cursing him self for even thinking of sitting down in the first place.

Wilson bit back his response knowing that House's hangover was enough to make him volatile. Wilson hated having to always walk on eggshells, scared to break his already broken friend.

"You're driving," House stated grabbing his cane from it's previous position leaning against the hall table.

Wilson nodded. "Just don't puke in my car and we're all good," Wilson warned.

"God damn I feel like my head's going to explode," House muttered.

"Maybe you overdid it last night," Wilson offered.

"I thought you were my friend," House started.

Wilson gripped the steering wheel tightly; quickly losing what little patience he had that morning. House's couch, no matter how expensive wasn't the most comfortable place to sleep in, and after three hours he had woken up to a stiff neck, and intense shoulder pain. Julie had left him a message on the phone stating that Wilson might as well live at House's seeing as he was willing to jump out of bed nearly every night for the damn guy. This day was starting off horribly. The last thing he needed was House to be House.

"I am your friend," Wilson gritted.

"By choice?"

"How can you even ask me that?" Wilson asked indecorously. "I got out of bed in the middle of the night and came running to your house because you cried wolf again."

"You think I'm crying suicide?" House asked equally angry.

Wilson gave a small scoff shaking his head giving a small pathetic attempt at laughter. In all honesty he knew House wasn't crying wolf. Maybe that was what scared him each time.

House studied his friend for the moment only noticing his appearance now. Wilson had been wearing one of the spare buttons up shirts he left at House's house for occasions such as these. His tie was hanging loosely, with his hair barely combed down. It was messy which House quickly blamed on the lack of a shower he had that morning. He had bags under hit eyes, and kept massaging his neck at every possible stop.

"I don't know House. Are you? Because you call me in the middle of the night dead drunk, alone in a house full of vicodin, hating yourself more than I ever thought possible. I don't know what to think when I get phone calls in the middle of the night asking me if I care about you. And when I come over I find you drunk out of your mind, barely acknowledging my presence for the past couple of days, and once every couple of weeks before that. So please," Wilson snapped.

House nodded his head before turning to look out the window. In truth what Wilson said had hurt House. Wilson just didn't know how many times he walked in just before House planned to end his life. Always just in time to save him. It was sickening to House to think about where he would be if one of those days Wilson just hung up the phone and went back to sleep.

His head was throbbing, and by the time they got to the hospital House debated whether or not he looked like crap enough to just sit in the clinic and blend in with the other patients. He swallowed two pills taking note that those would equal four pills before he had even clocked in.

"I'm making the damn Wombat do my hours," House said straightening in posture as Wilson and he approached the entrance of the hospital.

By the time they had walked in House had mustered up enough strength to walk a somewhat normal gait. However, red rims accompanied his familiar piercing blue eyes, sweat beading down his forehead as he attempted to keep up with Wilson's own pace.

"Dr. House," Chase looked up surprised to see his boss so early. He checked his watch to make sure he wasn't hallucinating. "You're on time…again…"

"Lovely. The boy can tell time," House said to Wilson. "He should get a raise."

"Morning Dr. Chase," Wilson threw Chase a small smile.

"Dr. Wilson," Chase returned.

They all stepped out of the elevator, Wilson and Chase slowing their natural pace for House to keep up.

"I heard we have a consult to do," Chase said starting the conversation.

"Is he still talking?" House asked Wilson. "Are you sure you don't want him? Willing to work for cheap"

"Sorry, your duckling," Wilson said giving Chase a small nod good bye before heading towards his own office.

He shut the door, locking it not expecting a patient for another couple of hours. His mind told him to start working on the paper work that had somehow accumulated over the night, but he didn't feel like it.

His mind was somewhere else. He wasn't a psychiatrist, but then again he didn't need to be in order to tell his friend was on a one-way ticket to hell. House looked even more like shit now that Stacey was back in the picture. Mark was consuming most of his time as he fought to find the proper diagnosis as quickly as possible. The ducklings knew well enough to not irritate House during the past couple of days, but Wilson knew better. With that in mind he got up and plucked all the books on mental illnesses off the bookcase and plopped them all down on his desk. The stack was discouraging in a sense that it piled higher than Wilson's head, towering over him as he sat at his desk. Wilson took a deep breath and grabbed a high lighter from his pencil cabinet before flipping to the page on depression and addiction in the first book.


A/N: Please review. Thank-you. (disclaimer in first chapter)