Author's Notes: so Wilson's been telling me that there's more to this story, and I think he's right. So this time Wilson is the one with a problem, and he needs House to help/love/support him. How much of that he's actually going to get, we'll have to wait and see.
"So what do you have to be so depressed about?" House asks, after a few minutes of blissful silence. "I mean, I understand why you would give me the pills, but are you actually depressed?"
"Huh?" is about all that I can muster. It's been a long day, and I am extraordinarily tired, and it is after all only about 5:00 in the morning.
"You yawned!"
"I did not."
"Well not just now, but you were yawning before, which means that you were also taking the antidepressants, and there are only two reasons that would explain that. Either you are really are depressed, and we need to—or you just felt like you needed to take the pills since you did after all scam a doctor into giving them to you. I suppose there is a third option, that you're in love with the shrink and you're taking happy pills to please her—or maybe him."
"Does it ever get confusing in your—insanity? That was just—I'm not even sure what the question in all of that was, if there was a question." House laughs, which could be a good thing, or he could be gearing up to make fun of me. God this is confusing, and annoying. And he wonders why I need antidepressants.
"Everything is confused—or sometimes not at all—Heh. If I really wanted to confuse you, I would start speaking in Japanese, completely freak you out."
"You see this—this is exactly why I needed eh pills in the first place. You're completely insane, and a person can only deal with so much of someone else's insanity before they start to go crazy too."
"The only flaw there is that if just being with me was enough to drive you crazy then it would have happened a long time ago."
"House, for once in your life shut up, please."
"We've been—'friends' for more than twenty years, but the yawning is new, two weeks, three tops, which means that something has changed in the past month. You're not pregnant are you?"
"What? No! God, you're annoying," I shout, folding my arms over my chest. "Can you drop it please?" House's eyes widen slightly, and he smiles again. Damn! I just gave him something.
"Come on, you know you wanna talk about it. That's why you're here at 5:00 in the morning."
"I'm here because you called me at 4:00 and beg—asked—me to come by. I was afraid of what you might do if I didn't." That's not completely true, but I'm hoping that hell let it go, because he thinks he's onto something bigger.
"No it's not. Besides, if I was going to do something like that, you are the last person I'd call, and I definitely wouldn't have asked you to come over."
"Unless you wanted me to stop you."
"So you're taking anti-depressants because you think I'm going to kill myself? How is that even remotely helpful?" House asks, raising his eyebrows slightly.
"Can we stop? It's personal."
"If I tried to use that excuse, there is no way you'd let me get away with it. Why should you be any different? Look, Wilson, if this is about the whole moving in together thing, I said it was okay. I'm just not sure there's enough room for you and me, and your self-righteousness."
"Don't forget your ego," is about the best comeback I can thin of, which doubly sucks, because it actually proves his point. "That's not what this is about, anyway."
"Well, it can't be that you want us to be closer, if we were any more intimate, we'd be sharing a toothbrush." He chuckles, mostly, because House knows that the idea sent a shiver down my spine. "Unless…you wanna get married! Wilson wants to marry me," he practically sings, and then stops, looking over at me, horrified.
"No! No not ever—I—that is the worst thing we could do," I try to explain, and he relaxes. "Can't you see that I don't want to talk about this thing?"
"Of course," he tells me simply, "but you're the one who always wants to talk about everything. You had to know that the minute you declared something as being personal and off limits; I'd jump on it like a dog on a bone."
"Speaking of which, the vet said Hector is going to be fine."
"You're not going to distract me with that."
"Personal, as in private, as in I really, really, don't feel comfortable talking about it."
"I'm a drug addict. What could you possibly say that would be more embarrassing than what any random patient in the clinic has to tell me?"
"So go work at the clinic and leave me alone."
"My leg hurts—plus you know, it's closed. Spill."
"I will write you a prescription for fentanyl if you drop it."
"If it's that good, getting this secret out of you will be better than any drug in the universe. It'll be even better than sex."
"Or we could do that."
"Yeah, still more interested in whatever it is you're trying so desperately to hide from me."
"I have three failed marriages, and yeah, I am a doctor, but I'm an oncologist, which means that most of my patients die, even if they do go into remission for a while. You're the only relationship in my life that hasn't completely fallen apart, and you treat me like crap. No kids, no wife, no girlfriends, just you and a job that sucks at least 50 of the time, usually more."
"Again, all things that are true but have also been that way for ay least a year. I haven't even been a bigger jerk than usual lately. Now it is possible that you actually think your problem is only what you just described, but we both know you weren't popping Prozacs sixths months ago."
"Actually it's Zoloft."
"Like I care." House stares at me, cold and hard, for a long time, as if he were trying to read mind. "There's something you're not telling me. Now maybe even you don't know what that is, but it's there, and if you can't tell me, who else are you going to talk to about it."
"Someone who isn't going to blab to the entire hospital." It's a cheep shot, I know, but it's also my best point, pretty much my only point. "That and the last thing I need is you screwing with my thoughts."
"I'm capable of being discrete—don't laugh—I am. I never told anyone that Cuddy was trying to get pregnant."
"You just old me."
"Technically she told you first, which means I didn't blab any actual secret. I just confirmed a point already known by all three persons involved, proving that I can actually keep my mouth shut."
"It would be great if you did that right now. And how the hell did you know what Cuddy told me? Do you just sit with your ear pressed up against the wall next to her office all day long?"
"Don't have to. I can read both of you well enough to have seen the difference before you knew and after. Come on Jimmy, I know you're just itching to talk to someone. Let's play doctor. I'm good at it."
"Yeah, but before you fix me I'll probably end up on a respirator or with an arrow sticking through the back of my head, or worse."
"Hey. I have never stuck anything through anybody's head."
"You shot a guy in the morgue last year!"
"He was already dead, and you're only using that as an excuse not to talk to me about your real problem. That's called avoidance. See I'm good at all this mumbo-jumbo."
"That's another reason not to let you mess with my head. How can you possibly help me if you don't believe I have a real problem that isn't just all in my mind or that—if you don't believe in all of this."
"I believe in some of it, I just don't think we need to go running around gobbling up mind altering drugs to deal with all of life's little problems," House says, ironically swallowing a handful of Vicodin at the same time. "This is not mind-altering/
"I don't know," I admit, at last, because I really haven't got the faintest clue. My heart hurts, and I'm sad, all o the time, but I don't—there doesn't seem to be any reason for it. Of course that's not what I told the shrink, but who would—in order to explain that I'd have to tell her bunch of other stuff about me and House and other things I don't want anyone else to know." How do I—you're not going to use this against me?"
"Of course I am, but not until you're at least feeling better." He smiles. "I'm a jerk, but I'm not that bad am I?"
"I don't know," I ask, "are you?" House responds by pulling me into a hug, quickly, and then letting me go, quickly.