A/N: I'm so happy with the amount of reveiws I got so quickly that I'm going to go ahead and post the next chapter. Woo-hoo!

Huge thanks to Carrie, Rose12345, Dapper, and Dr. Fantabulous for reviewing!

Diagnosis A

"Are you okay?" Wilson decided to take a leap and ask the dreaded question.

House glared at Wilson, but his glare possessed little of its normal potency. It was that that fully convinced Wilson something was wrong.

"No witty retort? No scathing remark? Now I know something's wrong. Is it your leg?" Wilson really was worried.

Once again House ignored Wilson.

"What's your temp?" Wilson asked casually, hoping that his non-invasive tone might persuade House to open up slightly.

Thankfully for House, the elevator opened at exactly that second. House moved quickly to step out, but apparently tried to move too quickly. The room once again started to spin, and House was thrown off balance. Only Wilson's arm behind his back prevented him from falling backwards. House pulled himself together and started to walk forward. Wilson placed a hand on House's shoulder and stepped in front of him.

"What's going on?" Wilson asked more forcefully.

"Nothing, I'm fine."

Wilson looked at House in disbelief.

"You nearly fall on your ass and you expect me to believe that you're fine? Try again." Wilson was determined he would get something out of House.

"I didn't have time to eat anything this morning, and I didn't eat last night. Its low blood sugar, that's it." House reached into his pocket and took two more Vicoden, realizing that Wilson was studying him closely.

Wilson sighed. "Go to your office and lie down before you fall down. I'll grab you something to eat from the cafeteria and I'll tell Cuddy you'll be down to the clinic in an hour."

With a last look back, Wilson reluctantly turned and headed towards the cafeteria.

House was glad to have finally gotten rid of Wilson. He limped back to his office, going slowly to make sure he did not do a face plant in the middle of the hallway. He entered his office and immediately laid down on his couch. He took a few slow, painful breaths and was surprised to notice that just the short walk down the hall had left him feeling breathless. He took yet another Vicoden, wincing as it burned his throat.

Wilson walked back into Houser's office quietly, with food in hand. House looked even worse, he was paler and a small sheen of sweat showed on his face. House's hand were folded in his lap and trembling slightly. Wilson mentally went through House's visible symptoms and found that they were all consistent with hypoglycemia: fatigue, trembling, paleness, dizziness, and sweating. Irritability was also a main symptom, but with House it was impossible to tell whether he was just being House, or whether it was a symptom.

"House?" Wilson asked, motion towards the food in his hands.

House opened one eye, and acknowledged Wilson's presence.

"Just leave it there." House said. Wilson continued to look at House expectantly, and when House just stared back he left the room with an exasperated sigh. Wilson debated with himself over what to do with House. He was concerned, but decided that he could come back in an hour. If it was hypoglycemia and House ate something, he should look a lot better by then. If he still looked bad, Wilson would give House a choice: check himself into the hospital, or let Wilson examine him.

House laid on the couch with his eyes closed. There was a dull ache in his chest that burned with every breath he took, his leg throbbed mercilessly, and he felt tired and achy. He took the bottle of Vicoden out of his pocket, and reached down into it. His hand was trembling so badly that he split almost the whole bottle. With a growl of frustration, he threw the bottle across the room. He leaned back against the couch and drifted off into a fitful sleep.

Wilson had been caught up in an emergency with one of his patients, so it was nearly two hours before he went back to check on House. Glancing into House's office, he saw that House looked worse. He walked away from the office, instead going to the supply closet. He grabbed a hypodermic needle, the kind that is used to draw blood, and a piece of gauze. He headed back towards House's office and quietly walked in. He tiptoed over to where House was asleep and squatted down next to couch. He laid two fingers on House's throat, feeling for a pulse. Finding it, he frowned. It was steady, but weaker then normal. He then took House's arm and pulled it towards him, holding it securely with one hand. With the other he deftly slipped the needle into the vein in House's elbow. The pinch of the needle piercing skin woke House up instantly. House looked at Wilson with bleary eyes, before shouting loudly,

"What the hell!" House tried to jerk his arm away, but Wilson had it firmly restrained in his hand. Wilson quickly filled the rest of the syringe with blood and brought the needle out of House's arm. Just as House jumped up from the couch, Lisa Cuddy burst into the office.