They pulled into the apartment parking lot, House in the handicap spot. Cuddy got out of her car and caught up with him. She sighed exasperatedly.

"Why on Earth did you move into an apartment with stairs in front?"

House glared but didn't answer, pulling himself up the few steps and into his apartment. Notebooks and magazines were strewn on the floor, and dishes idled in the sink. Cuddy made a face. If she was going to be staying here, she'd be doing some cleaning.

House collapsed onto the couch and turned on the television as if Cuddy wasn't there. He flipped channels until he found a National Geographic special on superbugs, then leaned back and kicked his legs onto the coffee table. Cuddy was already picking up the debris on the floor.

"How do you not trip with all this stuff on the floor?" she asked. House didn't answer. She sighed and continued to clean. She saw a prescription bottle on top of the fridge and pocketed it.

"House. You need to tell me where the rest of these are," she said, holding up the bottle. Again, House didn't answer. She stepped in front of the TV so he was forced to look at her. He stared right through her.

"House, you need to tell me now. You won't have the willpower to later."

"Fridge...under the mattress...closet...bathroom cabinet...inside the lupus book...I dunno where else," he listed softly. Cuddy nodded and collected the bottles in varying stages of fullness.

"Let me know if you think of anywhere else," she said. House continued to stare at the TV. Cuddy really did feel sorry for him, but she knew this was for the best.

"Hey. Do you want some tea?" she asked the catatonic man. He nodded almost imperceptibly.

"Do you have tea?" she asked. Another nod.

"Where is it? What kind do you want?"

"Top left cabinet. Chamomile."

"Is your stomach already hurting?" Cuddy asked.

"No. I'm preparing."

Cuddy washed the pot and started boiling the water. She located the tea bags and prepared them. She glanced over at House, who appeared to be glaring at something next to him.

"Are you hallucinating right now?" she asked from the kitchen.

"I don't wanna talk about it. I don't wanna talk about anything. You're just here to make sure I don't die."

"Fine," she agreed, a bit offended.

"Call Wilson and tell him where I am and what I'm doing," House ordered.

"Why don't you call him?"

"Don't want to hear him pitying me. And tell him not to come here."

Cuddy nodded and dialed him.

"Dr. James Wilson, oncology. How can I help you?"

Cuddy suppressed a laugh. "You really need caller ID."

"I like the old phones. What's up? Why didn't you just walk down here?"

"I'm at House's. He's detoxing and I'm helping him, so he won't be in for the next week or so."

"Huh? Why's he detoxing? Because of the hallucinations?"

"You knew?"

"Yeah. I've known for a few weeks. Does he need anything? Should I take shifts with you?" Wilson asked. Cuddy took a breath.

"No. He doesn't want you here. I don't think he can handle having you here."

"What? Why?" Wilson asked, hurt in his voice.

"I don't know. Something about not wanting pity. I'll keep you updated, OK?"

Wilson sighed. "Okay. Is he on anything? Methadone?"

"No...should he be?"

"Probably. I'll run some over-don't worry, you can get it outside. I won't come in."

"Okay. He hasn't started showing symptoms yet or anything. He does look a little pale though, and he won't talk to me."

"That's enough!" House yelled from the couch.

"Just go with the flow. Follow his lead," Wilson advised.

"Okay. I'm hanging up now."

"Bye Lisa." Wilson said, then hung up.

LINE BREAK

Wilson came a few hours later with the Methadone.

"Did you collect all the pill bottles?" he asked. Cuddy nodded.

"How many?"

"About six."

Wilson shook his head at that. "There's at least ten. Look harder."