Their son is deathly ill, I know it's terrible, but the fact is if I don't keep busy with trivial things like this I'm afraid I might start to cry.

In the weeks following his infarction House pushed Stacy away and made himself as miserable as possible, only allowing Wilson to come anywhere near him emotionally. As the years passed House continued to keep people away and concentrate on his work, solving as many zebra illnesses as he could.

He hired prostitutes to keep him distracted, though sometimes he didn't need anyone else to distract himself. He did all he could to keep his mind occupied not allowing his thoughts to drift.

When he allowed Stacy back into his life and then pushed her out for a second time House found it harder and harder to stop painful thoughts entering his mind and the increased agony caused by his leg didn't help.

Wilson noticed this and tried talking to House several times, but he was simply knocked back, whacked in the leg and shut out. So in the end the Oncologist decided to confront his friend at his flat, where no one else would have to witness it if House opened up.

He knocked and waited patiently hoping that House would actually let him in. Wilson knew that House must have looked through the spy hole because when he opened the door his eyes were red, his face streaked and it was quite obvious that he had been and still was crying.

Wilson stepped in and shut the door after himself, watching House limp back to the sofa and sit down gingerly, sniffing and hissing in pain as he did so.

Wilson didn't say anything at first, he just took off his coat and hat and sat down next to House gazing vaguely at the T.V. screen but not really watching it.

"Wanna talk about it?" He asked finally.

House didn't answer at first, but Wilson knew he'd heard. The way his hand was squeezing his thigh so hard told him that House was probably in too much pair to answer straight away.

"I've got no kids, my marriage collapsed and I'm going to be in pain for the rest of my life," House said slowly in a voice barely more than a whisper. The last time Wilson heard him talk like that was just before he was put into a chemically induced coma. "I've only got two things that work for me. My job and this stupid screwed up friendship and at the rate I'm going, I'm gonna lose both of them too."

Wilson smiled as House mimicked the words he'd used only last year after House had got his best friend sacked from the board because he wouldn't give a speech.

"Well you're not going to lose me," Wilson promised quietly. "And I'm sure you won't lose your job. You've lasted twelve years."

House glanced at Wilson.

"It doesn't bother you that our friendship is so screwed up?" He asked.

"Our friendship is an ethical responsibility," Wilson joked. "You can't just abandon responsibility, and I don't want to."

"You realize I'm probably going to drive you insane one day," House pointed out unable to smile yet due to the pain.

"Wouldn't have it any other way," Wilson replied.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, before Wilson finally spoke again.

"You got your old kit out again didn't you?" He said, glancing at House.

"Yeah," he nodded, pulling at sleeves subconsciously.

"Did it help?"

"Not as much as you did," House said, finally managing a small smile. He picked up the T.V. remote and flicked through the listings. "I'll let you pick what we watch if you make dinner."

Wilson smiled slightly. House never admitted he needed help, he always made it seem like he was manipulating you to do his biding. But Wilson knew that wasn't true in this case. It wasn't the fact that he was allowed to see how much pain House was suffering, it wasn't the fact that he needed Wilson so much that he'd asked him to make dinner and would probably end up staying the night, it was the fact that on his way to the kitchen, House grabbed Wilson's wrist and stopped him.

"Thank you," he whispered.