Chapter 6

She knocked on his door, no answer. She knocked a little louder, knowing he was home, his car was parked out front. Again, no answer. This time she rang the door bell and called his name, "James? James, I know you're in there."

Amber became frustrated, thinking he was simply ignoring her. He certainly hadn't seemed himself since House died, but she was concerned he was drinking too much. She pounded on the door one last time, continuing to call out his name. Her frustration turned to fear. She hadn't known James for very long; he wouldn't try something stupid, would he? She turned the door knob, surprised to find it unlocked and barged into the apartment. A quick glance showed no signs of Wilson. She saw the bottles of alcohol on the coffee table and the bag of pills and shook her head, then walked around the couch to get a better look. It was then that she saw him, sprawled out on the floor. She grabbed his cell phone off of the coffee table and dialed 911.

"Dammit James, this is what I knew would happen. House was a bad influence on you, it wasn't enough that he had a death wish but now you too?" She waited for someone to answer her call, "Hello, yes I have an emergency. I need an ambulance asap for a drug overdose."

Amber then proceeded to provide the necessary information to the operator. She placed her ear to his chest and felt his pulse.

"Excuse me miss, if you could step aside please." A paramedic said moments later.

"His breathing rate is decreased, he's unconscious."

"Are you a doctor or something?" One of the paramedics asked sarcastically.

"Yes, and this is Dr. James Wilson."

"The oncologist?"

"Yes."

The sarcastic paramedic wiped the smirk off his face and set to work, "Do you know what he took?"

"My guess is these," she said as she handed him the bottles of vicodin and his antidepressant, "And a considerable amount of bourbon."

"How long has it been?"

"I don't know, I got here about seven minutes ago and found him like this."

"Didn't Princeton Plainsborrow just lose Dr. House?"

Amber pursed her lips, "Yes. James here was his best friend."

The sarcastic paramedic looked up at her and sighed, "Ok, let's move."

Amber followed the ambulance in her car, while trying to reach Cuddy with her cell phone. She called the hospital's main number and asked for her direct line. The phone rang repeatedly with no answer. Amber hung up and redialed the hospital, this time asking to speak with Dr. Foreman. He answered her call immediately.

"Foreman here."

"Dr. Foreman, this is Amber. James Wilson is on his way to Princeton Plainsborrow in an ambulance. I found him in House's apartment unconscious. An apparent drug overdose, maybe alcohol poisoning. We should be there in about two minutes. I can't reach Dr. Cuddy."

Foreman closed his eyes in disbelief, "OK, we'll meet you in the ER."

Foreman hung up and paged Cameron, "Cameron, Wilson's on his way in, in the ambulance with the ETA of one minute. He O.D.'d, I'll get Cuddy and meet you down there."

Cuddy was fast asleep in her office, in the midst of a nightmare. She kept replaying his death over and over and for some odd reason the phone in Wilson's office kept ringing and Foreman was saying her name over and over.

"Cuddy!"

Suddenly, she gasped, opened her eyes and found Foreman looming over her. "I'm sorry, I must have fallen asleep. Why didn't you call?"

"We've tried calling but you didn't answer. It's Wilson, he overdosed and is in the ER. Cameron is working on him now. They brought him in unconscious with a slow breathing rate. They've pumped his stomach."

"Oh god, not again." Cuddy said as she hurried out of her office. "Do we know what he took?"

"Vicodin, seems he got into House's stash and he's drunk. They're running a tox screen to be certain."

The pair took the stairs to the ER, and as they rounded the corner they nearly knocked Cameron down.

"How is he?"

"He's awake, somewhat combative. Drunk. His breathing is still slowed though it's becoming more regular."

Cuddy pulled the curtain back, "Wilson. Wilson can you hear me?"

"Go aweee." Wilson said as he flung his arm erratically.

"No, I need to know what you took."

Wilson giggled, "Just a wittle apple juice and some pills. It's ok, I wanna sweep. Sweeep. No, slweep"

"You're drunk."

"Ya."

Cuddy frowned and turned towards Cameron, "Put him in a private room and put restraints on him, I don't want him hurting himself. Who found him?"

"Amber, she's in the waiting room." Cameron replied, nodding her head.

"I'll talk to her." Foreman said.

"Well, he's awake thanks to you."

"He left a box of his clothes at my place. If he hadn't, I would never have gone over there."

"He should be fine. We'll monitor him tonight, to make sure he's OK but we don't think he took enough meds to do any permanent damage."

Amber stood, "Thank you Dr. Foreman."

"Wait, where are you going?"

"He's going to be OK, right? I'm relieved but I also can't stay."

Foreman watched as she left, all the while thinking 'you bitch'.

Cuddy stood at Wilson's bedside the following morning. After pumping his stomach and administering charcoal, Wilson's breathing returned to normal and they believed they got most of the pills out of his system before they had a chance to fully absorb. Wilson opened his eyes and glanced up at Cuddy.

"Here." She said as she handed him a small container. He took it, turned his head aside and vomited into it.

"You'll be fine. We need to talk," and with that, she left his room.

"I'm sorry."

"I know."

"Honestly, it was not a suicide attempt. I was drunk and for some reason thought that I had it all figured out, that so many pills would give me so many hours of sleep. It was a horrible, horrible mistake."

"I know."

"Cuddy, look at me."

Cuddy looked up at Wilson as he sat in her office late the same day. She had spent her second sleepless night that week worrying about one of her doctors, one of her friends. It was nearly more than she could take, especially with the added stress of the approaching funeral the following day.

"You could have died."

"I know."

"I can't lose you too Wilson." Cuddy looked up at him with tears in her eyes, "It's just too much. What is this hospital coming to? Not to mention the sponsors calling in wondering if we're an upstanding hospital. It's all over the news, first with House and now with your overdose."

"I'm sorry. I don't know what else to say. I should never have taken the vicodin to begin with."

"No, you shouldn't have."

Wilson stared at Cuddy, not knowing what more he could say to win back her trust. He knew that he would not touch the vicodin again. He also knew that Cuddy had returned to the apartment and confiscated all of the vicodin and the alcohol while he recovered in hospital the evening prior.

"Are you sure you're up to giving the eulogy tomorrow?"

"Nothing can keep me from giving that eulogy."

"Death would have."

"I'm not dead yet." He said sarcastically.

"Don't try to sound like House."

"Sorry, I was trying to be funny."

"It didn't come off that way."

"I said I was sorry. Please don't shout, my head's killing me."

"OK."

"OK."

Wilson and Cuddy sat in silence in her office for a long time. Neither had the energy to go home, nor the desire. It would mean one step closer to tomorrow. Wilson stared out her window, watching the sun set.

"You got lucky. The combination of vicodin and antidepressants can be lethal."

"I know."

"You're lucky Amber found you before too much of it had penetrated your system."

"Amber found me?"

"She's the one who called the paramedics."

"And she left?"

Cuddy looked down at her hands, "Foreman said she left as soon as she heard you would be OK."

Wilson nodded his head, not really surprised. He looked at Cuddy, scratched his head a bit and asked, "Would you mind driving me home?"

"I planned on it." She said as she smiled up at him.

"You're too good to me."

"I know."

Wilson smiled to himself, remembering a similar conversation with House just a few days earlier.

"I hate to ask, but can we stop by the dry cleaners? I have to pick up my suit for tomorrow."

Cuddy sighed, "Yes."