Easy to fall

Wilson looked at his phone again to make sure he hadn't missed any calls, and for the fifth time in the past couple of hours he speed dialed House, both on his cell and in his office. Both lines rang briefly before going to his voice mail. He took the last bite of his burger, gulped down the last of his beer and signaled for the check. Sure House was a grown man, but …

A few minutes later he was in his car heading towards his apartment. House was probably there, he assured himself, drunk, or pissed off, grumbling about something or other; or pretending nothing had happened, that he simply didn't feel like showing up and didn't feel like calling.

He knew without opening the door that the apartment would be empty. There had been no motorcycle out front. There was no sound coming from inside, no light coming from underneath the door. He inhaled sharply and pushed the door open.

I'm being an idiot, he thought. House was House, maybe he went to a different bar, maybe he met a girl, or more likely got a hooker. There were a million maybes, but this Cuddy thing had put him in a serious funk. He went about his routine and got ready for bed. With the lights off he lay in his bed, for a moment before turning the lights back on and grabbing his phone. If House was with a woman, he would probably have taken her back to his own place. Quickly he dialed the number for House's apartment; the phone went straight to voicemail.

"Damn it!!" he exclaimed, "Where the hell are you?"

He sat on the edge of the bed for a moment before shaking his head angrily from side to side and getting up to gather his clothes again. He would do a drive-by, a harmless drive-by. It was pointless, after all for him to spend his night worrying.

He knew something was wrong the minute he opened the door. The lights were on, the apartment was silent. He spotted a liquor bottle on top of the piano; it was empty, besides it lay a pill bottle.

"House!" he called out, as he stepped inside. "Greg? Greg?"

He was running towards the hallway, towards the bedroom, when he spotted him, lying on the floor between the piano and the kitchen. He was on his side, his face in a puddle of vomit.

"Shit!" he exclaimed, dropping to his knees besides his friend, "House? Greg !" He called out rolling him to his back. "Greg".

His skin was grey, clammy, he was barely breathing,; he grabbed his wrist and felt a faint pulse . Quickly his fingers pressed to the side of his friend's neck, he could feel a slow weak pulse beneath his fingertips. "Dam it!" he exclaimed reaching inside his coat and fumbling for his cell phone. "Dam it House!"

"This is Dr Wilson," he said quickly into the phone, "I'm going to need an ambulance…"

It was close to dawn by the time House was moved out of the ER and into a room. Wilson had called Cameron from House's apartment and pleaded for her to come in and use her pull in the ER to move his case along. His tox screen showed elevated levels of vicodin, along with alcohol, Prozac, and ativan. It had taken all of Wilson and Cameron's efforts to keep the ER intern who had taken the case from pumping House's stomach. Finally he had reluctantly agreed to push IV fluids and monitor House hourly.

The two of them sat in the hallway outside House's room, and slowly sipped their lukewarm coffee.

"What happened?" Cameron asked. "I thought he was…."

"He was, " Wilson interrupted, "I think he just…..I don't know. I was waiting for him at the bar and….he didn't show so…."

"So?" she asked quietly

"So, I should have gone by his place sooner, he could have killed himself." He mumbled.

Cameron looked down and fingered the edge of the paper cup. "You don't think that maybe, that's what he…"

"No!" he shook his head, "No, not House, he's too….I don't know, too arrogant."

She shrugged, "He just hasn't seemed like himself."

"Well," Wilson looked at her and smiled, "He isn't. He's clean for one, well he was…and, he's trying, he's really trying."

"I didn't even know he was on meds." She whispered, taking another sip from her cup.

"He's on meds, he's seeing someone," Wilson shrugged lightly; "he's making an effort."

"Have you called Cuddy yet?" she asked looking up from her cup.

Wilson laughed. "Cuddy? No!" He ran a hand over his face. "She's half the problem."

"He didn't take it too well; I imagine," she sighed, "this whole Lucas thing."

"No," Wilson said easing himself up, "no he did not." He turned to face her and offered her a hand up.

"I don't exactly blame him." She shrugged, pulling herself up, "I always thought he and Cuddy would end up together."

Wilson raised an eyebrow, "did you?"

"Of course I did!" she laughed smoothing out her lab coat, "everybody did. I guess she just got tired of waiting….I know I did." She added quietly.

"I was never really sure what went on with you two." he said turning to look through the glass at House, lying on the hospital bed.

"Nothing, "she answered going to stand beside him. "Nothing went on, I was in love with him….I think, but House didn't want anything to do with it…with me." She paused a minute then turned to look at Wilson, "He doesn't want to be loved." She added.

"Well," Wilson added, inhaling deeply, "I think he does now, but unfortunately, he's a little too late."

*****more to come- please review !!!!!!***************