Chapter 9:

Chase had just enough time to catch House before his head hit the floor. He gently lowered his boss onto the floor with a questioning look at Cuddy, "What the hell?"

"I don't know but we shouldn't leave him on the floor. Do you know what room Wilson will be in?" She answered, kneeling down to check on her friend.

"Yes and I'm NOT putting them in the same room." Chase answered emphatically.

"Do you really think you're going to keep him away from Wilson?" She challenged.

"If I have to post security outside his door 24/7, yes." He answered, folding his arms across his chest. "I am not letting him near Wilson until I've had a chance to speak with him."

"Is it that bad?" She asked standing up, satisfied that House seemed to have merely passed out.

"Is the engraving not enough?" He challenged more than a little annoyed that she seemed to be defending House.

"No." She answered albeit hesitantly.

"Pardon?" He asked.

"We don't know what happened and we're assuming that keeping House away from Wilson is for Wilson's own good but what if it isn't? What if Wilson WANTS House with him?" She replied.

Chase stood staring at his boss' boss, floored. He hadn't thought of that and while his first instinct was to keep House away from Wilson no matter what, he realized that if Wilson wanted House around Chase couldn't stop him. "Then I will comply with my patient's wishes but right now, my patient is not awake and able to make decisions for himself."

"Fine," Cuddy answered motioning for an orderly to bring over a gurney, "help me get him onto the gurney and to his office." She commanded.

Chase complied trying hard not to recoil in disgust. He didn't know what was going on here but he was certain that he couldn't ever look at House the same way again.


Wilson awoke groggy, confused and in pain. He heard a monitor pick up speed and muffled voices of people close by.

"Wilson?" A familiar Australian voice called through the din. Wilson turned his head towards the voice, a groan escaping his lips. "Wilson can you open your eyes for me?"

Wilson's eyelids fluttered open, squinting at the sudden assault of blinding light on his retinas. "Chase?" He croaked.

"Yeah, how are you feeling?" The blond Intensivist asked.

"Umph." Wilson answered, "What happened?" He asked, "Where's House?"

"We were hoping you could tell us." Chase prompted, shining his penlight into Wilson's eyes and earning a groan in protest.

Wilson felt his heart race fearfully, "You mean you don't know where House is? Isn't he here?"

"Wilson calm down, House is in his office." The tone in Chase's voice made Wilson doubt that House was there of his own free will.

"Is he okay?" Wilson's croaking voice asked. He eyed the water pitcher longingly.

"He's fine." Chase placated handing him a cup of room temperature water. "Can you tell us what happened?"

"Uh," Wilson answered, mentally shaking his head to clear the fog, "Scotch bottle broke. I must have fell."

Chase studied Wilson a moment; he knew the oncologist was lying but he didn't want to upset his patient right now by pointing it out. He threw a look at Cuddy, who nodded solemnly. They were afraid of this. They had decided that if Wilson wasn't willing to tell them the truth, they'd call the police; they really didn't want to but thought it was in their friend's best interest.

"What?" Wilson asked awake enough to catch the silent agreement between the two. His left hand drifted down to the bed controls and raised the head of his bed so he could see both of them better. Pain shot through his hip, back and thigh causing him to gasp and stop his ministrations.

"Wilson, try to lie still." Chase scolded though it sounded more like a friendly suggestion. "I'm not sure that hip will be ready for too much movement today."

"But it will tomorrow?" Wilson countered.

Chase smirked, "No, probably not but that doesn't mean that we won't be getting you out of bed anyways. You had surgery to stabilize your hip." He explained succinctly knowing that since Wilson was an MD as well, he'd know what that meant.

"Wilson," Cuddy interjected softly but administratively, "when you're up to it, we think you should talk to the police."

"No." Wilson replied firmly. If he could have he would have folded his arms across his chest or placed his hands on his hips. Since he was sitting down the hips were out of the picture and the sling cradling his right arm prevented him from crossing them so he settled for a determined glare. "There's nothing to tell."

"Like hell there isn't!" Chase argued a bit more loudly than he meant to.

Chase's voice reverberated through Wilson's skull, hiking the dull throbbing in his head to a sharp stabbing. He winced in pain and raised his free hand to his head, wrapping it around his eyes and gently rubbing his temples.

"Sorry," Chase apologized, guilt gripping his heart at causing his patient more pain (the man was in enough!). "Look, Wilson I know you want to protect House but you can't. Not this time." He added in a quieter tone.

Wilson lowered his hand, his normally soft brown eyes hard, cold and filled with pain, "IF there is something going on between House and I, WE will deal with internally." He dismissed professionally, his tone suggesting 'Stay out of it!'

Chase squared his jaw, ready to argue but Cuddy interjected, "I'm afraid that may not be a possibility." She said, bringing both men's attention to her. "You know that we, as a hospital, have the ethical responsibility to report suspected abuse and quite frankly the damage done speaks for itself."

Knowing he was cornered, Wilson turned from authoritative to pleading, "Cuddy, please, it wasn't his fault."

Chase made a disgusted noise and walked out, afraid that if he didn't he'd end up hitting the man in the bed if only to knock some sense into him.

"Look, I know that's cliché," Wilson continued after he gave Chase's departure a confused look, "but it isn't that bad normally."

"Wilson," Cuddy began pulling up a chair next to his bed, "he needs help. You and I both know that his drinking is a problem and this isn't the first time he's beaten you."

"That was from the pain!" Wilson objected.

"That's not what I'm referring to." She answered softly. "I've seen every time you've come in to work, bruised worse than your work clothes would show and the way House reeks of alcohol EVERY time. I know that he usually mixes his Vicodin and booze and most of the time it's not a problem, but lately it's become one hasn't it?"

Wilson stared at her, shocked that she knew. "He's fine." He defended weakly.

"You and I both know that's a lie." She countered. "Wilson, please tell me, what started it this time?"

Wilson shut his eyes against the pleading and concerned tone Cuddy instilled in her voice, hoping that the barrier between his retinas and her concern, tear-filled eyes would shield him against its' effect on him. Realizing the futility of the action, he opened his eyes and stared pleadingly into hers, "I took away the alcohol."

"You-"

"I took away his cup first, then the Scotch bottle." He clarified resignedly.

"He did this," she swept a hand over his bruised, battered and broken body, "because you tried to stop him from drinking more?" She asked astonished that House's alcohol abuse had risen to such a high and dangerous level.

Wilson could no longer meet her shocked stare and turned his attention onto his hospital-supplied blanket, the fingers of his left hand fiddling with it distractingly. When she said it like that, Wilson did find House's reaction to be a bit overdone but he had known that House had had enough alcohol to completely black out and not know what he was doing.

However, that didn't negate the fact that his alcoholism (because, yes that's what it was) was out of control. House really did need help but Wilson honestly wasn't sure the diagnostician would admit it or try to get it. He didn't want to have to get the police involved but he knew that if House refused to go to rehab, he'd have no choice. Fear gripped his heart, squeezing painfully, at the thought of House no longer being in his life because he's stuck in prison – a place that isn't good for cripple people to be. GOD he did not want to do that.

"I want to see House." He stated firmly, sounding more like a child wanting to see their parent then a man wanting to see his lover.

Cuddy bit her lip, trying to decide what to tell her friend. "I'll get him." She settled on, resigning herself on having to browbeat the scruffy doctor into visiting.

"Thanks, and Cuddy," Wilson said, stopping her just short of the door, "nothing I said gets repeated beyond those doors."

She nodded sadly then exited, making her way to Diagnostics.


House sat miserably in the yellow recliner in his office. His head and stomach had decided to join forces with his thigh and slowly torture him with pain. He'd already vomited all the alcohol left in his system, so he was trying to rehydrate and relax.

He wanted nothing more than to storm into Wilson's room and cuddle the man close, whispering every single apology he could think of and every promise he could make but reality broke in reminding him that his friend and lover may not WANT him in the room. His heart sank at the thought but he couldn't deny the possibility of it happening and he wasn't about to ignore Wilson's wishes right now or anytime soon.

The images of Wilson laying on the floor and the sounds the glass cutting into his friend's flesh made still rang through his head, blinding him and driving him made with their insistence. House knew he wasn't likely to forget to the horror he put his friend through or the pain it had caused him to know that Wilson may not want House in his life any longer.

While it was Wilson's right and made total sense, House didn't know how he'd react to that news. He knew that he would NEVER raise a hand to his friend but he didn't know if he'd just drink himself into a stupor and "accidentally" take too many pills or struggle through his day-to-day. He wanted to believe he was stronger than allowing himself succumb to depression just because "his boyfriend left him" but House knew that Wilson was not just his boyfriend.

Wilson was his world; his happiness, his painkiller, his friend, his lover, his partner. Wilson was what made getting out of bed in the morning bearable and he had mutilated, tortured and destroyed that man last night.

His door swished open, revealing an unhappy Cuddy looking down upon him. House felt his heart drop into his stomach but kept his stone-faced façade.

"He wants to see you." She said flatly. He could tell that she was NOT happy about it but she wasn't about to deny Wilson, her Wonder Boy Head of Oncology anything right now.

House felt hope fill his chest, squeezing his lungs and cutting of his air. Not trusting himself to speak at the moment he settled for a curt nod and stiffly got up off the chair, wincing when he twisted slightly.

While holding Wilson this morning, the oncologist had managed to get in a few good jabs; two of which landed hard in his side, bruising his ribs. House wasn't about to mention it to anyone though knowing he'd done FAR worse to his friend. He knew he deserved the pain and relished in it when it flared.

They walked silently to the elevators, Cuddy focusing on not physically throwing her Head of Diagnostics against a wall and punching him in his thigh. There were several things she could and did put up with from House but beating his best friend, partner, lover and HER friend was NOT one of them.

When the doors whirred closed and the elevator began moving she turned to the older man, "Wilson told me why it happened though not what." She said, catching his look of shock before it quickly disappeared. "Care to fill in the details?"

"Nope." He answered simply, staring at his reflection in the shining elevator doors.

"Well, I think you're going to have to before Chase lets you into Wilson's room." She warned remembering Chase's reaction to the entire thing and being told that Wilson wanted to see House.

"I'll deal with the wombat." House answered as the doors dinged then whirred open, allowing him to walk off and head straight for Wilson's room where Chase and two security guards were waiting. "Move." House commanded.

"You're not getting in there until I know what is going on." Chase replied condescendingly.

"Isn't that funny because, I'm not going to tell you." House quipped.

"Then, I'm sorry but I can't let you in there." The younger doctor retorted easily.

House stepped up to his insubordinate allowing his full height to take affect, frowning slightly when Chase didn't back down like he normally did. "Since when did you become a knight and shining armor for abused oncologists?"

"Since that oncologist is currently my patient and my friend." Chase replied steely.

"Really? I don't remember you two hanging out after work, grabbing a beer and chitting the chat."

Wilson's heart monitor picked up speed, something that both doctors noticed with concern. Chase turned on his heel and walked into the room. House went to follow but was stopped by both guards.

"Chase," Wilson said the minute the Intensivist walked in, "what's going on? Why won't you let him in here?"

"Wilson,-"

"Chase," the man in the bed said, cutting of Chase's answer, "I appreciate what you're trying to do, really I do. But it's nothing for you to concern yourself with, I'm fine."

"No, you are most definitely NOT fine." Chase argued. "I've compared your X-rays and MRIs from before you got together with House and after. I know he's been abusing you just as much, if not more, than Julie ever did."

"I know that you care, I'm glad you care, but please let House and I deal with this. Cuddy knows what's going on and she's agreed to let me handle things." Wilson told him.

Chase stared blankly at his patient. Wilson's hidden meaning of If your boss's boss is fine with this, then you should be too didn't go unnoticed but he still couldn't find it in himself to let go. He opened his mouth to argue but Wilson gently grabbed his hand, earning a growl from House outside the room.

"Please, trust me." Wilson implored, invoking his puppy-dog oncologist eyes.

"Fine," Chase conceded, "but let me know if you need ANYTHING."

He walked out of the room, throwing House a furious glare. "Go on in."

"Don't feel bad little wombat, those puppy-dog eyes work on everybody." House consoled rather cheerfully before he strode into the room.

Chase stood outside the doors, hanging back at the nurse's station that conveniently resided JUST outside Wilson's room, watching House and Wilson like a hawk. He noted with relief how House's posture changed from a strut to uncertainty before he turned his attention to his other patients' files.

House walked into Wilson's room, strutting at first to exude confidence that he didn't actually feel. When he saw his friend lying in the hospital bed bandaged, bruised and obviously in pain, he felt his mirage fade off him, revealing the cactus of awkwardness and insecurity ready to prick anyone who got close. "'Bout time you got him to let me in." He quipped hoping to hide his true feelings.

Wilson gave a tired smile, seeing right through House's rouse with the practiced ease of fifteen plus years of friendship, "Can you really blame him?" He asked lightly.

"No." House answered seriously, looking down at the floor. He couldn't keep his eyes on his suffering friend for long periods at time; it was torture seeing him like this and knowing that HE had caused it. He forced himself to look up, making sure NOT to look away; if there was anyone who deserved to be tortured right now, it was him.

Wilson held out a hand, waving at him, "Come here," he beckoned softly.

House wanted to object, though his heart yearned for him to be connected with his friend again, but his legs obeyed willingly. He pulled up a hard, uncomfortable hospital chair and stiffly sat down wincing slightly when it pulled on his side.

"What's wrong?" Wilson asked noticing the wince.

"Nothing, I'm fine." House lied.

"Yeah, and I suppose that bruise on your face just happened to appear magically." Wilson scoffed, his hand reaching out to inspect House's face.

House caught the hand before it reached his cheek and held it softly in his, inwardly wincing when he felt Wilson automatically try to pull away before he settled. "I'm fine." He reiterated.

"Did Chase punch you?" Wilson asked growing angry at the idea.

"No. Will you focus on yourself for once in your life?" House quipped annoyed.

"Ok," Wilson answered knowing he wasn't going to get an answer out of his friend, "then we need to talk."

House gasped at his words, unable to stop himself since it felt like his heart had stopped beating and his lungs had refused to work. "Ok." He answered forcing a calm he did not feel.

Wilson chewed thoughtfully on his lip, "I love you." He said taking the older man by surprise. He'd never said those words to House before but he really needed his friend to hear them now. "I truly do love you, but I can't do this anymore." He admitted with defeat. "I can't keep coming home, fearful of what will greet me."

House nodded his understanding, face stoney and expressionless. "Ok," he said, his voice cracking with emotion he wouldn't express, "I'll move my things into the living room until you can find a new place."

"What?" Wilson asked confused, "Why? House, I'm not leaving you."

"You just said-"

"I wasn't referring to you and me, you idiot." Wilson retorted. "I was referring to your drinking." House stared at him dumbfounded so he continued. "I know that none of this," he waved his good arm magnanimously around the hospital room and his battered body, "wouldn't be happening if you weren't poising yourself nightly, replacing your addiction to Vicodin with one equally just as dangerous."

"You're being a little overdramatic, aren't you?" House scoffed, "I'm not poisoning myself."

"Overdramatic?" Wilson challenged, trying to sit up and grimacing when pain speared throughout his body. "How overdramatic am I being when I say that I come home EVERY night to find you already on your third very full drink? Or that you're going through a bottle of Scotch in three days? Or," he hesitated slightly before bringing this up but he knew it would help make his point, "that the times I'm coming to work in so much pain that I can barely move has gone from maybe once a month to almost twice a week?"

House felt like he had been sucker-punched, and in truth he had but he knew it was true. His eyes snapped up to meet Wilson's pleading, pain filled and desperate brown ones burrowing into him. He could see that his friend was the end of his rope and he needed something to change but House couldn't understand why it had to be this.

So he had an occasional drink sometimes, it didn't mean he was the alcoholic that Wilson was making him out to be. Or did it?

He sat, slouching in the chair, thinking over the passed four months. He could remember with perfect clarity how many times he'd gotten so drunk he couldn't remember what had happened the night before. He could remember how many times he found Wilson sleeping on the couch bruised or walking around the kitchen favoring his side or arm or both. He could remember coming to work more times than not drunk or hung over. Most importantly he could remember the irrational rage he felt at Wilson for not allowing him to have another drink last night and how good it had felt to take that rage out on his friend.

The last memory churned his stomach and brought bile into this throat. For the third time today, he thought he would be sick and not from the hang over he was still nursing. House realized he was sick, in more ways than one, and had an addiction but unlike his Vicodin addiction which allowed him to operate and do his job competently, this addiction served no purpose and was harder to admit.

He looked into the brown orbs that were still focused on him, studying him, and searched them for an answer to his problem. Some sort of solution that he could come up with that wouldn't involve admitting he was weak and needed help. He found none.

What he did find was strength behind the chocolate pools, hidden underneath the pain and disparity. "You're right," House admitted wincing at the pain from bruising his ego, "I-," he hesitated, chewing on his lip, "I need help."


There you go folks, another chapter! I hope that you're still liking the story. I believe we'll be wrapping this up here pretty soon but don't worry, there's another part coming. :winks: Click that little review button and let us know what you think!

Thanks to All things for the constant support, ideas and beta-ing!