Title: My December

Disclaimer: Angst, language, slash. Character death(?)

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Chapter Ten: Forgotten

Wilson strolled into the hospital with a purpose in his step and determination written clearly on his face. He had left House sleeping soundly in his bed just a few minutes ago. The entire drive back to the hospital he worried and fretted, nearly turning around twice before reaching the hospital parking lot. He didn't like the idea of leaving House alone in his apartment now that he was in enough pain to self-mutilate. Seeing his friend in such pain, the cuts on his arm that he created himself, he wanted nothing more than to run to the pharmacy and get his hands on a bottle of Vicodin. The only problem was, he hadn't been lying. Cuddy was checking every prescription of Vicodin to make sure it went to the patient it was intended for. Wilson was no longer allowed to prescribe it, and neither were the members of House's team. If they had a patient that needed it they had to consult with Cuddy first. Much to the dismay of House, his boss was not going to back down this time.

His anger made him act without thinking as he strolled right into Cuddy's office. He didn't even care that Chase was sitting in one of the chairs and some unknown older person was with him. "I hope you're happy with yourself," Wilson said loudly, his anger pouring forth. "You are just as bad as he is, you can't let things go. Instead you have to let them escalate. You want him to break and he won't because he's too damn sure of himself that you'll be the first to give in. and you know what? At the rate this petty disagreement is going, you're going to get him killed."

Cuddy offered the old man an apologetic and embarrassed smile. "Please forgive Dr Wilson, he's having a bad day." She turned her fiery gaze on the oncologist. "Can this wait? I have company and you rudely barged in."

"Like I give a flying fuck," Wilson continued. He glanced at Chase momentarily and saw the confusion written all over the Aussie's face. The old man was sitting quietly in his chair. "This can't wait until tomorrow. There may not be a tomorrow. Why don't you just go down to his apartment and apologize? Make sure you bring a bottle of Vicodin with you though, otherwise he won't let you in.

"I'm not bringing him Vicodin," she snapped. "We're supposed to be breaking him of the habit, not furthering his dependency on it. He's just trying to play on your sympathies. I don't know how he got you wrapped tightly around his finger but you're doing exactly what he wants you to do."

Wilson opened his jacket and withdrew a clear plastic bag. He threw it on her desk. "Am I? At least someone cares enough to stop by and check on him. He's cutting himself because of the pain. Hell, he could barely stand using his own strength. I had to drag him to the couch after he answered the door. Why can't you just let him have the medication? He functions like a normal human being when he takes it. At this rate you're going to sit by while he kills himself."

Cuddy had taken the plastic bag in her hand. Inside was the towel covered in blood. She looked at it, her eyes taking in all the blood that had been soaked up. She placed it gingerly on her desk. "He won't kill himself. He's too stubborn to give in."

"Are you so sure of that?" Wilson asked her, his hands on his hips. "What's to stop him from slitting his wrist? His mind is fogged by the pain in his leg. All he wants is relief. He might decided that death is the answer. When I went into the kitchen to get him some orange juice I found an empty bottle of Aleve on the floor. Thankfully I was happy to note that most of the pills had been dumped into the sink."

Cuddy stood. "Get out of my office, Wilson. I will not have you coming in here and accusing me of things I have no control over. I am tired of House trying to get his way. His behavior is unacceptable. He acts like he is the runner of this hospital but never takes the time to stop and think of the consequences. Get the hell out of my office or you'll find yourself without a job faster than you can blink."

Wilson glared at her but resigned to leaving the office. Chase was on his heels, coming through the door behind him before it could even close. "Is it true, is he hurting himself? Or is this some ploy to get Cuddy to bend to his will?"

"No, this isn't a ploy," Wilson answered, pinching the bridge of his nose. "He's cutting himself and I don't think he really cares if he dies or not. It's only a matter of time before he breaks something. And after he does that, what then? Will she still refuse to give him any sort of painkiller? We have to find a way to get him some Vicodin or some other strong painkiller."

"We can't, not with Cuddy watching us like a hawk," Chase replied, looking over his shoulder through the glass doors into Cuddy's office. "She knows every prescription that leaves the pharmacy. Every single one," he emphasized.

Wilson sighed in frustration. He didn't know what to do. There had to be a way to help House before he hurt himself more. But without the ability of getting his hands on painkillers there wasn't anything he could do. "He feels forgotten, Chase. He's sitting in that apartment in the dark with only his thoughts for company and the pain in his leg is directing his mind to concentrate on ways to get rid of said pain. Things are going to get worse before they get better. The question is, how bad will they get before one of them gives in?"

"If I know House, he'll go as long as he can without budging. Cuddy will eventually come around. She'll have to," answered Chase. "Surely she can tell that things aren't working smoothly between Foreman, Cameron, and I. At this rate we're going to end up killing someone. We need House's direction. He's like a walking book of medical problems."

"Try paying him a visit," Wilson suggested as an idea began to form in his mind. "Maybe if you guys go to him to help diagnose your patients he'll realize what he's missing. Maybe he'll want to get better, or at least sit down and talk with Cuddy."

Chase shrugged his shoulders. "It's a shot. But do you really think it'll work?"

"There's only one way to find out," Wilson told him with some optimism.