A/N Hey guys. I made a few changes to this chapter. Made it longer and in my opinion, better. And thanks for hanging in there with me. I really appreciate it.

I obviously do not own House, or any characters from the show.

Thanks for reading guys!

I woke early the next morning in an empty apartment that made my miserable life, seem just that much more, miserable. My head pounded unbearably and I stumbled through my place, searching for the one thing that I knew would get rid of my killer hang over, more alcohol.

It was about noon which meant that I would have to be at the hospital in about an hour. There was plenty of time to sit and drown my feelings and thoughts. And the prospect of having to see Cuddy, or Cameron, or worse yet House was all the motivation I needed to drown my problems quickly.

I got out two shot glasses and filled them to the brim with straight vodka. I wasn't messing around today; I wanted to feel numb and quick.

I downed a shot before walking out of the kitchen and back into my messy bedroom. I put on a pair of dark slacks, a dark blue button down shirt, and a black tie. I then walked back into the kitchen and finished off my other shot.

I was ready and raring for the day ahead of me. I felt the alcohol induced confidence course through me, letting me know that I could deal with my sudden, difficult situation.

I stumbled out through my front door, barely remembering to grab my wallet, keys, and lab coat.

Knowing I was too drunk to drive, but not caring, I got behind the wheel of my car and drove to work. I knew I was lucky to make to the hospital alive and without having killed anyone else, but I hardly cared.

When I arrived at work, I found the parking lot full, but my designated parking spot near the door was empty. There were perks to being the best…and sometimes I was the best.

The best…the thought repeated itself in my brain for a reason I couldn't fathom, mostly likely the alcohol, but who really knew.

I remembered House once referring to himself as the best. At the time I had scoffed at his egotistical self-centeredness, but couldn't deny that he was, indeed, one of kind. I remembered thinking that if could just beat his addiction; think clearly, be his own person without the vicodin he could be so much greater.

My eyes wondered to the rearview mirror and I had to give myself a quizzical look. It was almost as if the House I knew ten years ago was staring back at me now…and I hated it…so I stopped looking at myself.

That was one of the many reasons why I hated mirrors, one of the reasons why I had only one mirror in my apartment, because I couldn't stand to have to look at myself. If I didn't stop to have a good hard look at myself, I couldn't tell anything about me had changed, helping believe that I was not in trouble, that I hadn't become anything like the one person that had destroyed me and everything I had ten years ago. That's why the one mirror in my bathroom was all I needed, it was only there to make sure I didn't have toothpaste on my face. I only looked at it once and only in passing. Anything else would have been unbearable.

I suppose that also why I drank. I was so deeply unhappy, so steeped in my own shit, that getting drunk let me believe that I wasn't a fuck up, that I wasn't a hypocrite, that I had clung to my values and character as I had thought I always would. After all, hadn't I left House so that I could remain unchanged, so that I could be myself without worry?

I couldn't quite remember when I had started to drink, or when I had started to transform. It hadn't been right away. I remember being happy at one time. When I first arrived in California I remembered each beautiful, sunny day filled with calm air was always like the vision of freedom to me. I could do what I wanted without the hindrance of a "friend" who only took from me. I could help cure cancer and be happy while doing it and maybe even work on my tan.

And then I had gotten that damn phone call.

"House is sick.

I don't think I ever hated anyone more than I did in that moment of my life. I had thought I had escaped that facet of my life, the one that involved caring about House.

And I knew now, that if I had just done what my first instinct to do was, to do a simple follow up, I could have saved myself a world of hurt and guilt. I wouldn't have had to always wonder, what became of House?

I think it was shortly after that, that I began to drink, not heavily, but enough. And the more time that passed, the more unhappy I became with my life for reasons I could not or maybe was not willing to figure out. I drank more to cover up that fact.

I never considered myself even remotely like House, until now, sitting in my fucking sports car.

I had distorted my past and present so badly that I had no idea how I got here, who I was, or where the hell I was going. I was lost…and the alcohol in my system was not helping my cognitive abilities to comprehend this revelation.

Sighing so deeply that I felt I dispelled some of my internal negative energy, I got out of my car, and stumbled my way to the front doors of the hospital.

I righted myself before walking in, but I don't know how much help it was to my surely already pitiful appearance.

Walking through the lobby as quickly as I could so I couldn't be stopped by anyone, I made it to the elevators in record time.

The freedom of my office seemed so near; I could hardly wait to get there so I could check on my patients and then maybe nap off this haze before the conference started.

I was almost drunkenly giddy when the elevator doors opened, but my giddiness was short lived. When the doors opened they reveal that Chase and Foreman were standing side by side conversing with each other.

I could feel a slight sweat breakout over the sight of them, but the only reaction I received was for them to look at me once, step to the side of the elevator to make room for me, and then continue their previous conversation.

I hesitantly got onto what very suddenly seemed like a metal interrogation box, but Chase and Foreman continued on with their conversation with each other as if I was just some other doctor that they had never met.

Indeed upon closer listening, they appeared to be discussing nothing of serious consequence, just baseball statistics and the chances of the Cubs beating the Dodgers in the playoffs.

As the ride neared an end, I began to relax; they were not going to yell at me, tell me how badly I had fucked up.

But as the doors opened and they started to leave, Foreman stopped and looked at me before saying, "You reek of vodka Wilson."

Chase finished by saying, "You should think about cleaning yourself up before the conference…just a thought."

And then they turned and they were gone and I was left stunned at their sudden blunt comments.

And so as the elevator dumped me off on my floor, instead of going to my office to nap off this haze or checking on my patients, I decided to go to the locker room and shower off, maybe sober up a bit.

Incredibly once I was cleaned up and had a new outfit on (a spare from my locker), I felt better. So much better in fact, that the prospect of interacting with patients wasn't a revolting idea. So that's what I did, I went and checked up on my patients.

After my particularly pleasant rounds were done, I found that I was hungry, starving actually; considering that I had skipped eating breakfast in favor of doing shots of vodka.

So I made my way down to the cafeteria, which was packed with visiting doctors in for the conference and waiting for it to begin.

Not heeding the fact that there appeared to be no seats, I went ahead and bought my meal.

Walking out of the checkout line and having a chance to survey the cafeteria I saw, much to my dismay, that Foreman and Chase were eating lunch near the checkout line, and that they were looking right at me.

Foreman raised his hand to gesture me over and against my better judgment I went. I must truly have been a masochist.

"Have a seat Dr. Wilson." Chase said in, what I perceived to be, a neutral tone, but I couldn't be sure.

Foreman shoved a chair out in front of me and gestured to it again. "Yes please, have a seat."

And with no other option but to take the seat, I sat, with dread filling a sudden pit in my stomach, despite the fact that both Chase and Foreman looked nothing but pleased to see me.

Once I had settled Chase began to talk, "I'm glad to see you sobered up. It's much easier and more pleasant to deal with people when you don't smell strongly of alcohol."

Foreman nodded his head in agreement. "How have you been Wilson? We heard that Cuddy and Cameron paid you a visit yesterday."

I felt my stomach drop. I didn't know how much more berating I could take. I understood that I had fucked up beyond forgiveness; it had been made abundantly clear to me. If I had known this was the type of conversation that awaited me, I wouldn't have bothered sobering up; in fact I probably would have stopped by my office for another round before lunch.

Clearly reading my apprehension, Foreman chuckled lightly. "Don't worry. We're not here to chew your ass out or make you feel like a sorry bastard."

I sighed despite myself.

"Yeah, we just want to talk. Maybe reach an understanding." Chase added in a neutral tone.

I nodded my head. I could do that. I could work towards an understanding, because truth be told, I was still so confused.

"We understand that Cuddy told you how House came to be sick and that Cameron told you about the issues we faced while he was ill." Chase said, smirking slightly at the end.

"Just wondering, how bad did Cameron make you feel?" Foreman asked lightly.

I was about to raise an indignant objection to the question when Foreman laughed. "I wouldn't take everything she said to you personally. We've all been a little stressed as of late. Although, that's not to say some blame shouldn't be placed on your shoulders, but House shoulders an equal amount of blame too."

I was shocked. Blame House?

They continued as if they hadn't just admitted to House's guilt.

"I'm sure it's been alluded to you that House is a changed man. That he's different because of the cancer and all that good stuff, but its more." Chase began.

"You're leaving changed him just as much as the cancer did. And it changed him in a good way, although Cuddy and Cameron would be hard pressed to admit it." Foreman continued.

Now I was getting mad. First I'm made to feel like the world's largest jackass and now I'm supposed to feel better because Chase and Foreman said I should?

"Wait! Why are you telling me this? What purpose do you have to serve here? What are you trying to gain?" I asked indignantly.

"Why have nothing to gain by telling you this per say." Chase said in what, I suppose, was meant to be a calming voice. "In fact Foreman and I, after having many conversations with Cuddy and Cameron, have decided for the sake of a friendship that once existed, to try and help you instead of tearing you down." To what friendship Chase was talking about, he left for me to decide.

"Why? Why help me?" I asked growing more confused.

"Because, it has been our shared experience that in order to help House, we need to help you as well." Foreman explained as if it was the most logical thing in the world.

"Help House? How would helping me help House? What is it you want from me? An apology? Fine. I'm sorry."

"No. It's not an apology we're after, nor is it what House needs." Chase explained.

"Then what?" I almost barked.

Foreman signed heavily then said, "I think an understanding is in order. House is…well that's something he and you need to discuss, and you are going to kill yourself if you don't get off the path you're on. So, when House finally seeks you out, and he will, all we ask is that you sit and hear him out. Open your ears to possibility and accept the present truth for what it is…the truth."

"And we ask that you be sober for the conversation. We understand that that might be a tall order to fill, but it will be necessary." Chase said as he stood from his seat.

"But I don't understand. How will this help me? And how do you know that House is going to seek me out. That doesn't sound like something he'd do." I had my doubts and feared that I was being set up for something awful.

"Hopefully it will give you the information you need to get your head out of your ass and move on with your life." Chase answered has he pulled his lab coat off of the back of his chair and put it on himself.

"And as for how we know that House is going to find you and demand a conversation…well" Foreman also stood and put his lab coat on. "His therapist requested that he do so, and House agreed."

They both wished me a good day and then departed from the cafeteria.

And then, their words permeated my brain, House was seeing a therapist and listening to them? What the hell?