A/N: Hope everyone's still hanging in there. As always thanks to Ezraschild and Jazelle for being my personal cheerleaders and to Corrine for being as obsessed as me and being my beta.

Addicts Never Lie

Chapter 36: Negotiations

Cuddy walked back into the apartment and shut the door. House was sitting on the couch, staring intently the television, even though he had turned the sound off. She walked over and stood in front of him, blocking his view.

"Stop staring and do something," she snapped.

"You know, normally I would be totally into you ordering me around and dominating me in my living room, but tonight's not your lucky night," he said sarcastically, leering at her chest.

Cuddy put her hands on her hips, giving him her most serious look. "I can't believe that you aren't even concerned about him," she hissed as she sat down next to him, motioning to the empty beer bottles.

"He's a big boy, he can take care of himself," he nonchalantly replied. He was trying to ignore her, block everything out, but all he could think about was how much pain he was starting to feel. His body was aching, a definite sign that withdrawal was starting to kick in.

"He's your friend!" Cuddy said, jabbing at him with her finger. "Even in that drugged-out haze of yours you have to be able to see that something's really wrong."

House shrugged. "Maybe, but I don't know what you expect me to do about it," he replied.

"Well, you could start by being a supportive, concerned friend," she said, rolling her eyes again when he looked at her blankly. "Ask him how he's doing…ask him if he wants to talk," she suggested.

"While I'm at it, I'll also invite him over for a slumber party. Wilson can show me how to paint our nails, do my hair, and then we'll gossip about the hot Dean's cleavage," he retorted.

Cuddy was losing her patience. She needed him to see that things were a lot worse than he realized.

"Whether you want to accept it or not, he cares about you," she said. "He's had a lot to deal with lately, and I don't think that on top of everything else, that he needs to feel responsible for you, for not being able to help you."

"I don't need his help!" he yelled. He stood up and started pacing. Sitting on the couch, not moving, was only magnifying his aching pains.

"He's your best friend; he feels like this is his fault," she yelled back. "You know how he is."

"Oh great, blame me for his problems. You do know that he was screwed up before we became friends?!" House growled as he felt the leg worsening, and then walked away from her, aggravated when she got up and followed him into the kitchen.

"I can't believe that you would talk about him like that," she hissed.

"No, what you can't believe is the fact that if you look hard enough, what I say is actually true," he snapped back. "To everyone who just glances at him, he's Mr. Nice Guy, Mr. Wonderful. What they don't want to face, what you don't want to face, is that he's just as messed up as I am. He just hides it because he cares too much about what others think of him."

"Well, lately, he's been trying to hide a lot more than you think," she said, hinting to House about Wilson's behavior. She didn't know if he knew anything about his erratic, out-of-character behavior, or the visits to the psychiatrist.

House snapped his fingers. "I knew that he was really a woman! There's no way that any normal man is that hygienic, the manicures…and the amount of time he spends blow drying his hair…," House said trailing off.

Cuddy was quickly losing patience. "You're the one person who could possibly help him, and you're too selfish to do anything about it!" she said, voice full of venom.

House turned to face her, face solemn. "I can't help anyone. You took that ability away from me when you suspended me from work."

She looked back at him, sensing the urgency in his voice, seeing the sadness in his eyes. She gently shook her head, sighing softly. "What can I do…," she asked. "What do you want me to do?"

She watched him as his posture got rigid again.

"You wanna help?

House looked at her, torn between voicing what he thought was the right thing to say and what he wanted to say. "Either call in an order for some pain meds, or get out," he said.

"You know that I can't do that," she whispered.

"Then get out," he said as he quickly walked past her, down the hallway, and finally into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

Cuddy watched helplessly as he slammed the door. Then she put the food that she had brought into the refrigerator before writing him a brief note. She stuck it on top of the coffee table and quietly let herself out.

On the drive back home, she kept replaying House's words over and over in her head. She had heard the silent plea that he was unable to voice aloud and knew that she needed to find a way to help him. She planned on canceling the majority of her appointments when she arrived at the hospital the next day, to give herself time to start contacting colleagues, friends, and centers who specialized in chronic pain management, hoping to find a way to help House.

When she got home she ate a simple dinner and watched some TV to unwind before retiring to bed. However, Wilson's panic attack and emotional outburst had her worried that he was more depressed than she had originally suspected. His anger and anxiety had been almost frightening, and she couldn't get rid of the nagging feeling that he was barely managing to keep from falling apart.

Eventually, she fell into a restless sleep and when she got to the hospital the next morning she put her plan into action. First she canceled her morning appointments and got information to help House, then in the afternoon during her free time she started doing research online about depression and anxiety for Wilson.