"You need to get some help," I said, doing an utterly amazing job of keeping my emotions under control.

"What kind of help?" he asked.

"The kind of special help reserved for suicidal cripples," I said, purposely trying to piss him off. Though given what he had been through this afternoon, I'd have to say it would take a hell of a lot more than a few hastily scattered words to get and keep his attention.

He was sitting calmly in the corner of the sofa, his head tilted back and eyes closed like he had fallen asleep on a lazy afternoon. I looked him over and was pretty much amazed that the quiet unshaven exterior I was sitting next to could hide such a crashing symphony of pain and hurt within. But every scar on Greg House, inside and out, had a story and I was going to stick around to hear every last one even if it killed me.

"Thank you, Dr. Obvious," Greg answered tersely, though not tersely enough. He may have wanted to hear the truth, but that doesn't mean he would listen to it. His defenses were coming back up and I got the distinct feeling that he had no control over it. After years and years of challenging the system and authority figures, bringing up the wall around him was second nature, like breathing and blinking.

"I'm serious, Greg."

"I know. Aren't you always?"

"I said I'm serious, and I mean it."

"I heard you the first time, and I never said you weren't."

"You need therapy, a shrink–"

"A shrink? Just what the hell can a shrink do for my leg?" He laughed, a flat, empty laugh that made my skin crawl.

"This is about more than just your leg."

"Is it? Well, peel me off the ceiling, I never thought of that! Unless a shrink can fix my leg by boring it to death, I'll just be wasting my time. Those idiots are as trustworthy as a used car salesman. All those quacks do is ask if you ever wanted to screw your mommy and tell you that you hate your daddy because he didn't get you that puppy you really really wanted. The answers are no fucking way and my dad was allergic to dogs so I couldn't have one anyway. I don't need to shell out two hundred dollars an hour for that, thank you very much."

"This is about your state of mind. You're depressed. You have been for a long time. And half an hour ago you were sobbing your eyes out and admitting that you thought about killing yourself."

"Thought, that's all I did," he said in the strange, dreamlike voice again, like he was trying to remember what he had for lunch yesterday. If he pushed himself far enough away from everything that was tormenting him it couldn't hurt him anymore. As far as he was concerned, the whole episode was quirk in his existence and not some kind of turning point. It made me want to scream until his eardrums and my vocal cords burst.

"You said you were ready to swallow the rest of your pills," I said, pointing out the obvious once again. It seemed to be the only thing I was good at anymore.

"As you can clearly see, I didn't go through with it."

"This time," I countered sharply. Something in my voice, probably my barely concealed agitation, caught his attention and he looked over at me. "Is that supposed to mean something to me? Am I supposed to just brush it off and forget about it? What happens next time, huh? What happens the next time?"

"Who says there has to be a next time?"

"I do."

"May I ask why?"

"No, you many not. By the way, I might not come home early the next time it happens."

"That's very pessimistic of you, Jimmy. I always had you pegged as a glass-is-half-full kind of guy."

"I say there's going to be a next time," I seethed, wishing he stop trying to make a joke of everything. "It could be tomorrow or next week or ten years from now, but it's going to happen. You know and I know it. It's not a matter of if, it's a matter of when."

"And I say that I had every reason to want to end it all that night. I was in hell and for some reason I couldn't take it anymore. But as I said before, I couldn't do it because of you, and I shouldn't let one moment of weakness lead me to such drastic actions. As long as you're around, I have reason to keep my head on straight."

"I'd like to agree with you, but I can't. You need some help, more help than I can provide."

"Well," he began with a sad smile, "we'll see, won't we?"