Summary, disclaimer, etc. in chapter 1.

House/Wilson for the House/Wilson fans. :) I hope this came out okay. It was difficult to write for some reason.

To those of you worried about/annoyed by Cameron – I don't like her and don't write her very well, nor do I ship House/Cam in any way, so don't worry about this fic becoming some House/Cam love fest. Not gonna happen. :)

Glass

January 2000

Wilson tapped on the door to House's office and waited a moment before he opened it. He squinted, trying to see through the dark room. Winter meant sundown at 5:30 and if House was sulking, he was probably sulking with the lights off.

"House?" he called. "You in there?"

Wilson heard a small noise like someone breathing in suddenly and then, belatedly, "Yeah."

'You okay?' he wanted to ask. The words were on his tongue and he barely stopped himself. Instead, he decided to explain his presence.

"Stacy called me," he said, leaning against the door frame. He could tell by the direction of the voice he heard that House was on his couch. "She said you told her I was taking you home today and wondered what was taking so long. She freaked out when I told her I hadn't seen you all day. What's going on?"

He waited. The room breathed quietly for a moment before House answered.

"Nothing."

Something in House's tone told Wilson that if he waited a few more seconds, House would elaborate. He had no trouble doing that.

"I didn't want to go home today," House said. "There's nothing wrong with that."

He sounded strange to Wilson. As if speaking required immense effort. Wilson knew he didn't have PT today…. Maybe this first week back at work was even harder than he let on. Wilson knew it had been hard—even with working half days and having no pressure on him to perform, Stacy said he had become increasingly withdrawn. He went to sleep earlier and slept later. She didn't know what to do. She'd asked him to keep an eye on House for her. Clearly she was troubled, but he could tell that she was just waiting for the right time to get out at this point. Unless he had seriously misjudged her, she'd be gone before the month was over. House seemed to know too. His behavior of late made more sense in light of that. If Stacy was waiting for him to settle into work again before she left, then the more trouble he had, the longer she stayed. But Wilson didn't think that House wanted her to stay.

"She's worried about you," Wilson said as casually as he could manage. He was worried too, but he couldn't let House know.

"So call her and tell her I fell asleep on my couch and you didn't have the heart to wake me up," House mumbled irritably, "and both of you stop bothering me."

Wilson took a tentative step into the dark room. "You sound strange," he said cautiously. "Something wrong?"

"No."

Forgive me if I don't believe you, Wilson thought with annoyance. "Would you turn on a light?" he asked.

"I was asleep," House said testily. "If you leave right now, I might just be able to get back to sleep."

"Are you going to tell me what's going on?" Wilson asked. Because he knew something was going on. This wasn't just House wanting to avoid Stacy right now. He was acting avoidant. Warning signs flashed in Wilson's mind.

"I already did," House growled. "Go away."

Wrong answer.Wilson grunted and flipped the overhead light switch, flooding the room with florescent brightness. House cursed loudly and covered his eyes, but Wilson was much more interested in what he saw on the floor next to the couch. So that was what was going on.

He crossed the room and picked up it up. An empty syringe. Outrage, fear, and concern mixed on his face into what he assumed was a fairly ugly expression.

"What's this?" he demanded, looking down at House. House appeared to be all right—except for the small brown line of dried blood on his left forearm.

"What's what?" House asked innocently, hand still over his eyes.

"Don't play dumb," Wilson snapped.

House squinted through his fingers. Oh. That.

"B12," he said, putting his hand back over his eyes. "I was feeling a little run down earlier."

"Nice try," Wilson said, having spotted the syringe's package in the trash can, "but you've got to hide the evidence better than this." He bent down to retrieve it.

He let out a low whistle as he read the label, then looked over at House, who seemed incredibly annoyed that Wilson had discovered his secret. But more than that, he looked tired and drugged. Which was to be expected. Wilson did his best not to yell.

"What did you do to yourself that you needed fifty milligrams of Demerol?" he asked.

"That's not mine," House muttered.

"Right," Wilson said, "and the dried blood on your arm isn't yours either."

House glanced at his arm and sighed angrily. "I slipped," he said. "That's all. The sidewalks are icy."

"What were you doing outside?" Wilson asked.

"Walking," House said flatly.

"Did you fall on it?" Wilson asked. They both knew exactly what 'it' was.

"No," House said tersely. "Other side. Just a few bruises but they hurt like hell and I wanted to sleep. I don't want you here and I don't want her here and I don't want to go home, I'm fine, go away."

"How long ago was this?" Wilson asked.

House let out a frustrated groan. "Will you leave me alone?"

"No," Wilson said. "Answer my question."

"Few hours," House mumbled. "I'm fine."

"You should have said something," Wilson said. "You need to be checked out."

"I checked myself out," House said. "Only a few bruises."

"That's a lot of Demerol for 'only a few bruises,'" Wilson pointed out. "Vicodin isn't working for you anymore?"

"I'm tired," House said. "I wanted to sleep."

"Have you done this before?" Wilson asked.

"No," House said.

"So you didn't want to go home but—" he paused, "what were you doing outside?"

"Try to get home by myself for once without you and Stacy and the rest of the world hanging on my shoulder treating me like I'm made of glass," House snapped. "I'm fine. I can take care of myself."

"You call this taking care of yourself?" Wilson said angrily. "What if you had hurt yourself? What then? Wait in the snow until someone comes along and hope you don't freeze to death? You're that prideful?"

"That didn't happen," House snarled. "I'm fine." He paused. "If you're so damn concerned about my well-being, fetch me a blanket so I don't catch my death of cold here in my office."

Wilson sighed. He was so difficult. "Come on," he said. "Get up. Let me take a look at you and then I'll take you home."

"I don't want to go home," House said adamantly. "If she finds out I slipped she'll stay at least another month."

Wilson was silent for a moment. "You don't want that?" he asked.

"All she's trying to do is make herself feel less guilty," House said. "Set me up with my old job, make sure I can get around on my own, and then she's gone." He sniffed angrily. "Well, she should've left a long time ago if that's why she's staying."

Wilson was silent again. He had no idea what he should do.

"I don't love her anymore," House said after a moment. "And she doesn't love me."

Wilson realized House's eyes were on him, pleading their case. Don't make me do this, they said.

Wilson was momentarily taken aback. Wow. He was serious.

"Okay," Wilson said after a while. "Let me make sure you're okay and I'll leave you alone."

"I'm fine," House mumbled. He waved his arms around. "See? Awake, alert, pissed off, fine."

Wilson stood still for a moment, trying to decide which course of action was in House's best interest. He rubbed the back of his neck indecisively. What to do…

"All right," he said at length. "I'll call Stacy and let her know you're okay—" House started to protest "—I won't tell her about this," Wilson said quickly. "But I can't promise she won't come down here. I'll get you a sandwich from the cafeteria and then I'm going home. That gives you time to decide if there's anything you need to tell me." He pointed a finger at House and said seriously, "If I find out you're lying to me, I'll bother the hell out of you for the next year. Deal?"

House made a face, but agreed. "Deal."

Wilson eyed him for a few more seconds to hammer his point home.

House sighed angrily. "Go!" he snapped.

Wilson kept an eye on him just a little longer before he turned around, flipped the light off, and closed the door.