Toxicity

"House?"

From beneath the gaming magazine that was shielding his eyes from the outside world, an exasperated groan sounded at the mention of his name for what had to be the thirtieth time in two hours, and House fumbled over the exam bed for his jacket. Or, more specifically, the Vicodin which lay in his jacket pocket.

"Oh, for God's sake!" He grunted, reaching one hand beneath the magazine to press the pills between his lips. "It's head lice! Just take them to the drug store and go away! Leave me in peace!"

Standing half-in and half-out of Exam Room One's door, Wilson blinked rapidly at this speech before clearing his throat in an attempt to gain some sort of recognition. House remained silent beneath the magazine, and he was forced to enter the room.

"Well... unless some soccer mom's cornered the market, every drug store around here is out." He replied, looking anywhere and everywhere but the still figure upon the bed. "Cuddy's going mad, you know. All surgery's been canceled for Nit checks. It-it's like highschool all over again."

It was meant to sound like a joke, poking fun at how highly strung Cuddy had become, but it sounded little more than the weak, pathetic attempt a man with extreme anxiety resting on his shoulders would crack to try and break the atmosphere. At least it got House moving – he had pulled the magazine from his face and was eying the newly arrived Wilson with a mixture of curiosity and dislike.

"You're still here." House mused aloud, folding up his reading material and letting it fall to the floor with a slap. "Well, that's a shame."

"I don't need a break." Wilson was skirting around the outside of the room, edging – inching – closer to House. "You just want to get rid of me."

"Oh, bravo. Did you sit up all night working that one out?" Muttering his latest sarcastic jibe, House settled more comfortably down on the bed, handed folded on his stomach as he stared up at the ceiling.

"What is wrong with you?" Speaking in tones of utter disbelief, Wilson dragged himself up to House, looking down at him. House still didn't look at him, rather just around him. "Why can't you speak to me?"

"I can speak to you. I just don't choose to." House was quick to correct him, still not meeting his eye. It was just one joke too far, and Wilson slammed his fist down against the padded leather. It gained a quirked eyebrow from House, but still no eye contact. It was like psychological torture, and James could feel whatever restraint he had slipping away in attempts to get House to just look at him. He knew he was letting Greg win just by getting this caught up in the twisted game, but was unable to stop himself.

Tugging a hand through his hair, Wilson's thoughts were quick to become irrational. Grabbing House's shoulders, he pressed the man down hard, forcing him into a crushing kiss. There was no response, yet neither was there a struggle or hands tearing him away. Gently sucking on Greg's lower lip, Wilson felt the tension, the stress in his shoulders drop down a notch.

As he pulled away, however, the sight of House still staring up at the ceiling sent a ripple of something unpleasant down his spine. His taste was still in Wilson's mouth, but, this time, it did nothing more than send a wave of nausea crashing over him.

"Hey, Wilson." House said suddenly, sounding undoubtedly chirpy. "How's your ex-wife?"

Burying his head into his hands, Wilson stumbled backwards into the wall, submerged in despair. What was he to do, with House blocking each of his moves with that... casual uncaring slipped into every spoken word?

"Worse." He breathed, pulling his hands away from his face as he composed himself. "She's worse."

"While you're here, trying to score. Hmm..." House pressed a finger into his lips in a parody of deep thought, acutely aware of how riled Wilson was becoming.

"Don't do this to me."

"Me? You're doing it to yourself!" House kept up the argument, but was no longer interested in what Wilson was doing. She was worse... worse... how did that make any sense? They hadn't given her any more drugs, not a thing, and had resolved to keep it that way until they had another diagnosis. Short of contracting something completely different from those around her... God, it just didn't make any sense!

"You're just scared. You're scared of commitment, an actual relationship. It's pathetic, House – hiding behind all this tough-guy crap..."

There was just the Retinyl Palmitate, Provitamin A for the dry eyes. He had wanted to eliminate everything he could, just to try and squeeze a little logic from symptoms that refused to collaborate and form a neat little answer for him. Retinyl Palmitate, what could that have sparked? Retinyl Palmitate... Vitamin A.

"...I was an idiot to think this would ever work. You are just incapable of showing any emotions outside the bounds of misery. I liked you, House. We're friends. You're not supposed to go around, making your friends as fucking miserable as you!"

Slowly, House rose to lean upon his elbows, eyes flickering from one corner of the room to the other as he thought. Retinyl Palmitate, converted from a Provitamin to Vitamin A by tissues, the human body. The liver failure... the maximum limit for its store of retinoids would have to have been exceeded, equaling systematic toxicity. The Retinyl Palmitate wasn't a carotene, therefore able to be overdosed upon...

"...You're just acting like a jackass, House. Nobody's even bothering with you anymore. Nobody cares. Not Cuddy, not Cameron, not me."

Vomiting, blurred vision, headache. They were all signs of acute toxicity. Osteoporosis, course bone growths, hair loss... shit, he was right! The dry eyes... she was diabetic. He had read it in the case file. Diabetics were more at risk of Keratoconjunctivitis sicca.

"Hypervitaminosis..." House murmured, quickly gazing up at Wilson with his mouth slightly open in surprise. Wilson dragged the back of his hand across his eyes, not even noticing House was finally looking at him. It didn't even matter anymore.

"What? You're not even listening to m--"

"Shut up! Hypervitaminosis A... Vitamin A Overdose!" He pulled a 'duh' face at the blank expression that was received but didn't pause to explain himself. Grabbing his cane, House dragged himself from the bed, already out in the corridor before Wilson even thought to follow him.

Hobbling out of the Clinic, House could easily distinguish the nag of Cuddy's voice calling him back. There wasn't an option for stopping, even if he'd wanted to – if they hooked her up to a Liver dialysis unit now, they still had to prey they hadn't poisoned her beyond repair.