"The door's locked." Foreman stated as House's team stood outside his office, waiting. Cameron was holding a folder which she was planning on presenting to him but no such luck.

"Should we call maintenance? Call Cuddy?" Chase asked.

"Definitely not." Cameron replied curtly.

"Yeah. He does this like once a month, and isn't he even more of a bastard when he comes out? If we called Cuddy or maintenance, interrupted him in whatever he does in there, he'll have our asses."

Cameron nodded in agreement, and Chase just shrugged, defeated.

"So…what do we do now?" Chase asked.

"…..Wait?" Foreman suggested.

Cameron shook her head. "No. I have a better idea."

Foreman and Chase stared at her, waiting for her to share.

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Cuddy and Wilson had fried their brains. Turns out, thinking about what they could do to help House, thinking of something he might actually agree with, was harder than they thought. Wilson was nervous. He had no idea why. He felt almost as if he were betraying House…he felt guilty. Cuddy felt like she could cry. She hid it well though.

Their brainstorming ritual was cut short by the shrill beep of Wilson's pager.

'H locked his office'

Wilson's blood went cold, his heart stopped beating. Four little words, 16 little letters killed him inside.

Wilson apologized to Cuddy, lied about having an emergency with a patient, told her they would continue this another time, and flew out the door. Worry was a bitch, there was no reason she needed to get involved in what was probably nothing. Hopefully nothing.

He stopped in front of House's office by his team before he even realized his legs were moving.

He sucked in a few more deep breathes and finally composed himself.

"What's wrong?" he asked in the general direction of the team.

Foreman was the first to respond. "He locked himself in his office, and he won't open the door. We though maybe…" he trailed off.

"Maybe you could get him out of there? We have a potential case." Chase finished, Foreman nodded. Cameron just stood next to the boys, clutching the folder.

After a few minutes of knocking on the door and calling House's name, inspiration struck Wilson. He told House's team to keep on knocking and calling and sped to his office.

He nodded politely to the nurse stationed near his door and bolted into his office, and out to the adjoining balcony, his lab coat flapping behind him.

Just as he suspected, the door leading from the balcony to House's office slowly creaked open.

House's silhouette was hunched over in front of his desk, and Wilson didn't know what to think. Naturally, the worst situations flashed through his mind and he could have sworn his heart stopped beating.

He rushed over and just as his warm hand touched House's shoulder he stirred a bit and Wilson thought it was okay to breathe again.

He shook him slightly and whispered his name. One of House's bloodshot, blue eyes cracked open and settled on Wilson's face.

A low grumble erupted deep from this throat. "What the fuck do you want Wilson? I'm sleeping…" he groaned.

"House…you got to work, come on, your teams outside. They found a case..."

House slowly sat up. He was tired, he wasn't in the mood to talk to anyone, couldn't they fucking see that?

Wilson's breath caught in his throat. "House…" he said, barely above a whisper. "You're bleeding…"

House looked down to where Wilson's eyes were currently set. Sure enough, tiny crimson splotches seeped through his sleeve. House had no idea why, but he felt a mix of both angry and ashamed. A sharp pain shot through his stomach (humiliation?) and something began to sting behind his eyes, threatening to come out from beneath (potential tears?) He pushed his chair back, sat up with a grunt, and stood, staring intensely at Wilson. He was ashamed, he had to go. Away from the people, away from curious eyes.

Something erupted from his throat, it sounded almost like a growl. He stalked past Wilson in one angry huff, and thrust the door open with unnecessary force. He continued his angry march out of his office, nearly knocking Chase over in the process, and continued, away from everyone, all of the shit he didn't need right now. He was faintly aware of the people calling his name behind him and the slight sting on his arm as he made his way down to the one place where they won't pity him.

He made his way down the corridor and into the elevator.

Down to the lobby.

Down to the place where all of the idiots were, where his genius, the only thing worth something to him, was wasted from the only thing he had, the only thing he cared about, his job.

Down to the place where he could get away from everyone.

Down to the fucking clinic.