Wilson seemed withdrawn. Large bags showed his deep sleep debt and House knew he was to blame. The large tennis ball thumped against the wall, returning to his hand once more.

Thump, bounce, catch.

Monday, he had called Wilson at 2 in the morning because his leg had seized in the bath and he couldn't move. Wilson drove 10 minutes to help his crippled ass to bed- just to sleep on the lumpy couch. He hated that he could recall every detail.

House limped into the house, acknowledging how ironic his name was in that moment. His leg throbbed with a murderous cramp and he knew he really shouldn't take anymore pills for abit, because he was dangerously close to OD'ing. Opting for a bath, he limped towards the bathroom. The table caught him halfway as his leg gave out and for a moment he was grateful. Once he did make it, the bath was soothing. Hot, yes. But soothing.

He didn't rember falling asleep, but he did wish he hadn't woken up. The cripples lengthy hand rushed down to ease the cramp but to no avail. He knew that he was whimpering and groaning loudly but he couldn't be assed to quiet at that moment, it hurt too much. Eventually he gave in, and grasped his phone- rushing to speed dial.

"Wilson." He whispered into the receiver, a worried oncologist immediately responding. "House? What's wrong? It's 2 AM." House whimpered pitifully before lashing out quietly. "Fell asleep in the bath. Legs pissy... can't- touch it. Can't move it." He whispered breathlessly, free hand still trying to ease it. He cried out loudly when his leg cramped further. "Okay, I'm coming down now." The call ended abruptly as Wilson hung up. He immediately groaned, maybe hoping that making noise now would stop it later.

Wilson showed up not too long later, using his key to get in. House still lay in the bath, his left hand covering his extremities while his right tried futilely to ease the seizing in his leg. "House. I'm here it's okay, it's okay." House huffed our loudly growling. "I'm not a child. Just get on with it and help-" his right hand flew up to his mouth in a fist, to hide a loud moan of pain. Wilson knew this gesture and his eyes softened. "Okay, no more coddling. How do you want to do this?" His friend scoffed before muttering. "Don't care. Just get me out.. it's cold and not getting better." He rolled his eyes before tilting his head back weakly. "I swear I'm actually dying." Wilson gently placed the older doctors hands around his neck and lifted him out of the water. The cripple panted loudly, whimpering as his legs tremmored and Wilson watched as the thigh twitched and spasmed. He promptly placed his friend on the edge as his leg gave out. House kept his arms on his friend so Wilson just sat next to him, giving his pain-filled friend an anchor.

He passed out and Wilson took him to bed, sleeping on the couch.

Thump, bounce, catch.

Wilson didn't deserve to give him everything and get nothing back. Seriously, he'd hauled his crippled ass around so many times and never gotten any comfort back. House sighed, 'I'm such a bad friend.'

Tuesday, he actually refrained. Of course he hadn't told Wilson; opting for saying he was busy. He saw how his friend sighed frustratedly when House came by. He saw how Wilson slept less more and more when House was close with him. He saw how Wilson grew distant, hiding from House more.

Thump, bounce, catch.

Wednesday, he stopped stopping by. 'I'm hurting him. He's perfect- I shouldn't be hurting him. He needs to get away. Now." House could admit that Wilson and him had gotten close, and he felt good- letting someone abit further in. But he saw he hurt Wilson. So he stormed in at 1 in the afternoon.

Wilson sighed as the door opened, and his friends shoulders slumped. "We aren't friends anymore." The older doctor muttered and began to limp away. To his dismay, the oncologist rushed behind him, slamming the door shut. "Why?"

House furrowed his eyebrows shaking his head. "I'm giving you the opportunity you want. Take it. I see that you need space so take it." Wilson deflated, looking away. House was grateful- his eyes were shining with unshed tears. "I do. I'm sorry House it's just-" his friend shakily hushed him. He didn't want to hear it. "Okay. Bye Wilson." Wilson didn't miss the tremor in his voice and his own tears began to spill. He opened the door sadly and his crippled friend limped away, sniffing once he got further away.

It'd been 5 days since they stopped talking and Wilson had looked at the man wearily, through doors and crowds. He missed him- House always made him feel better. Somehow.

He watched his friends limp grow more pronounced, his look more deshelved, like he was falling apart. Cameron had talked to him but she gave up, knowing they had to sort this out themselves. Wilson really missed his friend- he didn't actually know why he said he didn't wanna be friends, maybe it was the lack of sleep? He'd never know.

House sat on the floor of his apartment, leant against the wall. His leg in an agonising cramp. The empty pill bottle from last week lingered in his view, along with his phone. He'd stopped taking his pills- his leg hurt like a bitch, but he felt like he deserved it from all the pain he'd put Wilson through. He crumpled over his leg, sobbing without tears in pain.

The phone mocked him silently. 'He said he didn't want to be friends. I'm not going to change that. He needs to get away from me.'

House buried his face in his hands and tried to still his breathing. His pain-racked body shook violently but he left the leg alone. So tender...

The phone rang and he slapped it open angrily. Panting loudly he hissed "What?" A voice he knew too well picked up and House cursed inwardly at not checking who called. "Hey look.. I still want to be friends. I need you in my life House and- Are you okay?" His friend slowed his speech and he listened to his friends ragged breathing, his meek whimpers- snuffed by his hands. "Yeah just- ran half a mile." The deflection didn't ease Wilson's mind and he silently got ready, trying to get House to talk. "How many pills have you taken?" His friend laughed roughly before muttering. "None." Wilson stopped at a red light, eyes welling up with tears as he realised what House meant. "Why?""Because I decided the pills were killing me, or I'm punishing myself- have fun psycho-" the older doctor cursed into his fist in pain and Wilson didn't hear a word- but he knew what his friend cutting off his sentence meant. 'So it's pain.' He thought

"What are you doing?" The shaky voice spilled through the speakers of his car. "Driving." House hissed at the notion Wilson proposed. "Better be a bar. Don't come here. We aren't friends- you have no duty to do this now." The end tone rung through the car and hurt his ears. Wilson was at a loss for why his friend was suddenly so set on him needing to leave. Then it clicked. 'When Amber died, I left. it must've made him more insecure and now he thinks I'm sticking around as some kind of martyr gesture... damn'

He parked next to the apartment block

He found House slumped against the piano, heaving loudly. Pill bottle left by the couch- his phone tossed across the room. Wilson stumbled over, checking the cripples pulse. He was tachy, scarily so. "W'lsn? Said you sh'ld go..." he slurred, head flopping into his friends arms. Wilson planted him against the wall and ran for his friends morphine stash. He vowed ro never use it but that was voided when he saw how much his friends pain could incapacitate him. "Ow" he murmured as the sharp pierced his skin. Wilson disposed of it in a spare jar and gently held his friend, rubbing his back in soothing movements. He felt the drugged man rub at his face and he realised he was wiping tears. "Get out of here while you can." He murmured quietly and stiffened when Wilson pulled him closer.

"What if I'd rather be with you?"