The next morning House was up early. He hadn't really slept that night. His thoughts had been circling around the familiar topics of Wilson, his pain, Wilson, his selfdestructive habits and Wilson, trying to find a way to combine them without it ending in murder.

When the first light of dawn crept across his bedroom he got up. The livingroom smelled of stale whiskey. House sighed and went to fetch a bucket and water.

Better clean this up, before it's completely dry...

The cleaning didn't do anything to reduce the pain in his leg and by the time House arrived at the hospital his mood couldn't sink any lower.

„Dr. House!" Cameron came running towards him, waving a file. „We finally got some test results that make sense!" She gasped breathlessly looking at him like a dog who'd just brought back the stick.

„Gimme!" House barked and Cameron's expression shifted into offended.

Well, not my fault if she's such a cry-baby...

He studied the results in the elevator and when they reached his office he barked his instructions at the team and then barricaded himself in his office.

He felt like throwing up. Everything sucked. All he wanted was to be alone... no, that was a lie. What he really wanted was Wilson. Wilson and him sitting together, relaxed, laughing at each others jokes and not a worry in sight.

There was a pain in his chest... House panicked. Not another heart attack!

Fuck, where's the damn Nitro???

He frantically searched his drawers, knocking over a couple of things on his desk in the process. He found the pills and put one into his mouth. He leaned back in his chair, trying to relax.

Breathe. In. Out. In. Calm down...

Chase stuck his head into House's office. „Are you alright?" He asked, his voice concerned.

„I'm fine. Go torture someone else." House waved him away and thankfully Chase left.

House closed his eyes and tried to shut off his brain. It didn't really work, but after a while he managed to stuff his personal issues into one of his brain's back drawers and concentrate on the work ahead. Well, it would have to be enough.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He ran into Wilson on his way to the cafeteria. He'd waited until after two, to avoid this, but apparently Wilson had done the same.

Can't even stick to his routine, that idiot!

House wondered how he should react, but Wilson preempted any moves he might have tried by walking up to him and saying sternly.

„We need to talk."

Frankly, House was surprised that Wilson was acknowledging his presence at all. After the whole debacle last evening he'd thought Wilson had finally cut his losses. Well,he still might have. This could just be a 'I'm going to get my stuff tonight' conversation.

House's heart felt like it was beating way to fast again. He tried to steady it by breathing slowly, deliberatly. But still his voice felt a bit strained when he answered.

„Right. Let's talk then."

„My office. It's more private."

Private...huh... don't need privacy for a moving-out notice...

But then again, this was Wilson he was dealing with. One could never be sure with Wilson...

Wilson sat on one of the patient-chairs, waiting for House to sink down on the sofa. House fixed Wilson with one of his stares and waited for the talk to start.

„So, about yesterday... what... I mean, how do you think... things are supposed to go on?" Wilson asked more than a little awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck.

The question, although not really surprising, threw House off balance. He thought about all the possible scenarios he'd played out in his mind during the night. He still hadn't found a solution. The silence stretched.

Got to say something... He's waiting. He deserves an answer... you owe him that.

„Look..." he started, but the rest of the sentence didn't come out.

I've had a couple bad days. I needed a break. Things were crappy. - How lame! The typical apologies of a pathetic loser.

„It won't happen again." House tried to sound sincere. He wanted to make Wilson understand that this time, he really meant it. He would never do something that stupid again.

When did you reach that decision?

He looked at Wilson intently, willing him to see the seriousness behind his words. Wilson slowly shook his head.

„How can I be sure, House?"

„I can't tell you anything else but that. There are no securities. Only my word."

„Like the last time you promised?" Wilson's tone was almost derisive. House could hardly blame him.

„I'm not giving you a promise. I'm telling you: It won't happen again."

There was a long pause. Wilson stared at House as if daring him to make one of his comments. House simply stared back. He didn't have any comments left. This was too important.

Please... please give me another chance...

Wilson let out a slow breath, then he nodded.

Thank God!

Considering he didn't actually believe in the guy, he'd been thanking him a lot lately. House dared a small smile and when Wilson answered him with one of his own, he said.

„Wanna grab lunch? It's on me."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

They were sitting on the sofa like they always did. The room still smelled faintly of whiskey, but Wilson's second cleaning-session had removed almost all the stains that House's hadn't. Wilson had looked rather surprised when House explained how the stains came to be there in the first place.

Then he'd grinned and said „I knew you hadn't gotten pissed after all, when you came in this morning at eight..."

The movie was boring and House felt his thoughts drift to other matters. He had to know. „So, why didn't you throw in the towel after all?"

Wilson shrugged keeping his eyes on the TV. "You said you'd be a pain in the ass. And you know what they say about misery and company."

„Mmhhhh. You know, I always thought Misery doesn't really love Company, Misery just wants Company to distract him."

„That's really sad."

„Hey, I'm not Misery. I'm Greg."

Wilson interlaced their fingers and smiled. „I know."

And House was sure that he did.

End! Definitely. No more.

Except maybe if I decide to write a sequel at some point in the distant future.
Rewriting is also not out of the possibility-section, if I manage to find the right medication (or someone tells me) for House.