Disclaimer: Same as all the other chapters.

A/N: R&R please! Thank you soooo much to those who've reviewed so far. If you ever have any questions, feel free to PM me. Oh, and btw, I also don't own any rights to any drugs ever mentioned in this story. SPOILERS FROM SEASON TWO && THREE! K Thanks. :

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Wilson's eyes got big and round. He just stood there for a few moments, trying to process it all. He sent Tobin and Grier into the living room to play.

"You're—you're epileptic. That's not possible."

House ran a hand through his hair and shifted his weight uncomfortably to his good leg. "Why is it not possible?"

"Because you—I would have seen you taking your meds when I lived with you!"

House sighed. "People shouldn't just assume that the pills I pop back are Vicodin."

Wilson shook his head disbelievingly. "When did this happen? Why didn't you tell me?"

"Why should I tell you? It never came up in the course of our conversations, so I just never said anything."

"Greg, what the hell did you want me to say? 'Yeah, beautiful weather we're having. By the way, just for my personal records, are you epileptic?' Come on. You tell me everything. I'm the only person you talk to. Why wouldn't you tell me?" Wilson felt a little hurt. The man only talked to him. Best friends were supposed to share everything. Why did he hide this?

Silence.

"You wanna know why I think you didn't tell me?"

"Oh, boy, here we go. Time for my psych consult…"

"I think you didn't tell me because you're embarrassed."

"Right. You've got it down pat. I'm embarrassed I have epilepsy. You're a frickin' genius." He rolled his eyes, but looked down afterwards, avoiding Wilson's stare.

"You're embarrassed because having epilepsy is the one thing in your life you can't control. You can control the leg pain with Vicodin. But this…either the meds work or they don't. Sometimes…sometimes they don't. And it scares the hell out of you that you can't change that."

House sucked in a deep breath and said, "Yeah, sure."

"Look, will you do me a favor?"

House just stared, not nodding or shaking his head no, unwilling to commit right then.

"Will you tell me the story? So I can try to get through this with Grier? I…could use help. I'm drowning here. And your story might be the life preserver."

"Nice usage of metaphor there, Wilson." Wilson shook his head, like, you're hopeless.

"I was about five years old when my mom and dad noticed the same thing happening to me that happened to Grier. They took me to the pediatrician, who suspected the same thing I did with Grier and sent me to the neurologist. He ran a battery of EEG's and came up with the conclusion that I am epileptic."

Wilson nodded. "Keep going. Is this hard for you to talk about?"

"I am bionic man. Nothing hurts me." He grinned wryly. "Anyways, my neurologist decided to try and see if we could get the epilepsy to go away over time with drug therapy and age. His aim was four years seizure free. First four years went by, he weaned me off, same thing happened again. He told me another four years might do it, but somewhere along the line I lost faith." He looked at Wilson with empty eyes. It was obviously painful for him, but he wasn't admitting it. "I was 13 when I took it upon myself to stop medicating."

Wilson perched on a stool. The kids were playing quietly, and he waited to hear the rest of House's story.

"I decided life was too damn short to keep taking all these drugs, so I stopped. The seizures started happening, and my parents didn't know why. I didn't say anything. They finally figured it out from the excess of pills that kept building up in the medicine cabinet." He swallowed and paused to toss back a Vicodin.

Apparently they weren't offlabel for emotional pain.

"He set me back up on another four year plan. But I decided it wasn't going to work. So when I was 18 and he wanted to wean me off, I said no. The rest is history."

"How much—"

"He switched me from Tegretol to Trileptal when I was 10. I take 2 ½ pills in the morning and 3 at night."

"That's a lot of pills."

"Yeah."

"House, I—I don't know what to say."

"Why don't you do me the biggest favor you could ever do for me and drop the subject." He grouched. "It's time to leave. WEASEL'S, GET IN THE CAR!" he started towards the front door.

But then he turned around. "And please keep it to yourself."

Wilson stopped.

"Wilson. I mean it. If you tell anyone…just don't. Please."

"Why?"

"Because as my best friend it's something I've asked you to do. Please, just let it go."

Wilson nodded.

House turned and walked out of the house, the twins scampering after him.

Wilson ran his hand through his hair and leaned on the counter. House's story—would the same thing happen with him and Grier?

He stuck the applesauce back in the fridge, grabbed the keys and the twins' bag, and went to join them in the car.

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Wilson stewed on the information he'd gotten that morning and considered telling Cuddy. Did she know? It was important that somebody know. What if something happened?

But it wouldn't. But what if it did? It wouldn't. It could.

But he'd promised House…

Suddenly his pager went off. It was Cuddy. She needed a consult, he was wanted in her office right away.

So he went.

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Once their business was done, Cuddy said, "You look like you're thinking about something important. Is there anything you want to tell me?"

He didn't mean to. Really, he hadn't. But it just blurted out, "Did you know House is epileptic? He didn't want me to tell you, but I thought I should because…"

Cuddy drew in a sharp breath.

And from behind him Wilson heard, "You bastard."

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A/N: Naughty, naughty Wilson lol. R&R: