A/N: Next Chapter Enjoy! Or hate??? Hope not! Review!

The Room is plush, to put it simply. It has everything that I could ever want. Lights, pillows, leather chairs, a couch, memory foam mattress, 24-7 personnel. Yeah right, I wish.

The people here are all so different. I don't think they really understand my situation. I'm in the loony bin, and they don't seem to understand why. I'm normal, honestly. I just hallucinate; have a bit of a drug problem, and an obvious mental issue. But it's really only obvious to those who know me best. Wilson…Cuddy…my team.

They can't understand because they don't know me, not yet that is. But they treat me like I'll break if they touch me or press the wrong nerve. So far that is. What they don't see…I'm already broken. I have been. I'm supposed to be the man with the answers, but I have more questions than answers now. Maybe being in this place will get me back to my old self, my good ole smartass self.

What's going on outside my new and temporary home?

Cameron and Chase? Are they happy? Foreteen? Is it still happening (I will update EFEF soon by the way) ?

Wilson hasn't said a word about Cuddy. Maybe she asked him not to. I( really need to explain things to her. Cuddy doesn't know, Wilson doesn't know. No one knows. Well, no one besides Amber.

Is this you, House? Is this who you really are? An insane freak? Who are you House? Do you even know? When you look in the mirror, who do you see?

He was looking in the mirror, full length, which they had provided for him, when he heard her. She was standing behind him, looking at him over his shoulder, one of her hands brushed his arm. It was the first time she had spoken since he had gotten here.

"I don't know Amber, I don't know,"

You don't? Can I help?

"Maybe," Kutner was no where to be seen, or heard. "How could you help?"

If I'm a hallucination, that's one half your brain, talking to the other half, you can help yourself by letting me help you. Listen to me. You did before.

"Was that even you, telling me to get off the bus, or was that real, not part of my brain?"

I don't know, maybe, but either way I know about it, because, I'm you, you're just talking with yourself.

"Am I?"

Yes. If they catch you at it, they won't think you're so normal for a lunatic any more.

"Let them catch me, At least I have you for company, Kutner seems to have gone,"

Kutner can't help you the way I can, but he's here, he's always here, just like me. We're in your head, House. We always have been, your thoughts have just taken our form to get your attention.

"I don't want to talk to you anyhow, really, would I try and kill Chase? Honest Injun answer please!" he told her with a snarky grin on his face.

She had sat down in the arm chair that was surprisingly comfortable, and was looking at him through large crystalline eyes. She looked inhuman.

"Really, Doctor Wilson, I don't see what's wrong with Doctor House," said the Mayfair Psych hospital director.

"Of course you don't,"

"What do you mean?"

"Only he can… physically 'see' what's 'wrong' with him. He… oh, just look," Wilson said as they made it to the viewing room. House was talking to the chair.

"He hallucinates. A couple people. Usually, it's my dead girlfriend, a former employee of his. Her name was Amber. They were on a bus together, there was an accident. They could both have died. She would have lived, if she hadn't taken flu pills, her kidney's shut down and couldn't process the drugs. It's a long story. The other person is another recently deceased former employee/coworker, Dr. Kutner. He killed himself; none of us ever saw it coming. It really hit House hard that he hadn't caught the signs. Then more recently…he hallucinated detoxing with Dr. Cuddy. He… hallucinated the detox, Cuddy being there…staying the night. He's…in love with her,"

"Who's he talking to right now, do you suppose?"

"Amber, that's what he looks like when he talks to…"

"I should start calling you CB again,"

"Yeah he's talking with Amber,"

"How do you know?"

"He used to call her CB, before the accident,"

"CB?"

"Cutthroat Bitch,."

"That's really nice,"

"You don't know House. He still calls one of his employee's by her number, 13, everyone else does too. I have a lot of nicknames,"

"And they are?"

As if that's important! Wilson thinks to himself in awe."All of them?"

"Why not?"

"Normally, he calls me Wilson. When he's happy with himself, or wanting to annoy me, he calls me any of the following : Jimmy, Jimmy-boy, Wonder-boy, Jimmy the Wonder-boy, Jimmy the Wonder-boy oncologist, Jimmy-boy the wonder oncologist, Jimmy-boy the wonder oncologist in tights, and Jimmy the Wonder-boy oncologist in tights. I don't really mind, a lot, I'm just not overly fond of 'Jimmy'

"What does he call your boss?"

"Really, mostly, Cuddy, he calls her Cuddy and, if in a good or annoying mood, Party Pants or Fun Bags. Of course we call him sweet sauce behind his back,"

"You egg him on?"

"It wasn't ever this serious before,"

"So you admitted him?"

"No. He admitted himself,"

Just saying it was hard, not to mention actually thinking about it.

"Would you like to meet his psychiatrist?"

"My pleasure,"

He sighed disparagingly at the psychologist sitting primly across from him. She wore glasses and a suit that was entirely opposite of Cuddy's style. House would be disappointed, that is, if the shrink was pretty. She was younger, but plain, with a pinched nose that screamed 'I'm a bitch' from a mile away. Wilson frowned, giving her an unintentional dark look. He was not getting a good first impression from this woman.

Parsimoniously (wow that's a long word!) the psychologist, her name was Penny Jenson, surveyed her critic. He was gorgeous, of course, with light, slightly curly, brown hair and huge creamy brown eyes. And from what she could tell by the way that he was looking at her, he already hated her. And she hadn't even said anything yet. But he probably had read her reports and decided to hate her then.

"From what I read, he isn't doing any better, and the detox, well, frankly the detox went like hell for him. You're supposed to be helping him!"

Penny had almost forgotten that besides being co-medical proxy with Dr. Cuddy, Dr. Wilson was Dr. House's best friend. She was screwing this up right off the bat.

"Well, Dr. Wilson, he does need to learn to cope with his pain, and -"

"You need to remember that Dr. House has lived with his pain for a very long time and can deal with it. He does, I'll admit, have a pain management problem, but he also has a pain problem, that can only be taken care of with medication. That medication, you need to remember, is Vicodin. That is his life support, and you've taken it away from him till he's completely detoxed. He's in a lot of pain, and he's an ass, he's not going to cooperate unless you have something to bargain with. And I bet you that your best shot at bargaining with him is giving him Vicodin. It's going to be tough for you to get anywhere with him if you don't get to know him. And that's why I'm here. Because he won't help you, I have to. I know him best of anybody, with the exception of his mother, and Cuddy."

Penny was speechless. She said the first and most unprofessional thing that came into her head. "You call your boss Cuddy?"

Wilson frowned even more. He was finally upset. "That's beside the point. Do you want to make progress with House, or don't you? Because he needs it and I might be able to finally stay married without having to get a divorce or have my girlfriend die in an accident because she had to pick him up from a bar at 5 O' Clock at night, because he got drunk because he was pissed that I was spending time with her!"
"Ummm…my condolences, but Dr. House needs to be dealt with and you are not his psychologist, and I know how to deal with drug addicts, they're all the same way, trust me I can handle him,"

Wilson shook his head. 'No. You can't. You don't understand. Every situation is different; you can't categorize them like that. One is a druggy because they want to be, House is a drug addict because he has to be,"

"But he doesn't have to be. He can take them, and not be addicted. But he doesn't. He chose to be addicted,"

"Look, Doctor, I'm not saying that I want him to be addicted to Vicodin. That's why he's here. But he can't deal with the chronic pain. He's going to be an ass, a lot. Do you want help with that or not.

Penny Jenson said nothing.

Wilson was wishing that he could be unprofessional enough to flip her off. But he didn't.

The knock at my door was about as expected as getting no questions from House's immediate staff about where he had gone. Surprise, Surprise. It's Wilson. James Wilson, M.D. my head oncologist. And from the look on his currently haggard-ish appearing face, well.. I'd guess that he had just been to see House.

"Come on in Wilson," I say as I get him some of my freshly brewed coffee while he makes himself comfortable in one of my nice couches. I return with a mug for each of us and two coasters. Might as well talk about misery in comfort.

"So," I say.

"So," He replies. Good lord we're off to a wonderful start! Here we are two, perfectly respectable working adult doctors that have no idea about how to begin talking about one of our closest friends' mental heath. What a mouthful.

"I don't know," he begins. "I just don't know," Apparently he thinks that the situation is grim. No, I'm not talking about the doctors' treatment of House, rather the patients' treatment of them. It's gonna take them a while to make any progress with the biggest ass to grace my presence in over a decade, and to tell the truth, I feel sorry for them. For me it wouldn't be a big deal, I've long since learned how to deal with His Snarkiness, the King of Sarcasm. It took me over twenty years to get this close to perfecting the handling of House, and I'm still a long way off.

But I'm not just worried about the doctor, that's just to make me feel better about the whole situation. We're both really and genuinely worried for our obnoxious friend.

Wilson and I sit together in silence. Maybe it's better this way, not talking about it. Just sitting here, together, thinking about things. We don't need to say anything. But we should. I break the silence.

"How is he?"

She doesn't want to say anything, I can tell that. It's hard for her. He did announce to the whole lobby that he slept with her. And, well, from what I gather from her first reaction, they had, at some point. Just not the time that House was thinking of. He told me during our last visit that he hallucinated the sex he had told me of just weeks before. I'm kind of curious as to how she's dealing with that revelation. She 'un-fired' him after his admittance, but I don't think that they spoke a word after she brought him to my office.

But Cuddy finally breaks the silence. "How is he?"

"Talking to Amber, but he's quite to the point where he'd rather strangle her, if you know what I mean. Threatening to call her Cutthroat-bitch again, stuff like that. Otherwise, well, he's detoxed, finally,"

His little shout-out hasn't affected the affection that she feels for him. If anything, I suppose, it's increased it. It was a hallucination. She feels bad. Like she led him on or something, even though, to her credit, she did nothing to him, really.

Cuddy is looking out the window, a faraway expression on her face. Who knows what she's thinking about.

I get up and leave my empty mug of coffee sitting on her side table, and see myself out, my last wistful thought as I step over the threshold of her house being the hope that maybe, like him, she'll be alright.