Wilson entered the loft, still seeping exasperation from every pore. What an unbelievably brutal day, from the drug tests this morning to House walking out to House's new delusion this afternoon.

Yes, delusion. He had no doubt left that House not only was back on Vicodin but was already experiencing some of the same side-effects he finally did last spring. The pure conviction in House's voice, as if paranoia were a logical alternative to relapse, scared him. House was cracking up again, and all Wilson could do was stand and watch the fissures widen.

At least House had agreed under duress to rehab. Wilson had gone down to Cuddy's office after House's call, and the two of them had spent nearly an hour worriedly discussing their friend and his new crack-up. She had shared the fact that House had broken off therapy, too. But at least by her deal, after nothing happened tonight, he would return to rehab. Assuming he chose to remember that agreement tomorrow. Assuming he even did remember that agreement tomorrow. Watching House self-destruct had been one of Wilson's occupations for years, it seemed, right along with his job. He was tired of it all. Maybe, after House was back in Mayfield, he could finally move on with his life while his friend got the help he needed. Of course, once House was in Mayfield, he wouldn't be coming back out again any time soon. The current catastrophe was far beyond what could be fixed with a short-term stay.

Sam came out of the kitchen area to greet him. "Hi." She studied his face. "Tough day?"

"House is cracking up again," Wilson informed her mournfully.

She tried to look sympathetic, for Wilson if not for House. "And you have to pick up the pieces as usual?"

"This is too big for me to pick up. He's hallucinating again. He even thinks . . ." Wilson pulled himself up on the edge of sharing House's paranoia. Maybe he would pass the fake message along to Sam, just to have one more piece of evidence tomorrow to throw in House's face that his fears were a product of chemically enhanced imagination. "He's back on Vicodin again. He failed a drug test yesterday morning, but he insists that he's not taking it. Of course, he's insisted that before when he actually was."

Sam shook her head. "So is he going to have to go back to the loony bin?"

"Yes, eventually. Cuddy is doing one more drug test tomorrow morning; he wanted a repeat in case the first was a false positive. But when that turns up positive, he's out of the hospital. No choice. With his active psychotic history, she can't have him there practicing while he's on drugs. He'll have to go through the whole process again if he ever wants his license back." Wilson shook his head, not having to fake the irritation. That was absolutely genuine. "He's in total denial, though. He's been drinking, you know, but he insists he's not on the drugs. In fact, he walked out of the hospital earlier today after Cuddy confronted him. I'm sure he's home getting totally wasted tonight and thinking about how everybody is against him."

Sam snuggled up next to him. "Let's not let House ruin our evening," she said. "Let's at least have some relaxation before you get called back to the hospital - if you do. But I know that other patient you'd mention is in her last few days."

"Right. I probably will get called back." He'd even send himself a false page, just to give her the opportunity so he could prove to House how absurd this whole thing was. "But that doesn't mean we can't have happy hour in the meantime."

Together, they fell onto the couch, and for a little while at least, Wilson was able to forget about House.

(H/C)

Cuddy entered her new house, feeling the headache still grinding behind her eyes. It had taken up residence there halfway through today and never left. Damn House.

Lucas was on the floor playing with Rachel, a domestic scene that made her smile, but he stood up as she came in. "My fiancee is home. I kind of like saying that."

Fiancee. She looked at the ring, startled. Once again, she hadn't even thought about it all afternoon, too busy with other things. She smiled again, looking at the ring. "It is a nice word."

"Did you get your hospital crisis dealt with?"

Might as well hit this right off and get it out of the way so she could enjoy the rest of the evening with her . . . um, fiance. "Not totally wrapped up, but tomorrow morning will finish it. House is back on Vicodin."

Lucas shook his head. "He seemed to be trying so hard."

"I think he was, but he's had a stressful few weeks, and he just snapped. He failed his drug test yesterday morning. But he insists that he didn't take any. He got me to agree to another test tomorrow morning, in case of lab error, but if that one is positive, that's it. I hate having to pull his license, but he really needs help."

"That's too bad," he agreed sympathetically. "I've always liked House. So there's a final test tomorrow morning?"

"Right. Good thing we won't be testing his blood alcohol. He went storming out of the hospital early this afternoon after I confronted him, and I'm sure he hit the liquor store on the way home and is trying to drink Princeton dry tonight. He really has been drinking too much lately, even aside from Vicodin."

"He needs help," Lucas stated. "Maybe he'll get it in rehab this time."

"Maybe. I hope so. He'll have to go back to Mayfield, of course. Do you have a stakeout tonight?"

"Yes. We've got time for a celebration dinner first, though."

"A celebration dinner?" Her tone was puzzled.

"Our engagement," he reminded her.

Oh yes. She'd forgotten again in talking about House. "Right. Let's celebrate."

She picked up Rachel from the floor and followed Lucas into the kitchen. This was what she wanted. Stability. Reliability.

But try as she might to focus, her thoughts were still with the blue-eyed genius sitting alone with his demons in the apartment across town, waiting for an imaginary villain.