House's team looks up when the door opens all three looking worse for wear. "How long?" She asks dreading the answer. They all immediately know what she's talking about.

"We noticed two weeks after the deal." Thirteen says.

"A whole month..." she whispers to herself in shame. "And you didn't think to bring this to me or Wilson?" She questions angrily.

"And what would you've done? You would've either ignored it or confronted him about it, neither of which would make any difference!" She yells back.

"No! I would've..." She trails off realizing they're right, as Wilson comes into the room. House's team glares at him.

"What'd House do now?" He asks with a raised brow. Cuddy turns her angry eyes on him.

"It's not what House did!" Thirteen and Kutner say with matching frowns.

"You know where I found House a minuet ago?" Cuddy yells drowning out their voices.

"Where? Molesting a patient? Watching cable in a coma man's room? Skiving off Clinic Duty?" He questions stepping fully into the room. He takes a step back when Cuddy growls.

"No. I found House sobbing in the stairwell clutching his leg."

"House doesn't cry." Wilson says brushing it off. "You must've been mistaken." He says even while thinking of how much House avoided him, how they never hung out, how they didn't even eat lunch together anymore, and how emotionless House seemed recently.

"I saw him walk into the stairwell, I saw his face screwed over with pain! It's all your fault! Now that I think about it House's miserable! Has been since you threatened to leave!" She shrieks.

"I didn't do anything!" Wilson whispers in denial. Everyone glares at him. "I didn't do anything!" He says firmly before storming out of the room.

For some reason, Wilson finds himself in the stairwell closest to the Clinic. It's not to see for himself if House is sobbing his eyes out. Really he knows Cuddy was lying. He was only there because the elevator was full. Besides House would've told him if something was wrong. 'Unless you were the cause of it' his conscience whispers to him. He freezes when he hears muffled crying. It's been at least fifteen minuets since Cuddy claimed to have seen House there. It could be somebody else, anybody else. He peaks over the railing, only one floor above Hous-the crying person. The hair, those clothes...It was House. Clutching at his leg his face streaked with tears. He turns around and flees up the stairs.

When House returns a half hour later, no one says anything. Cuddy is sitting at the table looking out over the view while his team does what it normally does.

"Do we have a case?" He asks looking at Cuddy.

"No..." Cuddy says softly. House looks at her strangely before shrugging it's none of his business if she wants to sit in his conference room. He sits in his chair props his leg up subconsciously while his team and Cuddy watch him from the corner of their eyes. He grabs his headphones and slips them on hitting play on his iPod while shifting through his mail. His hand rests on his leg gently rubbing it trying, in vain, to relieve some of the pain. He winces, which doesn't go unnoticed, but continues on with his work.

A few winces, grumbles, and sighs of pain later Cuddy gets up.

"Are you in pain House?" She asks noticing him staring into space only looking like he was doing work.

"Hmm?" He asks when she lays a hand on his shoulder. He looks up at her his face and eyes blank as he pulls the headphones from his ears.

"Do you hurt?" She asks frowning.

"No. It's all psychological. Remember?" He says in a dead voice referring to the Placebo incident. She winces.

"House..."

"No. You and Wilson have been saying it for years, It's my guilt coming out in a physical form." He says standing up to prove their point. He cringes at the pain and Cuddy's eyes tear up. "Well, it's time for me to leave." He says moving around her.

"House! It wasn't really a Placebo!" She says her tears falling over.

"Sure it was. You said so yourself."

"Well, now I'm saying otherwise. Please don't suffer alone!"

"It's all mental." He says turning to look at her. "Really, Wilson was right, I was an addict. I'd do anything to get Vicoden. Now I'm dealing with my disorder. It's fine." He says and she sees he really believes it.

He grabs his coat and helmet before limping his way down the hallway.

Cuddy collapses in his chair tears falling fast and furiously down her face. She rests her head in her hands and sobs. Thirteen comes over and hugs her tears falling from her own eyes.

"What have we done?" She asks knowing that it was Wilson's and her fault House wouldn't take medicine now. He truly believed the pain he felt was mental, all because they had insisted it was.

Wilson stood on the balcony, the door halfway open, tears falling from his own eyes. He realized then he wanted his friend back, not this emotionless husk of a friend he, himself, had created.

House sat on his couch hours later wondering if his pain was real. "Of course it's not real." He whispers remembering years of Cuddy and Wilson thinking him an addict and thinking the pain was all mental. Only Cuddy thinking it was real wasn't enough to convince him he wasn't crazy. She just saw him succumbing to his mental pain and decided to take pity on him, to get him back on the pills he worked so hard to get off of. It took him years to realize he was crazy, five minutes isn't going to change his view.

By this time he doesn't even notice the tears of pain running down his cheeks. He stands with a cringe and goes to the fridge getting some leftover Chinese food from last night and a nice cold root beer (He had vowed off all alcoholic drinks after Amber).

He only notices the tears because they add a saltier taste to his Chinese food. He quickly scrubs at his eyes, using all the lessons his father taught him to keep himself from curling up on the floor and crying, or chopping his leg off. The pain wasn't real, he knew that. But it felt so real, the throbbing and stabbing, good god it HURT. But there was nothing he could do, he was crazy, guilty and a terrible person; his subconscious was making him pay for all the mistakes he made throughout his life. It was the price to pay for being a misanthropic, pill popping bastard who hardly gave a damn whether his patients lived or died.

After zoning out for a few hours (really his mind was doing anything to block out the pain, just like when he was a child...) he decided it was time for bed. But did it truly make sense for his brain to block off pain that it created itself? Oh the wonders of the human mind...

By one in the morning Wilson realized he wouldn't be getting any sleep. He got up, ate some leftovers, took a quick shower, and decided that he was going to head over to House's place. He had to convince his friend that he was wrong. House obviously was really in pain. And since that was the problem, taking Vicoden was the only solution.

A stab of pain woke House in the wee hours of the morning. He groaned in pain as his vision went white. He forced himself up and made his way into the bathroom. The water poured warm from the tap as House slowly lowered himself into the bath. He let himself relax, and massaged his leg, trying to relieve the tension. He didn't notice when the water began pouring over the side of the tub, or when he fell asleep. Just after two, his head sunk under the water.

END