Time to end this sucker. Takes place about two weeks after the last chapter.

The diagnostician pinched the bridge of his nose between the thumb and forefinger of his left hand and gave a sigh laden with exhaustion. He had been at the hospital for the past three days, the current case proving too puzzling for him to even think of going home. He resorted to wearing a pair of Wilson's emergency clothes in favor of having Wilson or himself running home to get a change of clothes. Now, though, the case was solved and he was determined to get home before he got roped into another back-to-back case like the ones he just finished.

The walls of his office seemed to be closing in and the urge to just escape was nearly overwhelming. House massaged the damaged muscle with the heel of his right hand and prepared to stand. He rose slowly to his feet and as soon as he put weight on his right leg the pain flared so badly that he collapsed over his desk, his hand slamming down on the paper-strewn surface to keep himself upright. He breathed through the pain, a direct result of a several hours without vicodin. At the moment he wanted nothing more than to put on a pair of jeans and pop a couple of pills.

Sticking his head out the door, he checked to make sure Cuddy wasn't anywhere in sight to rope him into another case. After seeing no one he knew personally, the diagnostician limped as fast as he could down the nearly deserted halls and through the door leading to the roof. House was almost using only one leg to get him up the stairs, heartbeat thudding in his ears as the trapped feeling threatened to overcome him. Hopping on one leg now, House limped across the length of the roof to lean over the low wall and leaned out as far as he could to catch the breeze, closing his eyes and to listen to the distant rumble of thunder.

A strong arm locked around his torso so suddenly that a panicked yell threatened to escape but he fought it down and instead fought against the person dragging him back from the edge. Lashing out with his right arm, he brought his elbow up and back causing the other person to yelp in pain and fall back, bringing House with him.

"Shit." House groaned as pain exploded in his elbow, when it hit the ground, and his right thigh, when the person's knee connected with it. He bent double over the injured muscle, hands clenched around his thigh as he closed his eyes against the pain.

"What the hell was that?"

"Asshole." House growled as he rolled to face Wilson. "I could ask you the same." His mouth contorted in a grimace of pain as a spasm ripped through his leg. There was another rumble of thunder and the sky opened up to release a sudden heavy downpour.

"I don't know. I just reacted." Wilson tilted his head up slightly to let the rain wash the blood from his lip. "I saw you leaning out and…" His voice trailed off and he gave a small shrug.

"So you came the conclusion that I was trying to kill myself. Brilliant deduction, Sherlock."

"It wouldn't be the first time." Wilson murmured under his breath. He looked away with a sigh then turned his gaze back on House. "I worry about you sometimes. I worry what's going to happen when I turn my back and turn back around and find you've hurt yourself again. You're in pain, I get that, but—"

"Do you?" House snapped. "Do you really? I don't think you do. I hate this, Wilson, more than you can know. This pain is like a disease, a cancer, sucking the life from me and I've grown tired of trying to fight it. It's the only sure thing in my life. I don't know if you'll stay but I know it will." House rubbed wearily at his leg, watching the rain soak Wilson's hair, weighing it down so it nearly covered his eyes, and drip off the end of his nose. "And you know now that it keeps me up at night but it changes. Memories that I'd rather not remember at all replay themselves again and again in my mind to torment me and increase my pain. Stop trying to break down my walls, Wilson. They're there for a reason."

"What reason is that?" Wilson nearly shouted as he pushed his hair back, away from his face. "So you can be miserable alone? If you're going to be miserable at least let me be miserable with you. I don't want you to be alone that's what I'm here for."

"I won't make you miserable, James. I'm done dragging you through the mud." House looked at Wilson from the veil of his lashes, waiting for the oncologist's reaction.

Wilson gaped at his lover for a minute then shook his head, whipping the water from his hair. "You're breaking up with me?"

"Yes."

"Why? What did I do?"

"Didn't you hear me?" House yelled, chest heaving. "I'm tired of dragging you with me on my misery trips. I'm tired of watching you suffer and know that I'm the cause of it."

"I'm not suffering." Wilson yelled back. "You have to be the biggest idiot I've ever met. You are the source of my misery because you won't let me help you. In case you haven't noticed by now, I like to be needed in a relationship." He paused to spit out rain that had gotten into his mouth. "For once can you, please, enable me?"

"No, Wilson. You don't need my neediness and I'm tired of leaning on you."

"I want you to lean on me. I want you to need me." Wilson was nearly screaming with frustration at this point. He grabbed at fistful of hair and seemed to almost be contemplating pulling it out but released it a few seconds later.

House was silent, staring at the faint pink scars on his wrist that the cast had covered. There was nothing particularly fascinating about them; he had a dozen more exactly the same, but he was captivated by these nonetheless. For unknown reasons he remember just a few nights ago when Wilson had traced the finger of his right hand over it and gave a sigh that sounded almost remorseful. His thoughts were interrupted suddenly when he heard the distinct rattle of pills and looked up to see Wilson pull a pill bottle from his pocket.

"You haven't had any since lunch. You're in pain so you're more miserable. Take a few and make it go away for a few minutes."

House stared at the pill bottle in Wilson's outstretched hand for a moment then shook his head. "It's just going to come back."

"So what? Take some more and make it go away again. Damn it, House, don't tell me we're back at square one. Don't make me have to bury you." Wilson breath hitched and his chest heaved as his tears mingled with the rain on his face.

"Shut up, Wilson. There's nothing to cry about. You goddamn pansy." House yelled. He grasped the front of Wilson shirt and shook him roughly. "Stop crying. Do you hear me? If you don't stop crying, so help me I'll—"

"You'll what?" Wilson sniffed and made a noise somewhere between a sob and a laugh. "That's your father talking isn't it? You've got no real anger in you."

"Shut up. Why the hell won't you shut up?"

"You wouldn't even hit me. You can't do it, you're too nice."

"Shut your goddamn mouth. You have no idea what I'm capable of." House growled.

"Then show me, Greg. Go ahead and hit me."

House released Wilson's shirt and glared at him. "I hate you."

"No, you don't but you wish you did. Maybe then it wouldn't hurt so badly but those are only words. It was you who told me only actions matter and I've never seen even the slightest action of hate from you. In fact, you show nothing but—"

"Don't say it."

"Why not? I can't tell you the truth? All your actions have ever told me was that you loved me. Is that not the truth or were you lying to me through your actions?"

"You know the answer." House turned his head, his law working to bit back the sudden bitter feeling of remorse for putting his hands on Wilson in such a way.

"Then why are you doing this? Why are you being so damn difficult?"

"Because I don't want you to be miserable with me."

"Since you think you're so observant, tell me when the last time I took my meds was."

"I don't know…this morning." House gave a half-hearted shrug.

"Wrong. I stopped taking them two weeks ago. You make me feel…better, House. I just hate that I can't do the same for you."

House shook his head as if to negate that statement. "You make it tolerable."

"I don't want to just make it tolerable." Wilson sighed again and stared at House with sad eyes. "Do you love me?"

"I thought we already talked about this."

"You say actions matter but I want to hear you say it."

"What will that accomplish?"

"Why can't you just say it?"

House hesitated for a moment and looked at Wilson with a small smile playing on his lips. "I love you, James."

"I love you too, Greg."

House motioned for Wilson to help him to his feet. "I think we've made progress." He said as Wilson helped him up.

"Hurray for square two." The younger doctor mumbled.

Leaning over, House pressed his lips to the side of Wilson's neck. "Cripples can only move so fast."

Who can say writer's block to the maximum? Anyway, big thanks go to all you wonderful people that took the time to review. It feeds my addiction…