Disclaimer: Of what I own, not one thing is the show, "House."

AN: I think I'm more upset about the overwhelming drama than the breakup of Huddy. Anyway, I haven't done a story or anything in a long time. Here you go.

No answer.

He wasn't surprised. House was a grown up, he didn't need anyone to take care of him. But he really did. Wilson wasn't about to abandon him now, no matter how self-destructive House became, or how many times he turned him away.

That's why he was surprised when House's doorknob turned with ease.

House was not careless when it came to details. And this was one that Wilson felt the need to over analyze.

It was as if House wanted him there.

"House?" he yelled through the seemingly empty apartment. There was a deafening silence that he presumed began once House heard the door closed behind Cuddy.

No answer.

Wilson wanted to justify every single thing. Maybe House didn't answer because he never answers the phone. Maybe his door was unlocked because he forgot to lock it after receiving a pizza delivery.

Maybe the eerie silence wasn't what his gut told him it was.

When he took two steps down the hallway and turned to check the bathroom, he was filled with relief.

There was House, sitting on the ground, staring at the orange bottle in his palm. The bottle looked mostly filled.

"Hey, uh, she called me. You okay?"

House looked up with blue eyes devoid of the slight brightness Cuddy had brought to them. He nodded his head, ever so slightly. Wilson recognized the motion. It was the same one he had done when he approved of Wilson's suggestion to undergo brain stimulation to save Amber. It was one of self-harm for the benefit of another.

It seemed as though House tried to help by hurting, whether it was physically, or emotionally.

"How many?"

"When?" responded a low croak.

"Yesterday. Today. Now. How many?"

"Enough."

Wilson rolled his eyes. He didn't believe House was depressed enough to try anything, especially after hearing House's usual stubbornness.

"Do you want me to call-"

"No. Don't call anybody. I'm fine," House cut off, bitterly.

Silence filled the air. Wilson slid down onto the floor next to his friend. He let his head fall back. Wilson knew he could rattle as many, "I'm sorry's" as there were stars, but House wouldn't take the pity. He was worried, he was frightened, and he was scared of how breakable House was. He had been battered, bruised, and torn apart. This wasn't a breaking point. He was already broken.

So he stayed quiet and stared at the ceiling. He felt as if he was sitting there for years.

There were no cracks to count.

Eventually, he heard House shift positions. He looked over at him, as if he was looking for an explanation.

"My ass is falling asleep."

Wilson was happy to let out the only chuckle of the evening. He stood up, and put both of his arms out to assist House. Instead, House grabbed onto the tub. He managed to get himself up and standing. Together, the two walked out of the small room, and into the living room.

"What're you going to do?"

"I don't know. But I need a break."

"I'll make sure to let everyone know you won't be in for a couple of days." They both knew that by everyone, Wilson meant the only people House interacted with on a daily basis.

"Just a couple of days," House repeated.

"Don't do anything stupid."

"You're talking to the world's smartest man."

"You know what I mean."

House pocketed the bottle he was still holding. Wilson walked to the door.

"No guarantees," he whispered as Wilson left.