(Untitled)

[misanthrope_md]

As he got closer and closer to the bottom of the last bottle of Vicodin (at least, the last one that he had rationed for himself - he'd left one in the clinic first, intent on telling someone to hide it from him for a few weeks), House started to dwell on the evidence bag again, on what he'd seen on the reel, the stupid cop, himself in jail. How

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[real_buzzkill]

House was watching those films again, and Wilson stood in the doorway for 45 minutes, silent until he saw himself find his friend's body in a pool of his own vomit.

That can't be real, he told himself.

"Idiot," he said aloud. "You never change."

[misanthrope_md]

When House heard that voice, in combination with what was on the screen, his entire body tensed.

And then he said that, and...

House turned to him, looking some strange combination of furious and wounded. He couldn't even think of what to say to that.

[real_buzzkill]

"For once in my life, I stand up to you," Wilson muttered. His life here was bizarre, to say the least, and not it looked like home was no better. Strike that, home was worse. Now would have been a good time for House do something rash like apologize, except that he never did that kind of thing.

"You used me to feed your habit, and I just let you. I'm the idiot."

[misanthrope_md]

House just stared at him in disbelief. "That's not real, Wilson," he snapped. "None of it actually happened. Which is a damn good thing because I prefer not to think of you as throwing me to the wolves."

[real_buzzkill]

Wilson blinked a few times. "Right. When you needed help, you couldn't just ask for it, you had to steal prescriptions from my dead patient. And then pop enough pills to kill yourself." His voice cracked at the end.

He'd done the best he could. Wilson knew that. He couldn't be here right now.

"We can talk about this later, when my head's not about to explode."

[misanthrope_md]

"No," said House irritably, "we won't. I refuse to defend something I didn't do."

[real_buzzkill]

"Oh, so that's some other junkie who looks like you lying on the floor of your apartment, not even close to hitting bottom." Wilson shook his head.

House never even considered how seeing this might affect Wilson. "Forget it, then. You always do."

[misanthrope_md]

House scowled. "You know, I didn't think any less of you after watching this since it's, you know... not real. But now you're kind of acting like an asshole."

[real_buzzkill]

"I am an asshole. That's why you like me." Wilson shoved his hands in his pockets. House hadn't been home in a long time. That he thought this wasn't real was perfectly normal.

"I don't want it to be real, either; but if it is, deal with it." On your own, he added in his head.

[misanthrope_md]

"Well there's not much chance of that," House said dryly. "I solemnly swear not to shove a thermometer up the ass of anyone in the IPD."

[real_buzzkill]

"Unless they ask nicely," Wilson responded, equally dry.

He stayed quiet for a while. "I probably lost money on this deal. Who else would you have called to bail you out?"

[misanthrope_md]

House just rolled his eyes at that. Actually, Wilson was right; he'd seen that reel as well.

"Again," he said, "things I haven't done."

[real_buzzkill]

"No, see, it's something Jack said, about how our lives, whether we're in them or not, are visible. And as real as our lives here." Wilson was acutely aware that he had another life.

"Some woman could show up here claiming to be my wife. I wouldn't have any clue, but she'd still be real, in some sense."

[misanthrope_md]

"So?" House snapped. "Whatever is happening there has nothing to do with me. You think I'm the same person I was two years ago? You're the one who kept going on about how much I've changed."