A/N: So I got a new beta and so far so good. Let me know how you like the story please, reviews=motivation.

Addicts Never Lie

Chapter 39: Signs Of Hope And Despair

A lot had happened in the past ten hours and as Cuddy drove back to New Jersey she replayed Wilson’s visit earlier in the day, over in her head. He had come to her just before House had, looking exhausted and stressed. He sat down across from her and then wordlessly pulled out some papers from his bag and handed them to her. She curiously looked down at the papers bearing the hospital’s Human Resources Department stamp at the top. Reading further down she saw that they were a written request for a two week temporary leave of absence, citing personal reasons.

She looked down at the papers and then up at him. He sat mute, almost statue-like. She turned to the next page and signed where her signature was required then gently placed the document down in front of him.

“You wanna tell me what’s going on?” she asked gently.

Wilson squirmed a little in his seat, the first movement since he’d sat down. “Not really,” he said softly. He let out a small puff of air, almost a sigh, and then turned his head to look out the window.

“I just need some time to figure some stuff out,” he cryptically explained. “Stuff that I can’t think about when I’m stressed out and here 14 hours out of the day,” he added as he closed his eyes, as if merely admitting that simple fact made him tired.

“I could lighten your case load a little more, you could give the biopsies and one-on-one patient care to your juniors. You’ve trained them to be the best and they’re more than capable of helping out. Only do consults and paperwork,” she offered. She didn’t want him to feel like he was a burden or that he wasn’t doing his fair share of work, department heads were created specifically to delegate responsibility.

“No...” he growled, opening his eyes. “That’s…people will start talking and besides…that’s not going to be enough,” he hesitated.

Cuddy smiled gently, tilting her head to the side. “People are already talking and I want to help you, but I can’t if you can’t tell me what’s wrong,” she urged. She chose her words carefully, knowing he was on edge. She chose “can’t”, not “won’t”, knowing that this was incredibly difficult for him, and it wasn’t a matter of him withholding information so much as unable to articulate what he was feeling and needing. She also didn’t want him to feel worse about asking for help than he already did.

She remembered how hard he had worked as an intern, then a resident, before gaining his much coveted position as head of Oncology at the hospital. His job had caused him problems at home and despite that he worked hard to be good at his job, to be self-reliant and efficient. Early on he had learned to be incredibly companionate, but not allow himself to be overwhelmed by the immense emotional situations associated with being an oncology specialist.

“I don’t know anymore,” he answered back, a tinge of anger creeping into his voice at the admittance. He didn’t want to talk about it. He didn’t feel like he could talk about it anymore. Like it wasn’t a choice, it just was what it was…a part of his life now.

“I’ve been taking medication…to try and alleviate some of my… symptoms,” he admitted.

Cuddy looked at him sympathetically. She had suspected that he had been put on medication; it was what she would have done, had she been his doctor. Thinking back to their past conversations she realized that the medication didn’t seem to be helping him and that out of all of the obstacles that she’d seen him face, this one was proving to be one of the hardest.

She wanted him to trust her, they were after all friends, as well as colleagues, but she didn’t want to pry and risk him withdrawing more and pushing her away.

“And it’s not helping…the medication?”

Wilson swallowed hard. Instantly without warning, his breathing was starting to speed up and he could feel his blood pumping harder through his veins. He felt trapped, nervous, suffocated and could feel the anxiety literally rising inside him. He gripped the side arms on the chair and tried to breath slower, feeling dizzy and nauseated. He hated feeling this helpless, this hopeless, over the mere mention of the topic. The tears were starting to form at his eyes, and his throat was involuntarily closing shut, as he strained, struggling to retain his composure.

“No,” he whispered raggedly. He scooped up the papers, “I… thanks for,” he choked out as he gestured towards the signed papers, shaking them in his left hand as he turned and walked out of her office.

She didn’t have time, despite her being concerned about him, to go running after him. Not more than five minutes after Wilson’s hasty departure, House had shown up outside her office, explaining that he had read her email and was hesitantly considering her offer to be involved in the first official U.S. F.D.A. drug trial for the use of Ketamine in a medically induced coma, which had shown promising results at completely or partially eliminating most types of chronic nerve pain.

He had sat anxiously as Cuddy had made several phone calls to some colleagues that she knew at John Hopkins in Baltimore, where the trial would be taking place. She had to talk to the head research technician and a specialist plus two other doctors before they even gave her approval to fax over House’s entire medical history. It would be examined thoroughly and would have to be verified before House could even begin the initial application process.

They had put a rush on it as a favor to Cuddy, simply because the trial started in two days. Cuddy sent House home, telling him that she’d call him as soon as she’d heard anything back from Baltimore. Even House was impressed when four and a half hours later he had gotten the phone call saying that he needed to immediately pack his bags, and that Cuddy would be picking him up in a little over an hour to take him to Baltimore.

The drive to John Hopkins was surprisingly quiet, both of them anxious and nervous. After they arrived more paperwork was filled out and then House was taken back into an examination room. Another hour later the doctor had emerged letting Cuddy know that everything had checked out and that House had been admitted. He was in a room being prepped and in two days he would start receiving a continuous dose of Ketamine as he was induced into a medically controlled coma for seven days.

Due to obligations back at her own hospital she couldn’t stay with him, but she gave them both her and Wilson’s contact information and told them to keep them updated on even the smallest of changes or situations. House had tried to call him on their way to Baltimore, but had reached his answering machine.

After Stacy had left House he had made Wilson his medical proxy, explaining that although his mother was the next logical choice, he didn’t want there to be any chance that his father would be allowed to influence her decision in anything regarding his health. So by default, if something did go wrong, Wilson would need to be notified, and able to make medical decisions for his best friend. However Cuddy feared that, given his current state of mind, that was something that Wilson definitely didn’t need to be worrying about.

She had waited until returning to the hospital before calling Wilson again, to give him an update, but was disappointed to get his answering machine as well. She left a brief but detailed message explaining what had happened in the past few hours along with a message to expect progress reports from Baltimore and to call her if he needed anything.