Warnings: Broody/Angsty House (like that's new news), with a different spin on his 'addiction'. Abusive!Wilson.

Authoress' Note: Much darker than I originally planned. Honestly this entire thought pattern came from a half made plot of Wilson being drunk and House taking him home. But then I had to ask the question: why is Wilson drunk? And this escalated from there. Definitely turned him into more of a villain than he is in my mind, but I liked the way it came out.

I'm going to let him back in, I can already feel it. He's crawling under my skin, boiling in my blood. So I wait for him.

I wait on my leather couch, soft from years of use, with my leg supported on a pillow. I wait with half a glass of whiskey in my hand, the other half already burning through my system, lowering my defences, making me more forgiving. Holding onto my lingering hurt and jealousy has forced me into this bitterness, but I still love him. How could I not?

"I don't believe this! This has to be some kind of sick joke!" My leg throbs in pain as I follow him down the hall.

"I'm not kidding House, I love her." He won't even look at me. He's putting his clothes back in the stupid black suitcase.

"You love Cut-throat? What about us?! You've been with me for a year Wilson, and now you're just going to walk away. Is that right?"

"Her name is Amber, and yes, I love her. You and I both know that we only had what we did because it was convenient." It hurt, badly. It cut at my chest with a serrated edge, hearing him voice what I knew was true, but hoped was not. I couldn't seem to stop it from showing on my face.

"So that's all I am to you now, a convenience! I guess it's good you're leaving then, so I won't become a nuisance to my best friend. Wouldn't want to annoy you by trying to help when one of your patients die, or when the family blames you for their death." That is a low blow and I know it, but I'm beyond caring about tact right now.

He looks at me then, big brown eyes shining with anger. And I know.

I know that in the morning, I'm going to feel like shit. I'm going to open my eyes and find nothing beside me but cold mattress, and I'm going to blame myself for his absence. And as he walks out the front door and slams it behind him, I know that my heart will slowly shatter, piece by piece, until nothing is left but an empty space where it used to be.

The guilt I feel after Amber's death is slightly misplaced, but I feel it all the same. I can't believe that I've caused him more pain, and it rips at me to watch him cry as he holds her in her last moments. He doesn't leave the room until well after she's passed, but when he does, he looks at me. His gaze burns right through me, scars me, but I don't look away. He deserves this, he deserves to wound me after I stole her from him.

No amount of apologizing will make this better, not that I'm terribly skilled at it anyway. No amount of Vicodin will make me forget the anguish on his face, but I keep trying, because he is my other addiction, and I can't stop myself from wanting him. I can only hope that if I let him hurt me enough, some of his anger may diffuse in my bones. So I meet that horrible, beautiful gaze, and I know. I know that I'll be leaving his old key on his desk later today, I know that I will go home and change the sheets to the silk ones that he likes, and I know that a few hours after that, he will be at my door.

I know that I will take every punishment he has the courage to dish out, and I know that I will take all of them without pause. Because I want him to be alive, and happy, and with me, even if he doesn't want that. I will force myself to be 'convenient', because I know he needs me to be such.

I hear the footsteps in the hall, followed by the click of a key turning a lock.

I'm going to let him back in, I can already feel it. So I wait for him to make the last step.

Because I love him.

How could I not?

R&R Pretty please!