Summary: I don't usually write songfics [I know I said that about smut and look what happened, but still] and I wouldn't have written this one except I heard this song the other day and it is just the definition of House's life right now. Takes place after episode 6.20 "Baggage."

Disclaimer: I do not own House or any of the characters. If I did, you wouldn't be reading this on fanfiction, you'd be watching it on TV. I don't own the lyrics which are in italics either, those belong to Lady Antebellum and their record company.

Need You Now

Picture perfect memories,
Scattered all around the floor.
Reaching for the phone cause, I can't fight it any more.
And I wonder if I ever cross your mind.
For me it happens all the time.

House stared at the ibuprofen bottle. He couldn't look away from it. That was probably because it didn't actually contain ibuprofen. He opened the bottle, not taking any of the large white pills but staring at them. He heard the rain pounding against the ground and he felt his heart beating in his chest. He tasted the liquor in his mouth and he longed to taste the chalky bitterness of the wonderful white pills in the bottle. He didn't take any. But he wanted to.

The first time he reached for the phone, his hand missed it entirely. He couldn't be that drunk, could he? Already? It didn't matter; he picked up the phone without error on his second try and speed dialed number two. Number one was his therapist, Dr. Nolan. He didn't call that number anymore.

It rang. It kept ringing. House swirled the ibuprofen bottle like a glass of wine and watched the beautiful pills circle around inside. He didn't take any. But he wanted to.

"Hi, you've reached James." "And Sam." A shiver of anger and hurt. Already? They'd been living together less than 24 hours.

"We can't come to the phone right now." "So leave a message after the beep."

He stared at the phone for a second, then back at the ibuprofen bottle. He shook the bottle again, almost dumped some pills into his hand, then stopped himself.

"Wilson, it's me," he gasped, clutching at the phone. "I have Vicodin. I might...I think I might..."

It's a quarter after one, I'm all alone and I need you now.
Said I wouldn't call but I lost all control and I need you now.
And I don't know how I can do without, I just need you now.

"House?" he heard his friend's voice groan into the phone.

Hearing the voice, such relief. He exhaled, not even realizing he'd held his breath.


"House, listen to me," the voice said. It sounded stronger now. House must have woken Wilson up. He looked guiltily at the pill bottle in his hand and thought about taking them. "Where are you?"

"My apartment."

"Good. I'm coming over. But House, listen to me. I want you to go outside and find a dumpster."

House nodded into the phone, remembered his friend couldn't see him, and said, "Okay."

"House, hold onto your phone. I'm going to hang up and call you again from my cell phone so we can talk on my way over. Do you understand? I'm going to call you back in one minute. Please don't take any of the pills."

He clutched to the phone as though it were his lifeline and repeated. "Okay."

"I want you to go outside of the apartment and find a dumpster."


He heard the line go dead and got up off the couch. The room spun, he almost fell over but quickly sat back down. He put the Vicodin in his jacket pocket where he couldn't reach it and grabbed his cane as his cell phone started ringing.


"I'm here, House, I'm walking towards my car, I'm on my way over."

"Wilson...are you mad at me?"

He could hear the exasperated sigh in his friend's words even though he tried to conceal it. "I'm not mad at you, House. Did you go outside yet?"

"I'm working on it," House answered, making his way to the door. The pills in his pocket shook as he stepped, and he gritted his teeth. He wanted them so badly. He opened the door and stepped out into the darkness. He'd forgotten it was raining. He didn't really care.

"House, can you see a dumpster?" Wilson's voice asked.

It sounded forcibly calm. Which meant it wasn't really calm. He was panicking but knew he was supposed to stay calm, so he had to pretend to stay calm. But he wasn't. House wasn't either.

"I see a dumpster," House said, locating one at the end of the block through the rain.

"Good," Wilson encouraged. "I want you to walk towards it."

It was slow work. Frightened of slipping, both literally and metaphorically, House took one deliberate step after another. Wilson was driving now. He had to be almost here. He had to be almost here.

Another shot of whiskey, can't stop looking at the door.
Wishing you'd come sweeping in the way you did before.
And I wonder if I ever cross your mind.
For me it happens all the time.

"I'm standing in front of the dumpster," House whispered into the phone. His hand was shaking.

"Is it open or closed?"


"Good. Do you have the pills?"


"I want you to drop them into the dumpster. House, do you hear me? I want you to drop them into the dumpster."

House reached into his jacket pocket. As his hand shook, he heard the pills clattering against the side of the bottle.

"I don't want to drop them. I want to take them."

"I know you do, House. Listen to me. You need to drop them into the dumpster. If opening the bottle will make you take them, then don't open the bottle. Just drop the whole thing in there. You can do it, House, I know you can."

House shook his head even though he knew Wilson couldn't see him. The pills were in his hand, the ibuprofen bottle was getting wet from the rain. He kept his hand next to the dumpster, not over it, because if he dropped the pills in he wouldn't have the option to take them any more, and he wanted to keep his options open at this point.

"Wilson, are you almost here?"

"I'm driving as fast as I can, House, I promise. I'll be there in a few minutes. Right now I need you to drop the pills into the dumpster."

"I'm not ready to do that yet," House said, shaking his head. "I need...I need...Wilson, are you almost here?"

It's a quarter after one, I'm a little drunk, and I need you now.
Said I wouldn't call but I lost all control and I need you now.
And I don't know how I can do without, I just need you now.

"It's okay, it's okay. House, listen to me. Just don't take any of the pills. I want you to throw them away. Don't take any. I'll be there in a few minutes."

"I want to take the pills."

"I know you do, but you don't have to. You're stronger than that. I'll be there in a few minutes. Throw them away."

He stared at the ibuprofen bottle. The pills were inside it. He wanted them inside his body. Two, four, all of them. He wanted them. He moved his hand slowly toward the dumpster and then pulled it back towards his body. He was shaking. He stood next to the dumpster, not moving, afraid if he did he would either take the pills or throw them out.

"House, are you there?" Wilson's voice said in his ear.

"Are you almost here?"

"Yes, I'm almost there. Hold on, House, I'm almost there. Don't take the pills. Throw them away."

"I can't."

"Then wait for me. Don't take any."

"Are you almost here?"

"Yes, House, I'm almost there."

He clutched the phone against his ear so hard it hurt his skin. He wanted the pills. He wanted Wilson to get here. He squeezed the ibuprofen bottle in his hand, hoping to steady it and stop the tempting shaking.

"Are you almost here?"

"I'm almost there, House."

He stared at the pills in his hand. Don't take them, he told himself. Don't take them. Wait for Wilson. Don't take them.

He didn't take them. He wanted to. He stared at them, he wanted them. He didn't take them. He heard Wilson's car pulling up to the curb, but he didn't trust himself to move.

Wilson exited the car, and this time it was he that spoke, not just a voice through the telephone. "I'm here, House. I want you to throw the pills away."

"I can't. You do it."

"You need to do it. I'll help you." Wilson stepped behind House, close to him. "I'm going to put my hand on your hand, I will guide your hand over the dumpster, and you will drop the pills in. Do you understand?"

He nodded, and this time Wilson could see him. Wilson placed his hand over House's. It was warm and dry. House's hand followed Wilson's over the dumpster.

"You need to let go now," Wilson instructed calmly.

House nodded.

"I want you to let go of the bottle."

Yes I'd rather hurt than feel nothing at all.
It's a quarter after one, I'm all alone and I need you now.
And I said I wouldn't call but I'm a little drunk and I need you now.
And I don't know how I can do without, I just need you now.
I just need you now.
Oh baby I need you now.

Wilson's hand gently squeezed House's, House opened his hand and gasped; the ibuprofen bottle clanged against the metal of the dumpster.

"You did it."

"I did it." House felt his body relax against Wilson's, Wilson brought his and House's hands back from the dumpster toward their bodies.

"Did you take any of the pills?"



House stood against Wilson, breathing heavily.

"Come on. Let's get inside where it's dry."

"Wilson," House asked again as they slowly walked through the rain back to his apartment, "are you mad at me?"

"I was disappointed that you felt the need to obtain Vicodin, but I'm proud that you didn't take it, so no, House, I'm not mad at you."

"I mean for waking you up in the middle of the night. For making you leave Sam."

"You're my friend. You needed me."

House nodded. "Wilson?"


"Thank you for coming."