Summary: A missing scene in Season 3 before the Tritter arc. Originally written for menolly_au's Easter basket.
Spoilers: Season 3, Tritter arc.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the House, MD characters, which is good since I tend to kill them.
House was sitting at his desk. It was ten pm. His thigh was hurting. The Vicodin vial in front of him contained two lonely pills. Wilson had made it clear that he wasn't going to write him a new scrip until at least tomorrow lunchtime. So he could take the pills now, and be in hell and unable to work all of tomorrow morning, or he could save them, and be able to move tomorrow, while mentally incapacitated by a sleepless night.
For a moment he wished from the depth of his heart that Wilson could feel a similar pain. Could suffer as much as he did, day after day, for years without end. That he, House, would be the one writing scrips. Telling his friend that the pain was psychological, in his head as much as in his thigh.
But the thought vanished as fast as it had come. He could never wish Wilson any pain. And after all, he did have the prescription pad. One with Wilson's name on it. He wrote himself a scrip, not even bothering to fake the signature in a believable way, gulped the last two Vicodins, and started limping towards the hospital's pharmacy.