Carly got that chateau she liked so much in Montreal from Jax. He thinks it should become a hotel, as they head on a private jet toward the Canadian city. The drivel on about their ridiculous little lives and for the first time since he first turned on the show, House couldn't care less. He heard the door open and looked to see Wilson returning to his room. He turned back to the television.
Wilson was a little less angry now. He just had that trademark look of caring etched across his features. He took a seat beside the bed, not wanting to interrupt the television program, knowing it would make House angry. To his surprise House flicked off the TV with the remote and sighed.
"I remember when that show was about a hospital. Now it's just like every other soap opera. I think I'll switch to All My Children. At least Susan Lucci aged well." He said.
"Yeah, too bad compared to you she'd be a midget." Wilson mused.
He smirked. "Compared to anyone she's a midget."
They were silent together for a minute. House staring blankly at the remote on his lap and Wilson staring at him, but trying not to, occasionally letting his gaze lose focus so there was nothing but a blurry cloud in front of him. His brain muddled over the million things he could say. He could tell him he has things to live for, or that he'll be missed if he died. But one question Wilson had neglected to ask himself was: Why? Why would he say those things and would they be true? Why would House be missed? These questions only came to him because he knew House would ask. The only real question was whether or not he had the answers.
"So are you…" Wilson stopped. He wasn't sure where the question was going.
"Am I… suicidal? Am I cerifiably insane? Am I depressed? Am I in need of a shoulder to cry on? Am I gay?" House's sarcasm was like venom.
"Are you okay?" Wilson strangled out.
"Peachy."
Wilson couldn't help the laugh. It was his annoyed laugh, the one that came out when he couldn't react in any other way to House's behavior. It was a laugh that he knew would probably hurt House, just like he knew it had when he'd used that as a finally tactic after House had faked cancer. It was that point where reasoning and talking and obviously caring didn't work. Now he just had to be harsh.
"You need to get help, Greg." He finally said.
House said nothing, he was getting ready to whip out his acid tongue with some biting quip at Wilson. But this time, James Wilson was faster.
"I don't care how you get help. You can see a therapist, or check yourself in, or I can help you, Cuddy can help you… it doesn't matter. But you need to deal with your shit so that you don't do this again. I don't think anyone will care if you do, next time."
House laughed. "You will always care Wilson. It's your fatal flaw."
"Being an asshole is yours." Wilson sighed. "Just… you don't have to tell me why. But promise you won't again. You say everybody lies, well if you can't mean it then lie to me."
House said nothing. Wilson was impressed. This was the quietest he'd ever gotten House. Except when he was asleep.