hh_mirror

It had definitely been... at least fifty-eight hours. More than, if Wilson was estimating right, but he was probably a bit off. It was hard to calculate anymore, when you were even trying to guess just how many pills he was taking - which... about one every three hours, if it was an extremely good day...? Yeah. Still, either way... That had been more than two days with Greg House going into withdrawal, and more than two days since Wilson had last seen him already starting to tense considerably with pain, and... Well.

What better way to spend Valentine's Day than to check on your detoxing friend, huh?

To say he was worried would be a severe understatement. Frankly, he was surprised he hadn't gone to check up on the guy earlier... Christ, just to even make sure the guy was okay. He'd broken his own hand last time, smashed his fingers with a pestle. House's addiction had worsened considerably since last time - it wasn't easy to gage just how much pain he would be in, at this point, not when... Well, he didn't really... know... anything. When his last Vicodin was, exactly how much he'd been taking lately, and that wasn't even factoring in the random variables like the morphine and the pain potions and...

He'd never really known House, he never really would, but this... This was insanity. He couldn't wait any longer. His fingers were rapping on the door before he could stop himself, and he pressed an ear against the wood, trying to hear... anything, really, from inside. "Greg?" he called through the door, frowning slightly in that reproving way that only Wilson could manage as he listened for a response.