WILSON: House? What did you see?

HOUSE: Nothing. Who's idea was that?

WILSON: Brennan. Nothing-you-don't-want-to-talk-about-it or nothing...

HOUSE: Which one's Brennan? Is he the ridiculously old guy?

WILSON: House, you gotta talk about this.

Instead, House closes and opens his hand, wincing at the pain.

HOUSE: If it's aggressive enough, it might have gotten past the steroids. Start him on cyclophosphamide.

WILSON: I already did. (frustrated) Just looking at you hurts. (takes his chart and scribbles) I'm going to order up some extra pain meds.

HOUSE: I love you.

Wilson gives a hurt and angry nod, still holding the chart.

He uses his key and opens the door. House isn't on the sofa and Wilson walks into the apartment to find House lying flat out on the floor next to a fallen lamp and a pile of his own vomit. Wilson rushes to him and checks him. Wilson's hair is damp - it’s probably raining outside and House's eyes are so dilated when Wilson turns him over, it's uncertain whether he even knows what's going on. Wilson reaches over for the empty bottle of oxycodone next to House and reads it. It's the prescription that should have gone to the dead Mr Zebalusky, patient of Dr James Wilson. It also says "Take as needed. Not to exceed 4 per day". The quantity in the bottle is 30 and House has far exceeded the maximum and finished all of it in one day. House looks up at Wilson and Wilson merely shakes his head before throwing the empty bottle down and leaving House in his mess.

My favourite Hilson truther

Gives you Wilson

gives you the head

shoot you in the head