A lot had happened to many of the doctors of Princeton-plainsboro recently. And, of course, in the midst of all of it, House’s father had to die. Wilson was angry— he was sad. He knew that House wouldn’t go to the funeral, and therefore, took it into his own hands.

He had Cuddy drug House’s coffee. Simple as that. And after House passed out, he found himself waking up in the passenger seat of Wilson’s car.

Wilson sat, both hands on the wheel, his usually shiny brown eyes flat and focused. He seemed tired— he seemed frustrated. And in a calm, yet shaky tone, he spoke;

“I am not doing this because I care.” His words probably went in one ear and out the other, to be sure. Wilson’s shaky hands and slightly red face gave away the fact that House’s mere presence made something painful swell in his chest. He was just.. so.. in his little hole of pain. Of depression. He wasn’t the best at.. coping. The best at getting over something— especially the death of his girlfriend.

Especially when he was stuck on a road trip with the man who’s technical fault it all was.