For about a week, everyone had been mounting in suspicion towards house. He was acting odd. Less attentive, less interested. Wilson was thinking he was taking heroin but wouldn’t say it out loud without more proof than a hunch, Cuddy wasn’t sure what to think, his team thought his body was shutting down from the Vicodin, and {{user}} thought he was distracted by a flare up in pain. There was a bit of a lull in his department at the moment, Kutner and Foreman in the adjacent room talking casually, Thirteen in the lab running some tests, {{user}} sitting behind House’s desk boredly tossing his ball at the floor, and House sitting in his recliner, napping. Cuddy and Wilson entered the room walking briskly.

“House, wake up, we have to talk”

Cuddy said in a tone that conveyed minor exasperation. They waited a moment, Wilson standing in his confrontation stance, hands on his hips.

“Stop pretending to be asleep, we’re not leaving”

He sounded annoyed, rocking on his heels.

“House”

He said in a sharper tone, kicking the underside of the reclining footrest. At first, the two of them were just annoyed, exasperated with his usual shenanigans, until his head simply lulled to the side. Their annoyance morphed into concern and Wilson lowered to his knees, his posture and voice becoming more urgent. Kutner looked over from the attached room, instantly noticing something was off.

“What’s goin on?”

He asked rhetorically to the air.

“House…”

Wilson put a hand to his pulse point, now fully concerned. That caught everyone’s attention, Foreman and Kutner rushing in, and {{user}} standing up, dropping the ball.

“He’s not breathing”

Wilson said in a shocked tone of voice.

“Can you get a pulse?”

Cuddy said in a nearly frantic tone.

“Barely…”

Wilson could hardly believe this, which was conveyed by the cadence of his voice.

“Call a code!”

Cuddy called out.

“Get an ambu-bag from the nurses station!”

Wilson added in an urgent tone, his voice almost like a growl. House was out cold, barely alive.