Pairing: House/Cuddy, with Wilson friendship equally applied
Set: Season 5 during Both Sides Now: Before we discover House was hallucinating.
Inspiration: "That's what you get for waking up in Vegas."
James Wilson considered himself to be the type of man that carried himself with pride. Not an asinine, "I'm better than you" type of pride; but a sophisticated "I could be your friend" type of pride. The type of attitude that stated he knew what he was talking about when he spoke, simply because he could be trusted. It was an attitude that he used with his patients, with his colleagues, and with House.
But something wasn't right.
Wilson also considered himself to be responsible. Responsible in the sense of being the sane member of his friendship with House. In most relationships, Wilson knew he wasn't responsible. He did have three ex-wives.
The one time he was responsible, the one time he stuck around, the one time he actually had faith (or whatever it was that he labeled it) that it could work out . . . she died.
He tries not to think of that though, instead tries to focus on the fact that he is responsible.
So when Wilson woke up, in a strange room he had never seen before, he was startled.
He could feel a rough carpet scratching his legs. A cool breeze was coming from some part of the room, he didn't know where. One foot in particular felt chilly. The other felt warm. His left arm hurt, but only the upper portion.
Other than that, he felt fine. Not drunk, not sick, just very very confused. It took him a second to realize he was laying down somewhere. He pushed himself up and frowned.
His pants were gone. And so was one sock. His shirt was torn on the left side, exposing a purple bruise on said arm.
The cool breeze came from an open mini-fridge. It was small and empty.
"That's not right." He muttered.
He looked around the room: two beds, a small television, the empty mini-fridge, neutral brown colors on the floor and wall (as well as the bedspreads and pillowcases) and a small phone on a desk met his eyes.
A hotel room.
He also saw that part of the wall was a sliding glass door which led to a very small balcony. This small balcony over looked some city. Some big city.
"I'm not in Jersey anymore." He chuckled.
Cars sped beneath him. Enough lights flashed from various buildings that they illuminated whatever city he was in. Huge buildings circled his own, making him feel uneasy.
He looked down at his fingers, no wedding band. He was also alone in the room. He breathed his first sigh of relief.
As he crossed the room he saw many empty clear bottles lying beside the mini-fridge. He picked one up; it felt cold in his hand. The floor wasn't damp, which meant someone drank it recently.
"Vodka."
But he didn't feel drunk. And James Wilson knew the feeling of being drunk. He was best friends with House after all.
And something resembling an epiphany hit him.
House.
This must be some kind of joke.
Maybe House finally decided to take a vacation. And he drug Wilson along? And by drug, Wilson figured, literally drugged.
Although the lack of any drug-induced effects put Wilson's theory to a halt.
But still.
His friend had only recently told him of the hallucinations. And what had occurred the night before with Cuddy. That was something Wilson didn't know how to deal with. House was seeing Amber. It put a whole new spin on the reasons for the hallucinations. House tried to solve this by sleeping with Cuddy. Of course House would want to deflect. This, Wilson figured, led him to be drug to some random place most likely far from the hospital.
A distant ringing pulled Wilson away from his musing. It was coming from the closet area. Wilson opened the door and found his pants hanging up on the side of said door. In his pocket was his cell phone. He sighed in relief.
"Wilson." His name was long and drug out in an almost sing-song voice. Wilson rolled his eyes.
"House. Explain. Now." His statement was short, but he needed to know where he was, and what had happened to him, and also where the rest of his clothing went.
"We needed fun. Where are you now? Because I'm in a room with seven hookers and man they are hot."
Wilson rolled his eyes again.
"Where am I? Where am I? That's what I need to ask you?" His voice was almost yelling. He could feel the temper flaring up within him.
"Calm down. Oh wait, there's more tequila. And I don't mean the drink." A click followed.
"House." He growled. If need be, Wilson would call House's phone all night long in order to get some answers.
He was about to redial when he heard a small knock at the door.
"Because I need more surprises." He muttered. He opened the door. Standing on the other side, appearing slightly flustered was Cuddy.
She just stood, her mouth hung wide open.
"What?" He asked, annoyed at her unhelpful expression. House wouldn't give him answers, and he just wanted to know where he was and what had happened to him.
"James, where are your pants?" She asked softly. He could tell by the ways her eyes moved that she was holding back laughter.
"Sorry."
He pulled his pants off of the door and slid them on, mostly embarrassed, but still confused.
"I don't really know how that happened." He explained. Cuddy shook her head.
"You went with House to Vegas, what did you think would happen?"
"Vegas. Oh. Good to know." He muttered.
"Are you drunk?" She asked. She seemed worried, but slightly amused. Wilson had heard her use this tone with House before. Mostly when he had some crazy and random idea that would eventually and unconventionally save someone's life.
"I wish." It was the truth.
"So why are you here?" He asked.
"You called me. You said: House kidnapped me and took me to Vegas. Come and get me. I'll pay you back. He's already made me get a lap dance by a very large man named Douglas. Only I didn't realize Douglas was a man until certain parts of him were close to my face. And he bet all the money I had. And I also can't find him. Remember?" She mimicked him well, but she must have figured he was serious.
"No. Maybe I am drunk." He looked around the room. "Wait, how did you know where I was?"
Cuddy pursed her lips. "It doesn't matter. Let's go find House before he ends up in jail."
Wilson went to follow her but stopped.
"I don't have shoes. Or a sock. Or money."
To his surprise Cuddy laughed.
"That's what you get for waking up in Vegas."
"Thanks for that new insightful philosophy." He muttered.
She started to look under one bed, and he looked under another. It took them twenty minutes to locate his sock (which was underneath the telephone) and five more minutes to find his shoes (both were under the pillows on the bed near the door).
Unfortunately, he didn't have another shirt, so he was stuck wearing his torn shirt around. He followed Cuddy down the hallway, down the elevator (which played some annoying song he knew would be stuck in his head later), and into the lobby.
They were passed by a small group of twenty-somethings, who were snickering at him. "Someone likes it rough." He heard one of them say.
"Consider it a compliment." Cuddy added. She patted his arm.
"I really hate House."
She rolled her eyes, "No you don't."
He knew she was right. As he glanced around the marble lobby, trying to avoid eye contact with most people, he decided to keep his eyes on his companion. Cuddy was wearing the same thing she wore at work, which confused him. Why did he remember what she was wearing at work, but not how he found himself in this particular predicament?
Her demeanor had changed slightly though. From the last Wilson could remember, she was kicking a stripper out of her office. She was annoyed, although not thoroughly angry. He always found himself trapped in the middle of her and House's games. Sometimes they were amusing. Sometimes they annoyed him. Sometimes he wanted them to just get together. Sometimes he would worry they would hurt themselves.
The annoyance in her voice was gone, instead she seemed relatively calm. Her jacket, on the other hand, was a bit heavier than anybody else's. Both of her hands were stuffed in her pockets. Wilson found this out of place. But then again, looking down at himself, who was he to judge?
The outside of the hotel was brighter than the inside. People walked toward him and away from him, in a constant trance. Lights continued to illuminate up the dark sky, he could hardly tell it was nighttime. If only he knew the actual time. Or day. Both might be helpful.
He followed Cuddy through the crowd of people. Some dressed normally, others clearly tourists. Some covered in glitter, some sitting on street corners in nothing but dirt.
She stopped at a big building, which Wilson could only assume was a casino.
He followed her to a front desk, glancing around at more marble interior. As well as red carpet. And he could swear that that was the fifth woman who passed him weather a feather hat and a red glittery dress.
Yet nothing registered to him. There was no familiar twinge of, "Oh I remember arriving here." No drunken recollection of the room spinning, no flashback of the staircase or the slot machines. Even the noises of the people, music, and machines seemed personally unfamiliar.
The man at the desk handed something to Cuddy, which she quickly grabbed with her right hand and stuffed whatever it was into her pocket. Her hand stayed there.
She motioned for him to follow her up the stairs, into a hallway filled with many golden doors.
"What's behind door number 1?" He asked her. She frowned slightly as she removed a key (Wilson wondered why she had a key) from her pocket. She opened the door.
In the room was a purple carpet and gold walls. Wilson felt a sudden urge to try and focus on his surroundings. In said room were a lot of people, mostly women in more skin-tight glittery dresses. There were some card tables, a few slots, and a very noticeable bar that changed colors every five seconds.
House was sitting in the middle of three women, watching them play cards and laughing when they lost. His eyes met Wilson's.
"Wilson! I thought I'd never see you again." A fake sniffle followed and he limped across the room.
House looked fine. Well as fine as someone who had gone through a state of detoxifying himself because of hallucinations . . . can look. He did seem a bit drunk though. Wilson wished he was in a similar state.
"Oh and I was worried you wouldn't pick up any hookers. You know there are younger ones." He added, turning his gaze to Cuddy.
"Charming." She muttered sarcastically.
She seemed uncomfortable at best.
"What happened to me?" Wilson asked. He had to know, needed to know. House hit his shoulder.
"I don't know."
At least one of them was amused.
Wilson sighed.
"Can we go?" Cuddy asked. House frowned.
"But the one in the red goes both ways." He fake pouted.
"House, they are all wearing red. And I'm not thirteen."
"Harsh." House said. Wilson took a few steps back. House seemed to be enjoying this conversation. And although she wanted to leave Cuddy wasn't really forcefully pushing the issue.
"Listen I really don't feel like deciphering your banter, I want to go. At least in Jersey things make sense." He pleaded. Cuddy turned to House and nodded in agreement.
"It's your fault you brought the devil woman. She kills all the fun."
Wilson sighed. He didn't even know what to make of this argument.
"Besides that one with the pink hair, I kind of told her you were into her." House pointed to her. She waved.
Wilson's level of annoyance seemed to rise with each plea of House's. This wasn't the right place for him. This wasn't anything close to being right. House needed to stop drinking and properly detox. And shouldn't Cuddy be more upset by all of this?
"House. I want my wallet. I want to go." He could feel his anger building.
House bit his lip and looked at Cuddy.
"You might want to back away, he might throw something soon." House was amused. It wasn't the ideal reaction that Wilson hoped for.
"We have to stay one more night. I just want to go back to the hotel. I hate Vegas." Cuddy said.
Cuddy said? This did not register with Wilson.
"Wait? Why?" He wanted to go home. Back to his dead girlfriend's apartment. Back where he could drown himself in paperwork when he was upset. Here there wasn't any paperwork. There wasn't anything that resembled home. People who were looking for home did not go to Vegas.
House smirked.
He then pulled Cuddy's left hand out of her pocket. On her ring finger sparkled a small diamond ring.
"Woah."
It was all Wilson could think of saying. Married. To House?
"Woah." He repeated again. He must be drunk.
"This is your fault." She blurted at him. Wilson lowered his eyebrow.
"My fault? My fault? What? How?" His words jumbled together.
"Yes. Because you called me in desperation and so I came to get you. And then you fed me tequila. And then House fed me tequila. Which was then followed by, well it seemed like a good idea at the time." She was agitated. Her tone rose with every syllable.
"She was all over my jock."
Cuddy hit House lightly in the arm. Wilson could have sworn he smiled. But as soon as he looked again, it was gone.
"Anyway, we somehow sort of lost you. So once I gathered my senses, I found you again. But we have to wait to leave because well, we need to get it annulled."
"Harsh." House repeated. "And what are you going to tell our love child?"
She snorted.
"That mommy found daddy in a room full of hookers." Her retort should have made Wilson laugh. He could feel his body wanting to laugh. But nothing happened.
"You know if you start talking that way around the kid, she'll pick it up. Doesn't Cuddy have a dirty mouth? One of the reasons I married her. That and her funbags." House was having way too much fun at the expense of the both of them. He had wondered how House was going to mess up any chance of having an honest relationship with Cuddy.
Although getting married in Vegas was not one of his options.
"Wilson, I can not believe that this is how you agreed to spend your vacation days." Her attempt to subtly change the subject was noted. Although he knew it wouldn't work.
Wilson couldn't believe it either. How could he let House talk him into this? He wondered if maybe House did drug him.
"I can't believe you guys are married."
"She was all over me." House patted Cuddy on the head. She glared.
"Oh no, you were so all over me." Her face was smug.
Wilson could hear the argument going on. He just couldn't focus on it. He still wanted to know what had happened to his shirt. As well as his money.
"Isn't that right Wilson?" House asked. Wilson had stopped paying attention.
"I'm not getting involved." Wilson threw his arms in the air and sat on the floor. He gave up. He wasn't getting any answers tonight. The woman with the pink hair kept looking at him, but he pushed any desires aside. He leaned against the wall for support. He could feel his eyes closing. He could feel the room spinning. The secret hope that he was drunk returned. House and Cuddy had moved somewhere during the period where his eyes shut.
His eyes flickered open. He saw the pink haired hooker was doing body shots. She kept winking at him.
Wilson was also sure that House had Cuddy pinned to a wall and was making out with her in the furthest corner. The room was smoky, and he could only really see a cane in the distance.
They should be married.
His eyes closed again.
"Wilson." The voice sounded calm.
"Wilson." It chimed once more. He didn't want to get up, to be moved from the only solid spot in Vegas.
He could feel a hand on his back, which caused him to jump.
Cuddy jumped back, hitting the side of her leg on his desk.
His desk?
He looked around, he was in his office. His coffee was spilled on the floor. He must have knocked it over. Luckily there wasn't any drool on his desk.
"It was a dream?" He half asked Cuddy, half asked himself.
"Yeah Dorothy. Do you know anything about the stripper in my office? Because I think you do." She was not amused.
"No, no. I don't." He lied. Everybody does. She nodded.
"I just don't know what to do with House." Part of her seemed, sad. This reaction confused Wilson, but he didn't pursue the topic.
"I didn't think you would tell me. Oh I had to ask you something else." She stated.
"Yeah." He was somewhat embarrassed that he had fallen asleep during work, but could tell that Cuddy wasn't mad at him.
"How were you planning on spending your vacation days?"
End