Disclaimer: I don't own the show or the characters of House—they belong to FOX etc.

This story is an alternate ending for the episode "Honeymoon". After Cuddy asks House if it's ok to hire Stacy as hospital counsel while her husband recuperates, he goes to a bar instead of home.

Finish Me

Two bar patrons stood on either side of House forcing his beaten bloody body toward the exit. Three other patrons are trying to hold on to the big angry guy responsible for those injuries. "Let him go! He's not done yet. Finish me you big dumb son of bitch!!! Got 6 Vicodin in me and a lot of scotch—you can't hurt me." House yells out while fighting to remain in the bar with every ounce of strength he had left.

The big guys friend is trying to calm him. "Come on, Eddie. Sit down, have another beer and forget about that guy.

"You heard him Kenny, the cripple was in my face he asked for it. He's still asking for it—he's crazy."

"Yeah, even better reason to walk away. You did enough damage tonight." Eddie shakes his head, sits down and starts in on fresh beer.

As House is dragged through the exit doorway, he managed to grab the edge of the doorframe with his left hand. The two guys pull him free—twisting his wrist to make him let go. A snap followed by sudden pain rips up his arm. 'I felt that' he thought, 'In fact, I feel a lot of pain—need more pills'. The flood of pain, with the pills and alcohol was more than his brain can process and he passes out.

Afraid to bring him back inside, they lay him down on the sidewalk. One guy stands next to him while the other goes inside to call an ambulance.

'Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital—emergency vehicle entrance only' was on the sign they passed.

Cuddy was putting papers in her brief case she knew she would never read tonight. It was late, she was tired, and just wanted to go home. As she lifted the case off her desk, the phone rang. She debated whether to pick up or not. She did "Dr. Cuddy."

"Hi Dr. Cuddy. This is Emily in the ER. Dr. House is here."

"I thought he left for the day. Oh, he'd rather work in the ER than the clinic. Fine I'll OK it. Anything else? I really have to leave."

"No, you don't understand. An ambulance brought him. He's been beaten up—it looks pretty bad. I hardly recognized him. I thought you might want to know."

Cuddy was in shock and unable to speak for a moment.

"Dr. Cuddy? Are you still there?"

"Yes, I'm here. Thank you, I'll be right down."

She put the briefcase back on her desk, threw her coat down, and ran to the elevator.

"Where's House?" Cuddy asked as she entered the ER.

"Exam room 6." The same nurse she spoke to over the phone replied.

Dr. Gabriel was assessing his injuries. "I need a blood and urine workup and an X-ray of his head, chest, and lower left arm--stat. " After placing his order, he turned to walk out and almost ran over Cuddy "Dr. Cuddy!?" he said with some surprise. "Can I help you?"

"Yes, I would like to know how he's doing?"

"Don't know—have to wait on the results. He was involved in a bar fight with another patron—so we're pretty sure alcohol was involved. He's been in and out since he was brought in."

"And the other guy?"

"There is no other guy—at least he was not brought here. Witnesses told Police Mr. House picked a fight and let the other guy use him as a punching bag. May I ask why the interest?"

It was apparent that this doctor didn't know who his patient really was. Not wanting to answer she blurted out "Look, I know how busy you are—why don't you let me help. I'll take this case off your hands." 'That sounded lame' she thought after she said it—but what's he going to say—she was the Dean of Medicine.

Dr. Gabriel just looked at her for what seemed like eternity —he realized he had no options, handed her his chart, said "OK" and left.

While the nurse drew blood, Cuddy just stared at this man who face was so swollen she hardly recognized him. She was taking over his treatment to protect him and his reputation from what she didn't know yet. "Make sure all reports on D…. Mr. House come directly to me, please!" she told the nurse.

"Yes, Dr. Cuddy. We're taking him over to x-ray next."

"Oh, and see about getting him a room—we're admitting him."

This wasn't standard procedure, but the nurse decided she better not question it. "Yes, Dr. Cuddy."

House was moved to a private room on the second floor; above the clinic he enjoyed so much. Cuddy was in the room waiting for him to wake up. They had to operate on his wrist—he had a displaced scaphoid fracture that required screws to hold the fragments together— stitched the cut under his left eye. She laughed to herself when she thought about the number of times he tried to get out of clinic duty. This was even a bit extreme for him. She knew this was much more serious than clinic duty. Moaning interrupted her thoughts.

He opened his eyes struggling to focus on the figure in front of him. "Stacy?"

"No, House-- try again."

"Oh, Cuddy—hey."

"Hey. Are you in a lot of pain?"

"Yeah."

"Since I'm your attending, I can up the pain meds."

"How did you get to be my attending—never mind—and you're offering more pain meds? I must be dreaming." The look on her face told him she wasn't in the mood for any of his crap. "No thanks, I'm ok."

"Why Greg? You could have just said no you didn't want her here. You didn't have to do this."

Uh-o she called me Greg "What the hell are you talking about? You think what ever this is had something to do with Stacy?"

"So, tell me why you picked a fight with some guy twice your size and let him pound you—do you have a death wish?"

"No, . . . not really."

Her frustration was unleashed in her next question. "So, what the hell was it House. This better be good because you're two steps away from the psych ward."

"Look, I took a couple pills, drank too much, and got in a fight—no big deal."

"You know they put that "Do not drink" sticker on the vicodin bottle for a reason."

"I believe it says alcohol may intensify the drowsiness thing. See—I bet you thought I didn't read those warning labels. It also says I can't share them with others--sorry."

"They need to include one about intensifying stupidity. I think this had something to do with Stacy. House, you know Stacy's not coming back to you. You have to move on."

His mood went from sarcastic to serious—she had touched a nerve. "Yeah, easier said than done. She told me that I was the one—her soul mate. We couldn't be together because she said there was no room for her in my world. She told me that—she didn't have to tell me that. "

"I agree, she should have kept that information to herself." She hesitated with her next sentence choosing her words carefully. She touched his good hand. "Look at me Greg." Their eyes met. "What if she came back to you? Told her husband—sorry dear I'm leaving you for the love of my life. Do you honestly think things would go back to the way they were before? You still haven't forgiven her for saving your life—five years is long enough."

He knew she was right—it would never work but it didn't matter. "What life? I have nothing—I have less than nothing. Please don't give me that bullshit about how there are lots of people out there worse off than I am and happy. Believe me they're not happy."

"I'm not going to even go there with you. I can't help you crawl out of a hole by crawling in with you—so, pull yourself out!"

"Yeah, cause you don't have a leg to stand on."

If looks could kill House would be dead right now. Cuddy took a deep breath. "Ok House, I'm going to let you simmer in your own self pity for a while. I'll check back with you later—try and get some rest."

She didn't deserve that--he knew it. She had pulled his ass out the fire more times than he could remember. Based on the fact that she was his attending, he figure this was another one of those times.

Wilson was in his office looking through a patient's file when Cuddy came in, "I give up. He's your friend—you talked to him cause I'm running out of reasons to keep him here."

"By him you mean House—what's he done or not done now?"

Cuddy was pacing back and forth as she told Wilson the story. "He's in room 210, if you want to talk to him."

Wilson was strangely calm after hearing the story. "I guess I'm not surprised. He hasn't been himself since Stacy came back."

"That's an understatement. He's spiraling and I don't know what to do. I can't cover for him anymore. Right now I've got him in a private room—not many people know he's here or more importantly how he got here. He needs help before he does himself in for good. Please talk to him."

"Calm down. I'll talk to him. I need a while to think about how to approach this. I honestly don't think he's deliberately suicidal—I think he just doesn't care if someone or something takes him out—which sounds like what happened in this case. "

"And that's somehow better?"

"No, and I didn't say it was. I'll talk to him and get back to you." Wilson went back to his file.

Cuddy looked at him, shook her head, and left.

Wilson walked into room 201 an hour after talking with Cuddy. He stood at the end of the bed and watched his friend sleep for a while. Medical clipboard in hand, he whacked the bottom of House's foot "Wake up, you have company," he said rather abruptly.

Startled House woke up "What the hell?" his eyes focus "Oh, hey Wilson."

"Hey!"

"Cuddy send you to yell at me?"

"No, she asked me to speak to you. Believe it or not Cuddy is worried about you. So, would you like to tell me what happened?"

"I screwed up-- vicodin, alcohol and a guy bigger than me don't mix."

"And the reason you did this in the first place was that you couldn't tell Cuddy that you didn't want Stacy here."

"I couldn't say no because I want her here. That would give me another shot at changing her mind. At least that's what I thought at the time." He found it hard to look at Wilson. "I guess I …um wanted to hurt as bad on the outside as I did on the inside, ok! That's why I started the fight."

Wilson's expression softened. This was one of the few times he had seen his friend get emotional. "I can understand that—I guess. You could of just stopped taking your vicodin and let the pain in your leg intensify—then hit your hand with a compounding hammer—Oh wait, you did that already. Yeah, this was way cooler."

House laughed a bit but that hurt. "I'm glad you can see the humor in this. Look, I know what I did was really dumb—won't happen again, OK!"

"No, it's not OK! Seriously House, you need to talk to someone—a professional."

"No I don't—I got you—that's what friends are for—right buddy?" he said somewhat sarcastically.

"No, not me. We don't have real conversations about anything—you always blow it off like you're trying to do now. Then you'll do something else. I couldn't handle the guilt, if you manage to succeed next time and I didn't at least try to get you some help."

"You think I'm suicidal?"

"No, I think you just don't care either way." He paused. "..but I care. "

For the first time ever House had nothing to say. No witty reply. No smart-ass come back—nothing.

Wilson was even surprised. It made House uncomfortable talking about anything personal even with his best friend. If forced into such a conversation, he never made eye contact while talking. This time he did.

"You're right. I guess I've forgotten what it feels like to give a shit. I'm sorry! I don't know what else to say."

"Say you won't ever try anything like this again and mean it or we can't be friends anymore—it's not just not worth it."

House was silent. Wilson look at him "See, you can't do it, can you." He waited for what seemed like an eternity for House to say something. "Good-bye, House"

Finished