"You're here."
"Yep."
"Are you high?"
"Yep."
"How could you do that to me?"
"Its the only way I could make it here."
House limped over to her hospital bed, searching for some kind of forgiveness in her eyes.
"House… I need some space. Go talk to Wilson or something."
"Please…"
The way he looked at her almost made her want to take back her previous statement, and he looked hurt, because he had hurt her and she knew that when he hurt her the only way he could make himself feel better was by hurting himself.
"No, go please. I can't talk to you right now."
He left Cuddy's hospital room and on a detour to Wilson's office, ended up in the bar nearest to the hospital. He stayed there longer than he knew he should have and after mulling over a scotch for an hour and a half paid the bartender and left the drink sitting on the bar. Twenty minutes later, he was laying on Wilson's couch. As per usual, Wilson was not there, and most likely caring for some terminal cancer kid. A while later, Wilson came in.
"Jesus House, I leave for half an hour to be with a patient and in that short span of time you go and nearly give me a heart attack."
"I'm a doctor. I can handle a heart attack. But that's about it. Wilson, I took Vicodin. It's the only way I could be with her after the surgery. I can't do a relationship, I'm too messed up. And she knows that." House paused. "I need help. But I'm not going back to Mayfield. I'm going to work this out and if I have to do it myself, dammit, I will, but I'd rather do it with you and Cuddy helping me."
Wilson knew that when his best friend asked for help he really needed it and was going to kick the Vicodin, even if it killed him. House was that stubborn. And from the way Wilson saw it, he was madly in love with Cuddy. Even though he pretended to enjoy pain, his own and other's, he couldn't stand seeing Lisa Cuddy in any amount of pain, no matter how small.