A/N: Well Hello All! Geesh, it's been some time since I've posted anything. I've been working on some pieces that I'd like to eventually send to a publisher so that has been taking up all of my spare time since Candy Canes and Mistletoe. Of course real life hogs up the rest of the time. Plus, to be truthful, I haven't been all that impressed with House this season. I think they totally went off the deep end when they really had a nice opportunity to do something great with House "in love" even if it was with Cuddy. I was willing to overlook that for some real gems of an opportunity. But alas, they ruined it and dropped the ball in my humble opinion. I don't buy that song and dance that he's irredeemable. Oh well, I guess that's why I write fanfic and not for the show eh?
At any rate, this piece here, I started last summer in the midst of one "real" fic and the end of Candy Canes. Still not finished with it yet, but hoping to get my flow going since summer is coming and I only have 3 weeks left of educating the brain-dead teens of America. Prom just happened along with the ubiquitous trip to the shore. So in honor of that debauchery and the release of the Hangover II (which was every bit as insane as the first BTW), I give you the Hangover: House MD style! This takes place in the beginning of Season 6. House is living with Wilson and still relatively stable after Mayfield.
Enjoy!
Vegas Hangover
Chapter 1: What happens in Vegas…
What was the adage? For the life of him, James Wilson couldn't remember.
Mom always said not to play ball in the house.
Keep making that face and it will stay that way.
You'll shoot your eye out, kid.
Oh yeah, now he recalled…
Beer before liquor never sicker; liquor before beer, have no fear.
He'd stuck to the adage. Well, at least he thought he did. They had started with a shot of tequila... was it? He couldn't remember. All he knew was his head felt like someone had removed his brain and stuffed it with sand. It was heavy, throbbing with an incessant pulsation like a marching band was playing a loud cadence inside the clouded space between his ears. What he wouldn't give for a grenade and an AK-47 to take them all out; just mow them down like zombies in a shopping mall. God, he'd been playing too much Left For Dead with House. He really needed to get a life.
He needed to stop drinking with House was what he really should do. Even now after the whole Mayfield incident, the bastard could still drink his ass under the table like his liver had some how just regenerated, glad to be back in its state of inebriated deterioration. The man was a machine.
Wilson cracked one eye open. Immediately, he regretted doing so as the white-hot light blinded him into a screeching, searing pain that shot straight through his retina into his cerebral cortex. He clamped his eye shut, squinting away the purple afterimage as that made his stomach tilt and whirl like a kiddie ride at a carnival.
Wilson let out an inaudible groan that caught in the Sahara dessert that was his throat. Peeling his tongue off of the roof of his mouth, he tried to salivate as least a drop so he could swallow the bile rising its way up his esophagus like a really bad case of GERD.
"House, I hate you," he croaked.
A duck quacked at him in response.
A duck?
Wilson cracked his eye open again, shielding himself from the laser beam of drunken karma coming back on him with a vengeance.
Quack, quack-quack, quack…
What the hell?
Wilson blinked his eyes three, four and then five times before he could focus his pupils on anything that wasn't a large dark object in the room. He heaved his drunken, tired body into sitting and looked to see where this quacking sound was coming from.
Quack.
He swung his head to the left, immediately regretting it as the horizon of the floor tilted at a precarious angle. Closing his eyes and breathing, the floor shifted back to normal upon opening his lids. Sure as shit, there was a white duck standing in front of his feet.
His feet.
He had on sandals over his black socks? Where the hell were his Italian loafers?
Patting his legs with his hands, he felt only hairy skin and the hem of his boxers. Oh shit! He'd lost his pants. Again. Fucking great.
He pressed his hands to his face rubbing the alcohol-induced stupor from his eyes. Scrubbing a few times, he paused. Something didn't feel right. Dragging his fingers over his left eye, he felt around. Skin, smooth bare skin. Wait a minute… Right eye, eyelid, eyelashes, skin, hair, eyebrow.
He moved his fingers to the left again. Eyelid, lashes, skin, skin, more skin…
Where the FUCK WAS HIS EYEBROW!
Oh that was it!
"House!" Wilson bellowed at the top of his lungs.
The duck at his feet began to quack incessantly. Quack, quack-quack, quack, quack, quack-quack, quack…
Wilson was out of his mind with rage. That mother fucker! After all he did for him, by taking his ass in, baby-sitting him in his time of need, putting up with his shit all over the apartment. This was how he repaid him? By shaving off his eyebrow? Oh, he was a fucking dead man.
Wilson rose to stand but stumbled two steps forward. He tried to regain his footing but crashed into the lamp on the floor, nearly hitting the duck, who quacked in annoyance at him. "Well, excuse me," he muttered. "Get the hell out of the way then."
"House!" Wilson traipsed into the living room of their suite. "I'm gonna fucking beat you with your cane and then cut off your head leaving you with only one eyebrow, you son of a bitch!"
"House!"
House heard a crash… and a duck? He slammed his eyes shut.
God, that was one wild ass dream. He'd been having those since he'd been off the Vicodin. Like the flood gates to his subconscious had opened up and had gone Caligula on him. This one was quite spectacular, though.
What the fuck was a duck quacking for?
"Jesus Christ, shut that duck up!" he barked.
Wilson came into the room crashing into things, muttering something loudly about one eyebrow. What the hell was he going on about? He had just called him a 'son of a bitch'…
"Leave my mother out of this," House grumbled. Suddenly, something moved on top of him. Something sticky, like sweaty skin on skin.
House cracked his eye open and saw reddish brown hair draped over his chest. Holy shit, it was a woman. A naked woman to be exact. On top of his naked body?
"Whoa, ho, ho…" Wilson exclaimed. "OH MY GOD!"
Before House could grasp what was going on, the woman screamed and bolted off of his body. Her actions were so quick that he rolled off the couch, landing with a thud onto the floor. What the fuck?
Righting himself he stood, naked as a jaybird in front of Wilson and… Thirteen?
"House?"
"Thirteen?"
"You're naked?"
"You're naked?"
"Why are you naked?" Thirteen shrieked grabbing at a zebra striped pillow to cover only part of her essentials.
"Why are you naked?" he demanded, clutching his hand over his own privates.
Well, this was embarrassing.
"Did I have sex with you?"
"I don't know," he retorted. "It sure looks like we did."
She closed her eyes on grimace of disgust. "Oh god!"
"Hey, you were the one on top of me, there sweetheart," he defended himself. Geesh, she didn't have to make it sound so revolting. "You obviously liked it! And why the fuck are you here, anyway? Aren't you supposed to be in Thailand?"
"I can assure you I didn't like it! And I was at a medical conference," she retorted. "What's your excuse?"
"We're at the same medical conference," he told her.
"Oh my god, will somebody put clothes on!" Wilson covered his eyes and spun around to face the wall, spastically throwing his arm out to the side in his frantic gestured of panic. Wilson had no pants on, his dress shirt, half a tie and black trouser socks with sandals on. He looked a sight.
House looked around at his surroundings. They were in their suite at the top of the Bellagio in Las Vegas. Everywhere he turned, he saw remnants of a party of epic magnitude. There were empty bottles and glasses strewn about. Clothes, none of which were his, hanging from the chandelier. Empty bags of food and a white powdery substance on the coffee table in front of him. His eyes went wide. "We did cocaine?"
"What?" Thirteen wailed.
"You've got to be kidding me," Wilson complained.
Quack, qu-quack, quack…. A white fat little duck waddled out from the bedroom and into the living room.
"Is that a duck?" Thirteen pointed to the bird as it pecked at the bits and pieces of what looked like Lucky Charms on the carpet.
"Yes, that is a duck."
House blinked his eyes surveying the damage. Wow. He was impressed. They had had a rocking party and not one of them remembered any of it.
"What the hell is a duck doing in here? And where the hell are my clothes?" Thirteen demanded as she tried desperately to find something to put on her extremely exposed body. Unable to control himself, he stole a peak at her as she fished around the piles for her underwear. She did after all just wake up on top of him… naked. Maybe her beautiful heart-shaped ass would jog his memory… Turning, she found something that satisfied her enough to put on.
House caught sight of a reddish black mark on her ass cheek. He squinted his eyes to look closer. Oh shit!
She stepped into a pair of black lace panties and gasped as she turned around. "Oww, God, my ass hurts," she turned around and touched her hand to the spot on her butt, staring at him accusatorily. "It better not be carpet burn."
Still covering his family jewels with one hand, House sheepishly scratched the back of his head with the other, making a face. "Nope, not rug burn."
Thirteen narrowed her eyes at him. "What the hell is it?"
"Um, you might wanna turn around and take a look," he suggested tentatively.
Finding a slinky black dress, she pasted it over her breasts like a sheet before turning around. "Holy mother fucking shit!"
She rotated around and flashed her eyes at him. "It's a tattoo!"
He nodded.
"It's a little house… and it says 'House's slut'!" Her eyes glared at him accusatorially.
"Um, yeah… I saw."
Wilson grumbled and sputtered, stalking back and forth near the kitchen area of the suite. "This takes the cake House. I can't even imagine what Dr. Nolan will say when he hears about this!"
House looked over at Wilson and then quirked his head to the side. "Are you missing an eyebrow?"
"Yes! As a matter of fact I am!" Wilson screeched. "I'll give you three guesses how that happened."
House spied a pair of jeans across the room and motioned for Thirteen to toss them to him. "Could you, umm, pass me my pants?" he asked, shyly. There was no way he'd be able to hobble over there and keep his 'Johnny and the Swingers' from making an encore. Begrudgingly, after stepping into her dress, she went over and picked up the jeans, tossing them to him.
A wad of cash flew out and onto the floor. A thick wad of cash. Bending over, she picked up the stack of bills. Her eyes flashed up to his and Wilson's. "It's gotta be close to $50,000."
"Fifty thousand dollars?" Wilson exclaimed. "House where did you get fifty thousand dollars from?"
House shrugged awkwardly still covering his privates. Taking pity on him, Thirteen handed him his pants and turn her back as he stepped into them. "Beats the hell out of me," he said zipping his fly. Finding him a t-shirt, Thirteen tossed that to him and then ran her hands through her hair to comb it out.
"Ouch…" she grumbled and then began to panic, struggling with her hand in her hair. "Will somebody help me, my hand is stuck."
Still with no pants on, Wilson moved over to her and tried to help her get her fingers untangled from her messy hair. House slipped on his t-shirt and watched the debacle.
Finally dislodging her hand from her hair, Wilson looked at her and then him. "It's a wedding ring."
Thirteen held her hand out and looked at her ring finger on her left hand. House could see it from way the hell over here where he was standing. It was a very large diamond with two stones on either side in a platinum setting. Most definitely worth a huge chunk of change.
"Who the fuck am I married to?"
Wilson looked at his hands. Nothing.
"Well, your tattoo says 'House's slut'…" Wilson offered.
House froze, his heart catapulting to his throat as he hurriedly glanced at his hands. Nothing. "Not me."
"Well, if it's not one of you, then who?" she wondered, her eyes big with concern.
Just then, a grumbling sound came from behind the counter in the kitchen area of the suite. All three doctors turned to look. It could be anything at this point. Person, Thirteen's unidentified husband… a gorilla?
When nothing happened, the doctors approached the counter with caution to see what was making the noise.
"You go first," House gestured to Wilson.
"No," he said angrily. "You go first."
"Why should I be the one, I'm the cripple remember?"
"Because if it kills you then I won't have to," Wilson griped.
"Oh, good Lord, will one of you just go?" Thirteen complained.
House rolled his eyes and limped heavily around the counter. There was a man laying on the floor covered in Lucky Charms. Thirteen came up behind House and tentatively touched his arm.
"It's a cop?" she said peering over his shoulder.
House shook his head. "It can't be real cop, he's probably a stripper."
"What?" Wilson questioned leaning in behind Thirteen.
"It can't be a real cop," House repeated.
"Is he dead?" she asked.
"No just sleeping," he said. The man was breathing.
"Are you sure?" Wilson asked.
"Yes, I'm sure," House groused. "Look at the way the little blue and purple marshmallows are moving back and forth on his chest."
"What should we do?" Thirteen asked.
"Just leave him there," House suggested.
"What if he's a real cop?"
"He's not a real cop," House stated. "I'm telling you, this dude's got to be a stripper. Maybe he's your husband."
"Fuck off. Look, those are real hand cuffs," she pointed. "And that's a real badge."
"And that is a real gun," Wilson said pointing to the very solid looking weapon in his holster.
House knelt down to check it out. He had just about reached the snap on the sidearm when a hand suddenly shot up and grabbed him forcefully by the arm. Shouting out a yell, House jumped back into Thirteen who jumped back into Wilson, all three of them stumbling backwards on a scream.
Hearts pounding, the trio heaved in lungfuls of air, heavily trying to catch their collective breath.
"What do you think you're doing," the officer demanded as he stood upright on the kitchen floor.
He was younger than House expected. His blonde hair dipped low over his forehead, his tanned skin looking almost unreal, like he fake baked regularly. There was so no way this guy was a real cop.
Looking completely disoriented and frightened, the officer took out his gun and aimed it at them. "Everyone put your hands up!"
House rolled his eyes. "All right Skippy, Sven, Biff whatever your 'call sign' is, the shows over. Ain't nobody gonna give you a tip here, party's done."
"House, shut up," Wilson muttered under his breath.
"I said, put your hands up," the young officer ordered more forcefully, nudging the gun at them.
"House, just do it," Thirteen begged.
House looked at both Thirteen and Wilson who both had their hands up high over their heads like little kids. Rolling his eyes, he raised his hands up to chest height and propped his hip onto the back of the sofa to take some of the burden off of his bad leg.
"Fine, I'll play your game," he grumbled. "Just so you know, your little woman over here has my name tattooed to her ass. It wasn't my fault she woke up on me naked. She assaulted me, not the other way around."
"House, you're such an asshole," Thirteen said to him from her position off to the side.
"You're not helping," Wilson muttered, as if the cop couldn't hear him.
"She's not my wife," the officer said tossing a look over his shoulder at her. "And you three are under arrest for assaulting a police officer."
House started to laugh. "What, with Lucky Charms? There's not a mark on you."
"You kidnapped me," he lifting the gun towards House's face.
"Kidnapped you?" He retorted. "We don't even know how we got back here last night. How could we possibly have kidnapped you?"
The officer looked around the room confusion beginning to take over as he took in his surroundings.
Quack, quack, quack…
His eyes dropped from House's face to the duck waddling across the floor to the rest of the Lucky Charms.
"Is that a duck?" he asked incredulously. "And what happened to your eye brow?"
"Yeah, we've already been through this," House said dropping his hands.
The officer became agitated. "Keep you hands up! Where I can see them!"
Sighing, House put his hands back up. "Look, we don't know anything more than you do. We just woke up, Daffy here was already in the apartment, Wilson's eyebrow was gone and Thirteen's married to someone, we don't know who, and you were passed out on the floor. That's as far as we got. We're all doctors here at the medical convention so you can put the gun down because nobody's gonna get shot."
Taking a second to contemplate his situation, the officer looked to House, to Thirteen, to Wilson to the duck and then back to House. Deciding that no one was going to jump him, he holstered his weapon and relaxed a bit.
Suddenly, a vibrating sound came from somewhere inside the couch. The group of them looked at the couch as if it would tell them why it was vibrating. Rolling her eyes and throwing her hands up in the air, Thirteen took it upon herself to get close to it not waiting for them to argue about who was going to find it. She dug her hands inside the cushions searching around the perimeter. Finally, she pulled out a cell phone. It was House's.
"I think it's for you," she said holding it out to him.
He took it from her and flipped it open. "Yeah?"
"Where's my money, asshole?"
Uh oh. Someone was looking for their $50,000 and they sounded pissed. "Um, sorry no speaka Inglish." He hung up the phone.
"Who was that?" Wilson asked.
"Wrong number," House shrugged. This was getting crazier by the minute. What the hell happened last night?
"Well, we need to find out what happened last night," Wilson said, becoming the voice of reason.
"Um, no we don't," House argued. "We need to pack our shit and get out of Dodge."
"Whoa, wait a second here. I need to know who I'm married to," Thirteen protested.
"Well it's a good thing you're here on your own then, instead of Thailand, huh?" House shot at her, making a move to go find his things. "Nice knowing ya!"
She stalked over to him and fiercely put her fists on her hips. "You know, I wouldn't have had to go to Thailand if you had just come back to work like you should have," she accused. "Then stupid Foreman wouldn't have fired me, because you would have been in charge!"
"I needed time," House argued, defensively. "Excuse me for going crazy and interrupting your plans."
"You know it's so typical, everything has to revolve around you and your twisted little world," she shot back at him. "Did you ever think for a second that what you do effects other people's lives?"
"I tried to get you to come back, but you didn't want to," he yelled at her, "You wanted to run away and hide like a scared little girl who didn't get her way. That wasn't my choice."
"You cancelled my plane tickets!"
"Everyone just STOP!" Wilson hollered. "The two of you shut up!" House and Thirteen seethed as they stared at each other for a long moment before bringing their attention to Wilson.
"We needed to figure out what happened last night," he said plainly.
"That's right," the officer agreed. "No body's going anywhere. I need to know how I wound up here passed out on the floor with one heck of a hangover while I'm supposed to be on duty. No one is leaving my sight until we figure that out."
Quack, quack-quack, quack…. The duck pranced back through the kitchen and down the short hall to the bedroom as if on cue.
"Well then, if you insist," House said. "Let's get started."