"House, go home. You're hung over." Cuddy's arms were folded across her vaguely exposed chest as she stared down at the doctor crumpled over the mess of forms and video games upon his desk. There were signs of bleary exhaustion along the lines and dark circles beneath his eyes as he glanced briefly up at the booming voice coming from his supervisor.

"I'm not hung over," he mumbled unconvincingly. "Being hung over requires that one would drink too much for your body to handle."

"So what do you suppose is the reason for your charming and ecstatic presence here at Princeton Plainsboro today?" Cuddy snapped curtly as the corners of her lips curled into the gentlest of smirks. There was something utterly satisfying about having the upper hand in any situation with him – moments like these were few and far between.

"My leg just hurts," House lied while once more looking up from his makeshift pillow of patient files and ripped out pictures of comic books, all wrapped together with a softening touch of gauze and medical tape. The door to his office gave a slight screech and he winced as Wilson brushed through, shouldering the door for enough room to pass through as he juggled a full arm's load of steaming coffee cups.

"Don't listen to him," Wilson started as he quickly scuttled up behind Cuddy as though he was afraid his small frame of absence had been enough for House to fabricate anything on either of their behalves. "Whatever he is saying to you is a dirty, shameless lie. By the way here," he remembered as he handed Cuddy the second cup of caffeine, sipping on his own momentarily. Gasping he pulled the Styrofoam cup away in alarm as he grunted, "Damn, that's hot."

"Thanks for getting me one?" House said in droll sarcasm as he slouched further into his seat, fingertips massaging his temples in slow circular motions. Wilson paid him no attention.

"This asshole wakes me up this morning and tells me that he's still too drunk to drive and asks if I can give him a ride to work. Being a nice friend – House, notice how I use that word? Try and look it up in the dictionary if you get a break from your nasty little migraine in the corner over there. Anyway, being a nice friend I agree and sure enough he was just horribly hung over and didn't want to risk vomiting on his motorcycle because that would require him to clean it. A novel idea, I know. No, instead he opts to throw up in my car not once but twice and then have the gall to suggest he was simply carsick from my driving and therefore I was the one who had to pay to get it washed and dried."

Cuddy blanched as she shot House a sterile glance. "I hope he told you to get down on your hands and knees and clean it your damn self." House prepared to retort but was caught off guard by a yawn, swallowing his words as he concealed it behind the palm of his slightly trembling hand.

"See? I'm not hung over. I'm just tired," he grumbled as he grasped the handle of his cane firmly, pushing himself upwards to stand.

"Yeah well it must've been a long sleepless night," Wilson muttered snidely as his shoulders tensed and tightened with apparent frustration. House's pale blue eyes flickered intensely as he froze, slightly taken aback by the tone in his best friend's voice. He had done worse than empty the contents of his drunken stomach in Wilson's car, and yet this was the first time that his antics had seemed to ruffle the kinder doctor's feathers. Even the length of his jaw was clenched as though he was refraining from honestly and truly spilling just how he felt.

"And what the hell is that supposed to mean?" House asked with slapdash confusion.

Wilson's face formed into something rather unpleasant, an obvious change from the norm. His eyes slit sharply as he retorted fiercely. "I'm just saying how hard it must've been for you to sleep next to a beautiful girl and not be able to touch her. I'd be surprised if you didn't spend the entire night carelessly trying to cop a feel the minute she was out cold." House's brow rose in astonishment, barely able to believe the words that were coming from his friend.

"You're kidding, right? Is he serious?" House turned to Cuddy, her expression reflecting that of one who had just had a thousand bricks dropped upon her thoughts.

"You paid a hooker to sleep next to you? I know you're lonely but I never expected," Cuddy babbled as her cheeks flushed in fright that her embarrassment was beginning to show.

"She wasn't a hooker," House shouted adamantly as he struck the floor beneath him with the bottom of his cane for emphasis, starting to wonder if he had stumbled into a drunken dream. "She wasn't a hooker," he repeated a bit gentler as his fingertips curled along one another as his surrounding began to spot and sparkle with black dots around his line of vision. Perhaps it was merely a dream after all, things were getting fuzzy enough. "My patient's girlfriend wanted a place to stay and asked to stay with me. I didn't know she was going to come into my bed, alright?"

"Oh my God, I'm going to get sued," Cuddy moaned aloud as she buried her face deep within her palms, her cup of coffee sloshing as it rested along the bridge of her nose.

"It's not illegal," House snapped as he eased himself back into the chair. Things were spinning too quickly now to be upright. Balance was becoming difficult.

"No, but it's highly unethical," Cuddy shot back just as frantically as she lifted her head. Her eyes were burning with a hint of rage and another emotion that House couldn't place at that particular moment.

"I didn't fucking ask her to sleep with me, or next to me however you want to call it. She brought her own drunken ass into the bed by her own damn self. What are you? Jealous?" House paused, staring in silence as he waited for an answer.

Caught off guard, Cuddy stumbled childishly around syllables and thought. "… no," she replied with a sudden look of distaste as though the very thought appalled her. "No," she stated once more. House's jaw fell slightly agape as recognition dawned within his countenance.

"You are," he whispered with perverse amusement. "You're insanely jealous right now. Look at you. You're like a piñata that's had enough goes and with one more whap of the stick – you'll pop like those marvelous breasts squeezed too tightly into what you're trying to pass for office attire."

"You're a delusional idiot," Cuddy hissed scathingly as she turned on her heels and quickly stormed out of the room, the door slamming profusely behind her.

House flinched and the sudden movement shook his fingertips in a series of tiny tremors. Heaving a tired sigh he once more rested his head upon his lumpy pillow of paper and gauze, his back arching as he slumped against the smooth wooden surface of the desk. It felt cool against his cheek which was still burning from the alcohol the night before. "So what's the deal? Are you jealous too or just really, really pissed off that I hurled in your sweet ride?" he mumbled in a decibel so airy, he could barely be heard. Wilson, too, let out a heavy sigh.

"No, and no. I'm sorry, I'm just in a bad mood due to the pounding in my head that won't go away even with caffeine and the healthy limit of aspirin."

"I hear you on that one," House smiled faintly into the desk, a hint of his reflection mirroring his actions back up at him. "I didn't mean to piss Cuddy off. Not yet at least. I try to hold the joy of her backside walking away from me for a late afternoon breather."

"I know. You were just being you," Wilson replied with understanding. There was a moment of quiet as he bit into the fleshy muscle of his bottom lip, the only sound audible left being the shortened inhalations from the chair where House was curled up. "You didn't – do anything did you?"

"What're you talking about?" House didn't bother to raise his head, the light was irritating his eyes all of a sudden and the dim illuminations from the hallway outside his door was enough to make him scream.

"With her. You didn't do anything did you? You know, last night when she was in your bed." Wilson's eyebrow lifted as he motioned obviously with his hands, as though the casual puppetry of his fingertips would jostle House's current sluggish state of memory.

"You're not jealous are you?" House repeated with perceptible suspicion. It wasn't odd for Wilson to be concerned, but there was a tinny pitch to the words he was uttering and it just seemed strange to him.

"Not in the least," Wilson reassured. "I just want to make sure you didn't just get yourself in a situation that you can't pull yourself out of. You don't want to piss off people with that much access to any single news and broadcasting outlet across the world. All he has to do is suspect you fooled around with his girl while she was drunk and scared and the next thing you know they're hearing him shit-talk you all the way in Bolivia and your days of being that heroic doctor that saves the day just before the lights go out – goes out the window."

The door opened as Cameron and Chase breezed through, charts in their clutches as worried looks appeared upon both their faces.

"What's the matter?" House inquired as he eyed the two with caution, squinting to strain the light from penetrating his lashes.

"I could ask the same," Chase snorted with a surprised grin. "What'd you do last night? Break out a keg with the old frat buddies?" He snickered at himself, clearly finding himself rather clever.

Cameron, however, leapt into concern immediately as she rushed over to his side. "Have you had enough water? You need to stay hydrated. You don't have a fever do you? You could have alcohol poisoning. Have you been throwing up? Did you eat anything? Do you want anything to eat?" She began fishing around in her lab coat's pockets for a thermometer as she pelted him with a breathless storm of inane questions that only furthered his headache. House, though annoyed at Cameron's sudden urge to mother him and the bizarrely sexual way she was stroking his hand as though the thought of him being in need of her made her feel more turned on than any oiled up man with muscles in a thong could – he found himself rather amused by the jealous flare that had ignited in Chase's expression. It was no secret to just about anyone in the hospital who had ears that the two were still cavorting about with their supposedly secret sexual escapades throughout the locked closets and empty bathroom stalls. Keeping silent however, Chase merely tucked a loose strand of blonde hair safely away from his eyes though it was perfectly clear to everyone in the room besides Cameron that he was steaming where he stood.

"Cameron, he's just hung over. I'm sure he'll survive," Wilson said with a twinge of exasperation at her dramatic display of panic and care. "My car, on the other hand-," he was cut off however by the sudden crash as House's cane slammed upon the floor, his body contorting in small spasms as he began to vomit on the carpet beneath the hollowed out space of his desk. Everyone in the room went perfectly quiet, not a one moving.

"I hate this," House mumbled hoarsely between gasps of air that led to nothing more than a series of dry heaves and a wrenching bout of gags that left Chase pale and running for the door as Cameron followed her clandestine beau with a permeable look of concern gracing her painted lips. "Oh my god - I hate, hate, fucking hate, hate it," he repeated as he shuddered at the sensation of wetness that was seeping through his shirt as a trail of sick dripped with saliva down his chin. Wilson winced at the sight but quickly grabbed the few tissues he had stuffed in his back pocket and handed them over to his friend.

"For the record I am not jealous," rang the considerably calmer yet still bitter voice of Cuddy as she stomped back into the office only to stop dead in her tracks. "What the hell happened?"

"Looks like my car isn't the only thing that needs to be cleaned," Wilson joked lightly as House swabbed the tissue along the shape of his mouth, cleaning himself the best that he could.

"Great," Cuddy drawled cheerlessly. "I told you to go home and what do you do? You stay here, accuse me of outrageous things, destroy Wilson's private property, cost me a fortune for the carpet cleaners that are going to need to come now, and nearly give me a heart attack by insinuating that you slept with your patient's girlfriend. You know, most people are still asleep right now. Can't you go be one of those people? And is that – are you crying?"

House shook his head slowly. "My eyes water when I throw up." Yet the moisture was distinct, brimming at the corners and about to rupture. Cuddy seemed to soften at the sight of his obvious discomfort. She had never seen him so disheveled, even when he was at his lowest – no, out of all the moments this was lower than any that had come before.

"Let me go get you another shirt," Wilson offered hesitantly. "I've got a spare in my office in case something ever happens."

"Or you forget to get dressed," Cuddy supplied quickly though immediately rolling her eyes at her own statement. "Well that was a stupid thought."

"I'll forget you said it," Wilson assured her with a boyish smile. Their pleasantries were once more interrupted as House crumbled lower towards the floor, his stomach clearly straining to vomit the remainder of what lay within it but having difficulty doing so. Both Cuddy and Wilson quickly surrounded him as Wilson slid his hand reassuringly up and down his arching back as Cuddy gave his arm an encouraging squeeze and a soft peck atop his head.

"James, can you please take him home?" Wilson nodded, too drained to remain frustrated with the situation as he continued to stroke the curved back of his friend despite the silence that now came from him as the retching had subsided. He sighed as he glanced down at House, who was now staring off blithely into the space around his feet as clear condensation streamed from between each brown lash along the outline of his pallid blue eyes. It was clear that the man who could take care of anything, any problem he faced – could not take care of himself this morning.

"Yeah. Yeah, I got it. Just get me some more tissues, okay?"

"Okay." She paused. "Are you sure he's just hung over? You're sure nothing happened with that girl? You know better than anyone else how much House likes to mask the real problems in his life with some physical ailment that has nothing to do with what's actually going on."

"Honestly? I have no idea." Cuddy sighed.

"Well when he's coherent make sure you tell him he needs to sort whatever the hell this is out. I expect my diagnostician ready and able early tomorrow morning with all kinds of words of hope and wisdom for his patient." She gave House's shoulder a slight pat. "And I expect lots and lots of not having law suits. Understand?" House waved the bare tips of his fingers in acknowledgement and Cuddy gave a brisk nod. "Good, then. Good."