Chapter 21

House stumbles into Cuddy's home, effectively waking Cuddy up. She rises up in bed at the sound of the front door closing; she had decided earlier that her bed was much more comfortable than her chair.

Leaning against the wall for support, staggering his way into the living room, House calls out, "Cuddy? CUDDY?" She slides out of bed, worry creasing her brow. She lithely moves down the hallway, flicking on the light as she goes.

Cast in bright light, House shades his eyes with one forearm as his other favors his stomach.

Cuddy's breath catches in her throat as she catches sight of him. He looks like he's been sick. No, she thinks, fearing the worse, that he is sick.

When he collapses to the floor, she screams, "HOUSE!" and races to his fallen form.

Laughter erupts from his pale mouth, full and heartily as his glazed eyes take in the fear and concern of hers.

Her face is a mask of confusion at his inappropriate laughter. As she leans closer she is hit with the powerful smell of alcohol. She closes her eyes and steps away before reopening them.

A lump grows in her throat as she stares down at him in disappoint, shock, and a tiny bit of anger. Tears start to spill down her cheeks.

There are no words for what she feels right now. The anger at his actions, the shock and disappointment at seeing him so completely intoxicated.

He had been doing so good, had barely touched a drink since they've been together. But what upsets her the most is the fact that she was so scared when she saw him. Scared that he was terribly ill.

Oh, she is so helpless to the feeling of hurt coursing through her body as her heart pounds in her chest.

House picks his head up just far enough off the floor to look at her, his eyes glassy. She leaves him there, lying there.

She disappears into her bedroom, slamming the door, leaving the inebriated House to lie on the hard wood floor, too blissfully intoxicated to care, his bitter laughter leaving an ache in her heart.

Cuddy sits at the desk in her office, her face red and puffy while she tries to concentrate on some work. After leaving House on his own she had took a shower to calm down her nerves then she had decided to seek out refuge… work.

Wilson had spotted her and had noticed quite quickly that something was wrong. After Cuddy had tipped him off to House and his abrasive behavior Wilson left to get the other side of the story from the man himself.

The morning found House with his face plastered to the floor in a half-way dried gooey substance from which a smell so vile makes him want to add fresh vomit to the pile.

"Oww…" The moans of pain are the only sound heard in the house.

Wishing the floor would stop making his body throb and wishing the room to stop spinning House rolls onto his back, palms flat against the floor, knuckles white and tense riding out the waves of pain.

It could have been seconds or it could have been days, House couldn't tell but the pain had only increased by the time he heard the opening and closing of a door.

Listening for the sound of high heels, he was disappointed. The sound of less feminine shoes coming to stand beside his head alerts House to his friends presence.

Wilson, good 'ole Wilson, House thinks right before he feels the clinch of his stomach and rolls to his side, splattering Wilson's shiny shoes in vile smelling vomit.

A deep sigh is heard from above and House mentally laughs, He should have moved…. Then his thoughts turn serious, to someone more important. Where's Lisa? What have I done?

Wilson's loud voice rings out, "Oh, you've really done it this time."

House just squeezes his eyes shut in response, trying to shut out Wilson's presence and the emotional pain from the knowledge of the consequence of his actions. At the moment the emotional agony overriding the psychical pain he feels.

Wilson, with practiced patience and no pity for his hung over friend, half carries, half drags House into the bathroom then strips him and shoves him into a cold shower.

Throwing a washcloth in his direction, Wilson leaves House to wash himself as he goes in search of a medication vile.

Walking into the bedroom, Wilson pockets the pills that were on top of the dresser. He spots one of House's favorite t-shirts lying on the floor.

Glancing down at his ruined shows Wilson grins reaching for the vintage rock t-shirt and begans wiping the offending substance that is House's vomit off his shoes.

Wilson laughs to himself, revenge is a sweet thing.

Wilson returns fifteen minutes later with a glass of water and a handful of pills. He may be mad at the other man's idiocy, but he doesn't care to have him in pain.

Wilson could already tell House was sorry, Wilson just wants to know why. Why? When he has it so good, why would he screw it up so bad. What could possibly make him feel the need to drown himself booze?

"…I've never been the kind to ever let my feelings show
And I thought that being strong meant never losing your self-control
But I'm just drunk enough to let go of my pain
To hell with my pride, let it fall like rain
From my eyes
Tonight I wanna cry…"

To be continued...

Author's Note: Hope y'all enjoyed the quick update, I posted early in honor of this story reaching 100 reviews! Thanks to everyone who has read and reviewd so far.

I'll make a deal with y'all, if this chapter gets at least 10 reviews, I promise to work really hard and post a another chapter within the next day.

Lyrics by Keith Urban, "Tonight I Want To Cry."