Title: Some Days Are Worse Than Others
By: Sy Dedalus
Pairing: Gen; House/Wilson strong friendship, House/Cuddy friendship, Wilson/Cuddy friendship. Ducks involved in later chapters.
Rating: This chapter is T, TV-14, PG-13, etc.
Warnings: WIP, language.
Spoilers: Season One.
Summary: An alternate ending for "The Honeymoon" based on the script sides leaked by Fox in April 2005. Synopsis: instead of going home to his Vicodin, House gets angry and ends up starting a bar fight and nearly overdosing. We go from there….
Disclaimer: Not mine.

A/N: Huge thanks to everyone who's reviewed this fic and the others. Reviews make me writer faster. :)

Chapter 23: Old Alliances Renewed

Wilson called Cuddy from the nurse's station. She agreed immediately to reschedule House's appointment for the next morning and added that she expected an update as soon as anything changed. He couldn't tell her about the surreal conversation he'd had with House over the phone; it wasn't right. So he agreed. He knew that something would change before he was ready to speak to anyone about this…but she deserved to know what House had said. He knew she wouldn't question his methods—in fact, that actually made it worse.

He walked to the end of the corridor and leaned against a wooden support beam, tilting his head back against the wall, eyes closed. He smelled coffee and sighed a little, quietly. People sitting on benches in this place usually had coffee with them, no matter what time of day it was. He could really use some coffee.

"How's he doing?"

Wilson nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of her voice.

"Sorry," she said when he found the source of the voice. She was sitting on one of the ubiquitous benches in the hall. She offered him a cup of coffee. "Got you some if you want it."

It took him a moment to process everything. He didn't know what to do or say—or even how to react. He wanted to feel angry at her, but it wasn't in him to feel angry right now. The only thing he could think to do was to accept.

"Yeah," he said distractedly and sat down next to her. He sipped the warm beverage quietly, forgetting she'd asked him a question. She let him sit.

"This is still hot," he observed. He turned to her. "How'd you know I'd be here?"

"Because you're even more predictable than he is," Stacy said with a smile. Just as quickly as it had come, her smile faded. "And I knew that whatever you had to say to him…it wouldn't go well."

Wilson sniffed a little and leaned forward, elbow on his thigh, to rub his face. The hot liquid was only making him more tired right now.

"Actually, it went okay," he said, talking to the floor. He ran his finger around the rim of the cup's protective lid. "He didn't try to deny it or avoid it or lie about it."

Stacy smiled grimly. "How high is his fever?" she asked.

Wilson looked up at her: how'd you know that?

"He's only honest when he's running a fever," she explained. "It has to be high. And if he was honest about that…" Her eyes asked the question this time.

"It's not as bad as it could be," Wilson said. "He's still tired and out of it from last night's surgery." He sipped the coffee. "Cultures haven't come back yet. He's responding fairly well to the antibiotics we're giving him, but he's in such bad shape that even a cold would've hit him harder than usual."

Talking to Stacy about House's condition over a tired cup of coffee felt so natural… Wilson shook himself. No. This wasn't the same situation. They weren't on the same team anymore.

"I was sorry to hear about it," Stacy said genuinely. She saw Wilson's eyebrow quirk. "I know that doesn't mean anything…but I was still sorry."

"Is that why you came to see me?" he asked the lid of his coffee.

"Couldn't go see him without preparing you first," she answered.

"You could've told me what you were doing," he said. If he'd had it in him, he would've sounded angry. As it was, he just sounded tired. "The nurses said they were about to break the door down when you left."

Stacy smiled sardonically. "They didn't look too happy."

Wilson shrugged. "It's their floor," he said. "They don't like disruption."

Stacy paused, giving the subject time to change. "He needed to hear it," she said with muted conviction.

"Could've picked a better time," Wilson responded. But he couldn't add the edge he wanted to add. He never was any good at fighting with Stacy anyway.

"Two days was a hell of a long wait," Stacy said. If Wilson had been looking at her, he would've seen one of her soft-yet-steely expressions. "You forget that I still care about him."

"Funny way of showing it," Wilson mumbled into his coffee.

"I can't help the way I feel," Stacy said. She too wasn't confrontational. Just tired. And this was all too eerily familiar to her as well. "Believe me, I wish I could." She paused. "And if I'd known he was inches from trying it again, I wouldn't have said anything last week. But it's done. There's no undoing it. The only thing we can do now is try to help him."

Wilson snorted. "It's that simple, is it?" he said.

The corner of her mouth quirked. "I know," she said. "He won't come around until he's ready, but we—or I at least—can't just sit around and do nothing." She smiled a little. "So he really didn't try to deny it?" she asked.

"He didn't deny taking a handful of pills," Wilson answered, glancing up and back at her, still sitting forward with his chin in his hand, "but he did deny that he was trying to kill himself."

Stacy's expression asked for him to elaborate.

"He said he was just angry, that he'd done it on impulse," Wilson explained, "which is the same thing he's been saying about what happened Friday night." He sighed. "I want to believe him, but I have trouble imagining he's ever done anything on pure impulse in his life."

"I don't know," Stacy said shaking her head. "I wanted to believe him five years ago—I did believe him. God knows I wouldn't have kept it to myself if I'd thought it was anything other than an honest mistake."

Wilson sat silently for a moment, absorbing her words. After a while, he asked in a halting voice, "Do you—believe him now? That it was just an impulse?"

Stacy pursed her lips and sat forward, thinking. "He's a lot less impulsive now than he was then," she said. "I can see it in the way he moves. He has to know where he's going now because if he doesn't, he risks hurting himself, which would call attention to him and he hates that." She paused. "He's always been a planner. Every action was meticulously planned, though he never admitted it. Now…with nothing but work…" she sighed, shaking her head, "of course he thinks about it. Of course he does. He never could sleep—what else does he do at night? Wait—" she said with a tired smile, "don't answer that." Wilson smiled back. She became serious again. "He would never do something like this twice unless he intended to do it. But whether he intended to kill himself or just get really messed up—with drugs, with the fight, either, both, I don't know—" She shook her head again. "I sincerely hope he's telling the truth and he really didn't intend to hurt himself. But I know that isn't true."

Wilson sat still. She knew so much more about him than he did on a subject like this. She knew what he would do. Hell, she'd known him, Wilson, so well that she'd been waiting with coffee.

"So what do we do?" Wilson asked after a while. He barely managed to stifle a yawn. The coffee wasn't working yet.

"You are going to find a quiet place and take a long nap," Stacy instructed. "Lisa says you're wearing yourself out. And if Greg's running a high fever, he'll have to sleep it off. That's the fastest way to get it to go down. I'm going to talk to Lisa. I'll tell her what he said to you."

"No," Wilson said between another yawn, "I'll do that." He took another sip. "Soon as this kicks in I'll be fine."

Stacy smiled in that knowing way that always gave Wilson the feeling that the second shoe was about to drop.

"What?" he asked.

"It's not going to kick in," she said. "It's decaf."

Wilson shook his head with a sniffed laugh. "You're worse than he is."

She winked at him and stood up. "Go to sleep, James, before you pass out and they put you in the same room with him."

Wilson fake-winced. "That's quite a threat," he said with a smile.

"It's not an idle threat either," Stacy said. "I don't think Lisa is above it."

"Now you're starting to scare me," Wilson said.

Stacy gave him a look that communicated her intention to act on the threat.

"All right, all right," Wilson said with another yawn as he stood up. "But someone should be in there with him." He stopped and pointed a finger. "And I don't mean you. No offense, but—"

"I know," Stacy interrupted. "He needs rest."

Wilson nodded carefully, trying to determine if she was being completely forthright. "As long as we're on the same page," he said. "Tell Cuddy I'm ordering another sitter for him."

Stacy made a face. "He won't like that."

Wilson shrugged. "It's his fault."

Stacy gave him a conceding nod. "Three hours minimum," she said as he started back toward the nurse's station.

"Tyrant," he said without turning back.

Stacy's smile as she watched him go faded quickly. She was glad to be on good terms with Wilson again. If they let House divide them, they wouldn't be able to help him. But, she reflected as she turned toward the elevator, she had no idea how they would even begin to do that.