Title: Nothing Like The Blues To Get You Down
Author: Sy Dedalus
Rating: T for language and drinking
Pairing: Gen
Spoilers: Acceptance
Summary: Scene fill-in based on the original script sides. House goes home after drinking with Clarence. House/Cam and House/Wilson overtones. One-shot…but a chaptered one-shot.
Notes: This picks up right before a commercial break, so the few lines you recognize from the show belong to Fox, David Shore, all those people, etc.

A/N: Wow. You guys liked that first chapter. Cool. Thanks. Here's your reward. :)

Sick, Sad World

Blinding, piercing light stabbing his eyelids. Someone yelling in an obnoxious yet familiar voice.

"House! Get up!"

Ow, God, right in his ear. Cuddy was too evil for words.

Somehow the light got brighter.

"Wake him up now and he'll spew."

Sarcastic. He knew that tone and the voice that went with it. And she was totally wrong.

"Saves money on a gastric lavage," Cuddy said in a disparaging tone. Then, loudly and in his ear again: "House! Wake. Up."

Jesus, the woman was Satan. She really was Satan. Horns, forked tail, and all.

"I'm just telling you, be prepared," Stacy said. "He can't hold his liquor."

For a moment, it was nice to wake up drunk and hear her talking, no matter what she was saying because for a moment, he forgot. This was very familiar. Good, too. He was trashed, she was saying something nettling to him: like old times. Then revulsion overcame him and he remembered why the sound of her voice made him feel sick, dead, and angry all at once. God. Why was she here?

He heard the slosh of liquid.

"Is this what he was drinking?" she asked.

More sloshing. Ugh. He had some sloshing going on himself. Cuddy was an evil, horrible Satan of a bitch. But he was still too drunk to be actually bothered by any of this. Numb. Drunk and sleepy and good.

Stacy let out a low whistle. "Bacardi 151? It's rum and it's double the regular proof. Oh yeah. Wake him up now and he will definitely spew."

Liar.

"Will not," he mumbled. As if she knew. She'd been gone for five years. He'd changed. Well… his drinking habits had, anyway.

"Will to," Stacy said. "I went through four rugs with him," she said to Cuddy.

"That's why we don't carpet hospital rooms," Cuddy said in a weary, 'I can't believe he's done it again' tone. "House. I'm not going to tell you again. Wake. Up."

"Or you'll do what?" House asked sloppily, bringing up an arm to block out the light. "Spank me?"

Cuddy and Stacy responded at the same time: "You wish," Cuddy said. "You'd like it too much," Stacy said.

"Ooo," House responded with a giggle. "Raow."

He cracked his eyes open, shading them with a hand. Hospital room. One of the empty ones that had been cleared when Death Row Guy took over the floor. Stacy and Cuddy were two blurry shapes on his left. They'd left him fully clothed, but that could change. Alone in a room with two foxy ladies…

"Let's have a threesome," he suggested. "Start kissing each other. I need visual stimuli to get me going. I'll just be a second."

Stacy rolled her eyes. "That's too easy," she said. "You've gone soft." But, unable to resist, she added, "Like you could participate anyway." She turned to Cuddy. "He's useless when he's this drunk."

"I know," Cuddy said grimly.

"I can get it up faster than Boy Toy any day," House protested drunkenly.

"You do everything faster than Mark," Stacy said derisively.

"Except legally shack up with you," House responded.

"Because that's what really matters in a relationship," Stacy said sarcastically.

"You would know," House said.

"That's not even a comeback," Stacy said.

"Whatever," House said with a dismissive wave that threw his balanced off despite the fact that he was lying down. He grunted and rubbed his face. He was way too drunk to be trading barbs with Stacy. "Why are you here, anyway?"

"I like to watch you suffer," Stacy said with a look that managed to be both nasty and playful.

"Yeah, because watching is all you're good at," House said blearily.

"You would know about that," Stacy retorted.

"Oh, good one," House said sarcastically.

"Give it a rest," Cuddy said, more to Stacy than to House. "Jeez." She turned back to House. "Stacy is here to determine whether you violated the patient's rights."

"And that," Stacy affirmed.

"Can't get enough of me, can you," House said with a stupid grin.

"House," Cuddy said threateningly.

"She started it," House said.

"Can we focus on the patient?" Cuddy said. House and Stacy both looked like they wanted to keep snipping at each other, but both held their tongues. "Thank you," Cuddy said. "House. Did you force him to drink?"

"I saved his life," House protested. "What the hell?"

"Answer the question," Cuddy said.

"No," House said. "He's on death row. He's not a teetotaler."

"Okay," Cuddy said, "but you didn't inform him that you were treating him."

"You asked him?" House said incredulously. "You believed him? The man's drunk." He made a dismissive gesture. "I can't believe you'd take his word over—wait." House paused, looking right at Cuddy, though she was blurry around the edges and wavering. "He complained that I brought him a drink? He actually complained? Yeah, I believe that."

Cuddy looked at him doubtfully.

"I stopped a suicide attempt," House said. "The patient would be dead now if I hadn't got him drunk." He tried to fix his eyes on Cuddy, but she was multiplying into twos and fours. He shifted his gaze to the wall, but it was multiplying too. "You woke me up for this?" he said, closing his eyes. Now the orange of his eyelids was rotating. Great.

"No," Cuddy replied. "I woke you up because you 'fell flat on your face' according to your patient and as much as I'd like to believe your head is harder than the floor, it isn't. Yet."

House wanted to roll his eyes at her comment but something told him that would be a very bad idea.

"I didn't force the guy to drink with me and I don't have a head injury," he declared, throwing an arm over his face again. "Kill the light. I'm going back to sleep."

"House," Cuddy threatened. "You managed to give yourself a black eye. I have to check you out."

"Not if you make the lawyer go away and say you did," House said from under his arm. "I won't squeal."

Cuddy rolled her eyes and held up three fingers. "How many fingers?"

"Twenty-five," House said, face still covered by his arm.

Cuddy moved his arm and he reacted too slowly to counter it, getting off-balance again.

"Hey," he said belatedly, "that's assault." He looked over at Stacy. "Did you see that?" he said. "Assault."

"Making you drink with her is much closer to assault than moving your arm so she can see if you cracked your skull," Stacy said.

"She grabbed me," House complained. "You grabbed me," he said to Cuddy.

"You liked it," Cuddy countered. She held up her index finger. "Track," she commanded.

"Too drunk for that," House complained, closing his eyes and sinking dizzily against the mattress.

"No, you're not," Cuddy responded. "Come on."

"Before you do that," Stacy interrupted, handing Cuddy a bowl. "He really can't hold his liquor."

"I'm not going to throw up," House said. "I'm fine." His stomach was told him he was lying, but they didn't need to know that.

Cuddy's eyes narrowed—House's face had a green tinge to it that had nothing to do with the lighting in the room—and she took the bowl from Stacy, nodded her thanks. She held up her finger again. "Follow it," she said.

House opened his eyes and did his best to glare at her. He ended up looking stupidly drunk instead. "Uh-uh," he said. "Not happening."

"Track my finger or you're getting a CT scan," Cuddy threatened.

"You wouldn't waste money on me like that," House said, staring blankly ahead at her without realizing it.

"Try me," Cuddy replied. "Finger. Now." She slowly moved her finger back and forth in front of his face.

House made a noise and put a hand on his stomach. "I am so aiming for your shoes if you make me do this," he muttered.

"You will so owe me $200 if you do," Cuddy said and gave him the bowl. She held up her finger again. "While we're young."

House followed her finger back and forth once before he leaned to his right and started heaving.

"Don't say it, Stacy," he said, swallowing, "I can give Boy Toy a tummy virus any time I—"

His stomach cut him off and Stacy and Cuddy looked away in disgust.

"Four rugs?" Cuddy asked conversationally over the sounds House was making.

Stacy nodded, her nose scrunched and upper lip curled.

"I believe it," Cuddy said dourly.

"I started putting plastic down after the fourth one," Stacy said. "Puppies with bowel control problems are cleaner."

"Cuter too," Cuddy added. "And probably less smelly."

"Are you two finished?" House panted.

They both turned to face him with the same skeptical look on their faces.

"Are you?" Cuddy asked.

House paused for a moment, panting. "No," he groaned and leaned over the bowl again.

Cuddy and Stacy turned back toward each other.

"This is like a bad re-run," Stacy said, completely grossed out, and turned toward the door. "Let me know if the patient complains, but if the lab results prove that Pukeface was right about a suicide attempt, the hospital isn't liable. Neither is he."

"Great," Cuddy said. She shook her head at House. "Can you not be so loud?" she called.

"Shut up," House got out between heaves.

"He'll have a killer headache in the morning," Stacy said over her shoulder as she walked toward the door. "That's the best time to yell at him."

Cuddy smiled wryly. "Thanks," she said.

"You're going to hell for that," House called.

"I'll see you there," Stacy called back over the sound of more retching.

She turned to cross the threshold and nearly collided with Cameron.

"What's going on?" Cameron asked, cringing as she looked past Stacy and saw House bent over.

"He's being his lovable self," Stacy said with a disgusted yet mildly amused face. "He's all yours."

"I think I'll pass," Cameron said, having put the noises together with House's posture.

"Really?" Stacy said, cocking her head to the side. "I thought… well, maybe it's for the best."

"If I wasn't over him before," Cameron said, craning her neck to get a glimpse of House, then making a disgusted face, "I am now. Eww."

Stacy shrugged. "If you ever change your mind, remember to keep him away from rum, gin, and tequila, and you should be fine."

"And if not?" Cameron asked.

"Well…" Stacy said and indicated with her head to House. "Go with tile flooring."

"O…kay," Cameron said and moved to let Stacy by.

Cameron stepped tentatively toward Cuddy. "I have some test results I wanted to go over with him… but… maybe this isn't the best time."

"That's one way to put it," Cuddy said sarcastically.

Cameron stepped closer, concern filling her face. House was dry heaving violently. "Is he all right?" she asked.

"He'll be fine," Cuddy assured her, arms crossed over her chest.

House finally finished. "Have you told her yet?" he asked Cameron breathlessly.

"I still think it's—"

"Go tell her," House interrupted. He spat into the bowl and looked over at Cameron. "And never rat me out again. I could've slept this off."

"I was worried about the patient—"

"The piece of dirt?" House said flippantly. "Wasn't that how you put it?"

Cameron's jaw clenched.

"If you're so worried about him, go give him a kiss," House said. "That'll make him feel much better."

Cameron's jaw clenched tighter. "I'll talk to you tomorrow," she said briskly. She turned on her heel and left.

House set the bowl aside and leaned back on the bed, trying to catch his breath.

"You are such an idiot," Cuddy said in a voice that was sympathetic, sad, and amused all at once.

"Why are you still here?" House griped.

"Hello," Cuddy said. "Header to the floor." She demonstrated his fall by raising one hand to 90 degrees and letting it hit the other with a splat.

"It was more of a tumble," House muttered, closing his eyes and trying to settle in for a nap.

"Whatever," Cuddy said. "Take your pants off."

"You can't take advantage of me just because I'm drunk," House said, but he was already unbuttoning his jeans.

"Whoa there slick," Cuddy said. "Don't humiliate yourself any more than you already have. I just need to see if you did any damage."

House's fingers stopped working. "Oh," he said, disappointedly. "No. I'm fine."

Cuddy looked hard at him, weighing his words. "Okay," she said finally. "But if anything—"

"Yeah, yeah, I know," House said.

Cuddy's expression softened. She held up her index finger again. "One more time."

"Aw, no way," House said, closing his eyes.

"You failed the first time," Cuddy pointed out.

"I'm not doing it again," House protested.

"I'll schedule you for a CT scan then," Cuddy said and started to leave.

House sighed wearily. "Fine," he said. "But slowly."

Cuddy conceded with a nod of her head and slowly moved a finger back and forth. House followed it twice before he closed his eyes with a groan.

"I need to stop," he said, swallowing thickly. "I passed, though."

"You did," Cuddy confirmed.

He heard her pouring something and opened his eyes to a squint.

Cuddy showed him a cup of water and put it down within his reach. "Drink this," she said. "Wilson will be here to take your sorry butt home when he's done for the day." She consulted her watch. "In about half an hour."

House put on his best puppy dog expression. "You could take me home," he suggested.

Cuddy rolled her eyes. "I don't know how she put up with you," she said.

"Who? Stacy?" House said. "You just—"

"No," Cuddy interrupted. "Your mother."

"Ha ha," House said sarcastically. He looked at the table to his left. "Stacy didn't take the—ah, there it is." He reached for the bottle of rum.

"You're not serious," Cuddy said.

"I'm always serious," House replied, unscrewing the top.

"I'll tell Wilson to bring a plastic bag," Cuddy said.

"You do that," House said and took a swig from the bottle.

"Drink the water, House," Cuddy advised.

"Turn the light off," House said.

"Such an idiot," Cuddy muttered, but she did as he asked and left quietly.

House took another drink and sighed to himself. He paused for a moment, feeling like he should reflect on what had just happened, but unable to pull the mental resources together to make that happen, then put the cap back on the bottle, flopped against the mattress, and was snoring in no time.