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: So I meant for this to be a funny fic, but Wilson showed up angry. I don't know why, but I hope he'll explain in the next chapter, which I hope comes along soon. Still trying to get this done asap. Thanks for the reviews! They really motivate me. :)

What's Eating Wilson?

Light on again.

Good God. Was there no end to their meddling?

House growled and flung an arm over his eyes to block out the light.

"Sleeping here," he muttered. "Turn it off."

He caught a whiff of Wilson's cologne above the general stink of alcohol. Oh, right. Didn't Cuddy say something about Wilson?

House heard a tired, impatient sigh. Someone wasn't in the best mood it seemed. Wilson must have his hands on his hips in self-righteous anger and annoyance. Sheesh. Sometimes he was worse than Cuddy and Cameron combined.

"So, what did you do to yourself this time?" Wilson asked in a weary, 'nothing you can do will ever surprise me' tone.

Oh yeah. He wasn't happy.

"Go away," House mumbled.

"Mom says I have to drive you home," Wilson said shortly. "Move it. I need to get home myself tonight."

"Why do I have to go home?" House whined, wishing he could turn onto his side away from Wilson and that annoying light. "It's not like you need the room."

"Cuddy wants to preserve some semblance of normalcy," Wilson said. He clapped House's shoulder. "Come on. Let's go."

"I'm fine here," House said, not moving, arm still over his eyes. "Chuckles and her ace attorney lectured me on coercion today. The gist was to not do it. I'm sure it applies to nice oncologists too, so turn off the light and let me go back to sleep or I'll get Stacy to do that thing she does."

"You couldn't get Stacy to do anything for you right now," Wilson said.

"I could get her to leave me again," House said. "That's more than I can say about you." He sighed. "I'm busy. Go away."

"House," Wilson said in a no-nonsense tone, "you're going home. I'm taking you there. That's the reality of the situation. Now come on."

House said nothing, hoping Wilson would get the hint and leave.

Wilson sighed angrily. "Come on. Let's go."

House still said nothing.

"Now!" Wilson shouted.

House jumped, startled by the volume of Wilson's voice. Wilson never yelled.

"Jeez, keep it down," House mumbled. "What crawled up your ass and died?"

He heard Wilson sigh again. Yeah, Wilson wasn't happy at all.

"Stacy, for one," Wilson said, annoyed. "She gave me another one of those 'talk some sense into him' looks a few minutes ago despite my assertion that I'd already tried that and failed miserably, and I had to listen to two rants about you in the space of only one hour this morning. Then there's Cameron and the patient you refuse to treat, so she comes to me wanting me to do her job for her. My wife still hates me and not only do I not have time to pick up flowers for her on the way home, but I'll probably be late for my daily attempt to make up for years of coming home late. And you. You're—you."

"All in one ass?" House said. "That's one cavernous ass."

"House."

"It is."

"Come on."

House groaned in annoyance. "I'll pay for the room if that's what Cuddy wants," he mumbled.

"One night here is more than my monthly mortgage payment," Wilson said. "Besides that, if you go home, it's easier for the few of us who care about your welfare to delude ourselves into thinking you'll eat and sleep like a normal person. Let us have our illusions while we still can."

House groaned again. "I'm comfy. I promise to send a med student out for food when I get up. Go home and make nice with the wife."

Wilson said nothing for a moment and House thought he had him convinced. He felt the sweet numbness of alcohol taking over and making him stupid and sleepy again. So nice…

Then he heard a familiar sloshing. Wilson could take the bottle. Whatever. As long as he left.

"You're almost out of this," Wilson said, no longer sounding angry. "Got more stashed in your office?"

House didn't answer. Wilson's changing tactics wasn't going to lure him away from his bed.

He heard Wilson put the bottle down.

"Okay," Wilson said calmly. Cold anger now. Burr. "It's like this. Either I take you home where I'm sure you have enough booze to get the entire city drunk for a few weeks, or you stay here with nothing to drink and I sic Cuddy and Stacy on you. And Cameron too."

"They've already paid their respects," House muttered.

"Even so," Wilson said, "Stacy practically lives here right now and I know she'd enjoy ripping into you all night. She actually tracked me down to yell at me about you. She's angrier at you right now than Cuddy has been in a long time: she's not going to forgive or forget that court order monkey business any time soon. Do you really want her to be here when the hangover begins?"

"I'll deal with it when it happens," House said.

"Fine," Wilson said. "It's happening now."

House heard footsteps. Wow. Wilson was serious. And seriously pissed.

He sighed. "Okay, okay," he said.

The footsteps stopped.

House moved his arm and felt around in his coat pocket, cracking his eyes open. He was not going to ride home with that at the wheel without a little… There. He pulled them out and thumbed the top off in one expert motion. He was about to shake one or two into his palm when Wilson snatched the bottle.

"No," Wilson said.

House stared at him for a second. Did he just…? "My leg hurts," he said lamely.

"You took one two hours ago," Wilson said putting the pill bottle in his pocket. "It's not time yet."

"I changed my schedule yesterday," House said defensively. "Six, ten, two. It's around six. But more importantly, my leg is telling me it's time right now."

Wilson rolled his eyes and sighed, crossing his arms over his chest. "I ate lunch with you yesterday," he pointed out. "I know you're still on eight, twelve, four because I was there for twelve." He shook his head. "But this all incorrectly presupposes you actually stick to a schedule. I know you. You took one—maybe two—before you went to see the inmate. Add those to the alcohol and you can't even feel it right now."

"You're not the one attached to the damn thing," House grumbled. "I fell on it. It hurts."

"You fell on it?" Wilson echoed skeptically. He stared at House for a moment, then shrugged. "All right," he said lightly. "Drop your pants. If I find anything to substantiate that, you can have one."

House mumbled an obscenity. Wilson was right. One of the blessings of alcohol was that if he had enough of it in him, he really couldn't feel the leg. Add a Vicodin to that…or two Vicodin, since he'd taken two for courage before visiting Death Row Guy and… Damn Wilson. Damn him for being right.

"I thought so," Wilson said.

"Stacy, Cuddy, and Cameron were in here all at once a while ago," House argued. "I get to have something for sitting through that."

"Cuddy told me you crawled back into the bottle," Wilson said, "and I don't find that very hard to believe. So you're good."

House made a face and mumbled something mean about Cuddy.

"Okay," Wilson said decisively. "I'm going to get your briefcase and lock your office. You're going to sit up and do any barfing you've got to do before we get to the car, and when I get back here, you're going to be ready to go."

"And if I don't do any of that?" House asked.

Wilson shook the bottle of pills. "I'll only give you three to take home."

"You're not that cruel," House said.

"Not usually, no," Wilson said, "but today…"

House grumbled something unintelligible.

"I'm not taking no for an answer," Wilson said. "Either you do this or I'll get Cuddy and God only knows what Cuddy will do. After that, I'll get Stacy and I have a very, very good idea of what she'll do."

"You're a monster," House muttered.

"I learned from the master," Wilson said tiredly.

"Low," House said. "Very low."

"You set the bar that way," Wilson said with a shrug. "It's almost impossible to go any lower, but I'll try."

"Jeez," House said. "I don't want to be in an enclosed space with you any time soon."

"Welcome to my life," Wilson said. He picked up the bottle of rum. "I want you sitting up, ready to go when I get back."

House groaned to himself. "Fine."

"Good," Wilson said. "Ten minutes."

House grumbled as he watched Wilson go and started slowly working his way up. Stupid Wilson. His buzz was history. Stupid, stupid Wilson. He did not relish a ride home with an angry Wilson—ever—but especially not now. His buzz was gone and he knew what came after that. But Wilson had his pills and he'd taken the rum, too, so House was defenseless. He groaned to himself as he sat up. Stupid Wilson.