A/N – Things in this story will seem strange or wrong. I know this. It will make sense later. If you can guess what's going on keep it to yourself .. I don't want too many people knowing before they're supposed to. thumbs up

Moby is the gasoline of this story, and 'God Moving Over the Face of the Waters' for certain reasons which will be revealed later, though it has a longish and fairly pointless name, was what originally inspired it. Moby is my hero of the month. Go check out his list of tours on his site… it's insane. Chapter titles will likely be based on the name of the song that helped me write it most.

Sequence

-Prelude

Of course, it all had to begin at some obscene hour of the night. Three awful days were about to follow, and it only made sense that they started at three AM that awful morning.

'Did she throw your clothes out the window?'

Wilson stared at House looking slighted, and then turned his gaze to the cement steps. 'The door was locked when I got home. My key didn't work…'

'And I can guess why you waited until just now to come see me. I can imagine it- an hour spent trying to get into the house anyway, half an hour arguing with Julie through the window, half an hour's walk to the nearest bar…' The bar part was a no-brainer, since Wilson stood before him, a bag of scrounged clothing that he had possibly been hoarding in his office at his side. His hair was a mess, his tie was loosened halfway to his naval, which showed because his shirt wasn't tucked in, and several lower buttons had snuck themselves undone through the course of the night. Besides, House always knew where to look for his friend, especially afterhours on the wrong side of a second anniversary. House knew firsthand that happy hour tended not to be so happy in such times.

'So are you going to let me in?' Wilson muttered, defeated and too tired to argue anything. House stood aside wordlessly, catching an odor of scotch as Wilson passed. He shadowed him to the couch, where he sat down and started fishing out folders.

'You're going to review charts while plastered?' House mused. 'That could prove interesting- 'Note, keep with tprte always.' You know, good grammar costs nothing, but bad grammar can cost you.

'I have no idea what 'tiperty' is.' Wilson said dully.

'Tprte is the typo snack that bites back.' House said with a shrug, as though it explained everything.

'Great… I'll keep that in mind.'

'You know, contrary to the norm, you're no fun when you're drunk.'

'You're no fun when you're clean and sober, so I guess we're square.' He started looking through the folders, glossy-eyed, quite clearly not reading anything, merely flipping through.

House turned on the television, figuring that he probably wasn't going to get back to bed that night. 'Is that amusing? What poor sucker are you giving the axe to this time?'

'I'm just looking for missing pages… they were in the house, Julie handed them over fairly promptly.'

'So somewhere there's a homeless person fueling a fire with Jane Doe's charts, dislodged from the file on its flight out the window?'

Wilson's manner and tone indicated he was trying his best to ignore House just then. 'Something like that.'

House was briefly struck by a moment of involuntary pity. Here was his best friend, drunk enough that someone small could get tipsy from a transfusion, looking through patient charts in the wee hours of the morning, having been locked out of his own home. It was one of the saddest displays he'd ever seen his friend put on. 'So,' he said after a considerable silence 'did you see that wonderful little number Cuddy was wearing the other day? It really was little, but in all the right ways.'

'Yeah, she's like that isn't she?'

'What do I have to do, make you balloon animals?' Wilson looked at him blankly. House elaborated, figuring in the intoxication factor. 'You're really quite depressing… you're not even doing anything, you're just sitting there and I'm compelled to curl up in a laundry hamper away from the rest of the world.'

'Wow, I didn't realize. Should I dance? It might amuse you.'

'Yes, Numfar, do the dance of Joy.'

Wilson changed subjects after a pause. 'You'll drive me in tomorrow… I won't be able to see until noon.'

'You'll be dead until noon is more like it. I'll take you when you come to life again.'

Wilson shook his head, the left side of House's brain betting his right side fifty bucks that he'd topple next time he tried to. 'I can't skip anything tomorrow. I did this to myself, I'll take Tylenol and deal with it.'

'You could borrow my Uber-Tylenol.' House suggested, rattling his bottle of Vicodin.

'You'd expect me to pay it back? That could get messy.'

'That's one step over the line, man.'

'I'm about half a mile too far gone right now. It's nice that the line is so far along. I'm not going to take any of your pills.' He grabbed the next file, brushing the rest to the floor. He stood unsteadily to gather them again, several more papers sliding out of a file or two.

'They're perfect the morning after, especially, I believe, if you've never had any before. It'd do you some good.'

Wilson shook his head again as he sat down once more, but miscalculated the distance back to the couch and sat hard on the floor in front of it instead. House's right brain yielded fifty imaginary dollars.

'You meant to do that, right?'

'No… but it's a far less precarious existence here. Not really anywhere else to fall…' He opened his newest disheveled folder. There was a silence that fell after that, Wilson flipping sightlessly through his folder, House feeling more and more obligated to spur conversation again. He rarely felt awkward with Wilson, but this was a trickier situation than most.

'Well, things will start to look up again once Alimony the Tertiary Phase is dealt with, and Potential Number Four is successfully reeled in.'

'The circle continues.' Wilson said with a bitter laugh.

'Finally a system you can really set your clock to,' House commented idly, failing to notice the effect it had.

Wilson closed the file slowly and dropped it with the rest, still with his back to House. 'Just go back to bed, House.'

House leaned forward, peering at his friend. 'I get up especially for you to let you in, even in your sorry state.' He nudged Wilson. 'I'm awake now, so make the most of it.'

'You keep bad enough sleeping habits as it is. I'm not going in the car with you tomorrow if you're going to be as bad as me.' He pulled himself back up onto the couch so he sat beside House again and sighed. 'Cuddy's going to ask questions tomorrow...'

'Because I'm driving you in to work with me all Walk of Shame? That makes some' people really happy, you know.'

Wilson cracked a smile, but it seemed a little strained. 'I'm not even sleeping in the same room with you no matter what you say. I'm not desperate.'

House feigned disappointment. 'So you haven't just been picking up and tossing off women to make me jealous all these years? Stop teasing, it's really awful.'

Wilson's gaze turned downwards, his smile fading some, and tainting with something else. In his eyes House watched as something deeply troubling passed by. 'This isn't right, House…'

House was a little surprised by the tone, which matched his expression. House felt it was beyond him to even bother trying to say anything comforting, which he knew he sucked at doing even on a good day. 'Uh?' Was all he could muster.

'I have an amazing job, plenty of money; I've been married, several times. I have no right to this…'

House swallowed, feeling unprepared. 'To misery?'

'Just go to bed.'

House hesitated, but didn't argue and stood. 'You too, huh?' Wilson made an indeterminate sound that might have been an affirmative, but it was hard to tell. House turned and made his way to his room hearing Wilson working through another file. He refused to acknowledge the thought that Wilson's resolve, in all his supportiveness, was eroding away. He caught Wilson mutter, but chose to ignore it in favor of his room as he closed the door.

'...should have gone to a hotel instead.'