Disclaimer- Don't own them, and they don't own me, so we're even.

Harry's Bar 8.45pm

Wilson repositioned himself on the bar stool. His behind was so numb, he wasn't even sure it was still attached to the rest of his body. For the last two hours, he'd been sat alongside a morose looking House. A House who for every additional shot of whisky he imbibed, seemed to grow more and more melancholy and despondent. Even his snark had shut up shop and gone home about an hour ago.

As Wilson awaited his return from the bathroom, he contemplated where this sorry excuse of an evening was headed next. As he saw it, House could continue boosting the sales of one Mr. J. Daniels, double after double, until such time as he passed out in a whimper of self-pity, or he could at least try and salvage the situation, ply him with black coffee until he became at least partially coherent and drive him home
'Jeez, if I'd known he was gonna be this bad, I would never have told him about the damn date', he mumbled under his breath.

Reflecting on their earlier conversation, Wilson thought House had taken the newsflash of the date exceedingly well. Just popped two pills, twirled his cane and muttered something about her clearly opting for Mr. Right Now as opposed to Mr. Right. Could've gone worse. Much worse. The rest of the afternoon had run pretty much to form. House remained ensconced in his office, watching soaps, tub of sweeties in hand. Cameron flitted about in an especially twirly-girly manner, and Foreman and Chase sniggered and whispered conspiratorially in the locker room, like Beavis and Butthead in lab coats.

But by the time Wilson had made it to the bar, half an hour later than arranged, House was already somewhat the worse for wear and showing no signs of wanting to be any other way. The conversation was virtually non-existent and on House's part, always monosyllabic. Wilson half-wished he could join him in his self-destructive stupor, but given the fact he had driven to the bar in Julie's new car, he thought better of it.

He tried numerous attempts at lightening the mood, none of which worked, followed by an attempt to lure him into snark (House wasn't having any of it), finally launching his last ditch effort, discussing the merits of Dr. Cameron. Initially, House came out of his catatonic state, if only to stare glassy-eyed at Wilson as opposed to the beermat, but before long he returned to throwing his drink down his throat in between growling at the bartender for a refill. And then finally, he crawled back into his shell altogether.

Which is where he'd remained until his bladder finally got the better of him. As he'd gloomily limped off to the bathroom, Wilson wondered if in fact he wouldn't have been better off going for a 'fun packed' evening of charades with Julie and the in-laws. If only he could get House to admit to having more than a passing interest in Cameron, or Carmen as House had insisted on drunkenly pronouncing it all evening, then he would have something to go on, something tangible to hone his matchmaking skills on. And he knew his friend well enough to know that the reaction towards her was more than just testosterone based. As he caught sight of his friend staggering forlornly across the room returning from the little boys room, Wilson's brain began to tick.