Summary, disclaimer, etc. in chapter 1.

WARNING: One naughty word and lots of drinking. Hank Williams' lyrics belong to whoever holds the copyright.

This one got long on me. Please let me know what you think!

Chocolate

February 2000

House lay on the floor of his old office, right leg propped up on the new chair that had been waiting for him when he returned, Hank Williams' Greatest Hits on the record player next to his head, stone cold stinking drunk.

Hear that lonesome whippoorwill
He sounds too blue to fly
The midnight train is whining low
I'm so lonesome I could cry

The mellow slide guitar was just right as he sipped from a newly-opened bottle of Jack Daniels, spilling twice as much as he got in his mouth on his already stained shirt collar. Realizing he'd had to pee really badly for the last ten minutes or so, he put that bottle down and reached awkwardly for the one he'd finished earlier. Once both bottles were full again…well, by then he'd be fucked up enough to start drinking them again. He was about to unzip his fly when a voice stopped him.

"Surely you're not that far gone."

Wilson. Geez. Was a little privacy so much to ask for?

"How would you know?" House slurred. He shook the bottle, already a quarter full of yellow liquid. "You're too late anyway."

"Cuddy told me what happened in the clinic today," Wilson said closing the door behind him.

House wasn't listening. "I don't care if you watch," he said, "but have the courtesy to wait until I pass out to jack off."

Wilson frowned disapprovingly and turned around.

House sang along with the record as he urinated.

The silence of a fallen star
Lights up a purple sky
And as I wonder where you are
I'm so lonesome I could cry

"There are better ways of dealing with this," Wilson said as the song ended and House stopped singing. He waited until he heard House's zipper before he turned around.

"I think this works just fine," House said. He picked up the whisky bottle and sucked on it.

Wilson let out a long-suffering sigh. "You're going to be drinking your pee before the night is over," he said, crossing the room to lean against House's desk.

House saw his blurry form relax and wondered why Wilson was hanging around him on today of all days. It was past five o'clock.

"What are you doing here?" he asked drunkenly.

Wilson shifted his weight. "Cuddy seemed to think you'd be in here packing—"

"No, I mean, why aren't you home getting your present from your wife?" House said bluntly. "You didn't forget, did you?"

"No," Wilson said, "I sent her flowers, chocolates, all that."

"Then why aren't you home?" House demanded.

Wilson squirmed. He'd hoped to avoid this.

"She, ah, came by at lunch," he mumbled.

"Lucky son of a bitch," House muttered. He lifted the bottle to his lips again.

"She wanted me to give you these," Wilson said.

House was about to look up to see what 'these' were when a box landed on his chest and he grunted, spilling whisky on his shirt again.

"What the hell?" he mumbled. He picked up the box and squinted at it. Russell Stover.

"Your wife sent me chocolates?" he asked incredulously.

"Sort of," Wilson said. "I forgot she doesn't like chocolate. She showed up at lunch with them ready to tear me a new one for forgetting. I told her they must have been sent by mistake and she said to give them to you."

Wilson fidgeted and hoped House wouldn't ask why she wanted him to have them. He must be lonely today, she'd told him at lunch, brightening with generosity. He likes chocolate, right? Wilson had nodded. Tell him I said Happy Valentine's Day, she'd said and smiled. He knew then that he was not only forgiven but also about to have really good office sex. But House didn't need to know any of this.

House grunted. "You're just saying that," he said as he clumsily ripped the plastic wrapper off of the box. "Hiding your true feelings for me behind your wife, Dr. Wilson? Very unhealthy."

Wilson merely shrugged.

"She doesn't like chocolate?" House said around a mouthful of caramel and nuts. "She can't be human."

Wilson glared at him, unimpressed. "I'll tell her you liked them," he said dryly.

"Well, you did your duty," House said, popping another chocolate in his mouth. "Run along."

Wilson didn't move.

House sighed. "Tell Cuddy I'm not going to quit over some idiot clinic patient," he said, doing his best to roll his eyes.

"I know," Wilson said.

"Then why aren't you leaving?" House asked.

Wilson squirmed again. "How recently did you take a Vicodin?" he asked.

"Ohhh," House said, "that's why you're here." He chewed loudly on another chocolate. "I'm not that stupid," he said.

Wilson glanced at House—lying on the floor, chocolate wrappers strewn around his head, the box's lid next to his right shoulder, a half-empty bottle of whisky too close to the half-full bottle of urine, stains on his shirt collar and a smear of chocolate on his chin—and laughed quietly.

House realized what he was laughing at. "Shut up," he said. "The last one wore off over an hour ago."

"Is that when you started drinking?" Wilson asked.

"Makes sense, doesn't it?" House said. "Go home and get your other present from your wife." He tossed another chocolate back. "And made sure she's not an alien," he added.

"No, I think we're going to go down to the E.R. and undo the alcohol poisoning," Wilson said with a sigh.

"That can wait till I finish these and this," House said indicating to the chocolate and whisky.

"You should save some of those for after the gastric lavage," Wilson observed.

"My candy," House said, shoving another chocolate in his mouth. "I can do what I want with it."

"Well," Wilson said, standing up and offering a hand to House, "come on. Let's go."

House laughed at him. "You really think I can stand up right now?" he said. He giggled. "Can't feel a thing. Hit my leg," he commanded. "It'll be funny."

Wilson rolled his eyes. He bent down and turned off the record player, then took the two bottles away from House.

"Hey," House said, making a drunken swipe after the whisky, "give that back." He tried to push himself up on his elbows and fell back, laughing at his own clumsiness.

Wilson gathered the chocolate wrappers and put the lid on the box, which he stored in House's desk drawer. House feebly tried to stop him.

"Life of the party you are not," House mumbled sleepily.

Wilson bent down and grabbed House's hands. House did nothing to help and Wilson dropped him.

"Stop that," House said. His eyes fluttered and closed. "'M goin' to sleep," he murmured.

Wilson called his name, shook him, tapped his cheek. Finally he sighed and stood up.

"Took you long enough," he muttered under his breath.

He left House's office to find a pair of orderlies, mildly surprised that this hadn't happened more often in the month or so since he and Stacy had broken up.

He'd expected this, though, he mused as he helped the orderlies pick House up. In fact, he'd expected worse than this, especially today.

He wondered idly as he followed the gurney down the hall whether he should call Julie and tell her he'd be late for dinner.

Maybe. But maybe he wouldn't be late.