A/N: Thanks for the reviews.
V.
Wilson grunted. "C'mon, Greg, help me out here," he pleaded to his semi-conscious friend. House had had way too much to drink, but surprisingly, he had not passed out yet.
"House?"
Damn the man; he was complete deadweight. Wilson groaned and pulled out his cell phone. "Stacy?"
"What did he tell you?"
"That's not important right now," Wilson muttered. "He's piss drunk, and I need help."
Stacy rolled her eyes. "No way in hell."
"I'll pay you."
"It'd better be a lot," Stacy grumbled as she stormed in the door. "Out of a hundred people, you had to call me. I'm going to have to explain a hell of a lot to Mark, you know."
Wilson sighed resignedly. "It's your fault he's drunk in the first place," he countered tiredly, "so you were the lucky winner to come help me. Now grab his legs," he instructed. "We'll take him to my car, and I'll drive him home."
"And then I'm out of here, and hope to God he won't wake up." Stacy glared at the now unconscious House. "Why don't we just put him in a wheelchair?"
"Cuddy would have my ass."
"I'll cover for you." Stacy said quickly, willing to do anything to get out of there- fast. "Be right back.
Sure enough, she was back two minutes later with one, and with a great deal of effort, the two lifted the comatose diagnostician into the chair-on-wheels.
"Thank you," Wilson said, relieved, as he dug out a fifty from his wallet and handed it to Stacy. "You're a lifesaver."
She just muttered something under her breath and walked away. "Don't call again."
"Stacy…"
She turned. "What?"