Title: Five Ways Out of Hell
Author: sy dedalus
Rating: T
Pairing: House/broken heart
Warnings: Drinking, sex with strangers, general Housian masochism
Summary: House's five ways out of hell following "Need to Know." Couldn't keep my paws off this one.
Disclaimer: Not mine.

Glad you guys liked the last chapter. This one isn't as symmetrical or powerful, but I hope it works anyway. :)

Warning: More of the same illicit drug use on House's part. Space aliens and sausages too. Watch out.

3: Work

House stuffed the Big Breakfast Sampler into his gullet without stopping for breath. How had he managed to forget what a succulent culinary additive syrup was? It had started on his pancakes and gradually conquered the scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, ham, and hash browns. And it wasn't even real maple syrup—just some synthetic crap, the same way all of the food he was packing in was synthetic crap—but it tasted so good. Who knew food could be this good?

He was down to one sausage link and a couple of hash browns before he sat back, surveyed the damage, and realized he hadn't smoked marijuana in a long, long time if he didn't remember how delicious the munchie stage was. He belched and rubbed his protruding stomach contentedly. Nothing like cheap, greasy drunk food to fill the munchie void.

He closed his eyes and tilted his head back and was happy for three and a half minutes. Sleepy, full, content: yes, he was happy. He might have fallen asleep in the booth if the waitress hadn't returned to question him about a soda refill. He shook his head. She placed the check on the table and left, and he groaned and shook himself.

He felt good. He felt like he could sleep. But he couldn't go home. Not yet. Too soon.

Couldn't go to Wilson's. Wilson had been more and more moody and catty since Stacy had arrived. Trouble with the wife, House knew that road, but Wilson didn't have to take it out on him.

Wilson and his mixed messages. Don't do her! Wait, you did her and now you're letting her get away? You idiot!

"What happened in Baltimore?" Wilson asked again when the elevator cleared and they were finally alone.

"We almost went out to dinner," House said.

Wilson turned to him and said directly, "House. You don't iron your shirts for almost going out to dinner. Something happened."

House couldn't keep it to himself. He tried hard not to smile, but he was so happy. He was actually radiant with happiness. Radiant.

"She came on to me," House said, fighting the smile.

"House," Wilson admonished in that tone that said 'you're hiding something and I know it and I'm going to find out because I know you can't not tell me.'

"She kissed me," he said. He wasn't blushing. He wasn't. He wasn't blushing in front of Wilson about this. He wasn't.

"Kissed you?" Wilson said. "Kissed you like…what? Like peck on the cheek, 'you're such a sweetheart Greg, I really adore you,' or like tonsil hockey?"

"Tonsil hockey?" House said as if the words tasted sour. "Nobody actually says tonsil hockey any more."

Wilson did that thing he did when he had discovered something he considered extraordinary. His eyes widened, his mouth opened, he pointed index fingers in excitement.

"She did, didn't she?" Wilson said. He didn't need confirmation. "She did!"

House couldn't say anything. He was smiling too widely.

Of course she did. He tried to put it out of his head as he paid the check and called another cab. Time to pick up his bike and go where he always went when he needed to sort himself out: work.

Half an hour later he was parking in that oh-so-special blue lined spot and removing his cane from its holster. He wouldn't park here—he didn't think of himself like that—but…he could only walk so far.

He slipped past the night shift—what did they care that he was coming in at four-thirty in the morning?—and up to his office without incident. SuperMom was stable and his brood had gone home for the night. He had his kingdom all to himself.

He whistled "Hail to the Chief" as he stepped out on the balcony to smoke the rest of the joint. Wilson's office was dark across the way. He'd gone home for once. Or maybe he was out with one of his Debbies.

Whatever. He didn't care. Wilson's self-righteousness was getting really old, especially when his own love life was so screwed up. (But, House was reminded as he held in the smoke, he had access to some really good weed.)

But whatever. He didn't need anyone right now. He was full, sleepy, buzzed, and alone.

Flicking the dead roach over the balcony, he went back inside and dug out his Nintendo. He settled into the yellow chair, starting to feel very comfortable as the second high came on, and booted the video game. Alien Force III. He liked this one. He was working now.

Twenty minutes later he'd conquered Earth again and turned the game off, slowly slipping into sleep.