"Oh my God", he moaned, clawing for the Vicodin as his hangover kicked into overdrive. The pain in his leg barely registered. The light burned his eyes. He honestly thought his head was going to explode.
A familiar voice floated around somewhere, but he couldn't make out any words over the pounding migraine and nausea that smashed over him. He felt his mouth being opened, a pill and cold fizzy liquid hit his tongue. He swallowed to keep from choking.
After an eternity, the pain went from a crashing symphony to a dull roar. House felt he could open his eyes without the light killing him on the spot.
He was curled up on the sofa, still in his clothes, though his shoes had somehow escaped his feet and settled by the easy chair. A blanket and pillow from his bed had joined him.
Cuddy was sitting on the edge of the coffee table.
"Remind me to never drink that brand of scotch," she said, prying something out of his hand. It was the bottle of Vicodin. He had squeezed it so hard the plastic cracked.
"You're still here, " he mumbled. His tongue felt like a dry sponge.
"You wanted me to stay, remember? How are you feeling?"
"Thirsty." It took all of his strength to pull himself to a sitting position while she held the glass of ginger ale to his mouth. After a few gulps he fell back, panting. "You're still here," he said again.
"I told you I would stay, Greg." She reached over to brush his hair off his forehead. Scowling, he pushed her hand away. Her motherly instincts were the last thing he was in the mood for.
"That means nothing to me, Lisa. Everybody lies. Besides, I don't remember you saying that so you could be lying right now."
"What do you remember?"
"Drinking a lot and yelling at someone in the kitchen. I assume that someone was you."
"You were upset about–"
"Stacy. I was angry at Stacy," he said thickly.
Lisa nodded. "I finally got you to sit at the table while I found some coffee. You passed out before I got the kettle on the stove. It wasn't easy getting you in here."
A few vague flickers of what he did the night before swirled around his head. He decided it wasn't worth the effort to remember the rest of it.
"You've been asleep for about eleven hours now. You woke up around three and said your leg hurt. I gave you a Vicodin and you were out again in about five seconds." She stood up and smoothed out her skirt. It was only then he noticed that she was all cleaned up and had her coat folded over her arm. "I have to go in and put out some fires. Will you be okay by yourself for a little while?"
"Yes," he muttered, too drained to care if she stayed or not.
"And you are taking the next three days off. I'm not asking you, I'm telling you."
House managed a weak smile. Exhaustion was crashing over him again, but he wanted to get in one last jab at her. "You pulled my authorization, didn't you, you sneaky little wench."
"Just in case you managed to drag yourself to the hospital. I wouldn't put that past you." Lisa pushed the table closer so he wouldn't fall of the sofa while reaching for his pills. "I'll be back as soon as I can, okay?"
He nodded, too tired to speak, too tired to think, too tired to listen to her babble on anymore. He was asleep before she closed the front door.