"Problems are not the problem; coping is the problem."

- Virginia Satir

...

The next morning, House gazed around at his little ducklings, searching not so discreetly for one sour-faced brunette in particular.

Black dude? Check.

Jewish guy? Check.

Pretty boy? Check.

Hot Baby Mama?

Not a sign.

Hmm.

"Where's Thirteen?"

Black Dude and Pretty Boy shared significant looks but otherwise kept quiet. If House didn't know any better, with the amount of looks those two had been sharing lately, he might have thought they were sleeping together. Jewish guy just looked mildly confused.

"Dr. Hadley rang up this morning. She's having a sick day," a voice said from the doorway and they all looked over to find Cuddy standing there.

"Doesn't anybody knock anymore?" House snarked, causing the dean to roll her eyes.

"Someone should go check on her." That was Foreman, putting in his idiotic two cents. "Make sure she's OK."

"That 'someone' mustn't have job. Focus people, we have a cool, shiny new case," House spoke up with false brightness. Cuddy shook her head in exasperation and walked off.

. . .

"Get up, get out, get drunk. Repeat as needed."

- Spike on Buffy the Vampire Slayer

That Night

Thirteen stared at the glass of J.D. in front of her, wondering how one little liquid could cause so many problems. All a man (or woman) needed to do was scull a few and they could end up in court, pleading guilty (or not, depending on the type of person they were) to the kid they'd just run over whilst under the influence. They could cause a person to cheat on their significant other, thus ending what otherwise might have been a flourishing relationship – the truth always came out – or even, as Remy had been witness to once before, cause a surgeon to make one fatal mishap in the operating theatre.

Alcohol could be the catalyst for so much, change so many things, and yet she had never shied away from it before . . . she doubted she ever would. For, no matter how much destruction the liquid could cause, it was still good for one thing, and that one thing she was almost always in need of – forgetting.

Thirteen was just lucky that she already had enough problems in her life that alcohol couldn't even hope to compare in the battle for her destruction. So it never tried.

Reaching out and gulping the shot down in one, Thirteen slammed the glass back onto the table. Greg, the bartender, gave her one of the looks he usually saved for the nights that she used to come over after a bad day of work, back before she'd decided to change her life around.

"Take it easy there, Rem," he cautioned. "I know you can hold your own but that's your eighth glass. Your brother will kill me if he ever finds out I served you all this."

Thirteen squinted her eyes, trying to make sense out of his words. OK, so maybe she was a little drunk. "You veen in convact wiv ma bovver?" Her words slurred slightly together and she shook her head, wondering how best to get her tongue to behave.

"Yeah, I have. Says he hasn't heard from you in over a year now. What's up with that?" Greg gazed at her reproachfully and frowned.

"You tely 'im where I em?" she asked, trying to sound angry but failing due to the apparent drunkenness. Thirteen hadn't started off this drunk; in fact, coming into the club three hours ago she'd been fine. Come to think of it, it might not even just be the drinks that were doing this to her. If she remembered correctly there'd been a bit of coke and ecstasy a while back as well. Along with a pretty blonde French chick who she'd dragged into the bathroom – she'd had something on her as well, by then Remy had been too far gone to ask what it was. She was lucky she hadn't had an overdose already.

"'Course not – you'd kill me. And you're a hell of a lot scarier than your brother," Greg responded as if she was crazy. "Though there was that one time he stuffed me in ta Mrs. Connelly's rubbish bin after I tried to make a move on you back in high school." He grimaced at the memory. "But that was after you decked me. My reputation was ruined following that." He shrugged his shoulders before swatting her hand away as she went to reach for the drink he was currently preparing for another customer. "Stop that. And don't give me that look, I'm cutting you off." He sighed and she frowned in irritation. "You know, I never understood how two kids who came from a good Christian family could be so damn scary most of the time. I mean, Benny's a god fearing man, you know, yet he stuffs me in a bin – what's up with that? I mean, that's gotta be some kind of sin, right?"

Thirteen groaned and set her head down on the table. She never should have started up a conversation with Greg – he never shut up. She smirked slightly, remembering the incident he was referring to and the hell she and Benny had received from their father once he found out. That was, of course, until he found out about Greg's intentions towards his only daughter – then it had been Remy and Benny trying to hold him back.

The brunette was so caught up in her thoughts that she didn't notice the man taking a seat beside her. Greg, on the other hand, suffered from no such thing.

"Oh, good, you're here," the bartender greeted. "She's gonna need someone to take her home. I would have cut her off earlier but she threatened me."

Remy frowned and looked over at the newcomer, her drunk mind just managing to recognise the familiar face. "Wha vu doving ere?"

He smirked slightly in amusement and turned back to Greg. "Exactly after how much did you cut her off?"

The other man looked suddenly anxious. "'Bout four. No, wait, five. Six! Seven, definitely seven." He nodded his head, agreeing with himself on that last part. "Might have been eight."

Remy giggled which was something she never did and both men raised their eyebrows at her.

"The giggling, though, that is not the fault of my drinks," Greg was hasty to point out. "I mean, she was doing Lord knows what before she wound up here."

The newcomer just nodded his head in understanding and rose from his seat. "I'll be taking her then. Come on, Rem."

Thirteen didn't much like the idea of being ordered around so she rose with the intention of slapping him a good one and ended up stumbling right on into his arms. The young man chucked slightly before, after an exasperated sigh, lifting her up into his arms like a small child. Now, Remy could have protested but in her hazed mind the position seemed pretty comfortable and instead she wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her head in his coat.

If she had been sober she might have done quite the opposite but she wasn't and she soon found that she liked where she was. It was a good distraction from yesterday's events. Closing her eyes, Remy breathed in the smell of the man's after shave and fisted a lock of blonde hair.

Just because alcohol had never gotten her into any real problems before didn't mean she never ended up regretting drinking so much the next morning. And, if she remembered any of this tomorrow, she had a feeling she'd definitely regret it.

. . .

House watched carefully from his place by the whiteboard as Thirteen reached for the file Taub was passing and winced slightly in the process, hand twitching instinctively to move towards her stomach. She retracted it at the last second and her eyes clouded.

The brunette had come into work that morning not so bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and had taken up a seat opposite the others, slanting her chair as far away from them as possible. The expression on her face all morning clearly read stay-away-from-me-or-I'll-eat-you and, unfortunately, that wasn't nearly as dirty as it sounded in his head.

Her eyes were slightly red and puffy, whether from crying or not sleeping he couldn't tell. The latter sounded more like her but he wasn't so naïve as to think that as tough as Thirteen was she couldn't cry.

Apparently, House hadn't been the only one to notice the pained wince and Foreman spoke up like the good, concerned ex-boyfriend he was.

"You OK?"

She glanced at him sharply for a moment, panic filling her eyes, before nodding quickly and looking down at the file in her hand.

"Stop bugging her and go test the patient for Addison's disease," House interrupted, for some unknown reason choosing to do the compassionate thing and save Thirteen from a round of questioning. She glanced at him in startled amazement while Foreman reluctantly rose to his feet and left the room, Chase and Taub trailing behind him. The Australian however did spare her one last glance back, eyes worried, before disappearing after the others.

Once they were gone, Thirteen hastily slipped her hand inside her lab coat and pulled out a bottle of painkillers. House watched her speculatively as she dry swallowed a few.

"So, you did it." It wasn't a question and the brunette didn't take it as one.

Sighing, she placed her head in her hands and gazed down at the table. "I did it."

Again, for some unknown reason being surprisingly selfless, House made a decision. "Go do my clinic hours. You won't have to think nearly as much then." Normally, he might have thrown in some snarky remark but even he could respect the fact that now was not the time.

She had made a decision, one that she was clearly still struggling with, and the last thing she needed right now was him rubbing her nose in it. He might even be able to refrain from doing so for the rest of the week if she was lucky.

Thirteen glanced over at him, eyes hooded, and momentarily surprised. She didn't thank him but the gratefulness was all there in her eyes as she nodded her head and rose from her seat. The moment she got to her feet, however, her face paled and she swayed slightly.

House took a hasty step towards her but she was already hurtling towards the carpet.

. . .