Problems of Drunkenness

This little rambling of insantity is based on a discussion I had with DarkAngel38, over House's drinking proclivities. Technically, we have seen him take a sip of alcohol three times, and actually be drunk once, but watch closely. There are dozens more times when he doesn't actually drink, although it seems like he should be. So... read on. (this one'll be about four chapters)

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The cane spun back and forth over the elegant fingers, House watching it intently as his mind spun through deep thoughts and contemplations.

'Hiding from Cuddy again?'

Some people just had no respect for deep thought.

'Interesting question, from someone who's looking for someone to take up shifts for him.' House spun slowly on his swivel chair to pin Wilson with a stare, the cane never stopping its movement. 'Julie feeling the need to 're-kindle the flame' with a romantic weekend?'

'I'm not trying to get you take my shift.'

House stared at him some more. Spin, spin.

'No, seriously, I'm not… Chase agreed to do it.'

House nodded sagely. 'It does help if you've got dirt on them.'

'You've got dirt on Chase? Really? What is it?'

'Thought you disapproved of my nosy ways St. Wilson.'

Wilson gave a half-roll of his eyes. 'I think that's mostly because you're annoyingly closed mouthed about it once you've found out anything.'

'Well maybe if you went to all the trouble, once in a while, of heckling someone until they snapped the truth at you, then maybe I'd share some of my hard work with you.'

'Right. Because it's such a burden for you to know absolutely everything about everyone…I bet you couldn't stop yourself if you tried.'

When he was subjected to several seconds of unreadable stare, Wilson could tell House's retort would drop their light and teasing tone. 'I think you'll have to go through Cuddy again if you want me to take that one up like last time.'

Wilson almost asked what 'last time' was, he'd been so sure that House had no idea about the detox bet. But he realised in time and attempted to shrug it off instead, like he hadn't just withered inside. Falling back on his surest defence, he changed the subject.

'Wanna come get drinks after work?'

'Now would avoiding your wife in the evenings not be defeating the point of your up and coming flame rekindling?' The seriousness was lost again, but House had paused for a moment, allowing it to be registered that the subject had been officially brought up, and officially dropped.

'I figure that, after the actual weekend, I'm not gonna want to come out for drinks any more because of all the flame, so I might as well make the most of it now.'

'You're an optimist on both counts. I'm busy.' House finally stopped the spinning, leaning his cane against the side of his desk and pulling himself forwards so he could meaningfully pick up a pen.

'Seven cases is busy?'

There were a few more seconds of staring whilst House waited for Wilson to realise the idiocy of his statement.

'Yeah, OK,' conceded Wilson finally. Satisfied, House began to scan over the document in front of him.

'You know,' started Wilson, embarking on his bypass attempt- to get House to come out for drinks anyway. House looked up, paying attention at least, which was a good sign. 'I've never seen you drunk.'

'And you bring this up because you think it might be a good way to encourage me to sit in a smoky bar and watch you get drunk?'

'No, you said you weren't coming.'

'That doesn't mean you've given up,' pointed out House dryly.

'You'd think I didn't love you any more if I stopped trying,' confessed Wilson.

'Why is it not that easy for me with Cameron?' Muttered House.

'Apparently chicks dig guys when they play hard to get.'

'So what's your story then?'

'They also dig huge wallets and accomplished CVs,' sighed Wilson, dropping into House's visitor chair and idly reaching out a hand to pick up the lacrosse ball that rested on the desk.

'You know, I do believe you've solved the age old male dilemma of attempting to distinguish between girls that want you for who you are, and the other sort.'

'Yeah. If they'll marry you, they're the wrong sort.' Wilson put the ball down, seeming to sink in on himself in his miserable slouch.

'This romantic getaway… it wouldn't happen to be to somewhere with a beach and a massage parlour would it? Somewhere that takes your credit card for one last spin before she drops you?'

'You know, I've always suspected that you're secretly telepathic.'

'Not when you're moping like that Jimmy. Hand.'

'What?'

House motioned impatiently with his head at Wilson's hands, resting in fists on his knees. Wilson gave House an appropriately confused look. House sighed, long-sufferingly, and held out his own hand, palm up. Reluctantly understanding, Wilson uncurled his left hand with what seemed like a force of will, and placed it on top of House's own, also palm up. In the light of the office, four fresh, crescent shaped scabs were clearly visible on the soft skin.

'You need to get yourself a stress ball Jimmy,' House told him matter-of-factly, allowing Wilson to take his hand back with a pointed look. Wilson refused to meet it.

House grabbed his cane and levered himself stiffly to his feet. 'Come on, let's go.'

True to Wilson's word, House didn't get drunk, again. True to House's word, Wilson did.

'You never eat,' moaned Wilson, forehead resting on palm, which rested on the slightly sticky table of the bar.

'Worried I'm becoming anorexic mother?' Asked House with a raised eyebrow.

'Or sleep. Or smoke. Or hire hookers,' continued Wilson, almost to himself.

'Maybe you just don't think I sleep because you wake me up at 3am by calling to complain about your marriages when she kicks you out.'

'Don't go out partying. Don't show the least bit of interest in women other than degrading comments about their anatomy.'

'You turn into a psychologist when you're drunk,' commented House mildly.

'You're always a psychologist,' retorted Wilson, raising his head to take another sip of his drink and glare balefully at House. 'You shpin your cane and lord over everything and never actually live. 'f it wasn't for th' damn pills, I'd say you didn't feel pain. The detoxing was the closest I've ever scheen you come to loosing control.'

House was suddenly engaging in the conversation, the hint of a frown on his face as he regarded Wilson. 'That's your reason for putting me up to it? You're meant to be the compassionate one.'

''m trying to be. You know I got Cameron to apply for this job? Knew you'd like her- appropriately damaged, but nice an' pretty. Thought she might be able to fix you when I couldn't.'

'Very chauvinistic of you. What makes you think I need fixing?'

'The cane,' snorted Wilson sloppily, taking a swig of his beer, and setting it down on the table with a small slam. 'And the fact that the last person to touch you was that kid's dad when he punched you in the face.'

'Anything else you'd like to say now that you'll regret in the morning?' Asked House dryly, not really needing to hide his feelings on these confessions now because Wilson was too drunk to pick up on them really anyway.

'You even listening to me?'

'Always Jimmy. Come on, let's get you home to your loving missus.'

'She's leaving me because of you,' muttered Wilson as he stood unsteadily, although there was no real accusation in his voice any more.

'She's not leaving you yet. And might not, if I get you home before twelve.' House wasn't looking at Wilson as he spoke, nodding to the bartender as he slapped down a few bills then picked up his cane from where he'd leant it against his leg and made for the door. People parted for the cripple with looks of sympathy that he'd learnt to ignore. Wilson shambled after him in the wake he left.

'You know, you never act comfortingly till something's hurt you,' Wilson accused his back as they broke out abruptly into the cool, clear night air.

'Stops me lashing out instead,' agreed House offhandedly, scanning the car park for a taxi he'd called a few minutes ago.

'To know thine enemy, first know thyself,' muttered Wilson bitterly.

'Your drunken logic has lost me there,' said House dryly, leaning back against the brick wall of the building whilst he waited, leaning his cane next to him so he could dig in his pocket for his pills. Wilson turned to square off with him, feeling belligerent.

'It's controlling others isn't it?'

'Is it?' came the nonchalant reply as House dry swallowed the pills with a tilt of his head.

'To control them, you think you've first gotta control y'self.'

'Well getting drunk as a skunk and telling any one who'll listen all your deepest secrets certainly isn't the way. But no. Simple fact is; life isn't there to be enjoyed. I'd elaborate, but I don't think you're going to remember this in the morning.'

'I'm not that drunk.'

'When you- wonder-boy Wilson, with a heart big enough for the average blue whale- is accusing me of breaking up your marriage, then you're drunk enough.'

With that the taxi came, saving the sloshed oncologist from either having to come up with a witty retort, or from saying something else he'd regret.

That weekend, House stayed at home, Chase worked Wilson's shift, and Wilson went on a romantic getaway with his wife. Two Mondays later, she filed.

To be continued…