How far down does this ladder go, again?
Things hadn't gotten better or worse since he'd seen House last. Or Cuddy, for that matter. Being depressed wasn't something he was used to and neither was being drunk, but it turns out that neither of those things just go away
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Normally, she'd keep her nose out of things that weren't her business, but frankly, this guy looked like shit. Wendy had her off days like that. Those days were when she'd wish for Neil the most, if only to be there for a chat and a smoke.
So, she touched into her sensitive side.
"You alright?"
She didn't want to say anything to make him upset and if he said he was fine, she'd leave it at that. She knew that pushing anyone when they're having a bad day just pisses them off even more.
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He had exactly met many of the other guests, and something inside of him sobered instantly with embarassment. He stopped and crossed his arms over his chest, blinking a few times and then smiling somewhat weakly.
"I- Yeah," he stammered, raising an eyebrow and shaking his head as if he didn't look anything but completely normal. His head pounded some more and he sighed.
"Obviously, no. You wouldn't happen to know where I could find a bottle of aspirin, would you?" he asked quietly, his hands moving to his hips and his smile turning more apologetic.
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She thought of the clinic but then again he'd probably have a bunch of doctors examining him and judging him. That's what they do right?
"There's the clinic. Although, you might not want a bunch of doctors bombarding you with questions and judging you."
She shrugged, before giving him a straight look.
"A little too much?"
She kept it vague, just in case he was one to take it as an insult or something.
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"What? Oh, well," Wilson looked to the side and tried to shift his feet. He felt nauseated and standing up wasn't helping. After glancing down the hallway, he turned back to her and nodded slowly through a wince. "A lot too much, to be honest."
Thoughts of going to the clinic made him feel even more nauseated. He tried another smile and raised an eyebrow.
"Would you mind? I'll take it one step at a time."
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Maybe a shower was wishful thinking. He felt like he was going to collapse. A few more hours of sleep and then he'd get up. Wilson's feet shuffled wearily underneath him and when he heard his name called from behind him in a voice he recognized, he couldn't help but stumble foward a few more steps before stopping.
That voice. Whose voice was that? Almost sounded like...
"Stacy." He said it to himself and too low for her to hear, but immediately turned his head. The hallway tilted a bit and he had to blink a few more times, but then squinted until his vision focused. Holy crap.
"Holy crap," he muttered, echoing his own thoughts, his eyes widening. Wilson completely forgot about his appearance, even the sharp and pulsating pain behind his eyes, and faced in her direction. "Stacy?"
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"Hm? Oh," he said, finding it difficult to pay any attention to her words. "Well. I'm not really sure how it works, to be honest. One second House and I were driving - actually I was driving and he was sleeping--"
He cut himself off and shook his head in disbelief, smiling a bit wider.
"We got lost. I checked us in," he continued, raising his hands helplessly. "The rest isn't very interesting. What about you? How are you? When did you get here?"
Wilson finally quit asking questions and clamped a hand over his face, rubbing his eyelids and wincing. Oh. Right. Wilson exhaled loudly upon remembering his condition, and the awareness that Stacy had seen him in it, before leaning against the wall with one shoulder.
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