Tuesday, February 22, 2005

Live Blog of "Sports Medicine"

Well, usually I do this with Saskia, but bitch ain't online so...

9:02 - Okay, usually the medical stuff doesn't bug me, but I did NOT need the internal closeup view of the break with sound. Thank GOD I have the theater surround sound system off.

9:05 - What the HELL is House trying to purchase? And I HATE Fox because I KNOW they're gonna run it as a subplot through the whole damn episode.

9:07 - Marathon diagnosing of clinic patients. HAHAHAHAHAHA!

9:11 - "Your lips say no but your prunes say yes." Bwahahaahaha! And...two sips!

9:15 - Okay, my new House drinking game? Lethal. People, consider your livers warned.

9:17 - Addison's. It's no parathyroid condition, but hey - pituitary system. I'm CLOSE. ;-)

9:20 - Ah. Monster Rally tickets. So they DIDN'T make us wait all episode. But...Wilson enjoying a Monster Truck Rally? I just cannot see it.

9:28 - "[House] doesn't have sex. He makes love." HEE. Chase is my new best friend. And...new rule for the drinking game: Every time House having sex is mentioned, FINISH THE DRINK!

9:34 - House asking Cameron to the rally. Dying here!

9:38 - If he takes those pills I'm HURTING someone.

9:40 - Ah. Hallucination.

9:42 - Hank trying to kill himself? Woah.

9:52 - "Who is she sleeping with?" *looks at Cameron* "Please tell me it's you." How do I love House? Let me count the ways.

9:54 - Cadmium poisoning? MORE poisoning? Are you KIDDING me?

9:56 - House in a trucker hat? So, SO cute. And...now we know he's never been married but lived with someone. Someone named...Eileen? (Hi Elizabeth!) And I really hate to say it, but Cameron and House are extremely cute together. Disturbingly so.

9:59 - Wow. Next week looks intense. Nice pustules on the kid.

Monday, February 21, 2005

The House Drinking Game

I can't believe this hasn't been done, but here goes:

The House Drinking Game

Take a sip if:
  • A patient seizes.
  • House pops a Vicodin.
  • Cuddy is some double-sided tape away from exploding out of her jacket.
  • Cameron is wearing matching pants and vest.
  • One of House's initial diagnoses is proved wrong.
  • House verbally abuses a clinic patient.
  • The ducklings break into the PotW's house with no apparent legal repercussions.

Take two sips if:

  • House says, "Your lips say no, but your _________ says yes."
  • Cameron is wearing her glasses.
  • A patient seizes at least three times.
  • They finally get the right diagnosis.
  • There is a House/Wilson HoYay! moment that just can't be denied.
  • House plays piano.

Finish the drink if:

  • There's NO seizures in the entire episode.
  • The Patient of the Week dies

Imbibe all available alcohol and ease your pain if:

  • House enters into a relationship with any of the other main characters.
  • House stops taking Vicodin.

Any suggestions for additions would be welcomed. Let's make it IMPOSSIBLE to not cause liver damage no matter the episode. ;-)

Tuesday, February 15, 2005

Group Challenge Fic - House/Cuddy (Rated R)

So...after a long hiatus by me, here (finally) is the group fic. Enjoy and comment away! Yours truly did the after-bathroom section.


They had both been feeling it for a few weeks now. The itch. The heat between them. The fire that only the other could extinguish. It happened every couple months or so. After all of the comments and looks thrown at each other, the struggle over who was in charge of the situation, neither of them could resist it anymore and they would end up in the same situation every time. In bed together. They both always knew when it was coming. The looks would get longer. The words would become harsher. It was like the wall was crumbling even though they were both fighting to keep it up. It was just a matter of who was going to break first. Who was going to show their weakness for the other first.

It looked like this time it was going to be her. She couldn’t concentrate on her work anymore. She spent all day and all night thinking about him, about the nights she spent with him. She hated to be the one to break first, but she needed it. Bad. It had been 4 months. Too long. It was just getting him alone to tell him. If he wasn’t with Wilson, he was with his staff, or Cameron was hovering over him. Well, she would just have to work something out herself. She was a woman of action after all. That afternoon in the clinic, she would do it then. She could work something out then, and neither Wilson nor his staff would be around. It was perfect.

That afternoon she walked into the clinic five minutes before he was due to arrive. She stood at the counter, flipping through charts, trying to look nonchalant. As the nurse looked away she grabbed the chart of someone that had already been seen in clinic that day and slipped it on top. She knew how he was. If he opened the door to an empty exam room he would seize the moment and sit in there as long as he could so he didn’t have to see anyone else.

“Dr. Cuddy, playing Mother Superior, making sure I’m where I’m supposed to be,” he said as he limped into the clinic.

“Well, you do have the attention span of a four year old, Dr. House,” she said back to him with a smile as she handed him the chart she had already placed on the pile while the nurse wasn’t looking. “Exam room four.”

She watched him walk away to see what he’d do when he got to the empty room. When he got there, he opened the door, looked in, stopped for a minute, turned around and looked at her, then walked in and closed the door. Perfect. He is so predictable, she thought. She waited a few minutes, not wanting to seem anxious, then headed herself to Exam room four.

“Dr. Cuddy, there’s no one in here,” he said with a sly smile on his face. He sat on the exam room table, apparently waiting for her.

“Yes, well I had to talk to you alone about something, and this was the only way I could think of to do it,” she said, closing the door behind her.

“I see, and what, exactly, would that be.”

“It’s been four months Gregg. I need to see you,” she said, hoping she didn’t sound desperate.

“But you see me everyday,” he said, knowing what she was getting at, but wanting to hear her say it. Just once.

“You know damn good and well what I mean. I’m not going to come right out and say it if that’s what you are hoping for.”

He sat there for a minute and looked at her. “Eight o’clock, my place,” was all he said. All he needed to say.

“I’ll be there.” And she walked out.

They didn’t see each other the rest of the day and it seemed to go by very slowly for each of them. Neither could concentrate much on their work. They had more important things to think about. Well, they were more important at the moment. They both went home and changed clothes and waited for the magic hour.

He was sitting in his apartment around 7:45 when there was a knock at the door. He grabbed his cane, got up and went to answer it. She was standing there in jeans and a sweater. “You’re early,” he said, taking in her appearance. He stepped aside and let her into his apartment. She walked in and took off her coat.

“Can I get you something to drink?”

She laughed. “There’s no need to woo me Gregg,” she said with a wink, “I’m a sure thing.” He let out a small laugh at this and walked over and kissed her. The kiss was light at first but it soon intensified with passion. It had been too long. Their tongues met and something exploded inside them both. They started taking off each other’s clothes in quick movements, never letting their hands leave the others body. As he removed her bra, he ran his hands down her back and left a trail of kisses down the side of her neck. “Wouldn’t this be easier in the bedroom,” he said.

He lay down on the bed and she lay beside him. They begin to kiss again as his hand moved to her breast. She arched her body into his hand and ran her nails down his chest. He moved his head down to her breast as he began to suck on her nipple while she ran her hands through his hair. She let out a sigh, pulled him by the hair and started to kiss him again. She then broke the kiss and began to slowly make her way up his body.

Now he felt no pain and it was glorious and anything seemed possible, even healing. He could almost forget his disability, except that was what kept him from doing a caveman on the lovely woman in his bed. The spirit was very willing to throw her on her back and hump her silly, but the flesh was disgustingly weak.

She wouldn’t have it, anyway. She’d always liked being on top. She loved being in control, so much so that a man was hard put to get so much as a moan out of her in the sack.

He heard a noise and frowned. Was that a sigh? He couldn't be sure with his head between her thighs. His face relaxed as he went back to plying his tongue in languid strokes, back and forth, side to side, around and around. Her hips moved like sweet silk as she danced to the rhythm his mouth set. He lost himself in the scent of her, the flavor of her, the satin of her skin, and forgot to listen for auditory signs of loss of control. Her movements suddenly quickened and he grabbed her hips, his thumbs slipping sensuously into the creases where her legs met her body. He held on and was rewarded by her soft moan of release as she came, stiffening then relaxing so suddenly she all but collapsed on top of him.

He hummed in satisfaction as he kissed her. Greg – 1, Lisa – zip… or maybe it's the other way around, he thought. She dismounted and settled next to him, staring at the ceiling. She turned her head when she sensed his gaze.

“Vanilla almond," he announced. "With a touch of peach."

"That's not what you said last time," she said.

"You tasted different last time."

She considered this. "Peach?" she said, looking skeptical.

He shrugged. "Maybe apricot."

"Why you connoisseur, you," she murmured, stretching luxuriously. He watched her extend her body, enjoying the view.

She rolled over to her side, facing him. She reached over and carefully wiped the vanilla almond peach-maybe-apricot off his nose. “You know, you haven’t lost your touch.” She sighed and smiled.

“Some things get better with disuse,” he said modestly.

She looked at him askance. “You expect me to believe that?”

He sighed. “The one time I’m not even close to lying to you and you accuse me of lying.”

“When were you close to lying to me?” she asked.

“Any time I said I didn’t want you.”

“You never said that,” she told him.

He frowned. “I didn’t? You sure?”

She reached over and trailed her hand down the center of his chest, all the way down to where things ended. “I'm sure." She took him in hand. "You never, ever said that.” He moaned as she clasped, pulled, squeezed.

“Careful," he said breathlessly. "You don’t want to break that.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” she said softly, and took him into her mouth.

She sucked the head of his penis. It was a Cuddy thing, she would never do a deep-throat. She claimed an overactive gag-reflex. “Nothing sexy about me puking all over you.” What she would do, however, she did very very well and she was doing it now. He lost himself once more, letting her sex him, letting her pull him until he was hanging on the edge, slipping. He disengaged. He didn’t want to come in her mouth. She lay again on her side, silently drawing circles with her finger on his wasted thigh. After a long moment in which he cooled slightly, he said

“If you want this, you’re going to have to take it… I’ve only got two good legs, now.”

She studied him for a moment. “One’s all you need,” she said, and straddled him.

He moaned as she guided him into her and sank slowly, to the hilt. Loud, open-mouthed, the sound he made was “Ahhh…” He was the noisy one; Mr. Cool, Calm and Sarcastic? Not in bed.

She dug her nails into his shoulders as she rode him. The slight sting of her abuse increased his pleasure, which he expressed in barely coherent words, “Ooh, ahh, yesss, mmmmh, yeah…”

"Greg, shut up!" she said, her eyes closed, concentrating. He tried, he really tried… well, maybe not that hard.

"Ah… oh, shit! Oh, Jesus…" She was digging into his shoulders so hard the sting was edging out of pleasure and into pain. He pried her hands off and held them, pushing her until she was upright. She let her head tip forward and her hair cascaded onto his face and shoulders, tickling. Another source of pleasure. He moaned. "Ohh, God…"

"Greg…" she said again, a touch of exasperation in her tone. It was hard to focus with all this noise.

He stretched his hands above his head, lowering her body again to his. He felt her tight nipples like buttons in the soft pillows of her breasts against his chest. He lowered her and their lips met, parted, and tongues exchange places in mouths. He tickled her with his beard stubble, against her chin, her nose, her cheek. She whispered his name. No exasperation now.

"So good," he murmured. She began to rotate her hips and a cog slipped in his reality. So good was suddenly a really silly thing to say. So he said her name and then he said, "I'm coming," and then he did and it felt like everything inside him was rushing to get out, out of him, into her. His heart, his soul, his blood, his semen. For one split second he was lost once more and then he cried out when he lost that, that nothingness, that bit of infinity, that place free of pain and regret, that split second of surcease. Gone too fast for him to even be certain it was real.

And then she came. He could feel her insides spasm around his softening stiffness and she surprised him by yelling. She never made noise in bed, ever. She'd always left the sound effects to him. She collapsed onto him again and he wrapped his arms around her, gently stroked her hair and thought of nothing at all as she slowly came down.

She fell asleep.

He craned his neck to look at her. "Lisa…" he said, shaking her.

"I'm trying to sleep here," she muttered.

"Lisa, get off me," he said.

She sighed and rolled off. Sighed again when everything that had come out, came out.

"Uh-oh," he said. "I think we forgot something."

She glared at him. "You better not give me a disease…"

"Disease?" he said, indignantly. "I make this huge donation of my DNA…"

"It wasn't that big," she said, getting out of bed.

"And all you can think about is disease?"

"We are not going to have any children," she threw over her shoulder as she entered the bathroom.

"What do you mean we?" he said, raising his head. She closed the door on her derisive snort.

He let his head drop back on the pillow and stared at the ceiling, a slight smile on his face.

She came back from the bathroom dressed in House’s burgundy robe and started gathering her clothes that were scattered around the room. House raised his eyebrow bemusedly.

“Wham bam thank you ma’am?”

She glared but then laughed. “Greg, you know that I have to work tomorrow, just like you. Unlike you, I still have to get home. I’d prefer to show up showered and dressed appropriately…”

“If you can call suits with lingerie tops under them ‘appropriate’…” he snarked after her as she wandered into the living room to collect the rest of her clothes. His expression softened since she wasn’t in the room to see it. “Not that they don’t look amazing on you.”

Cuddy stood in the doorway, smiling slightly with her jeans in hand. “And I’m sure I’ll see you in your equally ‘appropriate’ attire tomorrow. That is, appropriate if you were going to a frat party.”

“Well I did send the heels in for repair just yesterday…”

Cuddy snorted as she finished dressing. House watched her and cursed himself for being an idiot. Why do I have to be too damn proud to ask her to stay? “Wham bam thank you ma’am?” What the hell was I thinking?

A quick kiss on the cheek and House was alone again. Although it was barely nine, he stayed in bed for a while longer, staring deep in thought at the indentations that had been Lisa just a little while ago. Even some therapeutic piano playing and a glass of Black Label couldn’t help him to get a decent night’s rest. He finally got up for good around 4:00 and paced back in forth while deciding what the hell to do about the situation.

The next morning Cuddy looked at House in curiosity when he arrived. He looked…off. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but something was definitely up with him. For one thing, the usual sarcastic greeting was missing. He didn’t so much as glance at her – just blew by and went straight to the elevator. He also looked even more sleep-deprived than usual, if that was even possible.

She shook her head and left for her office. Who knows what goes through that man’s head. For the second day in a row she was completely unable to concentrate at work, rereading the same reports five or six times and even picking at her lunch. She hated this whole “love-hate” thing that was practically a cliché, but didn’t know how Greg would react if she told him that she was interested in something a little more than “let’s wait until we absolutely can’t stand it anymore and then have a one-night stand.” She still had trouble reading him even after working with him all this time.

All in all it was a nearly useless day at the hospital spent trying to come up with ways to speak with House about a relationship when she could barely even ask to meet him for a one-night stand. She was shutting down her computer and grabbing her jacket off the coat rack when she sensed that someone else was there. She turned around and House was in the doorway, leaning on his cane with both hands. Was that nervousness she saw playing across his face? I must be losing my mind to even consider that, she thought skeptically.

He stood there a moment, not saying anything. After a few beats he abruptly asked, “How many drinks would I have to buy you to get out of another week of clinic duty?”

“I’m guessing the same amount of drinks I would have to buy you to get you to actually fulfill your clinic duty.”

House eyed her. “You’re about half my size. I could drink you under the table.”

Cuddy responded with a raised eyebrow. “Is that a challenge?”

“I do believe it is,” was his reply.

“Well only one way to find out. I go to Barcode,” she tossed back.

House snorted. “A martini bar. You would.”

“And I suppose you go to Drunken McCripple’s.”


“8:00, Barcode. If you want to win your bet.”

Cuddy brushed by House without saying another word, but she knew that he would be there.

Monday, February 14, 2005

House's Injury

Since the beginning of the show, I have wondered about House's injury. Not so much the injury itself but the timing and circumstances of the injury. There are several options that I can think of:

1.) House' s misdiagnosis occurred when he was young and this drove him to be a doctor. This has been shot down by the teaser for "Detox."

2.) House's misdiagnosis occurred while he was a doctor but before he became a diagnostician. Thus causing him to go into the specialty so that the same thing wouldn't happen to others. It would explain his dedication to his specialty (including the specialty of nephrology since muscle death causing protein dumping into the kidneys). However, in the teaser for "Detox" Wilson states that "[he] was there." Unless Wilson and House have known each other for nearly twenty years, this option is also improbable.

3.) House was already a diagnostician, but was misdiagnosed by another doctor. This seems to be the favorite among the fic writers and is the one that I'm voting will become canon. It definitely seems to be the most realistic as it is generally accepted practice that doctors should not treat themselves or close members of their family. However, not only is this not an official rule, the House we see could very believably be too stubborn to let any other doctor treat him. This would also give a great reason as to why House is so angry and has such a low opinion of his peers. (Not that he would ever refer to them as such.)

4.) House was already a diagnostician, and misdiagnosed himself. Being a charter member in the House School of Angst (as Auditrix says), this is my favorite option. Someone mentioned it last month (I wish I could remember where) and it blew my mind. I really like the potential angst and depth to the character it gives. It also gives a real good reason for why House is so relentless and obsessive about finding the cause of any illness. (To the point of tearing apart the dispensary to find the exact gout medicine the boy accidentally received in "Occam's Razor." Option #3 would explain this as well, but I'm ignoring that fact in light of my bias towards this option. (Of course, there's also the problem that this would hint at the possibility that House wasn't as good a diagnostician in the past.)

I'm sure these questions will be answered tomorrow in "Detox," which is why I wanted to write out my thoughts BEFORE it aired.

I'm betting that if they DO say, it will end up being Option 3, but until I hear otherwise, I will pretend it's Option 4.

Sunday, February 13, 2005

When Saskia and I Work Together...Scary!

Saskia and I working on a joint House fic. The challenge? House and Cuddy wake up in bed together after a drunken night. It's not done yet, but in the meantime we were coming up with horrible titles for the story. Here's the fallout: (I've highlighted my favorites in red.)

"What Do You Do With a Drunken Coworker?" ~ Pip
"Oh God, tell me we didn't" ~ Saskia
"Let's Never Discuss This Again" ~ Pip
"It Never Happened" ~ Pip
"Seriously, it never happened....a sequel to It Never Happened" ~ Saskia
"And You Thought Mondays Sucked BEFORE" ~ Pip
"I'm drunk, you're drunk, we're all drunk, let's screw" ~ Saskia
"The Boss Sucks. Literally." ~ Pip"
"I know what you did last night...""No you don't, you were drunk"" ~ Saskia
"You talk and you die" ~ Saskia
"Beauty and the Bastard" ~ Pip
"Insert A into B" ~ Saskia
"The Boss is REALLY Riding Me Hard Today" ~ Pip
"Screw you! Oh wait...I did that last night" ~ Saskia
"Girls have cooties. Now come on and blow me" ~ Saskia
"You took riding lessons as a kid, didn't you?" ~ Saskia
"You know your day's gonna suck when..." ~ Saskia
"Your NIGHT sucked. In a GOOD way." ~ Pip
"Hard at Work" ~ Pip
"Milk it" ~ Saskia
"The tale of the big stick and the little hole: how they overcame their problem" ~ Saskia
"Dr House...? Or Dr Chimney? Or Dr. Highrise?" ~ Both

Friday, February 11, 2005

Hugh Hates Me

The USA Chat with Hugh was...okay. Some decent questions, but others...what the HELL? Props to Saskia for getting one answered. (Regarding Hugh's dressing in drag, no less!)

Okay, so I'm bitter that not one of my three excellent (I thought) questions got answered. Does that make me a bad person? *G*

Thursday, February 10, 2005

Writing Exercise

Well, I've been having trouble stirring up the muse lately, so I'm doing the old time-honored writing exercise of forcing myself to babble for five minutes without stopping. Let's see. It's FREEZING cold in the office today despite being a relatively warm 37 out. We were supposed to get a foot of snow but overnight they changed it to maybe an inch once it became appearant that it wasn't going to get cold enough for snow. The joys of coastal Boston.

Psyched for next week's episode of House. I never thought I'd see myself wanting to skip through a weekend, but I can't wait for Tuesday. Of course, Tuesday is also when I get to call my doctor and (hopefully) have my meds adjusted. So a good day all around, potentially.

Okay, the health thing since I keep bitching about it and it's (unfortunately) what's come to my mind during this exercise. I have autoimmune thyroid disease, called Hashimoto's. Basically my body attacks this neat little gland in your neck, eventually killing it completely. Usually all you do is take replacement horomone - no biggie. Unfortunately I only feel good if my levels are JUST SO. I'm talking the top 75% percentile of the "normal" range.

So I feel GREAT as long as my levels stay there. The minute they dip - craptacular. The only difficult part is getting doctors to realize that just cause my tests come out normal means they're optimal for ME. So on Tuesday I'm calling my endocrinologist and PRAYING he ups my Synthroid. Since my last labs were "normal" it's far from a guarantee.

And...that's five minutes. And I wish something BESIDES health issues had come out. But them's the rules of the game: you think it, you write it.

Next post: House Goodness. I promise.

Wednesday, February 09, 2005

"Detox" Preview

Although "Histories" wasn't one of my favorite episodes, I am completely psyched for next week's episode of "House" after seeing the preview.

The blurbs for "Detox" made it seem like they were going to downplay House's Vicodin withdrawal, but in some of those shots in the teaser he seriously looks like death warmed over. Plus what a time for someone to finally haul off and sock him. I know that Hugh will act the hell out of the episode (as he always does), but I just hope the writing is up to par with the storyline and acting. This will either be my favorite or most loathed episode ever.

Saturday, February 05, 2005

Sorry for the Delay

I know that there are certain people out there who are waiting for real fic rather than poems and such. Unfortunately a health condition has been giving me severe joint and bone pain in my shoulders and arms, making it painful to type. In addition, the constant pain also makes it difficult to concentrate long enough to write stories of any length.

My doctor is on vacation right now, but will be back late next week to (hopefully) get my meds readjusted and return me to a happy, healthy fangirl. Until then, please bear with me.

Thursday, February 03, 2005

I am SO not a poet, but...

...I wrote one anyway. Definitely something I'll be picking at and tweaking for a while.


One purpose, one reason to remain.
The mysteries of existence intrigue me.

Driven to figure out life's puzzles.

My body fails but my mind is ever sharp
-as is my tongue, my only protection.

Driven to always ask why.

Sleepless nights, evening cigars.
My pain and piano my constant companions.

If I ever lose my drive--

Wednesday, February 02, 2005

Because It Bears Repeating

This is what makes "House" so great.

John: I got one thing. Same as you.

House: Really? Well apparently you know me better than I know you.

John: I know that limp. I know the empty ring finger. And that obsessive nature of yours that's a big secret. You don't risk jail and your career to save someone that doesn't want to be saved unless you got somethin'... anything. One thing. The reason normal people got wives... 'n kids...hobbies whatever. That's because they don't have that one thing that hits them that hard and that true. I got music you got... this. The thing you think about all the time. The thing that keeps you south of normal. Yeah, makes us great. Makes us the best. All we miss out on is everything else. No woman waitin' at home after work with the drink and the kiss. That ain't going to happen for us.

House: That's why God made microwaves.

John: Yeah, but when it's over, it's over.

House: Yeah.

Tuesday, February 01, 2005

DNR - Immediate Reaction

All I can say is...wow. I am seriously speechless.

Some of the scenes - I felt like my heart was going to burst. Cheesy? Yes. But I cannot lie.

Let's hope next week is a TAD lighter. I don't know if I could handle another intense episode, especially with "Detox" the week after.

Repost of Pill Fic

With all the talk of the upcoming episode "Detox," I thought I'd post my fic "Distractions"



House stretched his leg and looked at the clock. 2:00? How could it be only 2:00? His hand subconsciously went to his coat pocket and he longingly fingered his ever-present prescription bottle.

"Take as few as possible," they had said, "you'll build up a tolerance." Well they weren't the ones in pain. “As needed” had a different meaning when your leg’s twitching was so violent that your kneecap felt like it was about to dislocate.

He reluctantly withdrew his hand and tried to find something, anything to distract him for at least another hour. After that, he’d be able to focus on “General Hospital,” which was the way he had put off taking his last Vicodin of the day until 4:00 since being prescribed it.

The Vicodin didn't completely erase the perpetual cramping and aching of the remnants of his quadriceps muscle, but it made it somewhat bearable. The inevitable was happening although he didn’t want to admit it: Gregory House, great diagnostician and epidemiologist, was becoming more and more reliant on painkillers.

Despite his dramatics with flashing the bottle of pills and taking them in front of irritating patients any chance he got, House had no love of them. They were a necessity like the cane and like the cane they were a crutch that he loathed. Every pill seemed to mock him with a whispered "Cripple!"

House got to his feet with a pained grunt. Maybe he’d put in some clinic time. Abusing patients too stupid to realize a splinter was not reason for a walk-in was always a good way to vent. He slowly walked out his office. Halfway to the elevator, he paused and grimaced in pain. His knees buckled and he prayed no one would come down the hall at that particular moment.

He had tried to go without medication for one day, back in the beginning. Unfortunately by the time he finally broke down and took a Vicodin, it was too late for it to have maximum effect. That evening found him at home screaming in agony.

House straightened and continued down the hall. He was so intent on simply not passing out that he didn’t see Dr. Cuddy until he nearly knocked her over.

“You know, you’d think you’d watch where you’re steering with that thing,” she dryly remarked, gesturing at the cane. She gave him a concerned look. “Are you…feeling okay?”

That was enough to dull the pain with anger. He slit his eyes and scowled, “I would feel great if I didn’t have to do these damn clinic hours. Have I mentioned that a monkey with a bottle of Advil could perform this job? Speaking of which, how ARE Dr. Weston and Dr. Ling doing down there?”

Mission accomplished. He could see the sympathy being replaced by annoyance.

“I’m just making sure someone remembered to feed them their bananas and clean their cages.”

His carefully modulated voice of faux concern ensured that Cuddy gave him one last glare and continued on to wherever she had been going. He watched her receding back, suddenly feeling lonely. It sucked being in constant pain but it sucked even more not having anyone he trusted enough to lean on when it got tough. Well there was Wilson, but James had already gone beyond even what could be expected of a best friend and he hated going to him all the time for support.

The elevator doors opened. House allowed himself to sag against the wall in the mercifully empty elevator. All too soon he was deposited into the chaos of the perpetually overfilled clinic. House felt a malicious grin spread across his face as he signed in and grabbed an exam room.