Chapter 1: The Doctor is Out

Doctor Gregory House turned over in his lounge chair. The sunlight made his vision turn white, he noticed, as he tried to make his sight adjust to the surroundings as he tried to figure out where he was. His mind was a blank canvas in regards to last night. He rubbed his eyes. He pursed his lips together feeling his mouth grow increasingly dry, wondering if this was from him truly being thirsty or from his vicodin. His vicodin, he suddenly remembered. Where did it go? He couldn't remember anything from the previous night. Suddenly his mind was called back by the sudden pain in his right leg. He also felt the warm beginnings of a sunburn as he looked on the ground around his chair in his reclined position and began searching the pockets of his jeans for clues. But all he found was a genuine key with a number attached for the keychain. At least now he knew where he was, but that only seemed to bring about more questions that he didn't have the answers to either.

Why a motel? Why didn't he just go home last night? Did he come here with anybody? Where was here? He thought if he got back to the room, maybe he'd be able to solve them all if for starters, he figured out where he was. He knew for a start that he was at the pool. He saw from his surroundings that this was definitely a cheap motel. The only judgments he could make about this place were the people he'd meet here: Loners, tweakers, drifters, hookers and people hiding out. This was not a sober place, he thought happily. House took comfort in the fact that at the very least, he had made a good decision in some way. He looked at the burnt orange stucco building, and prayed someone in the office would at least speak English.

He got up carefully from his sitting position and hopped up focusing his weight on his one good leg. Balancing, gingerly, he hopped up and leaned onto an iron gate. He was in the pool enclosure, that much he knew for sure. He hopped along the edge, continually looking back to the buildings for any sign that it was hallucinated. The motel itself still looked4 bad and he swore silently to himself that if they charged more than thirty-two bucks for it, he would be leaving with a few more towels. He glanced at the sun, hoping for a sign. But who was he kidding? He didn't believe in signs unless they were neon.

"Hey, Greg!" A man's voice, thick with Spanish called out. House turned in the direction to see a man standing at the gate waving his hand.

"Hola, vato." House responded and limped over to the nameless man. He gave him a high-five that turned into a firm handshake. House squinted his eyes from the late afternoon sun, and offered a confused smile. "Who are you again?"

"Are you kiddin' me?" The nameless stranger seemed astonished. His face turned sympathetic quickly. "Well actually it's not that much a shock considerin' how much you drank last night." House looked him up and down quickly. Baggy clothes, muscular like a club bouncer, and tall with sleeves running from wrists to neck. As someone would call his intertwining tattoos on his arms sleeves, this guy must be going for a turtle neck; he mused. He removed the Loc brand sunglasses from his eyes and slid them back onto his shaven head. "Julian Pedroza." He offered.

The name rang no bells in House's mind. House had assumed once he found the man's identity that all the puzzle pieces would simply fall into place- but now they seemed as far apart as ever. Without warning, the pain in his leg made him stumble noticeably. He grabbed the part of his thigh that burned and it felt comparable to someone holding a flame directly under the skin. He gritted his teeth as he pushed on it as hard as he could.

"Greg, you alright, man?" Julian asked, concern peaked in his voice as he looked down at House's sides. "Where's your cane, man?"

House raised himself up, halfway to look at Julian's face. "How'd you know about my cane?" He tried his best to refocus as Julian surveyed the scene. He opened up the gate and walked around the pool. He once again had his Locs recovering his eyes, making him look infinitely more villainous than he appeared to be.

"Found it!" He announced with triumph. He was standing at the edge of the pool and was looking into it. "Hey, Greg, hand me that metal pole over there." House did what Julian bid him to do. As Julian fished in the pool with the maintenance utensil, he began speaking once more to a memory-lapsed House. "Oh, like I was saying, me and some homies dropped by your room last night to tell you to cut the music down, and before I knew what happened you offered us some drinks and you threw one hell of a party." He began pulling the pole back carefully, snickering to himself. "Come to think of it, we never had to tell a white boy to turn the music down before. I'm amazed as hell you ain't got a hangover." He finished the thought aloud. Julian pulled out the pole and grabbed the dripping cane off the end carefully. When he got a tight grip he took it off the end and let the pole unceremoniously drop down against the cement with a resounding clank. He offered the cane back.

House accepted it gratefully and let go of the iron gate. Both men made their way through the gate, both heading in opposite directions, House staring at the numerous rooms, and fished the key out of his pocket to look at the designated room number. 113. House wasn't about to count each room, but he was fairly certain there weren't over a hundred rooms.

"Well, I guess I'll catch you later, Greg." Julian told House and didn't wait for him to respond. House called out to him, and he instantly turned back. House showed him the key.

"Where's room 113?" House asked. Julian walked to him and took the key in his hand and handed it back to House.

"It's actually room thirteen. This is a spare set." Julian informed him. "For every pair you lose, they put that many times in front of the number." He looked at his House's face to see if any of it was registering, which apparently, it wasn't. "Just take my word for it, man. You're in room thirteen." He watched House's bad leg as he thanked him and walked away noticing how much worse his limp was getting. He shook his head. "Wait up, man. I can take you there if you want. But I got some business to take care of on the way." Julian bargained with him, trying to disguise that he was taking time out to help him with it being no bother. "If you don't mind, that is." He offered.

House shrugged. "Your business is your business." He paused before continuing, "But aren't you worried that I'm a cop?" Julian broke out laughing.

"Man, after all the shit you did last night- there's no way in hell you're a cop!" He exclaimed laughing, not caring who heard them as they walked to the outside of the building. "But if you are a cop, then I got some serious stuff to discuss with Internal Affairs. House was caught off guard as two little Mexican children ran passed, almost knocking House down in the process. He grabbed the wall as Julian side-stepped them and yelled at them in Spanish. To which one of the one of the children responded before turning the corner and out of sight. House knew what was said, through his fluent Spanish. Kids chasing after the ice cream truck. How innocent. But he'd be lying if he wasn't hoping one of them would drop the ice cream as soon as he got it, for knocking him over like that.

"These kids, man. I love them to death- but they're not showing much in the way of respeto." Julian observed. "You got any kids, man?"

"Frankly, I try to avoid them as all costs." House admitted, brutally, earning a warning look from over Julian's shoulder. "You know, baby mama troubles."

"Oh I get what you mean." Julian responded, all offense withdrawn. Once they turned the corner, they began heading to a group of boys gathered in a semi-circle, right next to a giant dumpster in the motel parking lot. House chose to hang back as Julian went ahead and approached the boys without emotion. Hushed voices passed between Julian and a preteen looking white boy wearing a tagger shirt and baggy low riding shorts that exposed his boxers. Julian reached into his pocket and handed the boy a rolled up sandwich bag. The boy put a wad of cash into Julian's and a few coins. Julian's mood seemed to change instantaneously. House heard the conversation as Julian back to House's side.

"I look like a slot machine! We in Vegas? Out your damn mind giving me some quarters." Julian then chuckled a little to himself and sang, Beyonce's "To The Left", "You must not know 'bout me…" House laughed along with him. When they reached House's room, the street lamps had come on even though the sun still hung low in the sky, creating a brilliant palette of golds, soft blues and lavenders. House opened the door and took a collective look around the room, as Julian seated himself to sit on a lemon yellow couch that smelled of musk and was the color of a dehydrated lemon. The wall was no better.

"So would you call this color Smoker's Teeth or Dried Mustard, Julian?" House asked twirling around to look at his new, temporary companion. They both cracked up laughing for over an hour. House grabbed his pills and popped a couple, washing it down with a shot of whiskey he'd found in the fridge, while Julian pulled a blunt from his pocket and lit it.

"How about Hard-Boiled Egg Yolk?" Julian suggested. They just laughed even harder. For the next hour, they ran over everything that happened last night, which some of it didn't surprise House at all. Except for when they talked about one of his homeboys and there was a lobster in a toilet at one point, and a bathtub made into an aquarium with goldfish, which died from the introduction to bubbles. House also found out much to his displeasure that today was Monday and all he remembered back to was Friday afternoon when he left work. As far as he knew, his motorcycle wasn't even here. He didn't look forward to interfacing with Cuddy or any of his coworkers. At this precise moment, he didn't care about anything.

"So who was that pretty blonde lady you showed us a picture of?" Julian asked, exhaling a cloud of smoke. House felt a slight contact high in the works.

"Oh, you mean Pamela Handerson?" House joked, knowing exactly who Julian was talking about, secretly.

"No, no, no. The one you had in your wallet." Julian worded concisely, as he offered the half smoked joint to House, who accepted it and inhaled deeply.

"Well, it could be Pamela." House coughed a little as he handed it back. "I have a picture of her in my wallet."

"No, man. It was someone else. Started with an 'E'." Julian specified and it became harder and harder for House to ignore.

"She was just a girl." House began to feel the effects of the whiskey, pills, and marijuana. Julian's permanent grin seemed to slowly die down. "Just a girl."

Julian's expression turned somber. "Well, you talked about her like you cared for her a lot." He observed aloud. "I mean, you even held the picture like it was some type of treasure." House stared blankly ahead as though he stared down a long corridor and the longer he stared, the longer it grew. House came to and gave Julian a dark look not to go there. "Well, whatever you say, man."

"Where is she now?" Julian asked half out of curiosity and half out of just wanting to break the silence.

House, for once in his life, didn't want to be rude or sarcastic. House didn't want this man that had no knowledge of medicine or that he was a paragon in the medicinal field (despite his smudged record), he genuinely had no desire to be Doctor House. And he didn't want to be the calloused, bitter, angry doctor everyone knew of, today he was Greg. House popped a fourth Vicodin into his mouth, broke it in between his teeth, and drained it down with a shot of whiskey. "She's dead." House answered lowly. Julian looked spaced out.

"I hear ya." Julian agreed, finally freed of his perma-grin. "My girl's gone too. Got hit by a stray bullet meant for me- got her instead. Ain't one day passes, I don't think about her and thank God for having her in my life." Julian pulled out a cigarette box and got one out for himself and one for House. House, even though he didn't smoke normally, took the cigarette and lit it up. "At the same time though, I still wish it would've been me. It should've been me. Her death was more than a crime; it was a violation against life." House looked around the room and noticed the burnt-orange wall paint, which accompanied the bed. Then he turned his gaze onto the dried-lemon looking couch that had a matching lamp on a table by the bed.

"You know, I didn't ever think anyone would let the Brady Bunch do their decorating." He rubbed his face with his palms, taking a drag of the cigarette and acted in mock- horror. "I was wrong!" Julian smiled and choked on the smoke of the cigarette. House simply smiled to himself. "It's horrible."

"You know, Greg," Julian said standing up. "You're alright, man." He walked over and shook House's hand again. "But I gotta few more drops to make."

"You're a pretty cool dude, yourself." Julian stopped and turned by the front door.

"You gonna be okay?" Julian asked, standing with his hand hovering over the door handle.

"Yeah, I'm just gonna call a friend, jack a few towels and get outta here." House informed him. Julian nodded in understanding.

"I feel ya." Julian inhaled a drag off his cigarette. "Can I ask you a question before you go?" House wanted to avoid it, but his mind was enjoying the buzz enough to care.

"Shoot." It was a rare moment to get a glimpse in House's mind, but what the hell; he didn't feel like being House today.

"Why are you here?"

"To get away from my life." House answered bluntly. "Why do you sell drugs?"

"You remember those kids we passed in the hall?" House nodded as Julian pulled out a new cigarette from his pocket and lit it. "Those were my girl's kids. They ain't got nobody but me and my moms." He took a drag. "I do it so one day they don't have to. In case they wanna go to college or something. We live poor now, so they can live better on their own when I'm gone. Got them their own bank accounts and everything. He looked at the yellow-stained ceiling. "So one day, they can get outta here." He stood solemnly. "Mom's been sick for a long time. Doctors can't figure out what's wrong with her." House's eyes perked up. An unsolvable sickness and he so happened to be a diagnostician.

"I'm a doctor." House offered it to Julian like a gift, but instead, all House got in turn was a sudden shift of anger. He flicked his cigarette out the door.

"I knew you were an asshole when I met you- hell that was one of the things I liked about you. But don't you ever mock me again, when I'm tryin' to be real with you." Julian exited the single living spaced motel room, letting the door bang hard when it closed. And through the window, all he heard was Julian laughing his head off, mocking him.

"Doctor Gregory House. Yeah right!"

Apparently for Greg, he was and would always be House. Greg was a hanging on by the skin of his teeth med student, while House was who he was every day since his life fell apart. Unfortunately, there was and would never be a severance of the two. Cuddy never even called him Greg. Neither had Wilson or anybody except for maybe his mother. There was no more Greg. Simply House, an M.D. who drank too much, took too many pills, was too crippled, and took too many risks that never really worked out.

AUTHOR'S NOTE::: From the next chapter on, we'll be diving into House's past and find the real reason that started everything. Good plots with twists and surprises. READ AND REVIEW IF ANYONE IS INTERESTED IN SEEING MORE OF THIS STORY.

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