Prologue
The pavement whipped under the wheels of his motorcycle, blacker than the night sky that loomed above him. He just wanted to get out: out of the hospital, out of the clinic, out of his office. Away. Away from his team, away from his boss, away from his friends. It was torture being in that place, where people expected too much of him and people judged him before even meeting him. Well, their judgments were usually correct, but still. And the clinic patients: they were morons! Didn't anyone around here know that a headache could just be a headache! It doesn't mean you have a tumor!
Dr. House pulled his motorcycle up to the spot immediately outside the door to his apartment building. Once inside, he poured himself some scotch and settled in to watch TV. His insomnia had gotten worse lately and he knew it was going to be a long night.