I try to be as medically accurate as possible, but I'm neither a doctor nor a med student, so that may prove difficult. So if something's wrong, and you know the right answer, please tell me. I'll be oh-so-grateful. (Most of my information came from WebMD, so it's accurate enough, I guess).

I DO NOT OWN: Wilson, House, Cuddy, or House, M.D. the show. Enjoy. Please review.

"We'll be joined by Doctor James Wilson, head of oncology here at Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital," the female voice tried to explain to someone quietly. Wilson fiddled with his tie, extremely nervous about the pending meeting. He felt the sweat beading at his brow, but hesitated to stain the sleeve of his white coat by wiping it off. As he heard the click of a door handle turning, Wilson brushed his sleeve upon his forehead and quickly rose from his seat to face the three people who had entered the room.

Like most days, Dr. Lisa Cuddy was not in a good mood. Her face held a stone-cold glare as she made eye contact with Wilson, and did not warm as she gestured to the shorter of the two men who stood by her side. Wilson gave a mere nod to his former patient, keeping his nervousness in check. He did the same to the taller man, who greeted his eyes with a leer that defined "if looks could kill". Lawyer's eyes, Wilson thought to himself.

Cuddy walked around her desk and sat down on the large chair behind it. She pointed to the seats before her, silently informing the three men to sit. Wilson took the seat he had previously occupied; the other two sat beside each other and the lawyer extracted several file folders from his bag, holding them on his lap.

"Wilson, this is, as you know, Mr. November and his attorney, Mr. Henderson," Cuddy informed him briefly, regardless of the fact that Wilson already knew.

"Thank you, Ms. Cuddy." Henderson quickly used this opportunity to speak. "It seems that my client here has had a less than pleasant experience at your hospital. He was," he thumbed through his papers until he found what he was looking for. "and I quote, 'insulted, harassed, mis-diagnosed, mistreated, given unnecessary tests and surgery, and put under great amounts of stress.'" Henderson glanced over at Wilson, grey eyes boring into his brown ones.

Wilson turned to Cuddy. "Most of that is House's doing. Why isn't he here?" he asked. Cuddy stared blankly for a moment.

"House is supposed to be here," Cuddy answered, anger resonating in her voice. "He should–" Cuddy stopped talking and stared forward, her jaw clenching. Wilson knew of only one thing that could cause her to make such a face, and turned around, only to have his assumptions confirmed.

The tall, lanky frame of Dr. Gregory House leaned backwards against the glass door, twirling his wooden cane about his fingers. Cuddy stood up, briskly walked to the door and pulled it open, stepping aside. House fell backwards into the room, but caught himself before collapsing. He spun around and leaned heavily on his cane. "A warning would be appreciated next time," he informed Cuddy, and shuffled his way over to the desk.

"So would being on time," she hissed, glowering darkly. House cocked his head and smirked.

"Sorry. A hospital equals dying people. I was saving them all, like you hired me to," he remarked cooly. Cuddy's upper lip twitched as she sat back down.

"Well, Mr. Henderson, this is Dr. House," Cuddy introduced them. Henderson's eyes scanned House's figure quickly.

"Are you checking me out?" he inquired, striking a pose with his cane. Cuddy spat out his name, and House just gave her a look of innocence. "Best that I give him something to look at, no?" He winked.

"House, maybe we can make decisions without you at this meeting," Cuddy snapped, clearly at the end of her rope. Henderson intervened before House could respond.

"But we can't have his statement without him stating it," he quipped, clearly trying to best House's own sarcasm. House let his eyes drift to him, then back to Cuddy.

"What do you want from me?" he asked, his tone sincere. Cuddy looked slightly relieved, and picked up a file similar to Henderson's.

"Mr. November says you enticed, embarrassed, and harassed him," she explained. "He wants you t–"

"Oh, come on!" House blurted out. "Since when is telling someone their name is a month harassment?"

"Unlike you, Dr. House, I have feelings," November said weakly, blushing slightly. House tilted his head to the left and let a natural smirk cross his face.

"Oh, yes. And 'House' is such an easy name to grow up with," House said, feigning sympathy. He pointed over to Wilson, who had his head in his hands, just wishing that this would be over. "You're too sensitive. I'm sure Wilson here still sucks at volleyball, regardless of what we call him. By the way, there's a tennis match versus the residents tonight. You in, ballboy?"

"House!" Cuddy screeched. "House, sit down. Right now." House noticed the lack of seat for him to occupy, so he tossed his cane down and dropped to the floor, staring up to a very displeased Cuddy. She shook her head and lifted a court order off her desk. "Here's the deal. You apologize and follow up on Mr. November, tending to his personal case, and he promises not to press harassment charges."

"That's it?" House queried, a playful tone dancing in his voice. Cuddy nodded furiously, glaring at House. He shrugged and fetched his cane, and held out a hand to Wilson. "Help me rise, grand master!" Wilson shot House a strange glare, but pulled his friend off the floor.

"Well, Mr. November," House said, turning to his new patient. "I am now court ordered to be your slave." November shot a worried glance toward his lawyer as House cackled, limping his way out of the room.

Cuddy sighed. "Now that that half is taken care of," she began, looking towards Wilson. "Now we deal with you." Wilson winced, remembering the details of this case.