T: Language
G House/J Wilson/OC

Summary: In which House bails his future best friend out of jail because he was bored.

A/N1: Canonical references:
Birthmarks S5x04
Lockdown S6x17
Knight Fall S6x18
Open and Shut S6x19

A/N2: Standard Disclaimer. Not mine. I'm just filling in some blanks here and there. That force of nature known as Gregory House, created by Shore on paper and Laurie on screen will never be replicated and never be forgotten. My deepest thanks to them both. Special thanks to Doris Egan and David Foster for writing Birthmarks and giving us the backstory on how this friendship came to be. Additional thanks to the entire [H] writing staff, without whom we would never have these great stories and lines to chew on and expound upon.

A/N3: Many thanks to HOUSEocdfan, BabalooBlue, and Visitkarte for the beta and BlossomYoung42 for the edits. Comments and/or reviews gratefully accepted if you see fit. And of course: All mistakes are my own.

Summer 1991
New Orleans, Louisiana

Wednesday

Dr. James Wilson checked into the Riverside Hotel early in the afternoon. He was two years into his Oncology residency at Windsor Rocks Cancer Institute in Windsor, New Jersey and was excited to be attending his first medical conference. There were several symposiums he was looking forward to and he hoped to pick the brains of some of the top physicians in their field during the 4-day long event.

He made his way up to his room on the third floor, a small suitcase in one hand and garment bag slung over his shoulder. Opening the door, he glanced around at the most basic of amenities inside. He stashed his suitcase and garment bag in the small closet next to the door. Wilson walked over to the bed and sat down on the edge, sighing as he stared at the phone on the nightstand before walking across the room to sit on the edge of the bed. Wilson stared at the phone on the nightstand and sighed. He knew he should call his wife, let her know that he got in okay, but his heart really wasn't in it. This was the first break he'd had in ages, between the long hours at the hospital and trying to hold down two jobs so Sam could do that unpaid internship he'd encouraged her to take. He was killing himself to keep them afloat financially, yet it seemed like they were drifting further and further apart emotionally. They'd barely spoken to each other for months except in passing.

Wilson sighed again and picked up the phone, dialing the number to their apartment and knowing that he'd likely be talking to himself on the machine. But he felt obligated to at least let Sam know he'd arrived, so he sadly listened to their happy voices on the outgoing message before leaving his contact information at the conference. Hanging up the phone, he took off his jacket and tie, carefully putting them both on hangars in the closet. He unbuttoned the collar and rolled up the sleeves of his too-small shirt and was reminded once again to ask Sam not to put his shirts in the dryer. That was just one of many little things Sam never seemed to think about that Wilson considered to be common sense. He never mentioned them to her, not wanting to start an argument over something so trivial, but it still nagged at him.

Moving to stretch out on the bed to unwind from the trip, Wilson's last conscious thought before his head hit the pillow was, Man, I had no idea I was so tired...

It was late when Dr. Gregory House checked into the Riverside Hotel. He was in town for a 4-day long medical conference that he only agreed to attend because of its location. He hated these things: Thousands of pompous asses milling around bragging about their jobs and hitting on each other's spouses and significant others. He was just coming off an 80 hour shift in both the Nephrology ward and the Infectious Diseases unit at Jefferson Memorial Hospital in Princeton, New Jersey and felt like the walking dead as he made his way up to his room on the fifth floor. He dropped his duffel bag and backpack just inside the door and headed for the minibar, where he found himself unsurprised at the pathetic choices inside.

House pulled out the two miniature bottles of scotch that were in there and poured them into a water glass he found next to the Lilliputian coffee maker. He threw his suit jacket over a chair by the TV and walked over to the bed to sit down on the edge, taking a drink of the amber liquid and glancing around the room. It was pretty basic as rooms went, everything nondescript and generic: Queen-sized bed, headboard and nightstands attached and bolted to the wall, reading lamps anchored to the wall on either side of the headboard. A tall television cabinet was bolted to the opposite wall, a decent sized television inside. I wonder what the administration would say if I tried to expense a porno or three, he idly was a small desk and chair against the window on the far side of the room, a rather uncomfortable looking easy chair in the corner. The sink and countertop were attached to the mirrored wall next to the bathroom door. The coffee maker with its institutional coffee packets, sugar and powdered creamer, cardboard coffee cups, a second water glass, and an ice bucket were lined up on the counter. From where he sat, House could see the small bathtub and toilet in the cramped bathroom and knew he was going to have to fold himself in half to fit under the shower head.

Finishing his drink, House lay back on the bed, trying to get his brain to shut down. It was close to midnight and he was expected to show up for the early breakfast being held at the convention center next door in the morning. He dreaded having to go to the damn thing to begin with, but his boss had made it quite clear that if he didn't go and represent the hospital, he'd be out of a job before the weekend was over. House complained to anyone who would listen that he was only going under duress, but secretly he couldn't wait to get down to New Orleans and away from the hospital.