A/N -
This is just a quick little two-shot filling in one of the blanks of his past - How House got his job at PPTH. I tried to use as much as the canon as I could, especially since we really don't know much about his time before PPTH. I hope this is realistic.
For those following Maybe Baby, I plan on updating it tomorrow sometime. Between the Thanksgiving holiday, a bacterial infection due to a pet bite, and an upper respiratory infection, it's been hard to sit down and write. Thanks for hanging on :-)
Hope you all like this!
Down And Out
January - 1996
Gregory House felt like he had been called to the principal's office, a feeling he was all to acutely familiar with. The large, African-American man who sat opposite the large mahogany desk looked at him with sad disappointment. "Dr. House," he began, with a sigh, "we both know why you're here. So let's do away with the formalities." Greg held the man's gaze, holding his head up high. He knew this had been coming, and it had been coming for quite a while. "You do realize that I'm going to have to terminate your employment at this hospital."
Greg kept his lips pressed in a thin, tight line. The frustration was building up within; this had been his sixth job in eight years. "Listen, Conway," this had been his problem, his mouth, but he couldn't stop himself. "We both know what this is about, and it has nothing to do with the reason your boss has told you," he snapped.
"You were caught sleeping in an exam room! Then, there's the bribery you committed to get Cutler to cover your rounds. Lets not forget all the patient complaints." Dr. Conway flipped through the rather sizable folder in front of him. Curious, House edged forward, trying to read it's contents. "This is your disciplinary file, Greg," Conway sounded resigned. "'Is rude to patients,;" he read. "Made rude comments to a 90 year old woman." Conway looked up. "Did you really insinuate that a great-grandmother needed to, and I quote keep her legs closed?"
"She had the clap!" Greg blurted out, defensively. "Did you want me to sugar coat it?" he snorted. "Be polite and all that shit."
"Uses vulgar language towards patients." Conway rolled his eyes. "Then there are all the threats, and complaints of that you forced patients into experimental treatments. Not to mention the lawsuits, or the rumors of drug use. Let's not forget your track record from your previous positions." Conway closed the file, and he took a deep breath. "You're smart, Greg. You're really one hell of a doctor, but you're a liability, and it's a liability that we can't afford."
Greg felt his hands clench tightly, and a lead weight dropped into his stomach. This is it, he thought. He chewed on his bottom lip. "You'll fire me," he began, "but you'll keep an asshole like Edwards on staff, who's a sexual harassment lawsuit waiting to happen? Or Davis, who.."
"I don't care about them. This is about you," he emphasized. "I'm sorry." He closed the file.
Greg leaned forward. "I need this job," he began, panic starting to fill the numbness that he had been feeling.
Conway shook his head. "I'm afraid that this job doesn't need you." He stared a Greg, and he noticed how the man was sitting so dejectedly in front of him. "Look, a friend of mine just became Dean of Medicine at Princeton-Plainsboro, and she needs an infectious disease specialist." He turned to his computer, and he hit a few keys. "I can't guarantee you the job, but, if you do apply, I'll put in a good word for you, personally. Unfortunately, there's a good chance I won't be able to convince Sanders to give you a ringing endorsement in the name of the hospital, but, I'll do what I can." He hit a key, and his printer started to purr as it warmed up. After it was done printing, he handed Greg several sheets of paper. "Good luck, Greg. I'm sorry it didn't work out."
Greg frowned. "So am I." He stood up, then headed to his locker, to pack up the rest of his things.
[H] [H] [H]
July 1996
The Celebrity was a good car; he'd bought it used when he had gotten the Boston job; his first real job as a doctor. Now, nearly eight years later, it was still with him, but he wasn't in Boston anymore. A brief stint in New York had followed, and after that, there was Miami, Atlanta, San Diego, and now, it had been six months since Cleveland had let him go. He still lived in Cleveland, but he now spent most of his time on the road, trying to find a job.
For as brilliant as he was, he was being blackballed where ever he went. He already had two strikes against him, after being thrown out of both Michigan and Hopkins for cheating, but it was his recent jobs that seemed to be the death nail in the coffin of his young career. Impossible to work with. Doesn't take direction well. Lack of respect to both patients and staff. Use of vulgarities towards patients and staff. Multiple disciplinary hearings. Lack of leadership skills. Brilliant, but absolutely no skill with interpersonal relationships. Ineffective bedside manner. The criticisms twisted and turned in his head, making him dizzy. He didn't answer his phone half the time, tired of hearing the rejections for jobs, or hearing his father's gloating voice, reminded him of what a fuck up he really was.
He sighed, pulling into the parking lot of the apartment he shared with his girlfriend. Audrey was right now, the one thing that kept him from slitting his wrists, she had been there for him the past few months, even though he knew he had been absolutely unbearable to live with. He bit the inside of his lip, feeling very guilty for the one-night stands he'd had on the road, but he had been depressed and lonely, or so he rationalized.
He had to admit, though, he had seen this homecoming coming. He slammed the door shut on the old car. Stacks of boxes framed the entrance to their apartment, her apartment, he realized. He sighed, then knocked on the door. He didn't recognize the tall, dark haired man the answered it, but right away, he knew what had happened. The guy didn't even flinch. "Audrey," he shouted over his shoulder. "It's for you."
Slim and dark haired, Audrey appeared in the doorway. "Hi, Greg," she said shyly, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear and out of her eyes.
Greg's mouth was pressed in a tight, thin line, and his glittering blue eyes took in her form. "Who's that?" he asked, not keeping the bitterness out of his voice.
She sighed. "Greg," she began, "we've...we've been over for a while," she said, her voice growing low and hoarse.
"I wasn't under that impression," he responded, dryly. "Especially since..."
"I know about April, and Chirsty, and Harmony, and Destini," she said, in a low, flat voice. Greg kept his eyes on her, biting the inside of his lip. "I can't live like that. Besides," she shrugged, "I was promoted last week. I'm staying here in Cleveland, Greg. It's obvious you aren't." She rose on her tiptoes, and she pressed a soft kiss on his scruffy cheek. "I loved you, Greg. I just don't anymore." She sucked on her lower lip for a moment. "Good luck," she let her hand linger on his bicep for a moment, before she turned and left him outside, in the stifling July Cleveland air.
It took about a half an hour, but he managed to cram the boxes into his car, gingerly placing his guitar in the front seat. He sighed, then decided that Cleveland didn't have anything for him anymore. He drove south for about an hour and half, stopping at a Burger King along the way for a quick burger and soda. After another hour or so, he stopped at a cheap motel, which had a bar conveniently located next door. He hauled a few of the boxes inside the sparsely furnished room, deciding to plot his next move.
But he had something to do, first.
Settling in an uncomfortable armless chair in the room, he pulled the phone closer to him, and he dialed in a numbers. A purring ring came over the speaker, and, settling the phone between his shoulder and ear, he reached for the bottle of bourbon in one of the boxes he had placed on the desk where the phone was. It took four rings, but a familiar voice sleepily answered. "Hello?"
"Hey, Jimmy," he blurted over the phone. "How's it goin'?"
"House?" James Wilson's voice immediately perked up. "Why are you calling at," he paused, and Greg could practically see him peering blindly at the numbers on his alarm clock. "12:15 in the morning?"
"Audrey kicked me out," he informed Wilson, taking a deep drink from the bourbon bottle. "Right after I got back from Baltimore."
"Wait, what?" Wilson's voice grew more alert, and, over the phone Greg heard the bed creak, and then a soft padding. A click of the door confirmed that Jimmy had shut the door so he wouldn't disturb his wife. "Audrey kicked you out?"
"Yeah," he sighed. "So I left town. I wouldn't try to contact me at that old number, you know, since I don't live there anymore."
"You left town?" Wilson's voice rose an octave. "You left town? You just left? Did you get the Baltimore job?"
"Nope," Greg propped his feet on the cheap desk. "I was thinking about driving to Boston and crashing with you and Brenda..."
"Bonnie," Wilson corrected him quickly.
"Whatever," came Greg's flippant reply. "Anyway, I know you have a couch I can crash on..."
"House," Wilson moaned. "I have to talk to my wife about this..."
"I don't have anywhere else to go," Greg admitted reluctantly, knowing that it would tug on Wilson's need to be needed. "It'll just be for a few weeks, until I can find a new position," he said quietly, running his hands through his shaggy hair."
Wilson finally sighed. "Okay, but just for a few weeks, until you can find your own place, okay?"
Greg brightened a bit. "Excellent!" he smiled, taking another swig of bourbon. "I wonder if Tiffani is still around?" he murmured. "You wanna go comb strip clubs when I get there, and help me hunt her down?"
Wilson sighed, murmuring to himself "Bonnie's going to kill me." Chuckling to himself, Greg hung up, then took another drink, his smile faltering . His life, he decided, couldn't get much worse.
Okay, let me know what you think! Thanks for reading, and the second part should be up fairly soon! :-D