Spoilers for... um... the first season?

Alright... I realized I needed to change it so it could actually maybe take place... so I added Stacy content into the first chapter. . I ended up re-doing most of Wilson's little inner monologue at the beginning for some reason because of it, and somehow the fateful meeting was inserted as well. It got... long on me. It used to be four paragraphs, the last one being puny, and composed of two sentences.

Bittersweet

INNUO PRIMORDIUM

The day was clear and free, in as many ways as a day could be- there wasn't a single cloud in the sky, the only appointment he had that day had canceled, and the other patients in the oncology ward were tended to by the nurses and orderlies, no emergencies, no scheduled surgeries, no wisps in the blue hinting at any foul weather, and just the slightest wind to offset the sun, making the day light, and perfectly tepid. Just about the worst thing he expected was that princely Greg House would be in a different bad mood that he wasn't nearly so familiar with, but the chances of that were unlikely. House's personality rarely changed with the weather, though he was probably less likely to leave his office when everyone was happy with the sunshine. Judging by the number of people in the food court, Wilson assumed that patient volume was relatively low all around the hospital.

Either that or all the mobility-able ones chose to stay inside and chew on the tiny slice of heaven they got through the window; hopefully not for the same reason as House. It didn't matter that much, fewer people was nice. So nice that Wilson had spent the majority of the afternoon out in the sun with a coffee and several rounds of muffins. He secretly hoped that his friend diagnostician would happen by for a rigorous afternoon talking to, though, but the hope was never realized. In fact, he'd seen no one from House's chosen troupe yet that day. There had to be some secret reason for not enjoying the sun, but Wilson wasn't yet interested enough to find out.

Perfectly content was he, simply doing nothing for once. Maybe if things stayed constant with this he could blackmail House away from his soaps and miniature game console to really do nothing for a while. Wilson was convinced it would do him a world of good, even if he refused to admit it; he'd seemed just a little more on edge the past few weeks, and between the rash of bland cases and hypochondriacs, and the forced clinic duty, he was probably suffering from a psychological repetitive stress syndrome. A headache, to say the least. Another, possibly unrelated headache was that Stacy Warner, one of the only women who'd ever managed to be the object of House's affections, was in the process of transferring to Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. The headache there was that she'd been wed to someone who was not House three years earlier, not terribly long after their breakup. It was one of the two hardest things he'd ever seen House go through, though even the events surrounding the infarction in his leg may have been second to it.

House had always been closed and strictly mistrusting even before those events, though Wilson stood by him throughout. He'd known since he secured his job at the hospital that he was still only human, though he pretended not to be for the above mentioned and other private reasons. Wilson had long since become immune to the scathe, and had grown to depend on it; it wasn't just about being defensive, it was just who he was. He was something of an acquired taste- he was stubborn, willing and able to take advantage of any opening anyone wasn't careful enough to close, adverse to accepting anything less than perfection especially from himself, yet at the same time managing to expect nothing but the worst from people. Most saw only his misanthropy but he very much intended it that way, for pity was not something he relished and rudeness was an excellent way to put people off. He didn't really hate people, just the stupid things they did and as such it was difficult for him to trust in general. Wilson understood that no one knew House as well as he did and few bothered to even try, though House didn't exactly make it easy. His first encounters with House were certainly quite singular because of the man's attitude.

They'd first met with a bang, and quite literally so. It wasn't more than a few months after the disappearance of Wilson's brother, and his first young wife Emily had presented him with divorce papers. They'd been together since high school, and she'd always known he wanted to be a doctor, but never really thought much about it until his first real position at Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital and they started seeing significantly less of each other. Needless to say, Wilson's mind had been elsewhere as he crossed the parkade exit to the bike rack. Maybe it happened because House had a tendency of going radical speeds on familiar roads, or maybe the sun was in his eyes, but it was slightly too late when he saw the distracted doctor ahead of him, but managed to get slow enough before hitting him to knock him onto his butt on the curb and cause no serious damage.

House jumped from his car, already suggesting a settlement price while at the same time making sure he didn't need to fetch anyone from inside but was satisfied that he didn't need to after only several moments. Wilson just stood, trying to convince House, who was no stranger to lawsuits even then, that he wasn't going to take him to court. House, naturally, had been quite surprised, but got back in his car, saying that they should do it again some time. How exactly that led to their friendship was never quite clear, but it somehow triggered a karmic series of running each other over with things. It happened all over the hospital, and they'd never recalled running into each other before the car incident. They'd knock trays in the cafeteria; a trolly manned by a nurse accompanying Wilson met House's toes later in the week; retaliation came in the form of junk-filled boxes when House changed offices. By far the best encounter since the principle was when Wilson crashed a patient into him while rounding a corner, and amused the girl en route to an MRI with their 'discussion' that followed.

This continued for several weeks, and they ended up nearly colliding again at the same site of the introduction. Both happened to stay late to finish some work, both coincidentally deciding to turn in for the night at the same time, and barely escaped a somewhat more serious encounter as Wilson swerved just in time while crossing the parkade exit on his bike. That time around, House simply rolled down the window and leaned out and informed him that he'd be required by law to turn to the police if there was another attempt at a murder-suicide. Wilson in turn suggested that maybe they should work it out over coffee some day, his treat.

And so Wilson became the only person man enough to call him friend, and while Stacy came to care for him deeply as well, she was a different story. House's appeal came in a disguised form, and took a little talent and a lot of tolerance to uncover. He shamelessly matched wits with the best of them like nobody's business, there was dedication, purpose, and the drive of a madman, possessing a mysterious need for redemption. Though he approached patients and cases more objectively, as though they were a problem to be solved and not a person to be guided through their troubles, again it didn't matter. There were always psychologists for later, who were far more likely to receive patients if they were alive, thanks to the even-handed method. Far more sensible than to care about a person's feelings, cloud your own judgment, and in the events following, miss something and have less or none of that patient around to treat later.

Wilson was interrupted out of his musings by the sound of his pager, ringing a pleasant tone as it vibrated against his empty mug. He sighed more out of habit than anything else, took up his pager, and left the sunlight behind.

oOo

It turned out to be a fairly pointless excursion back into the building; his appointment from earlier in the day decided to come back and take up thirty minutes worth of potential sun-and-muffin time. He was a post operative patient, having had a successful surgery four months prior, but everyone has their worries. Wilson made more of a habit of putting the patient's mind at ease than House did, but still he had to admit to himself that House was the better doctor if social interactions were taken out of the equation. It was an appointment that could have waited a few hours until the sun wasn't quite so inviting, but it gave him an excuse to harmlessly place himself in front of House's office.

Walking by, though, the office demanded a little more of his attention than a fly-by. The glass walls and doors left nothing to the imagination- the blinds were drawn and, though it wasn't unusual for House to do so to see his various electronic entertainment devices better, the lights were also down and House looked quite asleep draped back over his chair. All said devices off for the time being but for the generic screen saver on the computer. Few people ventured into that sort of territory, but Wilson had his House-sharpened wit about him, and had the added bonus of being his closest friend.

Preparing his wake-up call, he entered and approached...

'Unless you have cookies and assorted wilderness survival badges you should seriously reconsider your presence on my doorstep...'

Wilson's well-thought out strategy fell from his mind at the sound of the bleary but still no less amusing words of his colleague. 'Even Garfield sleeps in the sun. What's your excuse?' He said instead.

'I resent that implication.' He paused before giving a straight answer in a noticeably more sullen tone. 'Headache.'

'And your vicious powers of making people feel moderately affronted have been compensated likewise.'

'I don't see the badges, but I'd better see some cookies here soon. The small blunt objects in arms reach are varied and numerous.' Despite the spent tone, he did put sincerity behind his words.

Great, thought Wilson. The universe balances out my day with the off-chance that he'd have a funky mood.

Not enough people could tell the difference between House's usual hard-done-by front, and genuine aggravation, though fortunately Wilson was one of them. He decided to probe, but in a somewhat quieter voice. 'Not surprising considering the circus you've been getting through here. I take it you haven't see much of Stacy?'

House shrugged. 'Either she's avoiding me, or I'm avoiding her. I haven't decided yet.'

'That's the optimal way of dealing with the situation.' Wilson said, casting a sigh to the ceiling.

'It's working for me now, but I expect that's going to change as soon as you get me in touch with my inner Wilson.'

Wilson shook his head a little with a small smile. House did look fairly tired though. It was a given that House was easily bored, but he disliked anything like sympathy, and tried not to show anything that might make anyone actually worry. He felt he could deal with it easily enough on his own, but there were two problems- the first being that he'd never taken psychology like most college and university students, the second being he actually could most of the time. Right then, it was of course entirely possible that he'd taken several more pills because of the potential stress that Stacy presented, and the present factor of a headache. Just to be sure though... 'You took Vicodin for the headache?' Wilson tried to ward his tone by sounding just a touch casual.

'Seeing as I happen to be on a strict diet of 'no other painkillers' I figured it was fair game.'

'Fine, just don't fall asleep on me then.' He'd long since gotten used to House's painkiller issues, and the fact that he admitted it to himself, but no one else even though virtually everyone knew anyhow. There was no use fighting about it, especially since Vicodin really couldn't be taken in tangent with other standard painkillers, and though House's personality didn't have a direct relationship to the weather, it did to his pain. He grew exponentially more stubborn and cranky the more pain he was in, which meant that this headache must have been a doozy.

The Vicodin had always been a cause for concern. Taking them for his physical pain wasn't any big issue, that's what they were prescribed for, but House also seemed to take them when a stressful situation presented itself which was a clear sign of addiction. Months ago, after House's little bet with Cuddy, he did finally and reluctantly admit to the issue, but since then it hadn't been revisited or otherwise addressed. He did his job fine while taking them, though with satire, and everyone turned a blind eye to it once more. The Vicodin was to House as cocaine was to Sherlock Holmes and somehow, though it was somewhat of an ugly thing, it worked.

Just then a quite plain thought occurred to Wilson, that had no excuse for not showing itself sooner. 'You haven't taken your vacation yet-'

'Oh, here we go.' House said with unnecessary drama, sitting up and grabbing his cane from his desk. 'They put you up to this and didn't even give you any cookies to deliver to soften the blow?'

Wilson raised a brow at his friend. 'No, actually am taking my own risks this time... and what's with re-using the cookie bit?'

'Chalk it up to migraine-induced lameness and a beautifully choreographed Mr. Christie commercial...' He stood and made his way to the door.

'Two weeks without work for a two week's supply of cookies.'

'Now who's re-using the cookie bit?'

'You started it.'

'You couldn't afford all the cookies I'd eat in two weeks. Besides, vacation when there's plenty of rounds of listening to people who pretend to be their own doctors to make? Actually, I think I even learned something new this week.' House said, sounding thoroughly enlightened. Wilson strolled by him as they passed through the halls.

'Heaven forbid... you listened to a patient, who mustered the nerve to speak up in your presence?'

'Yes,' House said firmly. 'He even brought a pretty med encyclopedia with him. I can honestly say that, before I met him, I never knew you could buy one so decent for twenty-eight dollars and seventy cents. I could have gotten me one of them with the money I earned while he convinced himself that I gave a damn.'

'Twice the anger, half the wit,' Wilson noted. He was getting the vague notion that something was amiss; it was more a sixth sense than anything else, since usually there were no outright signs the other times he had felt this way. Usually he found out later that it was some personal issue, the loss of a patient for instance, that he allegedly wasn't letting bother him. There had been no urgent cases recently for him to dwell on, so the alert had to mean something else. Though there was some emotional turmoil hidden away in the back closet of House's mind, Wilson had already identified that. There was something else... He wasn't sure how he could tell these things about him, but such suspicions were rarely nothing. He couldn't fathom what it might have been this time, so he packaged it away for when more details presented themselves.

'Where are you going, anyway?' Wilson noticed that they'd been winding through the halls with no particular heed to direction.

'I memorized Cuddy's schedule during this dry spell. She's only one step behind me though, she's beginning to anticipate my anticipations of her activities. So far I've been able to look busy enough to avoid even more boring clinic cases.'

'Exactly why you take your vacation now.' Wilson reasoned. 'I'm sure people will come up with more creative afflictions in two weeks. Everyone's inspiration is occupied. It is spring, after all, when a young man's fancy turns to-'

'Cuddy.'

'Not what I had in mind, but you at least understand why she always seems to be missing her top button...'

House rapped Wilson smartly in the shin with his cane, most subtly drawing his attention to the hallway ahead of them. 'If she asks any awkward questions, the story is you were feeling the need to frighten the people in the smoking pit.'

'And you're coming with me because...?'

'If you look real cute and tell her it was because you didn't wanna be all alone when you faced the three-hundred-twenty-pound smokers, I'm sure she'd cut you some slack. You're irresistible when you pretend to be harmless.'

'Greg... I'm sorry, I just don't see you in that way.'

'House,' Cuddy called from down the hall, with all the pleasant pretense of a murder of crows.

'Just act natural.' House said with a definitive nod, clearly thinking he had it under control.

This time around, Cuddy seemed careful when she crossed her arms in disapproval, attempting to shield her blouse from inappropriate criticism. 'Up to no good and making off with one of the more decent ones.'

'Ooh, tricky one... the first one makes me think Sugarland down in Mississippi, but...'

Cuddy smiled her classic satiric smile, usually administered to those who were about to receive some humiliating fate, which for House was usually... 'Clinic duty. You've been due for days, but somehow you manage to occupy yourself with other doctor's patients enough to slip right by, but seeing as you're not busy now, I think it's most opportune.'

'Darn. I told you we should have taken those nurse's uniforms.' Sounding quite disappointed, he gave Wilson a pointed look.

'Ha. Just what appointment are you off to now?' She looked between the two of them, the superior glare of a mother who knows which of her sons broke the new vase. Wilson was shot a particularly threatening 'stick-with-the-story' look from House, but he felt he already knew exactly what to say.

'Just off looking for you, actually. In such a dull time as this, you don't really need an expert diagnostician. House was hoping for his vacation, weren't you?' The look he received then triggered a strange reaction, lighting up a star inside of him. It was an urgent star, but he couldn't tell exactly what it meant... except that, boy was he going to get heck later. It'd be for the better, in the end. Wilson really couldn't see what the problem was this time, a vacation was a perfectly legitimate reason to escape working in the clinic for a solid two weeks without having to avoid anyone.

Without missing a beat, Cuddy replied, 'Clinic first.'

The star was burning brightly now, enough to understand the gist of it's urgency; Cuddy would end up giving House extra clinic hours, no doubt, before his freedom, so he wasn't going to be let off so easily. One might have considered it fair, taking into account the various legal ways House liked to harass his superior, but anything House saw as unfair would make life for whoever inflicted the hardship significantly more stressed, and in turn, they'd retaliate. It was a complete and constant circle of annoyance.

Maybe it should be called the full House circle?

Wilson smiled inwardly at his stupid pun, and focused back on the matter at hand. House knew he was trapped now, an maybe because his headache persisted, he didn't say anything else on the matter and stalked off to the clinic, Wilson trailing behind.

'You had me hooped, and now you're going to gloat, is that it?' He was walking at a fairly agitated pace, and though it wasn't unusual for House to be rather upset about being stuck in the clinic, once again Wilson couldn't help but think that he seemed to be behaving a little more misanthropic than usual, and with a decreased amount of amusement.

He silently added a few more notes to the file in the back of his mind, and moved on. 'I've been watching people outside all day, maybe I should give the indoors a shot, and the best place for that is, naturally, the clinic.'

House remained sullenly silent. It was easy enough to pass off as simply stress. There was the ever-near pressure of dealing with Stacy on a daily basis. Because it hadn't happened yet, time continued to mature the old pains associated with her. All that aside, House and his team had been taking on the most difficult cases near-constantly, and the diagnostician's methods, while ultimately curing the patient involved, caused the patient and family members a great deal of grief, and they gladly returned the favor. House wasn't invincible, he just pretended he was, and somewhere there had to be a jar of bottled distress that was just about full. Currently, a slight overdose of Vicodin contributed to the dulling of his wit, the headache to his temper, and Stacy to his slight abdication. The lull in complicated cases was more likely to let a person's mind wander especially to the less pleasant happenings, but Wilson knew his friend well. There was something else wrong besides that, maybe something House himself wasn't yet aware of.

However, that didn't dampen his anticipation much. Though he just decided that clinic-watching could be a pastime, it was bound to be interesting today.