Yes, another House/OC story. This one has him getting involved with a guy. If it's not your thing, don't read, and please be so kind as to keep your flames to yourself. As usual, I don't own any of the trademarked House stuff.

# # #

House stood outside the sliding doors of PPTH, readying himself for his return to his work. All the arrangements had been made in anticipation of his release from that mental institution, and at the time, he'd felt he was long ready.

Now, standing outside those doors, he didn't feel so certain. Something felt…different, but House couldn't quite place his fingers on it. Finally, he took a deep breath, hitched his backpack over his shoulder, and entered the sliding double doors.

He quietly strode through the lobby, ignoring the eyes upon him as he waited for the elevator that would carry him back to his office, his work, his life. A shadow appeared at his side, and a whiff of perfume wafted to his nose.

"Cuddy." House barely glanced at his boss as he waited.

"Good morning, House. Welcome back." Cuddy lightly touched him on the shoulder, not sure what to expect.

House nodded solemnly. "Too soon to say whether it's good to be back." The elevator dinged as it arrived at their floor. "My ride's here. Gotta go. Lives to save, hell to raise, you know."

"Of course." Cuddy spoke smoothly as she watched him step on. He graced her with just a ghost of a smile as the doors closed.

Cuddy didn't quite know what to think. It looked like House, and it sounded like House, but it didn't act like the House she had come to know. He seemed…different, which would be no surprise, given the place he had spent the last few months. She just didn't know what kind of different this was, or how to handle it.

She sighed and returned to her office, dialing the extension for the Diagnostics department. "Foreman? Just wanted to let you know that House is on his way…Yes, literally. He's on the elevator right now…Of course, thank you."

# # #

The elevator arrived at the fourth floor, and House stepped off, striding toward Diagnostics, deciding to forego seeing Wilson for the time being. There would be time enough to catch up after he got himself resettled into his office and back into his routine.

He stopped in front of his office door, waiting for…he didn't know what. Finally he pushed through, glancing at the conference room as he set his backpack near his desk and looked around the room. Everything was as it was when he left, right down to the grey and red ball on his desk.

The team was gathered around the conference room table, going over case files, having some kind of animated discussion. All conversation stopped when House walked in, and four sets of eyes stared at him.

Chase spoke first. "Good to see you."

House nodded. "You too. Now get out of my department."

Chase smirked almost imperceptibly as he quickly exited. It was oddly comforting that some things hadn't changed.

After Chase left, House picked up the scattered case files. "Boring, boring, too simple, already dying…don't you have anything interesting for me?"

Taub gave House an unreadable look. "Cuddy didn't want to give us anything too complicated just in case…"

"Right. Because I hired a team of idiots who couldn't find their own ass without my help." House snapped, a small flame of resentment flaring up in him. He shook his head. "Go down to the clinic. Split my hours and don't come back until you find something decent."

Thirteen and Taub quickly gathered themselves and headed out the door. Only Foreman stayed behind, arms crossed over his chest.

House glanced back at him before he made his way into his office. "That goes double for you. I thought you were running this joint while I was away?"

"I still am…unofficially, of course."

House glowered at Foreman's statement. "Well, of course you are. Funny, then, that my name's still on that door. Maybe they can add your name in tiny type under mine."

Foreman rolled his eyes. He had known that House's return would make things awkward, at best. "I'll just head down to the clinic now, if you don't need me for anything."

House regarded Foreman suspiciously. "Fine. No going to Mommy behind my back. And by Mommy, I of course mean…"

"I wasn't going to go to Cuddy. Why would I?" Foreman snapped.

"I don't know. Why don't you tell me?"

The two men glared at each other, Foreman finally breaking the staring contest and walking away. No point in pissing off his boss on his first day back. It would serve no useful purpose and it would only give House more ammunition to use against him later on.

House limped over to his desk, preparing to log on to his computer. He frowned when his password didn't work. Sighing in annoyance, he called Cuddy's extension.

"Doctor Cuddy."

"It's House. Did you change my password?"

Cuddy sighed. "No, it probably expired. I'll have IT set you up with a new one. It shouldn't take long."

House's mouth twisted in a thoughtful expression. He should have known that. "Fine. Thanks."

He quickly hung up and sat back in his chair. After tossing his ball around for a few minutes, he decided to finally go visit Wilson. House hadn't seen him since Wilson picked him up from the institution, and even that ride had been awkward. Not to say it would be much better now, but it would be worth a shot.

# # #

Wilson jumped when he heard his office door bang open. Funny how quickly one got used to working without constant interruptions. On the other hand…he had truly missed having House around. Things had been far too quiet without him around, and he always felt like he had too much food on his plate at lunch without House to boldly steal half of it.

"Morning, House. How are…things?" Wilson tried to be casual in tone, but failed.

House shrugged. "Hard to say. Nothing's happening yet. No case, no patient…pretty boring, if you want to know the truth." He plopped down on the couch, tapping his cane between his legs.

Wilson didn't know what to say. Should he act like nothing had changed, like his best friend hadn't just spent months in a mental institution after a breakdown? He was sure that his and House's friendship was like a minefield right now. One wrong step and the whole thing would blow up in their faces.

"I'm…sorry to hear that?" Wilson silently cursed himself for making his statement sound like a question.

House rolled his eyes and rose to his feet. "Thanks. That was very…not at all helpful. Now I'm bored and irritated. See you later. Lunch is on you."

"Usually is." Wilson intoned mildly as he watched House leave, quietly closing the door behind him. That was unusual. Normally House would have slammed the thing behind him just to make Wilson jumped. Something had changed between them. He just wished he knew what.

# # #

House sat in his office that afternoon, working his way through mountains of mail and paperwork that had piled up in his absence. He finally got on the computer, thanks to the kid from IT that nervously presented him with his new password, and scrolled through his e-mails. Very few of them were relevant anymore, and he deleted the majority of them before moving on to a game of solitaire.

Taub finally entered his office in the late afternoon, a barely perceptible excitement in his eye. He handed a clinic case file to House. "I think I ran across something. Cuddy and Foreman both seem to agree with me."

House froze, handing the case file back to Taub. "Perhaps you should go to Foreman and Cuddy and ask them where to start with this one." He rose from his desk, picked up his backpack, and slung it over his shoulder.

Taub looked puzzled. "Where are you going?"

"Home." House spoke sharply. "Obviously I'm not needed here."

He quickly exited his office, Taub hot on his heels. "What do you mean, 'you're not needed'?"

"Which part of that didn't you understand?" House snapped as he pressed the elevator button. "Run to Cuddy and Foreman. I'm sure they can help you figure it out."

House was on the elevator before Taub could respond. As the doors closed, House could see the shorter doctor fold his arms over his chest, huffing in frustration. Good. Let him stew a little. It'll be good for him, build character.

He stepped off the elevator and nearly ran into Cuddy. She looked up at him with an indignant look, Foreman standing directly behind her.

"Where do you think you're going?" Cuddy asked, already furious.

"Home. As I told the short one upstairs, I know when I'm not needed. Matter of fact, I'm not sure why I came back in the first place."

"Now hold on just one minute!" House could hear Cuddy's heels clicking behind him as he strode toward the exit. He felt her tap him on the shoulder.

She held the case file out to him, her blue-gray eyes pleading with him. "Just take a look. I'm pretty sure we can't do this one without you."

He glared at Cuddy, snatching the file from her hand and scanning it. It was interesting, but not quite enough to hold him here today. House handed it back to Cuddy, his expression softening slightly. "The kids can start this one without me. I'll be back tomorrow."

Foreman gestured for the file. "I'll get us started. See you in the morning, House."

"Right." House regarded Foreman suspiciously. He'd been just a little too eager to take this on. It made him wonder.

He turned and walked out of the hospital, swinging his leg over the back of his bike and putting on his helmet. A ride followed by a stop at a bar might be just what this doctor ordered tonight.

# # #

House found himself at an out of the way bar, a dark place where he could easily blend into the woodwork, slowly sipping at his second bourbon. He didn't want to get himself into a position where he had to find another way home, not after the way everyone had treated him today.

He barely noticed someone else occupying the stool next to him as he nursed his drink, and he barely heard the male voice next to him ask for whatever 'he' had.

"Hey, man, you look like you could use some company." The voice seemed to be directed at him.

House smirked. "You hitting on me or something?"

"And if I was?" The voice seemed a little nervous, trying to gauge his reaction. It piqued House's interest.

He straightened up on his barstool and faced the voice. The guy was young, mid 30s, tops. His dark brown hair fell in his bright green eyes. His long, slender fingers brushed the hair out of his eyes as he appraised House.

House's mouth twitched in amusement. "Then you're either brave, crazy, or both."

The young man relaxed and smiled, holding out his hand to House. "Anthony Taylor. You can call me Tony."

House slowly extended his own hand. "Greg House. Most people just call me House."

Anthony took the hand House offered, grasping it firmly in his own. House's hand was rough, with long fingers and calluses at the tips. "You're a musician. Guitar?"

House chuckled and took back his hand. "Not professionally. Been playing ever since I could remember."

Anthony smiled softly. "I started to play when I was a kid. My dad took it away when I was fourteen. Said it was for sissies." He chuckled ironically. "Obviously it didn't change anything."

"Obviously." House took another sip of his bourbon, feeling the warmth ease down his throat. "Not saying you are or anything."

Anthony shrugged. "Fag. Sissy. Homo. I've heard it all. It doesn't bother me. That's other peoples' problem, not mine. I'm totally fine with who I am."

"Which explains why you're in a straight bar trying to pick up a potentially straight man."

"I'm not looking for a screaming queen, House. Just looking for a nice guy to hang out with."

"Well, good luck with that." House drained his bourbon and dropped some cash on the bar. "Have a good night."

Anthony watched the older man put on his leather jacket, pick up his cane, and head out into the night. He quickly finished his drink, threw some money on the bar, and started after him.

"House!" Anthony managed to catch up to him before he got on the bike. "Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to freak you out. I guess my gaydar's on the fritz tonight."

House leaned on the bike, studying Anthony once more. He was taller than he appeared at first, nearly as tall as House, with a lanky build. The way he kept brushing his hair out of his eyes stirred something in him that House thought was long dead, beaten out of him by that son of a bitch that called himself his father.

Finally House dug into his jacket pocket, producing a pen and a piece of paper. With a slightly shaking hand, he scribbled his phone number and handed it to Anthony.

"Maybe your…'gaydar' isn't as off as you thought." House climbed on his bike, hooking his helmet under his chin. "Call me sometime."

Anthony watched House start up the bike and fly off down the street, stunned by the evening's events. He wasn't sure what he had expected when he struck up that conversation, but he couldn't help but be intrigued by the older man.

He grinned and stuck the piece of paper inside his jacket. House would definitely be getting a phone call later.

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