Dr. Gregory House limped down the hallway to his office, a very distinct scowl on his face. When he had come in for work that morning, Cuddy had immediately sentenced him to work in the clinic for the day. What had he done that day to deserve such a punishment? It was now lunchtime and so far he had diagnosed two cases of the common cold, one case of Staph infection, and had switched one prescription of birth control pills to a different brand. Each patient had hastily thanked the doctor as he or she had walked out of the examination room. Well, each patient except for the sixteen-year-old cheerleader who had demanded that he change her birth control pills on the grounds that the current variety was making her fat. As he had written the new prescription, House had informed the blonde-haired, blue-eyed, 137-pound cheerleader that she was, in fact, fat, and that it had absolutely nothing to do with the brand of birth control she took. She had proceeded to burst into tears, call him a crippled old bastard, and run out of the room. He'd then hobbled to the door and called after her, "That doesn't make you any less FAT!" A couple of nurses shot him dirty looks, but he simply chose to ignore them.
House finally reached his office. He went to his mini-fridge and pulled out a turkey sandwich and a bottle of Diet Coke. As he sat down and unwrapped his sandwich, Wilson breezed into his office and seated himself in a chair across from House.
"Yes, Wilson, come in and have a seat," House said, annoyed.
"Thank you, House," Wilson replied. "What's this? Diet Coke? You know that stuff is bad for you."
House looked up from his sandwich and said with his mouth half full, "No it's not. It's DIET Coke. DIET. It's obviously healthy." Wilson rolled his eyes and shifted in his chair, making himself more comfortable.
"You know, Cuddy is very pissed at you," Wilson stated.
"Oh really?" House said, a look of mock astonishment on his face. "I thought she sent me to the clinic because she wanted to give me a vacation."
"The cheerleader who's birth control prescription you changed ran into Cuddy on accident. She told Cuddy how an old, crippled bastard had written her a different prescription for birth control and then called her 'fat'."
House scoffed, "Well, it can't be me. I'm an asshole, not a bastard."
"You're going to die lonely, you know that? You obviously don't give a damn about people. You push everyone away just so you don't get hurt again. When you die, I'm only coming to your funeral so that I can look you in the face and say, 'I'm the only one here. I told you so!'" Wilson said as House finished his meal.
"I wouldn't have it any other way," House replied, smiling. He then stood and began hobbling off back to the clinic.
"I know you're lying!" Wilson called after him. The doctor simply raised his free hand and flipped Wilson off.
Later that evening, House sat at his piano, home alone for another night. He was playing a slow, jazzy number and reflecting on his afternoon. He had diagnosed one case of Influenza, a third case of the common cold, and had given three elderly ladies a regular check-up. Again, they had all thanked him hastily before walking out of the examination room. Wilson's words grew louder with each face that went through his mind.
"You're going to die lonely," Wilson's voice taunted. Suddenly, House picked up the tempo of the song he was playing.
"I wouldn't have it any other way, Wilson," he said, smiling.