Here's a new story about our beloved Doctor House and his friends and employees. Sit back, enjoy and review! Please (smile).

Chapter One: Duties for the win

The sun came crawling up from behind the horizon; the sunbeams were in no hurry to shine through the windows of the so many homes in New Jersey at 7 am on the beautiful Saturday morning it was going to be. Eyes were spreading open only to close with the same speed just as people turned around in their beds and snuggled under the quilts that covered up their bodies in the early springtime. The winter had been a cold one and the spring wouldn't be any different. The sunlight was a rare occasion at this time of year, but it couldn't manage to get the inhabitants from New Jersey to leave their cozy houses and do something active; it was just too early.

The sun also crept into the apartment of the famous Dr. House. The curtains were closed but still some shining came through and slowly illuminated the living room and bedroom of number 221B. But the light didn't wake House just as it had other people. Instead, the doctor was lying on his back with his eyes wide open. The sleep hadn't come last night. Even with half a bottle of scotch it had been an impossible mission to close his eyes and wander away to naked women and video games. The night had consisted of four letters, just like his life had been the last couple of years. Pain. It could stay in his thigh, or radiate to his lower limb or to his back with severe backache as a result. It had done all of that the last five hours he had been lying in his bed. He had tried to walk, make the pain a little less hard and constant, but even with the pacing the pain was almost unbearable. He had tried to sit, lie down, shower, eat, drink, pee, read but without any effect.

The ringing of the phone next to his head didn't make him move an inch. He let it ring until it finally rendered his voicemail: "Hello, this is House. Yes, the famous, smart, funny and incredible sexy Doctor House. Congratulations, you finally found the number. Some instructions: If you are some dude who wants a signature or the secret to be just like me: fuck off. If you're a babe with a presentable couple of boobs and, wait, there is no 'and' necessary: please leave a message after the beep, call me Greg, the secret password is 'sex bomb'. If you are Wilson, Cuddy or one of my ducklings: the answer is NO." BEEEEEP.

A small smile appeared on House's face just like every time he heard his voicemail; after some scotch it had just rolled out and he hadn't changed it since. The smile disappeared when he heard the message following. "Very funny, House. You really did piss off the board by demolishing that fMRI machine yesterday. They were almost at the point of firing you, but I put in a good word for you, only God knows why. You owe me clinic hours, and not just some. I don't care what you're doing, just get your lazy ass out of your bed or from the couch you fell asleep on with your scotch and Vicodin, and get over here immediately. Eight full hours, 60 minutes each. If you're not here within 30 minutes, I'll come to your house personally and make you come. I'll throw your pills and scotch away, trash your piano, I don't care. We are short-staffed and you're coming. NOW."

On any other day he would have deleted the message as soon as possible and waited for his boss to come, but today was different. He wasn't in the mood for a lecture about his behavior when she saw the way he looked right now. His hair was messed up like it hadn't been combed in a week, he lay on his bed fully dressed, both his living room and bedroom was full of trash, empty food boxes, clothes and shoes. The smell would probably make her retch, and she would call the psych wing within a minute to let them admit him there. No, he wasn't in the mood at all for that. With a deep sigh he lifted himself out of bed. It took him almost five minutes, with every stab of pain he had to stop. He grabbed his last clean set of clothes out of the closest and hoisted himself in them. After almost 30 minutes he closed the door behind him. He wavered when he switched his eyes from his motorcycle to his car. His leg was already protesting at the sight of his beloved orange bike and driving the car wouldn't be the safest option right now. He made up his mind and hailed a taxi that drove him to the entrance of the hospital. He paid the driver and walked through the front doors to be greeted with the loud screams of young children, nurses running with bandages, doctors who wrote down prescriptions to so-called scared adults and so on. He felt his leg aching even more at the sight of this chaos but there was no more escaping possible: the clicking of high heels became louder and louder and finally stopped in front of him. He put on his nicest voice;"Hello, boss. You look lovely again, no more need to cover them up at all don't you think?" He pointedly let his gaze rest on her half-open blouse.

Cuddy only let out a sigh. "You're late." She grabbed his wrist and turned it around so she could read the exact time from his watch, and to secretly hurt him a little. "It's 8:30. You were supposed to be here at eight. You won't leave until it's five o'clock."

House mock-pouted. "But, Mom, that's eight hours and 30 minutes."

Cuddy already turned around. "Eight hours of clinic duty and 30 minutes writing the reports. I will keep an eye on you. You won't sneak out on this one, I can assure you." With that she walked away and towards her office.

With a slow pace, House limped towards the nurse station. Nurse Brenda saw him approaching and threw a big pile of files onto the desk in front of him. "You don't have to be snippy at me, I can't help it your boyfriend is that bad in bed." Brenda shot him a death glare after his comment and continued her work.

When House turned around, he grabbed his right leg in agonizing pain. Brenda saw it happening and almost walked around the desk try to help him, but thought about his comment just seconds ago and let him be. Luckily for her, because House didn't want to be empathized, and he forced himself towards exam room one without too much leaning on his bad leg. Arriving, he threw the door closed behind him and dropped to the floor against it. He searched his jacket pockets only to find two empty orange bottles in them. "Damn it." At the moment he felt too proud to call his best buddy to write him a new prescription, and he still wasn't in the mood for a lecture. He also wasn't ready to tell Wilson his plan to cut back on his daily dose of the little white pills. The habit to grab the bottle with each little bit of pain had become stronger over the last months and his dose nowadays almost reached the overdose concentration. It wasn't rare anymore that he would sometimes lose consciousness for a moment or that he became disorientated, not to mention the constant urge to throw up. It would definitely cost him his job if someone found out, and he wasn't ready yet to rot away in some small apartment.

In the next five minutes he massaged his thigh as much as possible. He tried to get to his feet again, using every projection for support. With sweaty hands he filled a plastic cup with water and gulped it down in one motion. A knock on the door could be heard. With some trouble he reached the door and opened it, only to find Brenda standing in front of him with the files. The way she hit the files onto his chest came with such an unexpected force caused House to almost fall backwards. He grimaced slightly as Brenda slammed the door behind her. It was going to be a long day…

With a sigh he closed the door behind him. His last patient had been an ugly old man with an impotence problem. The guy was totally convinced that he had a tumor in his back that was pressing against his spinal cord, causing the impotence. When House had said he was just a grumpy old man with a weak penis, the humiliated man was ready to call his lawyer. The last thing House needed right now was a lawsuit so he tried to stay calm and convince the guy of the truth of his 'illness', but the immense pain creeping up his leg was making it impossible to be nice. After ten seconds of arguing he sent the guy away for a CT-scan of his spinal cord.

He let himself fall back on the bed in the middle of the exam room. Automatically he started rubbing his thigh. Seeing the clock, he let out a deep sigh. Only 12:30. He closed his eyes. It was strange, normally his stomach would have grunted like hell, but the only thing he felt right now was bile coming up when he considered paging Wilson to have lunch. He had fallen asleep for only a second when the door creaked open. A firm slam to the face with a certain brown file jolted him awake.

"What do you think you're doing?" Cuddy propped the file on his chest and put her hands to her side. House switched his eyes suspiciously from Cuddy to the file and back.

"I'm not sure, I think it had something to do with a certain topless Dean of Medicine and an exam room, but I guess I let the file out. Please tell me it's a patient with a real disease who needs a real diagnosis so I can escape from this clinic-prison. The only thing missing is the handcuffs, those would probably be too much fun."

"Why on earth did you send a 78-year-old man with impotence for a CT-scan of his spinal cord?' Cuddy expressed her displeasure with the situation by curling the corners of her mouth in such a way that she almost looked creepy. House pushed himself a bit up without too much movement but still flinched.

"He was threatening to call his lawyer, I thought your twins had already too much work to do convincing other people I'm as innocent as a newborn lamb." House looked at his boss playfully.

"He's poor, House; he doesn't even have money to buy a phone. I don't care what tricks you have up your sleeve to make me forget what you've just done. It's not helping; you will do this. Just stop bothering me and everyone around you and do your damn job." Even more furious than when she came in, she left him staring at her as she slammed the door shut behind her.

At 4:55 pm, House limped out of the exam room with a satisfied smile. There was no better way to end a miserable day in the clinic full of stuffy noses than with a 20-year old girl with belly pain and lacking a bra. He dropped the file on the desk of the nurse's station and found that another nurse had taken Brenda's place.

"It's 5 pm, Dr. House is going home." The nurse wrote it down when another voice spoke from behind Greg's back. "It's not 5 pm yet, House, and there's still one patient waiting for you in one. Go." House put up an annoying face.

'It really wasn't only my fault the fMRI machine just stopped. I may have been the last one who used it but I wasn't the only one. It was already overused and damaged. So why don't you ask one of the other doctors who used the stupid machine to work eight hours in a free clinic on a Saturday.' House made sure he stressed the last word.

"The machine was only six days old. You're going to pay it back down to the penny. We calculated that it would be 300 hours clinic, so you still have 292 hours left. Now go." House stared at her for a couple of seconds longer before finally grabbing the file from her hand with a sigh and hobbled towards the room. He didn't notice the guilty look Cuddy gave him when she saw his pronounced limp and the white fingers twisted around his cane. Before she could change her mind, she walked towards her office again.

In the room sat a guy who was about 25 but still had a face full of acne. House stared at him for a moment or two and eventually walked back towards the door. The boy jumped down from up the bed he was sitting on.

"Hey! Where are you going?" The kid looked at him in disbelief. House turned to face the guy.

"You have the flu. Go home, get some tea with honey, and rest. It will be over in a few days." House saw the look on his face turn from disbelief to utter shock. 'How..?'

"You're listless, you're having trouble swallowing, and your cheeks are flushed from a slight fever. Instead of staring at porn all day, spend a few minutes on WebMd, and trust me, your symptoms will check out. It's the flu. I'm going home."

"But…" House already had closed the door and grabbed his jacket and scarf again. The prospect of his comfy bed and his friend alcohol gave him strength enough to walk out of the hospital. He sat down on a bench to wait for the cab that would take him home. He was so distracted by the pain that he didn't hear someone approaching till that one sat down next to him. House was slightly startled when he directly looked into the big brown eyes of his friend Wilson. The latter looked at him with mixed expressions.

"What are you doing here? Where's your car? Why didn't you come to my office so we could lunch together? Did you eat anything at all?" All the words that reminded House of food made him even more nauseous than he already was.

"Jeez, Jimmy, I figured you'd miss me but you don't have to ask me everything at once. My car didn't start, so it's still at home, Cuddy wants me to starve to death because the clinic is more important to her, and I'm not hungry." Wilson looked puzzled but didn't go into discussion with him.

"Let me bring you home." Wilson had already stood and started for the parking lot. With difficulty, House managed to get up and hobble next to him. James noticed his abnormal gait.

"You're in more pain?"

House didn't look at him as he opened the car door. "I'm fine, okay? Just drive me home, will you." Wilson nodded and sat behind the steering wheel. He tried not to look at his friend too many times as he drove before stopping in front of House's door. Greg had already one leg out of the car when James grabbed his arm. House turned around and looked at him.

"Please tell me if there's something wrong. Let me help you. You can't all do this on your own, House."

He didn't turn away but his glare softened. "I already told you I'm fine. Go worry about your dog or something." With that he got out of the car and limped into his house. Wilson looked at him with sympathy and drove away with feeling of dread about the whole situation gathering in his chest.

When House had closed the door of his apartment, he immediately took off his coat and jumped on one leg towards the bathroom. He wanted to throw up but since there was nothing in his stomach, nothing came out. Droplets of sweat ran down his forehead whilst the chills crawled down his spine. Oh, how I've missed these lovely withdrawal symptoms.

Fifteen minutes later he got up to his feet and dropped onto the couch. He reached for the closest bottle of scotch and took a swig. Even in his hazy state of mind, he could feel the pain sipping through and blocking every other thought. It hadn't been this bad in months. He tried to remember the last time he had felt this way but he couldn't come further than this morning. Suddenly he thrust away all notions of dying of side effects and went searching for his Vicodin. He trashed his apartment even more than it was now, but, cursing his noble impulse to throw away his "secret-secret stash" the day before, he found nothing. All at once he felt a wave of dizziness overtake him, and he was unable to keep his balance. Falling backwards to the floor, he hit the back of his skull on the knob of his closest. His world went black as he felt himself slipping into the unconscious world.

When he awoke, he wasn't immediately sure of his surroundings. Still a little dizzy and nursing a terrible headache as a bonus, he looked around and sighed in relief when he found out he was at his own home, alone. He hadn't turned on the lights when he came home and was now laying in complete darkness. A street light shone into the living room and he looked at his clock. Damn it, 11 pm. I was out a pretty long time. With care he searched the back of his head and found a big bump on it. I must have hit something, hard. He got up and stumbled towards the kitchen to dry swallow five aspirin. Making his way back to his bedroom, he dropped onto his bed, still fully dressed, and fell asleep the same moment his head hit the pillow.

It was still dark when House opened his eyes again. He cursed inwardly; he had hoped to sleep the whole night through, but the aspirin clearly didn't work as well as Vicodin. His leg was already hurting again, causing him to even curse more.

He felt his cell phone vibrating in his pants pocket. He turned over and searched his pocket to answer it.

"What?" His gravelly voice came out rude and rough. On the other end of the line, Cuddy tried to remain calm and to control her breathing.

"House, what are you doing, why didn't you pick up the phone?!" House, still groggy, didn't understand.

"Is it suddenly unapproved to sleep in the middle of the night?" He spat crankily.

"I must have called you at least a million times yesterday."

"I was in the clinic yesterday. I can't pick up the phone when I'm working. Hospital policy."

"House, the day before yesterday you worked in the clinic. It's 6 am Monday morning!" This got House's attention. Did I sleep more than a day?!

"You were supposed to work in the clinic yesterday."

"It was Sunday! Nobody works on Sundays! That's pure slavery! Wait… why didn't you come here then?"

"Because I called Wilson when you didn't pick up. He told me you weren't feeling well, and I believed him, but now I know I shouldn't have." House's mind started going into overdrive when he heard that Wilson stood up for him even if he hadn't told him anything.

"Now you are in serious trouble. And not only with me."

"Yeah, you can say that again, I just ordered a hooker and I have the distinct feeling I have to cancel on her again. Her pimp won't like that. Shit."

"Remember a guy named Kreager?"

"No."

"It's the guy I sent you to in exam room one Saturday. The guy with the flu."

"Ah, the charmer with the handsome face? Of course I remember him, why didn't you say that the first time?"

"He's back. He threw up blood. Your team has already been informed. Don't think I will forget the remained 292 hours of clinic duty. " Click.

House was staring into space when Cuddy hung up the phone, trying to put the pieces of this new puzzle together.

The guy was coughing up blood.