Mr. Simon Morris, a stout, balding fifty-five year old man, was waiting in examination room two to be seen by one of the finest doctors at the Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital free clinic. He looked at his wristwatch. Twenty-five minutes had passed since he was admitted into the room. He rummaged through an outdated copy of Redbook discarded by a previous patient and peered down at his watch again. Finally a small-framed, slender woman with cascading brown hair entered the room.

"Hi. I'm Dr. Cuddy. Thank you for waiting patiently. We've been a little behind…"

Dr. Gregory House abruptly swung the door open and walked in. "A little behind?" His eyes leered at Cuddy's backside. "I wouldn't call that a little behind. Your caboose is the most humongous among us. "

"House, what do you want?" She didn't look at him.

"Didn't you ask for a consult?"

Cuddy whipped her head in House's direction and then back around to the patient, "will you excuse me for a minute?" The patient nodded his head while she approached House near the entrance of the exam room. He was wearing—of all things—a pressed white lab coat and a smug smile on his face. She was not up for his antics today. Cuddy firmly grabbed his left arm and pulled him to the corner of the room. "You're late, House. I've already seen three of your patients."

"And I've already seen a bunch of idiots today. One more isn't going to do him, " he tactlessly pointed to the patient, "or me any good. Besides, I've already done my clinic hours for the week. "

"Yes, but you're scheduled to do clinic for another hour today because you still owe me like an extra one hundred hours for breaking the MRI machine last week."

"One hundred hours? You said fifty."

"Did I? I meant one hundred."

"You know, that wasn't entirely my fault. At least you can schedule my team to do some of it. "

Cuddy tightened her grip on his arm. "I think that's a fairly good exchange considering I have to find somewhere in the budget to replace a two million dollar piece of vital medical equipment, don't you think? "

"I can think of more interesting, fun ways I can make it up to you."

Cuddy dug her nails into House's forearm. Her face was flushed. "I'm sure you can, but the answer is no. And you—and only you—are stuck doing clinic. I don't want to see Chase, Foreman, Taub or 13 around here doing your job."

House smirked. "You know, you're real sexy when you're angry like this. It's kind of turning me on."

"House, anything with a pulse turns you on."

He glanced sideways at the patient. "Not everything."

Cuddy turned her attention to the patient again and sat back down on the stool next to him. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Morris. What seems to be the problem?"

"Well, lately I have been having trouble sleeping. I'm constantly tossing and turning in bed." He flashed his yellow teeth then fiddled with the last button of his green and blue flannel shirt. "My wife has literally banished me to the Barcalounger in living room for the past few nights and demanded I go see a doctor."

"I'm sorry to hear that. Are there any other problems?"

Housed chimed in, "with the wife or in the bedroom?"

"House!"

"What? It could be relevant?"

Cuddy continued to question the patient. "Are you experiencing any other symptoms?"

"Yes. Actually, I've been feeling some numbness in my feet. I'm also having awful headaches and sometimes I feel a bit of tightness in my chest."

Cuddy made a few notations in his file then asked, "When did you first notice this?"

The patient pondered the question for a moment. "Shortly, after I tried to quit smoking about a week ago. Right about the same time I joined the fitness club."

Cuddy glanced at his chart. "It says here that you're on the Nicotine patch. Do you wear the patch when you work out?"

"Yes."

Cuddy remained looking over his chart. "Well, all that exercise can increase your skin temperature and increase the amount of nicotine absorbed through your skin."

House lifted the patient's shirt open with the tip of his cane and exposed his chest. "Or it could be the fact that he's wearing one, two, three…forty-two or so nicotine patches."

Completely dumfounded, the patient asked, "Aren't I supposed to put a new one on every eight hours?"

House bit his lip trying to stifle his laughter. "Excuse me, I have to…" He left the room and snickered before the door closed behind him.

Cuddy poked her head through the door with a stern look upon her face. "I want to see your ass in my office in ten minutes."

House looked at Nurse Brenda who was standing near the Nursing Station sifting through a stack of files. He snorted and twirled his cane. "Hey, who doesn't?"