A/N: Hey everyone! Well, this is my first House MD fanfic that I actually posted, (I've been working on a couple of them) and I apologize in advance if there's any wrong information, about the characters or the references or anything medical related. I did look things up that I wasn't sure of, but mention it if you notice anything.

This is more focused around House and the ducklings and is sort of just done because I had a dream about it and I thought I should write it down. So this is just going to be a few chapters.

Rated T, for the drinking and slight swearing...

R & R!

Disclaimer: I do not own House or any related characters.

Though I wish I did

It had been a bad day for him; worse than others. Gregory House massaged his right thigh although it only took off the edge of the pain. He reached for his bottle vicodin nearby sitting on his work desk. He shook it making sure he had enough and poured three white pills in his hand. He tilted his seat back and popped them in his mouth like candy.

He closed his eyes and waited for the pain reliever to relieve his pain.

It seemed to be taking a lot longer.

The infarction always gave him pain, it was a chronic condition. Chronic means constant, meaning for the rest of his life, possibly. If he could find a way to take it away, he could do it in a heartbeat. He was so close with his CIPA patient. All he had to get was that spinal nerve, insulate it with a protein that would speed up the nerve growth, and create a "nerve garden", Wilson put it. He could graft the pain- free nerves onto his own leg, it if weren't for Wilson. God he always was so annoying with his ethical crap.

He lurched back further in a sudden hot flash of pain, his leg felt like it was on fire for two minutes. When it subsided, he exhaled. Sweat beaded down his forehead and matted his hair. The vicodin was finally kicking in.

The glass doors of his office swung open, House instantly attempted to jump from his chair and grab his coat, but the motion was delayed when he put pressure on his right leg. He was caught in slow motion in his process of getting out of the chair. He pushed off of the arm rests and straightened.

Wilson helped his friend by handing him his leather jacket that was across the office, lying carelessly on the couch. House didn't say anything or show any sign of gratitude as he slipped on his jacket. He put his pill bottle in the side pocket.

"Heading out?" Wilson guessed, noticing the sweat pouring out of every pore from his body "Is it really bad this time?"

House took his cane, leaning on his desk, and limped past the other doctor without saying another word. Wilson held the door open for him, which earned him a nasty glare, so he just waited for him to get inside the elevator before leaving his friend's office.

The lights were turned off, and he could hardly see anything in the corner House was sitting when he walked in on him. He figured the bright light was irritating him earlier. It hurts him, a lot more than House thinks, to see him like this. He wasn't there when the infarction happened; he was out on a business trip and had no idea until after when he returned. He wished he was, and then he would've made sure it went the way House had planned. Stacy and Cuddy were thinking about him in the before present, how much pain was in at that moment. They didn't think about all the pain he would be in for the rest of his life. That part was frustrating because Cuddy usually thought things through and she listened to House and trusted his decisions. Why didn't she trust him then?

He's always depressed. 'Well, he was never "jumping for joy", but it was never like it is now.' Wilson thought. He never goes out with anyone, but Wilson and he doesn't even do that often. He doesn't have any friends, except for Wilson. He might be able to count Cuddy, they have 'history', but he annoys her to the break of her considering firing him on various occasions. His underlings…

Foreman hated him, Chase was terrified of him, and Cameron was in love with him; so 'friend' might not be enough for her.

House just needed to have fun for one night. Wilson laughed softly to himself; it was always the other way around. Wilson needed to loosen up, House was the partier.

But tonight he was going to try and help him.

His smiled drooped when he remembered his patients and their files that he forgot he was holding. There were four or five of them. He flipped through them, and they were thick; he would be here all night. That was the hard part about working at a hospital; there is no such thing as a "clock out time" or anything like that. If you had patients to take care of, you couldn't leave. And even if you got a nurse or intern to take over for you, if there was any emergency, you'd be called in. All his patients just happen to be dying tonight.

A door creaked from behind him and Wilson jumped and turned around.

There were two offices juxtaposed, one was just House's office and the other with the white board and an oval table was used for differentials. There was a door in the wall between them that linked them together, and it was open. A dark figure emerged from the other side, as he came forward Wilson made him out to be Dr. Chase. The young, blonde, Australian doctor seemed surprised at seeing him. He looked around the office cautiously.

"Is he still here?" Chase whispered. Wilson shook his head in reply. "I jus'…" He picked up a small object off the floor, "…forgot my wallet."

"Did you find it?" Another voice called from the other room, it was faint. He could tell it was female, most likely Dr. Cameron.

He started to leave, but then spun around on his heal, he pointed at Wilson, "Why are you here?"

"I was just-"

"House isn't here."

"…leaving." Wilson pushed through the glass doors, and then he got an idea. Chase already left the office, and was exiting from the door to the white board room. Cameron was at his side with his arm around her. He caught up to them and called them to wait.

"What are you doing tonight?"

Chase and Cameron exchanged glances, the Aussie spoke, "Um… We're going out. Meeting Foreman at this place called Sharrie's Bar, have a few drinks. Why?"

Wilson smiled.

"Hell no!" Foreman shouted into the phone. His coworker was on the other line trying to explain their situation. He stuttered with his accent through the speakers.

"C'mon Foreman!" He tried reasoning with him.

"No- hell no!"

"It's just for one night."

"There's no way in hell that I'm going to sit through a night of drinking with him. That ass'll probably spend the entire night mocking us! And y'never know what he has running up his sleeves. He might try to pull some sort of prank and use it as blackmail against us to do more of his dirty work!"

"Wilson's paying all of us $100 per,"

"Is that really worth the trouble?" Foreman persisted. There was a silence on the other end, and then a sigh.

"Look, all we have to do is get him drunk. How hard can it be?"

Foreman thought about it, "No."

"Please, Foreman…..pretty please?"

"Don't do that… Fine, I'll go, but only if you give me half of your payment."

There was a groan on the other end, and then an agreement. Foreman smiled at his victory and then realized a teeny problem they might encounter. He was the first to mention, "Now, how exactly are we going to get House to come with us?"

"Shit."