A/N: Here's the obligatory disclaimer--I don't own House, MD or any of the characters portrayed here. They are the property of David Shore and his various production companies. Now then, I feel I must explain this series before we get started. This is a collection of House related oneshots from either House or Wilson's POV ranging from K+ to M. The genre for each will involve either friendship or romance [yes, that means slash]. The rating and slash content will be clearly markd at the begining of each so that you will be able to read the chapters with which you, the reader, feel comfortable. On that note, here's the interesting thing I've done with the Chapter nmes. Each oneshot title starts with the word 'house' and forms a compound word, the last part of which matches the content of the chapter.

Before we continue, I would also like to thank my beta, BleedingHeartConservative, for her speedy replies and wonderful help. Thank you.

Title: House Training

Rating: K+, mild language

Pairings: None

Genre: Friendship/humor

Summary: An alternate first meeting between House and Wilson written prior to "Birthmarks." Everyone else had one, so I wanted one too. No, this has no relation to the episode by the same name.

I remember the day I first met him. If asked what my first impression of him was, I would have to say he reminded me of an overgrown teddy bear. His eyes were big, brown, and bright, the skin around them smooth as river rock. It was obvious by the gleam in those eyes and the hopeful expression on his face that he was naïve at best. Disillusioned. Lied to about the thrills of the medical world. He was one of those over-exuberant fools fresh out of pre-med with no real experience under his belt. And he chose to be an oncologist. That man was just setting himself up for disappointment.

I could see him across the room surrounded by other soon-to-be victims of my fellow residents from where I leaned against the far wall. He was of average height, a bit on the scrawny side at the time, with a boyish face. But it wasn't his looks that attracted my gaze, it was that damned enthusiasm. At first I thought he might need to be shown the way to the can, then I realized that he was bouncing on the balls of his feet out of sheer excitement at merely being in the hospital. I shook my head in disgust. Orientation days are always a headache.

I pushed off the wall and left the overcrowded lecture hall. Doctors of my level were supposed to stick around so we could become bestest buddies with the new kids and "take them under our wings," which was absurd, because when it came down to medical school and internship, it was every man for himself. All lucrative niceties established back in college were dissolved, and shameless ass-kissing and cutthroat manipulations were fair game. Half of those kids wouldn't make it even a week before they ran home crying to mommy. I made my way through the familiar corridors to the wing's vending machines. I dug through my coat pocket for change: sixty-four cents. Damn. Drinks cost seventy-five cents and Coke machines don't take pennies. I double checked my pocket and still came up a dime short.

"How much do you need?"

I jumped and whirled around to face the source of the voice behind me. It was that annoying kid from earlier. I frowned at him. "Do you enjoy sneaking up behind people and scaring them half to death?"

"I'm sorry." He genuinely looked it, too. "I just thought you might need to borrow some change."

I studied him silently, and he didn't flinch under my appraising eye as I would have expected. I held out my hand, palm up. "Ten cents. Gimme."

He blinked at my brusqueness and dropped the appropriate coin into my waiting hand. "Here you go. You don't have to pay me back."

"I wasn't planning on it," I grumbled, inserting my money into the drink machine.

"Oh." The kid sounded the slightest bit crestfallen. He had probably been hoping to make a new friend.

I ignored him, grabbed my soda from the vending slot, and stalked off to the nearest bench, which happened to be about ten meters down the hall. I fully intended to stretch out on the barely padded surface, but continued on my way when I heard the slap of leather shoes behind me. The footsteps did not cease once I had passed the bench. Great, he was following me around like a baby duck. I tried to use my height advantage and longer strides to put more distance between us, but the duckling sped up until he was right behind me.

I stopped abruptly, and the twerp crashed into my back. I spun around in time to see him stumble backwards, and, while he unfortunately didn't fall on his ass, I had to repress a snicker as he wind-milled his arms in effort not to tip over.

I schooled my face into a stony glare and growled at him, "Why the hell are you following me?"

He at least had the decency to look meek, though he didn't seem nearly as intimidated as I would have liked. "I thought you might like some company."

I raised an eyebrow and shot him my patented "Are-You-Really-That-Stupid?" look. "I just snuck out of a crowded lecture hall full of moronic would-be interns to buy a drink and then tried to ditch you, and you thought I might like some company?"

"Oh."

"Yeah, oh."

"I'll leave you alone then."

I didn't wait for him to finish. I turned and headed in the direction of the nephrology department break room, knowing I'd find some peace and quite there.

"Hey! Hold on!" The kid jogged up beside me.

I was courteous enough to halt my trek for a moment. "What?"

"I'm lost," he mumbled weakly.

I stared at him for a minute then burst out laughing. I threw back my head back, grabbed my stomach and let out great guffaws—not the sharp, barking laughter I have now.

"It's not funny," he whined.

"You're right," I agreed, dramatically wiping non-existent tears from my eyes. "It's freaking hilarious!"

Now he was the one to grumble, "Could you just show me back to the lecture hall?"

I figured I may as well; the kid had lent me ten cents, after all. Still smirking, I led him back to the orientation gathering through the labyrinthine halls.

We parted ways in front of the lecture hall's double doors.

He paused before entering the meeting. He held out his hand for me to shake. "Thanks. My name's James Wilson."

I stared at his outstretched hand for a long moment—namely to make him uncomfortable and partially to calculate any possibility of an ulterior motive—before clasping it in my own in a firm handshake. "Greg House."

Fin