House had been walking around Stockholm bigger part of the day, not really knowing where he was heading. It had started snowing earlier in the day, but House couldn't see any resemblance to any of the pictures he'd seen of Sweden in the winter. The snow had turned into a brown mush on the ground, and it made everything wet. If I wanted this, I could have stayed at home, he thought to himself as he made his way up a hill. After asking the opinion of a very talkative man at a coffee shop (that House really didn't want anything to do with), he got the advice to walk the length of the street he was now on, until he got to the old part of the city. According to the man in the coffee shop, this was to be very beautiful. House had also been recommended to take a bus to an outdoorsy place that was like a big zoo, Swedish style. The man said that both places were to be very accessible for a cripple. "How lucky," House had said. "You'll still be able to go there when this cripple has beaten the crap out of you with his cane." The talkative man didn't say anything else.

So here he was, walking up a damn hill with his cane, trudging through brown mush that made everything wet. As if that wasn't enough, the temperature was starting to drop again, and the mish was slowly turning into ice. House looked at his watch. It was only two o'clock. He couldn't go back to his hotel, it would only prove Cuddy right, and it would give Wilson the pleasure of knowing that the entire trip was a waste of time. House was determined to prove them both wrong and use his time as smartly as possible. Three days in Stockholm could hardly be that bad… could it?

He considered calling Wilson.

Then, he considered calling Cuddy, so Wilson wouldn't find out about House having a terrible time.

Then he considered calling Cameron, so that neither Wilson or Cuddy would find out about House having a terrible time.

After considering to call Cameron, he considered the possibility of him having hit a new low. Since when did he consider calling soft, caring and sympathetic Cameron?

He decided to call no one and continued walking up the hill. He wasn't even half way up, and he was getting sick of walking and walking and walking, to get to a place that probably wasn't as breathtakingly beautiful as the talkative man at the café made it sound. In fact, House was pretty sure he was going to be disappointed. So, he turned around and started walking down hill instead. This proved incredibly difficult - the hill suddenly seemed a lot steeper, and the ice made it hard for him to not lose his foothold. He realized why he hadn't seen anyone with a cane out today, not even any old people with canes. It was too hard to stay upright.

He knew before he slipped that he would slip. He knew before he hit the ground that it was going to hurt, but he wasn't prepared for any of the pain. The way he had slipped had somehow made him fall sideways and straight onto his bad leg. It made him swear loudly in surprise, but since the next thing to get bashed against the hard, icy ground was his head, he lost conscience and wasn't aware of anything but voices mumbling in gibberish and the strange sensation that he might or might not be flying. His arms and legs felt like led, they wouldn't budge an inch. His eyelids were even heavier, and although he wanted to move his lips, shape words, tell everyone around him that he was fine, he just needed some Vicodin and a lift to his hotel, he couldn't. He wished he had beat the crap out of the talkative man at the coffee shop, because it was all his fault that he was there to begin with. The paramedics had arrived, and so House was lifted onto a gurney and brought to the nearest hospital. Then he fell into a very deep sleep and dreamt of Wilson and Cuddy, standing next to each other beside a hospital bed, pointing and laughing at him.

When he woke up, he remembered nothing. He knew he was in a hospital, but that wasn't very hard to figure out since he was hooked up to and IV and a nurse was standing next to his bed taking notes. At first he still had the sensation that he might or might not be flying, but he quickly crashed down to earth again, and the pain in his leg was unbearable.

"Vicodin," he mumbled. The nurse was not prepared for House's awakening, and she started. Then, she smiled at him.

"Good morning, Mr. House," she said. "How do you feel?"

"Vicodin," he said again. His leg was killing him. If this woman wouldn't give him anything soon, he would hurt her. "Vicodin, morphine. Give me something."

"Are you in pain?" the nurse asked him. "Where does it hurt?"

"Leg… my leg is killing me," House said. The pain was driving him mad. It hadn't been this bad for ages. He felt warm. "Shit," he mumbled and touched his forehead. "Vicodin," he said again. He could feel tiny beads of perspiration all over his face now. "It's really bad," he said. "I need something…" Symptoms of withdrawal, he thought to himself. Please don't let them notice.

"I will fetch doctor for you," said the nurse.

"I am a doctor," House said. "I am a doctor and I had an infarction in my leg, and now I am in constant pain. I think I might have fallen on my leg, and now it's hurting. Give me something." The nurse looked surprised to learn that he was a doctor. "I think I have Vicodin in the pocket of my jacket," House said.

"No medicine from outside allowed," the nurse explained. "To prevent use of illegal drugs, you see. I'll go get you another doctor, and he can give you medicine." She left the room. House tried to move his leg.

"Damn it!" he cried, gasping for air. Something had to be wrong. It didn't hurt this bad without anything being wrong. The nurse came back into the room, followed by a doctor. They were discussing something in Swedish. The doctor looked surprised, nodded and said something to the nurse. The nurse replied, and the doctor turned to House.

"Dr House," he said. "My name is Dr Anderson. Where is the pain?"

"I'm getting sick of this," House said. "I had an infarction in my right leg, I feel on it, it hurts. I need my pain medication. It was prescribed by another doctor, Dr James Wilson in America. Please, give me my medicine."

"Dr House," the doctor said. "You are sweating. Do you have a temperature?"

"It's… killing me," House said. He was struggling to breath. "Something is wrong," he gasped. This is not withdrawal, he thought. "It's the pain, I thought it was withdrawal symptoms, but it's the pain." House couldn't continue talking. Something is wrong. Call Wilson, call Cuddy, call someone for god's sake! Even Cameron will do, call someone who knows what he's doing! "My leg doesn't hurt like this," he said. "Not normally." His head was too heavy for his shoulders. "Call Wilson," was the last thing he said before everything went black.

He must have slept for hours. He could have slept for days. What was wrong with him? He heard voices. One voice was familiar. Very familiar. Almost too familiar. Did he really come all the way across the Atlantic to save him from these morons? How could he now prove him wrong? He tried to open his eyes. Through the cracks in his eyelids, he could see silhouettes of people walking around the room. Two men were talking, and a nurse was checking his IV. The familiar voice spoke again, but this time it was addressing him. House opened his eyes fully now, and saw a very tired and unshaved Wilson.

"I'm having a great time," House said hoarsely, so he could prove Wilson wrong.

"You stupid man," Wilson said and shook his head. "Had it not been for your stubbornness, you wouldn't been here in the first place."

"It's the guy in the café," House croaked. "It was all his fault."

"Yes, right, the guy in the café, I'll make sure they arrest him," Wilson said. "Cuddy almost fainted when she got the call that one of her doctors had been hospitalized in a different continent."

"I can still make her faint?" House asked, a bit smug. "How long was I down?"

"Counting time difference, travel time… Two days."

"Great," House said. "I want to go home now. Sweden was a bit too much fun for me."

"House-" Wilson started.

"Thanks for coming all this way, Wilson, but I'm going home again," House said and sat on the bed to get up, but froze mid air in horror. Where there had once been a leg, House's leg, there was nothing but a stump.