A/N: Chapter Two, finally! Please review… I'll love you forever! Enjoy! (PS- Please take note of the key... we're back in time now!)

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KEY:

BI – Before Infarction

I – The period of House's Infarction, from the start of his symptoms to the end of the operation Stacy authorised (in the current storyline, this was about six years ago)

AI – After Infarction

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I: The Beginning

"Hey. You ready?" James Wilson pushed the door of House's office open and sauntered in. Gregory House, Head of Nephrology, was sitting at his desk and staring at the floor, absently tapping his fingers to a tune playing on his radio.

"House?" He shoved his hands into the pockets of his lab coat and looked expectantly at him.

The older man finally looked up and blinked. "Huh?"

"We're going out, remember? A run, then a series of seedy bars?"

"Oh yeah… yeah…" He stood slowly and cringed, putting a hand on his right thigh. James watched him closely, brow knitted in concern, as he grunted and carefully sat back down.

"House? What's wrong with your leg?"

"Nothing. It's just a little sore."

"Okay. We'll skip the run, head straight to the bars. Who needs exercise, anyway?… Hey, you probably just pulled a muscle," James suggested, keeping his tone casual.

"Probably." House blinked, distracted, and picked up the stress ball on his desk, squeezing it fiercely.

"You should maybe see a doctor," he advised.

"I am a doctor. I know what I'm doing."

Wilson was happy to recognise some his friend's usual sarcasm in the comment. "Yes, and you can really be objective about your own leg."

"For God's sake, I'm not a baby."

"Really? Well, I'll remember you said that the next time you throw one of your tantrums about nothing in particular."

House sneered. "Ooh, you gonna write my name on your naughty list?"

"That's right. Only a lump of coal for you this Christmas."

"Great! I'll warm it up and put it on Cuddy's chair when she's not looking. I've always said she had a hot ass."

James snickered, further cheered by the fact that House was still as rude as usual. He was a little concerned about how easily House had agreed with him about his pulled muscle diagnosis, though. He knew now that it was not a pulled muscle – House had jogged with him even when he had sprained his ankle (albeit very slowly and painfully, but still). If he was in that much pain that he had to cancel their run, then it was serious. And that disturbed him.

James cleared his throat. "Seriously, though, if it gets worse…"

"I know, I know, be responsible. Responsibility is overrated."

"Yes, but the ability to walk isn't." He paused. "Just… take care of yourself. We'll go out another time."

An infinitesimal look of relief quickly crossed House's face before it wad replaced with a sneer again. "Fine. Go home to your soon-to-be-ex wife, then."

He ignored the barb. "And you go home to your girlfriend. Try not to exert yourself too much."

House smirked. "For the exercise we do, I don't need full use of my legs."

"So true…" Wilson nodded goodbye and returned to the Oncology Department, sitting at his desk and frowning. He was now officially worried about House. The fact that he had cancelled had rung warning bells (particularly since House had won every competition since their first run, and he never missed an opportunity to gloat), but that look of relief was what made him especially concerned. It was a proper indication of how bad his leg really was. The pain was obviously so strong that he wanted to avoid as much (upright) activity as possible.

Sighing, Wilson shook his head and packed up his belongings, hanging up his lab coat and flicking off the light switch before heading to the elevators.

He shouldn't be worrying. House was an adult, and, as he had also pointed out, a doctor. However, on the other hand, he was also stubborn, immature and hated accepting help from anyone, and so the probability of him going to see another doctor was very slim. Perhaps Wilson himself should have offered to look at it… but that would got him nowhere, except into another slinging match. And he wasn't in the mood.

He stepped into the elevator car when it arrived, thoughtfully holding the door open for a nurse, smiling absently at her. He rode it down to the car park.

Maybe it was only a pulled muscle. How did he know what was going on with House's body? He didn't. It wasn't his job. House should be able to look after himself. And, failing that, Stacy would notice and send him to see someone. If anyone could get through to him, it was Stacy.

Reaching his car, he unlocked and opened the door of his Mercedes and got in, tossing his stuff onto the passenger's seat. He started the car and attempted to shove House out his mind and concentrate on going home. Yeah, home, where things were so much better. Not. He sighed again. He had been neglecting his wife, lately. Early to and late from work, spending his free time with House, instead of her… He had a responsibility to her to be there for her… and he wasn't.

"Whatever," he muttered, backing out of his spot. "Responsibility is overrated."