Chapter one: Selfsame

She knew she pushed it too far this time. So, what, she liked to go a tad above the speed limits out on the city outskirts, sue her.

"Get the hell away from me." She snaps, pushing the annoyingly grabby hands of the admittedly smoking nurse attending to her, immediately ripping the nasal cannula out with venom. "Jesus, where did you get your medical degree, Sesame Street? I have a friction burn on my ass; I can breathe just fine!"

"Ma'am, please, we are only trying to-"

"-Help, yeah, see, only I don't need your so-called help," She groans sharply in frustration, before stilling and exclaiming with a very believable yelp, thank you late night television. "Watch it! I can sue you for sexual harassment, Grabby!"

"Frances!" A woman in a white coat finally interjects and the nurse backs off, blinking in astonishment. "What is going on here?"

"She-"

"She can speak for herself. And She," Said she rips out the intravenous, not even a speck of blood being left in its wake and attempts to hop off the bed. "Is just about to sign herself out-"

"Ma'am, you have a concussion-"

"Stop it!" She barks, and it's nasty, steely blue hopefully getting to point across as she attempts to shove off his hands coaxing her back into the hospital bed. "Piss off Baywatch! People are drowning while you're here pretending to have a medical license."

"Frances, go find somebody else to help." The woman, clearly a more competent doctor than dumbass over here, snaps, and the nurse heaves a breath through his nose, backing off. The doctor steps forward, giving her a considerate look and checking her chart.

"Motorcycle crash?" The doctor flicks her eyes up, over her scraped up appearance.

She rolls her eyes, leaning back into the hospital bed at the woman's raised hand. Unfortunately, well aware of hospital protocols. Fine. Better get this over with as soon as possible. She can't help but respond, bitterly and crossing her sore arms, not that she would ever admit that. "I'd be more worried about who you employ in this damn hospital, your staff's IQ doesn't seem to transcend single digits."

The doctor raises a brow, dropping the pages she had been flicking through to walk around the side of the bed. The doc brings out a light pen, much to her frustration, clear by the intense eye roll. "Do you mind?"

"Knock yourself out." As the doctor leans forward to check her eyes, she gets a very welcoming shot of her cleavage. "Impressive." She can't help but comment.

The doctor raises an eyebrow. "Eyes up here, if you don't mind…?" The doctor steps back, clicking off the light pen and slipping it back into her coat pocket. "I'm sorry, I didn't see your name on the chart..?"

Ah, so she finally noticed. She rolls her eyes. "I was wondering when somebody was going to ask," She drones, impatient. "Gregory House."

Completely forgoing the woman's stunned expression, she pushes herself up again, winces as her leg twinges. Damn. That's going to be annoying for a while. Fantastic. "Now, not that I'm the type of girl to turn down a free cleavage shot, I'd better get going now, I believe I left the oven on-"

"Not so fast," The doctor pushes her down by the shoulder, an unimpressed look suddenly swallowing her face. The doctor sighs, pinching her nose. "Even for House, this is elaborate..."

"What?" Greg asks, confused and also annoyed, oh, and hungry. Those damn medics took her vicodin stash. "Listen, doc, the time we shared was great, it's not you, it's me, yadda yadda, now just sign the discharge papers and we can be on our merry way..."

"Alright fine," The doctor for some reason suddenly decides to sass the injured patient in the hospital bed, crossing her arms. "I'll discharge you. As soon as you tell me your real name."

Greg blinks a few times, before an annoyed tick creases her face. "And you think I have a concussion? In case you just suddenly developed the most fast acting case of Alzheimer's I've ever seen, I just told you. That or you're due for a hearing aid..." She squints, leaning forward to get a better look at the doc's name tag. ".. Cuddy. Cute name. Almost like cuddly, so unlike you. Congratulations, you're an oxymoron."

For some reason, the longer she talks, the more amused the doc seems to get. Great, just what she needed, a headache and a hospital whose mission statement is incompetence. "Whatever. Have fun with your crazy." Greg grouses, once again moving to escape.

"Wait, wait, Frances was right, you do seem to have a concussion," Cuddy berates, waving her back into the bed. Greg sits again with a grimace, needing her leg, which does not go unnoticed, to the amusement of the doctor.

"What?" Greg snaps. She's past annoyance now and is entering the land of piss… She pauses at the thought. Eh. Blame the concussion. Pissed, she snaps. "I don't know what's so amusing to you, my obvious pain or the fact my name suggests I have a dick, either way, I don't care. Now either move out of my way or I start screaming that the mean doc touched my no-no square."

"What's this about Cuddy touching no-no squares? And how do I sign up?" In limps some scruffy looking random, apparently decided his weak humor was needed.

"Sorry, the homeless shelter is around the block buddy," Greg hisses, grinding her fist into her leg. Fucking paramedics. "Hey, Cuds, where the hell did those paramedics take my vicodin? Theft and assault, you guys sure are building up quite the rapport."

"And just who is this ray of sunshine?" Homeless over here leans on his cane, glancing at the doc with curiosity and almost amusement. "And why does she sound like a certain someone, oh, I don't know, it's on the tip of my tongue..."

Cuddy seems resigned, raising her arms in dismissal. "I don't know, you tell me House."

"Well, I would repeat myself, but I don't think your pea sized brain would be able to retain the information." She grouses, standing up once more only to crumple back onto the bed with a curse. "Dammit! Where the hell did you put my cane? Can't you tell I am trying to make an escape here?"

Homeless feels the need to interject himself again, smiling down meanly. "Cane? And here I thought you were stumbling around like Bambi for the fun of it."

"Oh, would you look at that, you're not the only cripple in the world. Congratulations. Wait until you hear about the parking spots." She responds dryly, entirely over this entire situation, gritting her teeth.

Homeless whistles, sending a look towards Cuddy, looking impressed, if not annoyed. "I'm impressed. Bravo, no, really. How much did you pay her? And was it a fraction of the hospital's funding? If the sky starts falling, I'll know who to blame."

"Cut it out, House." Cuddy immediately retorts to the man, rolling her eyes with agitation.

"Cut what out? Jesus lady, you show me your cleavage one time and think we're besties!" Greg snaps, hissing through her teeth. "Now, not that this banter isn't lovely and totally isn't giving me a migraine the size of your bra, but I have a bike to repair and an exit to make."

"Har Har. Nice performance. Now, I really need your name and then I can discharge you." Cuddy continues, as if she isn't trying to get punched in the face.

"I don't know about you, but I find all this talk about your boobs enthralling," Homeless quips, picking up her chart and raising his eyes up to meet her own. "Friction burn? Why the hell is the nasal cannula hooked up?"

"Why don't you ask the sorry excuse of a medical staff," Greg waves her hand in annoyance, as if to shout 'finally!' "Good to know your only hiring qualifications include looking ready for a playboy magazine cover, I'll be sure to let Paris Hilton know."

Cuddy sighs, and it's tireless, as if she's the wounded patient being harassed by a homeless man and an incompetent doctor. Where the hell are those paramedics?

"Stop, you're going to make me blush." Homeless comments blankly, setting her chart down, nodding his chin towards her leg. "What's with the leg? Get too Stanky?"

"House." Cuddy sighs.

"What?" Both of them snap. At the same time, they turn to look at one another, sizing each other up, eyes narrowed.

"Funny. Make fun of the cripple." She snips immediately, rolling her eyes.

"I could say the same." He gripes back, though with interest. "What did you say your name was? And don't worry, my brain is larger than a pea."

"Only about." Cuddy mutters, going wholly ignored.

"Oh, where are my manners? How rude of me. Gregory House." She says, again. Homelessness's eyebrows hike up further. "I'd say it's been a pleasure, but, well, then I would be lying." She finishes, deadpan.

Cuddy's brows start to dip, looking between the… two… Houses? "Okay," Cuddy snaps, hands on her hips. "What the hell is going on here?"

"That's what I would like to know." Both she and homeless heads snap back towards each other as they say the same thing. An intense staring moment later, Cuddy looks between the two warily.

"If you didn't put her up to this, who…"

"Wilson?" Homeless guesses, without his suspicious gaze straying. Greg glances around on instinct, brow furrowing. In turn, Homeless's own narrow further.

"Hem, um," Cuddy and Greg turn, though Homeless' eyes refuse to stray.

"About time. What, you get lost in the parking lot? Give me that!" Greg snaps, almost relieved, making grabbing motions for her cane and prescription being held out. The paramedic goes to hand it over, wide eyed but a certain homeless cripple snags them before she can.

"Ah-ah, you still have your cane," Greg explains as if talking to an infant, "That one's mine, though I can understand your confusion, given that you're only currently resting a majority of your weight on it."

"Does it have an off button?" Homeless mutters, eyebrows hiked. That expression doesn't seem to fade from his face. Cuddy also leans towards the man's shoulder, rolling her eyes as she also reads the pill bottle.

"Really, House?" She sighs, unamused.

"Save your judgment for somebody who gives a damn," Greg snaps loudly, honestly wondering where the hell this woman gets off. She sits up further in the cot in indignation. "You don't know me. Honestly, you don't want to."

"I take it you aren't addicted," Homeless says dryly before she can say anything more, a look in his eye.

"Not that it's any of your business, but I don't have a pill problem, I have a pain problem. So, if you don't mind." Greg makes a swipe, only to miss as homeless pulls back at the last second. "There are safe shoot sights if you're so desperate." She snarks, angered at the limitation of her bum leg against school-yard level bullying.

"I don't have time for this." Cuddy raises her arms in defeat, moving to leave with a disapproving shake of her head.

"How about now?" Homeless pulls out an orange bottle himself from his pocket, waggling it temptingly. Cuddy turns, looking at the bottle with surprise. "Now, we both know I can't get another one of these on my own. So, either Wilson took up forgery as a hobby, or we have a mystery on our hands."

"You're both unnaturally annoying." Greg pretends to gasp, looking around. "Who said that? Well, that's besides the point. Seems the case has been solved. I answered your repetitive questions, now it's your turn to hold up your end of the bargain." She looks pointedly at Cuddy, who blinks rapidly.

"I take it that the leather jacket on the chair isn't yours." Cuddy suddenly remarks hesitantly, looking awed.

"Unless I suddenly shrunk to a woman's small, no, it isn't. But I am flattered." Taking a leap, Homeless tosses her the pill bottle.

Greg wastes no time in opening and dry swallowing three before giving Homeless and the gawking woman a blank look and an annoyed sigh. "Funny, it looks like you're gawping at me instead of signing those discharge papers. Must be the slight concussion that's warping what I'm seeing."

Homeless smirks, giving the doc a long look. "You heard the woman. What are you waiting for?"