Further A/N: I'm trying to stick to canon (well, as well as we know it with the vague timelines), but I'll also using the timelines set up from the unaired pilot about the Ducklings. So at the time of that pilot, Chase had been working there a year, Cameron six months, and Foreman three days.
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Take each dose with a full glass of water.
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Chase didn't seem to mind that House rarely treated a patient and that most of his time was spent sitting on his ass. Chase, for his part, filled the time by doing crossword puzzles and flirting with cute nurses and lab techs. On the off chance that House did take on a patient, Chase did as he was told, dealing directly with the patient and letting House remain in the his office, putting the puzzle pieces together on his newly purchased white board.
Greg wasn't sure what possessed him to get such a thing, but writing the symptoms out in big bold marker – even using different colors if he so desired – helped map out the basics. Of course, the whiteboard didn't get that much use; House still threw out letters and emails, only managing to grab a patient if truly prodded.
Thus far, Wilson did most of that prodding. Slipping the file across his desk as if he'd see it and suddenly be like "wow, I need to treat this person." But Wilson was good. He only picked out the difficult cases, Greg's specialty and one weakness.
"The diagnosis is a heart attack."
House blinked. "Okay. Sounds good to me."
"She's not responding to treatment. Would you at least take a look?" Wilson opened the file. "She's my cousin."
House took the file and glanced at it. "Your cousin is sixty-four years old?"
Wilson didn't flinch before responding. "Third cousin."
He raised an eyebrow. "Oh, well that makes all the difference, doesn't it?" He glanced down again, determined to shut the file, when something in the medical history caught his eye. He paused.
"Still think it's a heart attack?"
He mulled it over before picking up the phone and dialing. "Nope. She's allergic to her cat."
"A cat allergy? You got that from reading the history?"
House leaned back in his chair. "No. I'll get what I really need over the phone."
Wilson did a double take. "You're actually calling a patient?"
"It's been known to happen every one in a while. Now either sit and be quiet or leave."
Wilson continued to push harder after that, but House never yielded beyond that phone call. Luckily for him, Wilson was busy in his own department, getting his promotion and moving his office.
Greg, being a friend, did help in the move. Well, helped as much as someone with one bad leg could. Which basically meant he gave his opinion on where Wilson should put his diploma and golf trophies and popped a Vicodin.
"You should take those with water," Wilson told him as he stepped back to admire his handiwork.
"This way's easier. Never know when you'll be around water and pain waits for no man." He studied the shelves. "I think the diploma needs to be on the right."
"So you're willing to chance choking and a bad aftertaste?" Wilson shifted the object. "Better?"
"Better," he agreed. "Your wife would be proud."
"Yeah," Wilson muttered.
House leaned against the desk, shifting his weight off the bad leg and propping his up. "Trouble in paradise?"
"My in-laws are coming this weekend. And her sister."
"Fun. I'm guessing they don't like you any better than the last time."
"If it's at all possible, I think they hate me more than Julie hates you."
House shook his head. "Nah. Julie hates me way more. No contest. Though, if you want, I can come over this weekend and you can compare. Make a chart, even."
"Oh, yeah, like that would go over real well." He paused. "Maybe I'll just come to your place Saturday night."
"Couch is all yours, but I doubt it will score you any brownie points with your wife."
Wilson shrugged. "I'm a doctor. I'll tell her I'm working late. She's getting used to that."
"Yeah," Greg said, "but, interestingly enough, so are you."
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Only your doctor can determine if it is safe for you to continue taking Vicodin.
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Five p.m. was his favorite time of the day. Lock the office door, shut the lights, go home, take a pill and put his leg up, and watch Wheel of Fortune and Entertainment Tonight. He almost made it to the elevator, when Cuddy stepped into his path.
"Your billings this month are non-existent."
"So is your blouse." He pushed the button for the elevator. "I like this game. What other obvious things do we feel like pointing out?"
She sighed. "I need your paperwork on my desk."
"I need a million dollars and a fully functioning leg. Too bad neither one of us is going to get what we want." The elevator doors opened and he stepped in. Cuddy held the door.
"You skipped your appointment. Again."
"Ah, someone's been talking to Boulder. That's not very nice, doctor-patient-confidentially and all." The elevator chimed again, but Cuddy still held onto the door.
"You used to be my patient."
"Well there you go. 'Used to be.' Does officially becoming Dean give you all sorts of power I don't know about?" He pushed the button again. "I have work to do."
"You mean you have nothing to do. And apparently, neither does Dr. Chase, I hear. What's the point of having a staff if they do nothing?"
"One person isn't a staff."
"It took you over a year to hire one person. I'd appreciate it if you started making his salary worthwhile."
House shrugged. "What I can I say? He's lonely." He reached into his pocket for his Vicodin. This conversation was making his leg hurt.
"Then hire someone else and start taking on enough cases to make them both worth the expense." He didn't answer, just popped a pill. "I could make you do clinic duty."
"I'm not going back to that clinic." His tone turned serious and he didn't meet her eyes.
She let go of the elevator door. "I want that paperwork on my desk. And reschedule your appointment with Boulder."
Two days later, he was shifting through his interesting pile of job applicants when Wilson wandered in.
"What are you doing?"
House shifted the stack of papers in front of him. "Cuddy told me to go get Chase a playmate." He picked a sheet off the top and read the name. "Allison Cameron. Chase and Cameron…nice ring to it, don'tcha think?"
"They both start with C, if that's what you mean." Wilson sat down. "You're really going to hire someone else?"
"Yes."
"And start taking more cases."
"Something tells me you had a powwow with the enemy."
"Cuddy isn't the enemy."
"Of course not. Let me rephrase. She's the devil in a low-cut blouse."
"She could fire you."
"No way. I have tenure. And a friend who recently acquired a seat on the board." He dropped the resume back into the pile. "Besides, she wouldn't fire me."
"No, I guess she wouldn't." Wilson paused and leaned forward. "She saved your life. Don't blame her for-"
"I don't blame her," House interjected. He shifted.
"She's not Stacy," Wilson said simply as he got up and picked up the CV House had been looking at and scanned it. "Doctor Allison Cameron, huh? Looks good to me. You should interview her."
"Yeah. I think I will."
Wilson looked at his watch. "I have to go. Let me know when you set up the interview and I'll sit in if you want." He headed for the door.
"Yeah," Greg repeated, watching Wilson leave before turning back to Dr. Cameron's credentials.
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End Part Three. More coming. Oh, and tell me if you like it :).