Notes and disclaimer in Part One.

Further A/N: I'm a busy little bee, two parts in two days (and the next part is just about done as well). Yay for productive muses. Meds used for chronic pain found via various sources; I'll probably need to type up a list of references when I'm done with this fic :).

--
Vicodin is an effective pain reliever when used properly and in the short term. Careless, inappropriate, or deliberate misuse of Vicodin can be dangerous. If you are taking Vicodin now, talk to your physician about a pain control strategy that does not include Vicodin or other addictive pain medications.
--

He supposed his accidental overdose should have taught him a lesson. It did, but perhaps not the one it intended. He didn't give up the Vicodin. He'd feared that perhaps Wilson would stop writing for him, but he didn't. Instead, Greg noticed that he'd underlined the instructions with a heavy black marker.

Wilson also suggested Greg make an appointment to talk to a pain management specialist.

House wanted to laugh. Pain management, indeed. If Vicodin didn't make the pain disappear, then something non-narcotic certainly wasn't about to become his miracle drug.

"The pain won't just disappear," Wilson told him, "hence the words 'pain management.'"

"I hate the words 'pain management.' They could shove a spike through my thigh and hand me Extra Strength Tylenol and call it pain management. They might as well be handing out sugar pills."

"Ah, yes, because studies show that sugar and Tylenol are actually one in the same. I'm just asking you to talk about options, House. I'm not stealing your Vicodin and flushing it down the toilet. Although, that would probably be easier."

House leaned against his desk, taking the weight off his leg. "If you enjoy seeing me in immense pain, but all means, yank my meds."

Wilson sighed. "I don't like seeing you in pain, no. But there are alternatives out there."

"You know I tried everything."

"Every single thing?" House just glared at him. "Okay, but for how long?"

"Long enough."

Wilson thought for a moment. "Neurotin."

"Licensed for use in nerve pain and epilepsy. Too bad I don't have epilepsy. It did shit for the pain. Sure did a lot to my state of consciousness, though. The headaches also sucked. Guess they would have really sucked if I'd been having seizures."

"You took it for three weeks."

"And it didn't work. Moving on. What else you got?"

"Lamictal."

Greg rolled his eyes. "Another anti-seizure med. I'm sensing a trend here. Common side effects include rash and long-term use can cause blurred vision. Oh, and yes, it won't help my damn pain. Come on, James, I would have figured you'd be better at this game, being the oncologist and all."

"Right. And I'll just write you a prescription for Fentanyl while I'm at it."

House shrugged. "It is the oncologist's drug of choice and one that actually works. Too bad most patients are too busy throwing up to notice."

"I don't know why I even try." He sat down.

"You're giving up already? There are so many more out there."

"So many more for you to shoot down, you mean." Wilson scrubbed his forehead with his hand. "Elavil."

"An antidepressant? What exactly are you implying here, Wilson?"

"Nothing. You know damn well it can be used to treat chronic pain."

House started playing with his cane. "Of course I do. It all also causes dizziness when getting up. What's your point?"

"Every drug has side effects. Vicodin has plenty and most of them are much worse than a little dizziness. Elavil could actually you sleep through the night, which, in turn, could actually help improve your pain."

"It could also cause insomnia, coincidentally, which kinda defeats the whole purpose." He set his cane down. "I never slept more than five hours straight even before the infarction. Stacy used to complain I'd wake up her up because I was restless."

"Well, then, it might improve your mood."

"Nothing improves my mood."

"I've noticed." Wilson leaned forward. "Exercise also helps."

"And I walk. I like it."

"You walk, yes. But you're almost as good at avoiding PT as you are at avoiding work."

House walked around to his desk. "It's an art form, really. I've been practicing."

James shook his head. "I just can't win against you, can I?"

Greg looked at him. "You should know by now, Wilson, I'm a very sore loser."

--
Keep all appointments with your doctor. If your pain is not controlled or continues, call your doctor.
--

Two fifteen and he was going strong. On Gameboy at least. In the real world he was sitting on his ass, but in the gamer's world he was kicking some monkey ass.

He almost smiled at the poetry.

"Dr. House?"

Greg looked up. Cameron had poked her head in.

"I'm busy," he said, returning his gaze to the game.

"It's two fifteen," she said.

"Yes, and?" Damnit, dead again! This game was much harder than he thought.

"Your appointment."

"What appointment?" He threw the Gameboy down in disgust. "I've already lost the game, so you might as well just spit it out."

"With your doctor. It's at two fifteen." She paused. "I saw it on your calendar."

"What calendar would that be? Because last time I checked, I didn't believe in such a thing." He met her eyes. "Someone's been snooping through my desk."

"No, I haven't." She immediately tensed and he knew she hadn't. Cameron couldn't lie her way through a paper bag. "I was going through your mail—"

"My garbage, you mean, but please continue," he interupted.

"Your mail," she continued, emphasizing the word 'mail' this time, "and I saw the reminder you'd written."

"Ah." He picked the Gameboy up again. "Well, then, you must also know that I'm a big boy and can keep track of my own appointments."

"You said you don't even have a calendar."

"All up here," he answered, pointing to his head as he started the game up again.

"Then why did you write it down?" He heard her shift her weight. He paused the game.

"Why do you care?" he asked, meeting her eyes. She looked a bit taken back by the question.

"Because I do. It's human nature to care," Cameron told him.

"Human nature," he repeated, "such an interesting and fickle thing. It makes you want to save the world and ignore it all at the same time."

"What wrong with trying to save the world?" She looked right back at him and he had to give her credit for not fleeing.

"Nothing," he admitted, "but some things are just hopeless."

"You're not hopeless," she told him and he put the Gameboy down and reached for his cane.

"Who said I was talking about myself?" He watched her frown at him as he pushed himself up and headed for the door.

"Where are you going?"

He stopped in the door frame. "Appointment. It is two fifteen after all. Tell Wilson thanks for the written reminder when he drops by in fifteen minutes to see if I went."

When House returned an hour and a half later, Wilson was sitting in at his desk.

"I was a good boy, Dad. Remembered where it was and everything." He sat down in one of the chairs in front of the desk. "I got your post-it."

"I know. Talked to Cameron."

"Ah." They sat in silence a moment.

"So?" Wilson ventured.

"As you expected, but don't think I'm letting you say 'I told you so.' I'd rather eat my cane."

"I'll settle for pizza and beer. With you paying, naturally."

"And I suppose it will be eaten on my couch as well, then?"

Wilson nodded. "Of course. Julie just bought a new white couch."

"White? Now I know that wasn't your idea. Pity if next time I drop by, I forget to take my shoes off before I put my feet up." House leaned back. "Got a new scrip for Vicodin so I don't need you to write for me this week."

"Good. He up the dosage?"

"Yep. And before you open you mouth again, yes, Boulder wants to do yet another MRI."

"And you're letting him do it."

Greg shrugged. "He gave me meds. When I'm not in pain, I'm more agreeable."

"I think I'd have to agrue that point. When?"

"Next week. I get to miss work all afternoon and I'll even have a legitimate note to show Cuddy."

"I'm sure she'll frame it." Wilson paused. "So did you make the other appointment?"

"What other appointment?" he asked innocently, shifting in his chair. For the first time, he realized he and Wilson were sitting in reverse positions and he felt oddly naked not sitting behind his desk.

"So I take it the answer is no, then."

"Were you really expecting anything else?"

"No, I guess not."

House shrugged. "Well, then, your expectations have been meant. What else can you ask for?"

"Nothing, since you actually listening to me is out."

"It's a two way street, buddy. I told you not to marry what's-her-name. The blond one."

"Kristin."

"Kristin. She killed you in the divorce settlement."

"She did," Wilson agreed.

Greg absently rubbed at his thigh and fished through his pocket for his pills. "You didn't listen then."

"I suppose not."

Greg popped a pill. Score one for him. "So…pizza, beer, and Blockbusters?"

"Yeah," Wilson responded. "But I'm driving."

House put the lid back on the Vicodin. "You'll have to. I took the bus this morning." He shook his pill bottle. "I really shouldn't be driving."

Wilson smiled. "Good idea."

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End Part 4. More to come. As always, review if you're enjoying. It stimulates the muse to write. :)