Notes and disclaimer in Part One.

Further A/N: I think I may be wrapping things up in a next chapters after this one. My plan is to carry this little fic straight up to the pilot and stick to canon, but I'll still got stuff planned before then (he hasn't hired Foreman yet so it ain't over). I never imagined it would ever become a nearly 15,000 word novella in the process. But there's still over a month until the 2nd season, so I may start writing a series of missing scenes and fillers from the season to fit within canon. It's fitting within canon that is more challenging and I like challenging.

Thanks for all the reviews guys! Ariadne:I'm glad I made you rethink your assumptions. I'm trying my best to capture all the characters well, and this fic isn't going to end up as slash, I promise :).

--
Too much acetaminophen may cause liver damage; do not take more than 4000 mg of acetaminophen per day.
--

He knew the month was coming to a close when Cuddy was on his heels.

He didn't frequent her office much; at least he didn't on his own free will. Cuddy's office was right off the clinic and that was the last place that Greg ever wanted to visit. But Wilson dutifully put in several hours there, more than he was obligated, frankly. James claimed that it was a doctor's job to help sick people. House knew that the extra clinic hours meant more time spent at the hospital and less time spent at home with his wife.

Therefore, if House was bored and actually ventured out of his office before Wilson had a chance to venture in, he sometimes needed to set foot inside the clinic to find his friend. He tried to ignore the stares from outlookers and their loved ones before finding the right exam room and distracting the oncologist from seeing patients.

This time, before he even had a chance to hit exam room two – Wilson's prefered room – Cuddy stopped him.

"Contrary to your belief, I don't actually like hassling you every month for paperwork."

"Really? That's not what you said last night in bed," he responded without a beat, loud enough to turn a couple of heads.

"My office," she hissed. "Now."

"Ooo. I'm in trouble. She's gonna call my mom," he whispered loudly to the nurse at the desk. The woman looked up and raised an eyebrow before returning to her paperwork.

He followed Cuddy into her office, his cane tapping. She walked around to her desk to face him.

"Do I have detention?" he asked, sarcasm dripping.

"That would be a waste of my time," Cuddy responded. "Not to mention this isn't high school. Is paperwork really that hard? Considering the actual amount of work you do, I'd think it would be easy to review a blank sheet of paper."

"That requires a pen. I afraid I'm just fresh out of those. But I can run on home and get one if you want."

She looked down at his leg. "I'd like to see you try."

"Nice." He shifted his weight. He'd been on his feet the last half hour and his leg was protesting.

"Paperwork," she repeated.

"Fine. I'll get right on it." He searched for his familiar bottle and popped it open. Two left. He took one and shook the bottle. "If you'll excuse me, since I'm down here, I need a refill."

He turned to leave, but Cuddy walked around and cut him off at the door. "You just picked up a prescription less than four days ago."

"Really? Four whole days. What, have you been getting the pharmacist to keep track and report to you?" She just looked at him. "You want that paperwork, you'll move out of the way."

"If you need more this soon, you're taking over 4000 milligrams of acetaminophen a day."

"Wow, Dr. Cuddy. You can do math. Congratulations. I'm in pain."

"So I've heard. Have you had your AST levels checked recently?"

He blinked. "I think that's a stupid question."

She didn't back down. "Is it?"

"Yes." House held up the pill bottle. "Now would you look at that. Next to refills it says three. Oh, and here's the prescribing doctor's name. I think you know him. Doctor James Wilson. Why, he's got an M.D. and everything. Guess what that means?"

Cuddy stared at him for another moment before finally moving. "Paperwork," she said yet again. "And there better be something on it or I'll start making your hours in this hospital more worthwhile."

"Oh, I'm so scared," he shot at her. He knew exactly what she was threatening. "I'm not working in that clinic. You can't make me."

She headed back to her desk and grabbed a folder before heading back his way. "Now is that supposed to be a challenge? Last time I checked, the clinic was an obligation in your contract." She paused to thumb through the folder. "But you know, we do have one thing in common. We both have a weakness for difficult cases." She handed him a stack of papers. "Fill them out and return them. I don't care how. Get Chase or Cameron to run them down. At least then, they'd actually be doing something useful, which is more than I can say about you."

House left her office, papers in hand, and headed straight for the pharmacy.

--
Do not let anyone else take your medication. Ask your pharmacist any questions you have about refilling your prescription.
--

"She's cheating me."

It was two-thirty in the morning and pouring. Greg was restless and his leg ached relentlessly when it rained and now matter how much scotch or Vicodin he managed to consume without killing himself, it didn't touch the pain. He'd already given up on sleep and moved to his arm chair to watch infomercials about the latest kitchen wonder gadget when he heard the knock. Before he even opened the door, he knew immediately who it would be.

"You have a key," House said needlessly as he stared at Wilson. His friend was completely soaked and had his tie wrapped around his left hand. He seemed to be in pain.

"I couldn't find it," Wilson responded. "Did you hear what I said?"

House waved him in. "Of course I did. But considering the fact that you flirt with every pretty female thing on two legs, I surprised you're upset she was doing the same. Move in. You're dripping on the rug."

Wilson inched in and House closed the door. "I haven't cheated on Julie."

"Not yet."

"What is that supposed to mean?" House put aside his cane and grabbed Wilson's hand. Wilson hissed.

Greg didn't respond right away. Instead he started unraveling the tie causing Wilson to wince even more. "What did you do?"

James looked sheepishly at the floor. "Let's just say one window on my car will need replacing."

"You put your hand through a car window? Now that sounds like something I'd do." House studied the injury. James had managed a pretty deep cut on the inside of his palm. It had to hurt like hell. He probbed around the injury, seeing if anything was broken.

"I know. I must have been channeling your spirit or something. Ouch. Watch it! Ever heard of the word 'gentle'?"

"You need stitches. And you've broken your hand."

"I figured." James stared at his palm. "The ER's probably a madhouse."

"On a night like this? Probably." House rewrapped Wilson's hand, binding it so he couldn't do any further damage, then picked up his cane and started looking for his shoes. "Got the keys to the clinic on you?"

"Yes. Why?"

"So I can fix your hand. Unless you'd like to sit in the overcrowded ER. My leg can't take those chairs." House found his shoes. "You better change, though. I think you left some stuff here last time you were over."

Wilson nodded. "Yeah. Thanks." He hissed again as he jarred his hand.

"How bad's the pain?" Greg asked.

"Okay. Been better," Wilson admitted.

"Liar. You're still sober and that cut's pretty damn deep, not to mention the break. It's gotta hurt like a bitch." House limped toward the couch and reached for the Vicodin bottle he'd left sitting on side table. "Here." He threw it and Wilson caught it with his good hand.

"It'll take the edge off since I'm obviously driving and in this weather, it could take a while. Not to mention it'll help when I actually need to touch your hand again."

"You're not supposed to share your meds."

"I don't have cooties, I promise." House shrugged. "But if you'd rather be in pain, be my guest. Getting changed will be fun."

Wilson stared at the bottle and at his hand again and sighed. "I shouldn't be doing this," he muttered as he flipped open the cap and shook out a pill.

"You know where the water is," House told him and sat down to wait.

Twenty minutes later, Greg was staring at the rain through his windshield. Wilson sat in the passanger's seat, cradling his hand.

"What really happened?" House asked as they sat at a stoplight.

"I told you. I really put my hand through the car window."

"I know that's what you told me, but that's not what happened. Most people don't break their hand from busting through a car window."

"And I can't be special?" The light changed and House creeped forward.

"Your car wasn't parked outside."

"I took a cab."

"Why?" He wasn't ready to let this go until he got more out of his friend.

"You really need to know?" Wilson sighed. "Why am I asking? Of course you do. I went home at six. Managed to have a semi-civil dinner with Julie. That is, until my pager went off. One of my patients took a turn for the worst and I headed back to the hospital."

"Julie wasn't happy, then."

"No, she wasn't. Let's just leave it at that."

"You caught her when you got back, didn't you?"

"Yes. And the hand did actually go through my car window."

"Maybe. After you took a swing at the garage wall." Wilson turned to look at him and House gave a small curt nod towards Wilson's hand. "The scrapes on your knuckles. They're obviously from a cement wall."

"I just saw red. I'm trying. Really." James was silent a moment. "I don't ever mean to stray," he admitted softly.

House turned into the hospital parking lot. "You never do. It's just part of your philosophy. You just love to be in love. With everyone. But there's one thing about love that you can't change no matter how many women you marry. It always bites you in ass." He pulled into his parking spot and turned off the ignition. "Come on. I'll fix your hand."

----

End Part Six. More coming, but it may be a couple of days this time. Don't forget to review if you like:)