1Well, I've finally found some time to update this. I really should be writing one of two papers for school, but House called to me too strongly. I couldn't resist. I'll write the papers later or tomorrow or something. Be glad I'm easily swayed from my homework.

As I said in the first chapter, I'm not really concentrating on the medical aspects of this show. I just don't have the time to research interesting conditions and all the stuff that goes with it, so bear with me. I at least can offer you House-wit, in my own way, and the promise of sappy House and Wilson friendship pondering... Well, I'll get to it eventually, anyway.

Disclaimer: I don't own House M.D. If I did, House would have total permission to slap stupid people with his cane, the House posse would continuously do stupid things to encourage the slapping, and Wilson would use his super Wilson powers to defend House's slapping.

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When Life Steals Your Lemons

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To park in the handicap space or not to park in the handicap space, that was the question. Morally, House knew he was capable of hobbling into the hospital from one row of parked cars further away than the painted blue squares. But when had he ever cared about morals? With an extra rev to the engine, he glided his car seamlessly into the space.

"Ah, my mortal nemesis," he said wistfully, strolling in through the hospital doors. Within thirty seconds of them closing behind him, House was nearly run over by a woman in a wheelchair, strangled by someone's IV pole, and narrowly missed by some funny colored projectile vomiting. "I see you're well today."

Fighting the rather strong urge to whack people in the knees with his cane, House instead used it to punch the elevator button. He tuned out the chorus of babies that suddenly decided to try and sing the German national anthem in their natural language screams and wails. The doors slide open and he stepped inside. Yes, it was going to be another fun day at work.

House decided that what was in order was a good six hour meeting with his best buddy, champion of boredom eradication, Jimmy Wilson. He proceeded down the hall at his usual breakneck speed and paused when he reached the shiny brass nameplate that signaled he was at his destination. That's when his brain decided to remind him, as it was wont to do, that his good pal was off gallivanting somewhere on hospital money, living the high life in return for mumbling a few words about cancer.

He was pretty sure it could all be boiled down to, "Cancer is bad. Everything can cause cancer. Beware of cigarettes and plastic covering your food in the microwave. And especially don't drink formaldehyde. That's just asking for the cancer fairy to move into your colon."

Surely they didn't need the head of oncology to expand that into a series of lectures that were probably half ignored anyway. He wondered for a moment that if he asked really nicely, he might be able to get a phone number for Dr. Wilson. Then House could charge up long distance minutes and avoid work all at the same time. It was tempting, but he was sure Cuddy would see it a mile away and post orderlies at all phones. Those orderlies probably snuck steroids with no one looking, considering how beefy the appeared.

Instead, House proceeded to his own office, the Fortress of Forts he named it. With any luck, he could hunch down under his desk, catch some z's and not be bothered for the rest of the day. However, luck continued to play hookie. House immediately noticed the presence of his posse huddled around the whiteboard in the adjacent conference room. Oh darn.

"Gee, everyone looks so excited. Are we going to have a slumber party?" he mused as he pushed through the doors. "I'm afraid I didn't bring my pajamas, but I'm sure we can steal some pillows from the coma wing. They won't miss them."

He was privately pleased to see looks of disgust, annoyance, and disbelief pass across the faces of Foreman, Chase, and Cameron respectively. But just as quickly as these trademark expressions had appeared, they were gone and House knew that they were about to pester him.

"House," Cameron began. "There's a patient who has some really bizarre symptoms. I think we should look at him."

House pretended to consider. He had heard cases for strange symptoms before, and more often than not they weren't really all that spectacular. "My horoscope said to avoid anything starting with the letter 'b' today."

Foreman was next. "Then what about catching up on your clinic hours? Cuddy's been bugging us to bug you about them."

House staggered back as if he'd been slapped. "Foreman! Do you kiss your mother with that mouth? Really, I'm ashamed of you. I thought I'd taught you better than to use such language, especially around women." He indicated Chase, who fought back a retort.

After a moment of getting himself under control, it was Chase's turn. House waited expectantly for his suggestion of how to spend their time. "I was thinking we could take this as an opportunity to catch up on things, like charting and other paperwork."

"And why would I want to do that?"

Chase smirked. "You wouldn't, but you could hide in an empty exam room or something while the rest of us actually work. We'd be more productive that way, with you gone."

"Chase, you wound me so." House clutched at his chest. "But that's an excellent idea. You three can handle my paperwork, too. It's in my right desk drawer labeled 'recycling.'" He turned to go. "Have fun, duckies." With that, House whisked himself out of the room and off down the hall to somewhere the three doctors could only guess at.

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The search for an abandoned room proved to be more difficult that House would've thought. Apparently there were many patients waiting around for organs or blood and so many of the normally empty beds were taken up. Finally, however, he managed to find a wing with a few empty rooms. It was certainly not his first choice at a hideout, but he would have to take what he could get. And thus Dr. House of diagnostics found himself sitting in the middle of a room painted with too many colors in the pediatrics department.

He perched on the edge of a bed and surveyed his new base. He was sure that all the surfaces were crawling with child germs from their endless supply of runny noses, soar throats, and inability to use kleenex. Really, how hard was it to blow into a soft tissue instead of dragging your nose across a scratchy shirt sleeve? House looked at his own sleeve. He certainly couldn't imagine what the benefit of blowing his nose in it would be. It was no more absorbent.

There were an insane amount of cartoon zoo animals plastered on the walls, and grouped together in ways that didn't make sense. Tigers were playing hopscotch with giraffes. How were kids supposed to learn anything with this nonsense searing into their retinas? Now a scene in which a giraffe was being bit in the throat by a hungry tiger, that he could approve. Let the parents worry about explaining why they aren't having a tea party instead.

The last thing House noted was a stuffed toy, abandoned next to the sink where some child had forgotten it after washing up. As he stared at it, it stared back. The thing was puny, a blue and white unicorn that could be squished up in one hand. Whoever thought it was a good comfort toy obviously had bad taste.

Now ignoring his surroundings, House pulled out his precious mini television and prepared for a blissful day of soaps and infomercial after infomercial. Perhaps he'd find Christmas presents for those deserving few who would be getting them. And by deserving few he meant himself.

As he started to settle into a program, something caught his eye. It was another unicorn toy, this one pink and purple, sitting on the bed he was, up beside the lumpy pillow. He glanced at it, and then over at the blue one next to the sink, which was still staring at him with lopsided ears.

Then something struck him. "You got kicked off the bed by the lady unicorn, didn't you? So now you have to spend the night beside the sink in punishment." House grinned. "Well then," he said, pointing at the blue one. "I shall call you Wilson." He heaved himself off the bed and snatched up the toy. Then he flicked the pink one off behind the bed, and placed Wilson triumphantly in its place.

Satisfied, House turned his attention back to his television. However, his day of peace was not to be. Just as a shocking twist was being revealed, an annoyingly familiar voice cut into his thoughts over the P.A. system.

"Attention hospital staff." It was Cuddy. "Would Dr. House please report to my office." She sounded annoyed.

House considered his options. He could remain where he was, feigning that he hadn't heard the page and gain a few more precious minutes to himself, unmolested. But Cuddy would track down his posse and demand to know where he was. Then she would discover their slack day and organize a search of the hospital. This was after she had upped his clinic hours by a million.

On the other hand, if he went, Cuddy would still probably up his clinic hours just because she was Cuddy. Either way, he was doomed. So, House decided to go with the idea that would leave him with less increased hours in Hell. He stood and made his way to the door. Just as he was leaving, he spotted Wilson, fallen on his side with House's abrupt change in position. He couldn't just abandon lonely little Wilson. The pink unicorn might resurface and get revenge.

House returned to the bed, snatched up the toy, and marched off to the executioner's office.

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"House, do you mind explaining to me why you went out of your way to traumatize Dr. Thatcher?" Cuddy was in her stern pose, arms crossed, standing in front of her desk. In front of her, off to the left, was the cardiologist from the day before.

"I wouldn't say traumatized..." Thatcher looked slightly uncomfortable with the attention being brought to his complaint.

House gestured grandly as he limped to a stop on the right. "See? I didn't traumatize him. I don't even have to say anything and I'm defended. Nature loves me."

Cuddy was not amused. "He had one clinic session with you and he's asking to have someone else cover the hours, which he's already covering for Dr. Wilson." He narrowed her eyes. "What did you do?"

"I asked him for a consult. Is that so wrong?"

"Apparently." Then she noticed the blue and white ball House had wadded up in one hand. "What is that?"

House looked down and unclenched his hand. The unicorn puffed up into its proper shape and looked back at Cuddy. "Him? He's my partner in crime. Dr. Lisa Cuddy meet Wilson the littlest unicorn."

"Now you're playing with dolls? Why am I not surprised?"

House pretended to shield Wilson from her words. "He's not a doll, he's a manly stuffed action figure. I'll thank you not to use such a dirty word in little Wilson's presence."

Now Cuddy grew suspicious. "What have you been doing today? You don't have any patients."

"I was scouring the hospital for Wilson's family. He was kicked off the bed by a nasty pink unicorn and I couldn't leave the little guy all by himself." House placed the toy on his shoulder and, with its added cuteness, looked at Cuddy with his best House puppy-dog eyes.

She sighed. "That's not good enough. Go to the clinic and work off your hours." She turned away from him in dismissal.

Dr. Thatcher cleared his throat and both House and Cuddy turned to look at him. "So, can you get someone else to cover Dr. Wilson's clinic duty?"

Cuddy smiled in what she must have thought was an apologetic way. To House it seemed rather feral. "I'm afraid not. You're the only one available. Just ignore him and he'll leave you alone."

Thatcher sighed and turned to leave. House caught up with him and they left the office together. Just before parting, House narrowed his eyes and glanced around. "That's only what she wants you to think." He flicked his nose and limped off, leaving the cardiologist confused and slightly worried about the clinic sessions to come. He could only hope House wouldn't be around for all of them.

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Well, Dr. Thatcher is becoming more of a regular than I'd intended. But I think it will work out, at his expense. This way House has someone to constantly bother who won't get fed up and leave. That may be that Thatcher can't escape, but I'll pretend it's just 'cause he secretly likes House's abuse.

As promised, Wilson made an appearance this chapter, though not in the way you probably expected. House has found his Wilson replacement, so you can be sure the little unicorn will be around to aid House in his constant struggle against the hospital and its clinic hours. Leave a review and tell me what you think. You might even get me to ignore more of my homework and work on another update.