A/N- I thought doing an entire extra chapter from House's POV may have been too repetitive so I have decided to do a drabble containing House reflecting on his first impressions of Wilson from the evening they met. House's POV obviously.

Enjoy :D

Nervous and highly strung. That was my first impression of James Wilson. A walking, talking body of nervous tics and twitches, clasping an envelope so tightly that not even a sumo could wrestle it out of his grip.

Swathed in his lab coat which looked about two sizes too large, he stood out like a sore thumb in a lecture hall full of uninteresting ignoramuses. I remember watching him standing in the corner looking scared as hell, fiddling with the infamous envelope close to his chest. He looked young, his features were soft and boyish, but he looked like he had the entire weight of the world on his shoulders.

Don't ask me why he caught my eye, he just did. I was like Bruce Springsteen spotting the hot, big breasted girl in an audience full of flat chested, dour girls. He just appealed to me, not in a sexual way, but I felt he was an interesting proposition.

I remember watching him leave the hall in a haste and almost stumbling out of the double doors at the side. That's when I decided I should follow him so I made my excuses and followed, or should I say stalked, him.

Not a drinker. That was my second impression of James Wilson. I remember watching him drink whisky at the bar and grimacing every time he took a gulp. He obviously had no idea what he was drinking or how strong it was. After every glass, he slammed it down onto the bar and called for another.

Troubled. That was my third impression of James Wilson. I remember watching him talking to himself at the bar as the alcohol began to meddle with his senses. Occasionally I caught a few of the words that tumbled out of his mouth. A woman called Karen, a woman called Eva, a coffee shop, something about sex on a parent's couch.

He seemed angry at himself. Every so often he would furrow his thick set eyebrows and shake his head as if he was telling himself off. To be honest I thought he was a lunatic, but at least he was an interesting looking lunatic.

Trusting. That was my fourth impression of James Wilson. I remember watching the barman giving him weaker drinks after deciding he was too drunk for anything else. He didn't seem to argue. Instead he trusted the barman's judgement about his own state of mind and accepted the drink given to him.

Represses his emotions. That was my fifth impression of James Wilson. I remember watching on in shock as the seemingly meek and nervous young man shouted at another man at the jukebox. All because the man at the jukebox insisted on playing Leave A Tender Moment Alone over and over again. I was rather enjoying it myself.

I remember watching in morbid fascination as the young man turned a darker shade of red before lashing out and throwing a beer bottle at a huge mirror that hung on the wall. The barman then manhandled him onto a stool and called the cops. I remember thinking that the poor guy wouldn't survive a night in the cells.

Sad. That was my sixth impression of James Wilson. I remember taking a seat on the stool opposite him and looking straight into his deep brown eyes. As the old adage goes, 'The eyes are the window to the soul' and if that was so then he was one unhappy guy. I remember introducing myself with a firm handshake and some friendly advice and leaving once the cops came to pick him up.

My curious nature got the better of me and I ended up bailing him out of jail. I wanted to know more about him, about why he was here and why he was in that bar.

Eager to please. That was my seventh impression of James Wilson. I remember taking him to a coffee house after I bailed him. I foisted some dollar bills towards him and told him my usual order, expecting him to turn in disgust and tell me to get it myself. But he didn't. He took the bills from my fingers and bought what I asked for. Sure he gave me the wrong mug and I ended up getting a mouthful of coffee flavoured sugar, but his action stuck with me.

I remember asking where he was from and discovering he was from New Jersey and he had moved back there after Med school in Canada. I discovered what he had in his possession were divorce papers and that he was served at the convention.

All those bits of pointless information I had gathered helped me form a picture of the James Wilson that sat before me, though time was not on my side. I remember asking him the time and having to leave to catch my flight. I wanted to find out more so I gave him my number and left him sitting in the coffee house.

Interesting. That was my last impression of James Wilson before I headed back to New Jersey. Even more interesting was the fact he called me three days later.

I had managed to make a friend.

A friend that is the intriguing James Wilson.

A/N- Tis done!