THANKS FOR THE REVIEWS, EVERYONE! And WELCOME all new readers. I've missed writing stories and am disappointed I couldn't use my pain-killer induced dreams into House stories. But I think that's a good thing; they would have been too far out there for anyone to follow anyways. Anywhoo…enjoy.

CHAPTER TWO - Chicken Fiasco

Later that evening House walked into his apartment and threw the few items on the island in the middle of the kitchen. He pulled a bottle of beer from the 6-pack and quickly emptied it, relishing in the taste as if it were the first beer he'd ever drank. He looked at the packaged item and decided on making just a plain chicken breast sandwich. He walked to the refrigerator, took out the half-empty can of mayonaisse and set it on the island.

Half an hour later the chicken was baked and on a plate ready for the final condiments. He put the chicken breast on a hoagie roll, spread a healthy portion of mayonaisse on both sides, set the plate aside, grabbed another beer and walked into the living room, setting heavily down on the couch as if he'd just run 20 miles on an uphill slope.

He woke up with a start a few hours later and groaned at the static the t.v. was giving off from the channel that had gone off the air. He slyly grinned, headed for the kitchen and stood looking at the sandwich that had been sitting out for four hours now.

He grabbed the plate, another cold beer and headed back to the living room, sitting down in the center of the couch but leaning forward at the coffee table. He took a long, hard swallow of the beer, set it down and hesitantly took a bite of the sandwich.

'mm, tastes okay to me. This better work, damnit!

HOUSE MD HOUSE MD HOUSE MD

Dr James Wilson sat in his office early the next morning and dreading the Board meeting scheduled for 3 o'clock that afternoon. He had gotten back in the good graces of the others on the board but was still a bit unnerved at the thought that they didn't back him up with Vogler.

Besides, his mind was on other matters at the moment: like House. With all the conniving he'd done with Cuddy (without one ounce of regret) he couldn't keep his mind on anything else. He'd thought of everything to get House back on the right track but nothing had worked. In fact, House had gotten worse in Wilson's opinion. Wilson had pushed House into every direction and had gotten resistance from him. But what he hadn't come to terms with yet was the realization that maybe he never would be able to 'help' him.

Help him? Or change him into who I want him to be? That thought had crossed his mind over and over and he couldn't understand why he felt the urge to do so - to make him a better person; make him into someone who is more accepting of the things around him; make him more like…like…Wilson?

His train of thought was interrupted by his office door opening and speaking of the devil…

"Wow, House. You look like my cat after it had gotten into the oil under the car in the garage and was almost poisoned to death…oh, wait a minute…" Wilson stopped himself in the middle of his own sentence.

He looked over House as if he were a beauty pageant queen and he was rating each contestant. He mentally wrote down his observations: complexion shade of pukey green with a flushed appearance; eyes red and swollen; hands shaky; hunched over as if he were an 80 year old man.

"House, what have you done?" Wilson finally asked as House collapsed into a chair opposite his desk, after throwing a piece of paper on Wilson's desk.

"I need you to sign that," House muttered. It took Wilson a second to figure out exactly what he'd said.

After he reviewed the paper he threw it back at House and said, "No, House. I will not sign that for you." For just a split second Wilson was proud of himself for saying no to House for trying to evade jury duty. "Yeah, I know about your call to the human race, aka jury duty. Cuddy told me you'd probably try something."

"I didn't do anything," House groaned, his cheeks briefly exploded as if he were holding back a burp, but with that recognizable shade of vomitus explodius green Wilson knew he was lying. "I ate some bad chicken."

"Oh. Tell me where you ate the bad chicken and I'll make sure I never eat there … wait. House, tell me you didn't."

House looked at Wilson perplexed and greener than any green found on the planet earth. "Didn't what?" House asked innocently.

Wilson sat back in his chair and shook his head. "How long?"

"How long what?"

"When did you eat the bad chicken?" Wilson asked, annoyed that he had to continue this game with House.

"It was like midnight, I think. I woke up at 4:30 and have been … been …" House grew silent before he lunged forward, grabbed a flower pot with an obvious fresh, new plant, tore the plant out and threw up in the empty pot. He placed the pot back on Wilson's desk and sat back in the chair. "… throwing up ever since."

Wilson himself looked like he was going to hurl before he grabbed his trash can, placed the pot in the bottom, walked to House's office door, opened it and placed it inside his friend's own office.

"Hey! I don't want that in there! It smells!" House protested.

"Well, you ate it. It's yours."

"That's so…oh…oh…" and with that House ran into his office, grabbed the pot and threw up again.

Wilson, on the other hand, stood by his desk and simply watched House. Of course, so were Drs Chase, Cameron and Foreman, all four with looks of disgust on their faces.

When House's spasms were finally finished, Wilson quietly joined House and waited for House to stand. "Come on, loser. You need fluids," Wilson said as non-judgmentally as he could.

"I need that paper signed," House corrected, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Nope. You'll just have to suffer and fill it out yourself," Wilson said.

"What's going on?" Cameron asked.

"Your boss here ate bad chicken on purpose to get out of jury duty," Wilson informed them.

"No way," Chase piped in.

"Figures," Foreman added.

House looked up at Wilson with a dirty look on his face until a shivering spasm overtook his body and he hugged himself from the chill that ran through his body.

HOUSE MD HOUSE MD HOUSE MD

A few hours later, House and Wilson walked out of exam room three after the bag of fluids and Compazine had been given to the 'patient.' House averted Cuddy as she left her office and walked towards them.

"Is that where you two have been the past three hours?" Cuddy demanded to know.

"Uh, no. We've just come from a cruise, but NumbNutz here neglected to inform me it was a gay cruise. I didn't know he was gay, did you, Cuddy? That might interfere with Wonder Sperm giving you a baby," House quipped as he stumbled a bit with the cane, almost causing it to slip out of his hand.

"Wilson, take him back to his office and make sure he fills out that jury form correctly. I think we all need a vacation away from him," Cuddy ordered and went back to her office.

"Wow, she looks hot in that turtle neck. They are so sexy, don't you think?" House joked as they walked to the elevator.

"Shut up, House."

Darn. Darn. Darn. Darn. Maybe I can answer the D.A.'s questions wrong and they won't pick me.

That was the only hope House had to get out of jury duty. But to his dismay, he would soon find that no matter what he'd ever think of trying to do to get out of it, jury duty would be added to his list of things in his life that he wished he'd never had to deal with.