Disclaimer: I don't own House MD it was created by David Shore and owned by FOX and NBC/Universal, and produced by Heel and Toe Films and Bad Hat Harry Productions. I also don't own and film, book, television show, monster truck, bread, or anything else that references a real world contraption (since usually I avoid it for this purpose). Most things mentioned under this clause I suggest that you as the reader check out. And special thanks to the lj group Clinc Duty, for putting in their hours and providing me with the word for word (not to mention proper spelling) of the House episodes I modify. So Welcome to the Wonderful World of Fanfiction.
Warning: This is Slash (/): which means relations of the male-kind. With some Friendship (+): they are friends they hang out and are supportive. More specifically House/Chase and Taub+Kutner
Author's Note: I figure that the TV people weren't expecting a fan to dissect the episode. Based off of the way House worded things I am assuming the episode started on a Monday and since Taub does hint that he had to stay through the night that takes us to Wednesday. So I am saying that Wilson had to reschedule to see his brother to Thursday since House asked Chase when Chase was leaving (on Wednesday). I hope this makes sense _ Zack (Fair) is a character in the Final Fantasy VII-verse. The game I am referring to in Crisis Core – Final Fantasy VII (which I don't own, but praise Square Enix and the Japanese for).Happy Reading!
Lifestyle
Chapter 2.3: The Social Contract
There was a reason House never talked to patients, or even liked patients. A part of him was telling him to turn around and refuse this patient like he should have done with the he-she's parents. But a larger part was rejoicing this was his kind of patient "better or dead." It meant he got to coerce Chase into a dangerous surgery for his amusement and if the patient died he had been given informed consent! But at the same time this is a surgery that House would never ask a patient to do. But those words, those words had hit to close to home. House stepped into the locker room that Chase used near the ICU, even if lately he had been spending more of his time in the operating room than in the intensive care unit.
Entering the room, House smiled. Chase was at his locker about to go home. House waited for when the blond doctor noticed him. Finally Chase closed his locker and jumped a bit. The elder doctor ignored the reaction and handed over the patient file. "I want you to remove a small problem."
Chase looked at House for moment before taking the file and flipping it open. Green eyes scanned the file. Chase looked up shaking his head as he leaned against the wall. "I'm not a neurosurgeon."
"But your boss is. You could assist. I'm sure you'd like to add to your résumé," House wheedled.
Chase shook his head again. "It's too near the brain stem. Nobody's gonna touch it."
House knew this and knew that Chase was for once not the doctor to ask for this. But in the same time going through Chase was the best way to get to Chase's boss, mostly because his blackmail material wasn't up to par for this request; it needed a different type of finesse. "Your boss would. He's an egomaniac. I know 'cause I keep seeing him at the club. He just needs a little push. I'm sure by now you've kissed his ass sufficiently." At least he got a laugh out of the younger doctor. Blue eyes watched as the Australian placed his things on the counter, picked up his coffee, and looked at him in the mirror. House decided to add, at the quizzical look, "Would you like me to phrase it as 'you're politically gifted'? I can do that."
"You want me to help you?" asked Chase as he turned to face House; leaning against the counter. "Tell me why."
"Why what?" House avoided.
"Why you care." Chase threw up his arms for emphasis. "The puzzle's solved. The guy's alive. And the odds of coming out of this surgery with that same status aren't that great."
House shrugged. "My patient has a quality of life issue."
"He says awful things, hardly a medical condition," countered Chase.
The elder doctor internally winced—he had hoped that it wouldn't have come this far. Blue eyes studied the linoleum as he admitted, "When, he leaves here, he's going to lose his family. He's gonna alienate the people he works with. And if he ever finds a friend who's willing to put up with his crap, he'll be lucky. Until he drives them away too."
Blue eyes glanced quickly up at Chase. In the pregnant silence, Chase cursed internally. He needed to talk to both Wilson and House. Externally he nodded. "I'll see what I can do."
House nodded slightly to the other doctor. He didn't want to lead Chase into thinking that he wanted to discuss his feelings, so he turned and left the locker room. With a sigh and a couple of Vicodin, House headed home. Deciding that he wasn't hungry at all upon arriving to his apartment, he swallowed two more Vicodin. Even though he hadn't exceeded fourteen Vicodin in the day, he had taken too much in too little time. His head would soon spin in a drug-induced haze and he would sleep until morning.
He really didn't want to be thinking or worrying about anything at that moment. Half getting ready for bed before the Vicodin kicked in, House stumbled into his room and quickly fell asleep as soon as he hit the mattress.
The next morning House took his remaining two Vicodin and got ready for work. He was not in a good mood as he made his way to his office and if anyone was around to see they would notice that his mood improved tenfold upon seeing a small orange bottle that sat upon a folded note.
Immediately House put the Vicodin in his pocket and picked up the note. He read it to himself and his smile grew. "I booked OR3 for you at 13:00."
Looking around, House realised that his fellows were actually in the conference room. Picking up the copy of the signed consent form, House walked into the conference room. Everyone looked at him in a bored manner. "So how is our patient?"
Eight eyes looked at House in confusion. Foreman answered, "He's being discharged."
"That's odd," replied House with a sick taunting smile, "because it seems that OR3 is booked for a surgery to remove a portion of the cingulate gyrus, for our Phineas."
The team looked at their boss in varying degrees of shock and disbelief. Foreman argued, "You can't do that surgery! It's too close to the brain stem! You could kill him!"
"Wrong! All I need is informed consent and a surgeon," replied House. He watched as his kids all tried to protest at once but were stopped when House put down the copy of the signed consent form.
"So he signed," replied Thirteen. "There is no way a surgeon would touch this case."
House looked at each of his three new kids with a mocking pitying look. "Now kids, I'm going to teach you a very good lesson. When you grow big and strong and leave daddy you will do one of three things: first, you could leave home and when that fails move into daddy's basement. Second, you could try to ignore me but still come home bearing gifts in hopes that I would approve. And lastly you could enter the real world, and when daddy brings you business, you gratefully take it."
Everyone looked at House as if he was crazy (-er than usual). Foreman seemed to be barely controlling his anger. "Chase isn't a brain surgeon."
"But he will have the experience when he has finished his one o'clock surgery today," replied House with a bored look. House took out his PSP. "Now go make sure our patient is ready for surgery. Zack and I have some work to do."
The four other doctors left the conference room, leaving House to his video game. For the rest of the morning House ignored everything around him except for his role-playing video game, only pausing to take a couple of Vicodin.
As the lunch hour approached, House decided to take a quick break before preparing to watch the surgery. Saving his game, House put the PSP in his pocket, popped a couple of Vicodin, and with the help of his bright orange cane, stood up. In the doorway, leaning against the jamb, was Chase.
Blue eyes studied the other doctor for a moment. "Good! You're buying my lunch."
Chase walked over to the conference table and sat down. Bringing his messenger bag to his lap he pulled out a couple of food items. "Rueben no pickles, root beer, pretzels and a Milky Way."
Gregory House looked quizzically at his ex-duckling, noticing that the blond had shaved that morning; it appeared to be a morning that Cameron had either not spent the night or had not given her opinion on his dress, since it was a bit haphazard. If his hair were lighter then he would look more like he had a few years prior. House glanced down at the lunch Chase brought him and sat down across from him at the table. "Why didn't you get me a Snickers bar? And why did you suddenly shave?"
"Peanuts, pretzels, and popcorn are the most common bar foods and you rarely find more than one so I got pretzels and a Milky Way," replied Chase with a shrug.
House waited a moment for Chase to continue and answer his second question but the blond didn't. House reached over to slide the food Chase got him in front of him as he watched the other doctor arrange his own lunch. "Interesting, I never think of food like that though. So did Cameron make you shave?"
To House's amusement, a slight blush painted the younger doctor's face. "Allison actually doesn't like it."
"Then why did you do it?" snapped House.
"I'm not like you House, I don't just not shave. It is just that my mornings have been busy recently. But this morning Allison went into work early and my first surgery today is at one so I had extra time."
House just nodded and the two doctors began to eat their lunch. After awhile House asked, "So what is with the private lunch, and free food?"
"I have a couple things I want to discuss with you," said the Australian after a hesitant moment.
The hesitation made House wary; he glared. "Like what?"
"Well Foreman seems to think that I need to stop doing surgeries that are dangerous for you," replied Chase. "Supposedly I'm your favourite, what did you say?"
House shrugged. "They didn't believe that I could find a surgeon. I just told the kids that they should still be useful after their fellowship, like you being my personal surgeon."
"And you insulted Foreman in the process," nodded Chase." And I'm not your personal surgeon. It's just that doing the surgeries on your patients furthers my career faster than with any other doctor."
With a mocking nod, House commented, "So you bought me a Rueben just because Foreman is mad at me... I feel like I am missing a lot of Rueben's from over the years."
Chase laughed, took a couple of sips from his drink, and then sobered. "I wanted to talk about Wilson." House glared and put more effort into eating his food. "I'm not trying to change you or anything like that. I just want you to listen."
The blond doctor waited a moment until he saw the barely there nod from the diagnostician. "I know you care about Wilson. He's your friend and I'm sure that he knows you care. But friends are allowed to have secrets, as much as it may worry you. I have secrets from Allison, Allison keeps secrets from me; it's just the way things are. I talked to Wilson this morning. He wouldn't give me any details, but he said that the reason that that e-mail had been deleted is because his appointment got moved to Thursday, and he wished you would have left him in peace, since it was such a personal matter. If you were anyone else I would tell you to apologise to Wilson. Since you're House, my advice is to be there for him, and if it ever happens that you need him; he will be there for you."
The elder doctor looked up at his ex-duckling. Finishing the rest of his meal he said, "You need to go scrub in."
Green eyes watched the ex-marine brat for a moment. He saw the other doctor take out his Vicodin and take two. "In a moment, how are you doing? Are fourteen Vicodin a day enough?"
"Some days I think about taking more, but then I think on that third day coming to work without any just so I could get the refill," replied House honestly.
"Are you hoarding any?" asked Chase.
The nephrologist hesitated. "No." The not yet was left unsaid.
The intensivist shrugged. "Return the empty bottles to me; you should have four unless you threw them away already."
"I can do that," said House, watching the other doctor.
Chase stood up from the table and cleaned up from their lunch. "I need to scrub in."
Blue eyes watched as the other doctor left the glass conference room. House leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes for a moment. He thought about the day and Chase's words. He found it amusing. At first, he had three ducklings, even if one looked strangely wombat-like. One got annoyed and quit; one had actually grown enough and was fired, and the third in spite (and in a very sheep-like manner) quit as well. Then he got kids. He snorted in amusement, thinking that as kids they could either be baby goats or adolescent humans. So what he had now was; a duckling not quite grown who grew into a kid, a wombat, a sheep who felt so self-important since a bell was put around its neck, and three kids. 'Perhaps,' House thought, 'I should call Darwin with this new evolutionary miracle.'
Getting up from the chair with the help of his bright orange cane House made his way down to operating room three' observation room. He snarled in disgust when he noticed Dr. Cameron lurking around outside the door to the observation area.
"I had a lunch date with Robert," said Cameron out of nowhere.
"And I care..." trailed off House.
"He ate with you," said the bottle-blond.
House shook his head. "He is assisting with the surgery of my patient, which I am now late to watch."
Cameron frowned. "He bought you lunch."
"And he knows, like you obviously know," House sneered, "that to get me to listen to your drivel, I need a bribe like lunch, or to hold something I want, like access to that door."
The female doctor glared, "Well, what did he want?"
"Ask him, it's not like it was for sex. I have a score of hookers and Wilson for that," House mocked, "now let me view the dangerous surgery being performed on my patient."
She glared at House as she stepped aside. House stepped into the observation room, closing the door on Allison Cameron's face. House walked over to the far side of the room, which happened to be right over the table that Phineas was laying on. Sitting down, House leaned his cane against the wall and waited. Cameron hadn't held him up too much since the doctors were just settling down to open up the patient.
A few hours into the surgery the door opened. House half ignored it until Wilson sat down next to him. Eventually House glanced over and noticed his friend's state of dress. "You've apparently got this whole coat thing backwards."
"I may have overreacted," said Wilson.
"You definitely overreacted," agreed House.
Wilson sighed, a bit annoyed. "I knew you'd meet me halfway."
House focused his eyes on the surgery. "It made me think. You only snap on one subject: losing people. So I went back to the intel. It's true that there's only one doctor named Gonzalez at New York Mercy, but there's a Javier Gonzalez who's a nurse in the psych ward. And who could you lose who'd end up there?"
"Maybe the reason I don't always open up to you is because it's redundant," Wilson half-snapped.
"Daniel Wilson," House looked over at his friend, "once you've got a name, it's amazing how much stuff you can learn on the phone. I mean, if you're a doctor and you lie freely." House gave Wilson a look hoping for a smile, before continuing, "They found your brother sleeping in the lobby of an office building in Manhattan. Got aggressive when they asked him to leave, and the cops took him to the Mercy psych ward."
"There have been new anti-psychotics developed since he ran away. He's been on them for a couple of days and by tonight, he should be in shape to talk to me," murmured Wilson.
"But you're not sure if he wants to," stated House quietly.
Wilson shrugged. "I'll be in New York in a few hours, and I guess I'll find out."
"Why wouldn't you tell me this?" asked House.
The oncologist sighed. "House, you and I… we don't have the normal social contract. I don't expect you to tell me the lies—"
"I am fully capable of lying to you. I've lied plenty of times," the elder doctor cut his friend off.
"I mean collaborative lies. Giving someone a hand who maybe needs to deceive themselves, just a little," explained Wilson. Getting up from the chair, he looked at House. "For two days I've been thinking about how Danny's gonna react when he sees me. If I said that to anybody else, they'd say, 'don't worry, it'll all be all right.' You wouldn't."
House realised that his friend wasn't saying that his literal way was bad and replied how he normally would, "Because it might all go horribly wrong."
With a chuckle, Wilson said before he turned to leave, "Yeah. Yeah, it might."
Greg leaned his head back to look at his retreating friend. "In which case, you might want some company."
Wilson turned around at the door and walked back towards House in disbelief. "Yes, yes I would House."
The nephrologist grabbed his cane and used it to stand up. "Let me get my jacket, I'll meet you downstairs." With one last glance down at the ongoing surgery House followed his friend out of the door. At the elevators, they separated. House quickly went to his office and grabbed his jacket. For once he did not want to irritate or ruin the plans of his friend.
As he approached the nurses' desk Cuddy cut him off. "You can't just leave; your patient is in a very dangerous surgery."
"I know why my patient is sick, unless this doesn't fix him, at which point he is no longer my patient," snapped House.
"You shouldn't be bothering Wilson, House," said Cuddy as she watched House sign himself out.
House looked up at her. "Do you know what's wrong?"
"Just that it is very personal," answered Cuddy.
"Personal enough to want a friend there?" asked the nephrologist.
Cuddy opened her mouth to reply when she was interrupted, "House." Both the hospital administrator and the doctor in question looked up at the door. Wilson was leaning into the hospital from the front door; he jerked his head towards the outside. Cuddy's mouth dropped and House smirked at her before walking toward the door that his friend was holding open. House limped out to Wilson's old car that was parked out front. He got in the passengers and waited for Wilson to get in and drive.
They were quiet for a while before Wilson started to discuss inconsequential things. House realised that he didn't want to discuss the impending visit. A part of the elder doctor wanted to ask him about the monster trucks but when he thought about what Chase said coupled with the way Wilson was acting he realised that it would not be a good thing to bring up. And even if no one realised or mentioned his effort he wanted to make one, because no matter what people said he did care about his friend—on some level.
"So how have you been?" asked Wilson as if that was what all their insignificant conversation was leading to.
House changed the radio station once the old one fizzled out, "Fine, and you?"
"As well as can be expected, and I meant with the methadone," replied Wilson.
"It was my decision."
Wilson glanced over. "I know and I think you did the best for you. With taking the methadone—" House looked over with a disbelieving look, "—after I thought about it for a while, and I thought you made the right choice to stop taking it."
"So why are you asking, if you agree with me?" asked House. He didn't sound angry or snappy, just generally curious.
"Well you haven't asked for a Vicodin script yet."
House shifted in his seat and as if remembering, took out the bottle and shook out a couple of pills. Wilson watched him as closely as possible. "I had some left over from before."
James Wilson glanced at House, then the road and then at House again. "That looks like regular Vicodin. How many are you taking a day? Did you run out of Vicodin HP?"
"After the methadone, I've only been taking Vicodin," admitted House with a shrug.
"But how many have you been taking a day? Because it might be better for you to switch back to the high powered Vicodin?"
"Jimmy," House said to make sure he really had his friend's attention. "Don't worry about it. I take about fourteen Vicodin a day. Before the methadone I was taking ten Vicodin HP a day. That is thirty less mg a day than before. I am doing better. And I don't want you to think about it." He really didn't want to tell his friend all of this. He had hoped that Wilson would forget that he was the one who wrote his scripts before the methadone fiasco. He really didn't know why he still didn't want to tell his friend - he just wanted to do it his way.
The oncologist nodded. "Well, I'm glad that you are doing all right."
The conversation after that drifted away from the heavier subjects of Vicodin, monster trucks and Wilson's brother. They pulled into the parking lot for New York Mercy early for their appointment.
Wilson slowly parked the car and got out. He hesitated for a bit. House just gave him a look and started to make his way inside. James smiled. This was House's way of encouragement, since it forced Wilson to follow his friend inside. With the new motivation, the oncologist began to walk inside the hospital.
Following the signs they slowly made their way to the psych ward of NY Mercy. They came to a security/nurses station and Wilson signed them in. They were then led into a secure waiting room. House went over and sat down in the stiff vinyl chairs and waited for Wilson to check them in again.
"We're early," said Wilson, finally joining House. "They say we are going to have to wait until at least our appointment time. But they are going to tell his doctors that we are here."
"Well isn't that nice of them," House sneered, "Just like this waiting room. You'd think that people would already be pretty depressed if they had to come here, that they would want to brighten up the waiting room."
Wilson shot House a look showing that he wasn't amused by House's wit at this point in time. Picking up a random magazine he flipped it open and started to read the first article in the magazine that pertained to another celebrity scandal. Wilson didn't care about what was so horrible in a celebrity's life, but at least it was an attempt at a distraction.
House was a little bit more selective in his reading material. He rifled through the stacks of back issue magazines until he found an Anthro-zoology centric magazine that had an article about the advances of AIDS testing and treatment in other primate test subjects.
The article just regurgitated all of the already known facts about the primates that were carriers of the AIDS virus. It also was hard to concentrate on the article when Wilson continued to tap his foot and fidget. With a sigh House threw the magazine aside and looked around the room. Spotting a coffee pot House stood up and took a step towards the coffee. He paused and looked down at his friend. "Coffee?"
Dark hazel eyes looked up into blue, a bit surprised. "Sure House, Thanks."
The diagnostician nodded and made his way over to the coffee pot. He frowned at the setup, seeing that there were only packets of artificial sweetener and there was a limited supply of little cups of half and half. Picking up a flimsy cup he poured out some of the dark brew. It smelled like good refreshing coffee and at the same time weak. If there was ever a time for Kutner's extra strong coffee, now was it. His cell phone began to play the cheery one hit wonder and House absently flipped it open to read the text from Taub: they were doing a full body scan. He closed the phone, deciding that that did not dignify a response, and put the phone back in his pocket. House poured the second cup and dressed both cups before carefully making it back over to where Wilson was sitting.
House held out the cup of coffee for Wilson, and when his friend took it House sat down across from the other man. Blue eyes studied their friend for a moment. He decided that it was time to stop tiptoeing around the issue, they were there, and it was time. "You told me you saw your brother once, after he disappeared."
Wilson looked up, a bit surprised and yet relieved. "Thirteen years ago. I used to go to Princeton whenever I could. I must have hit every homeless shelter in town. And then one day, I'm just sitting at this deli, having a sandwich, I look out the window, and there he is. He was gone by the time I got outside."
"That's why you were so eager when I told you there was a job at Princeton. I thought it was just my charm," replied House, trying to lighten the mood.
It didn't seem to work—Wilson wasn't feeling lighter. The still of the room was interrupted by MmmBop by Hanson. "That's the team. Shouldn't you answer?"
House glanced down at his pocket and then back up at his friend. "They already texted me to say they're doing something stupid." That at least got a smile out of Wilson, who was now reaching down to pick up his gossip magazine. House riffled through the magazines again. He came across one that's feature article was cancer in domestic dogs he picked it up and held it out to Wilson. "This will be more entertaining."
James silently took the magazine and smiled at his friend in thanks. House continued to look for something he could also read. There were no other magazines that had any medical relevance. House also looked for extreme sports, motorcycles, and porn, he finally settled on one that discussed the blue penguins of Australia. Both men read through their article and then the remainder of their magazines. When they were both finished House wanted to read about cancer in dogs and took Wilson's magazine, replacing it with his own. When Wilson was finished reading through the second magazine he got up to get more coffee. House was ignoring him so he didn't offer to get him anymore of the horrible coffee.
The oncologist didn't sit back down instead he drained a couple cups of coffee and began to pace. Looking at the time it was just after seven and therefore he could be called in to see his brother at any time.
The pacing began to bother House and since he had also finished his reading material he got up to get his own cup of coffee. Half way to the table along the wall House's cell phone went off. Dark hazel eyes gave him a look, so House sat on the arm of a chair and took his cell phone out.
He read the message once, twice and smirked. "The spell-check on Kutner's phone has got a hair trigger. Either that or the patient has a 'cyclone in the floral of his lungs.'" House closed his phone and looked at his friend. "You took a walk in 45-degree weather, and you left your coat behind."
Wilson paused in his pacing and looked at his friend, knowing that he was working out a puzzle. "Go ahead."
"I think you were punishing yourself. I think you wanted to feel what it would be like be homeless in a New Jersey winter. That tells me, guilt. That tells me, something happened," concluded House."
The younger doctor looked into blue eyes and spilled his guts."The schizophrenia started when he was a teenager. When he was in college… He was on meds, but he'd still think a professor was out to get him because he got a B, or he'd fight with his roommates because he never showered."
"Where were you?" asked House.
"Med school," replied Wilson, annoyed at the memory. "He called me every day... talked for hours. I didn't have hours."
House murmured, "Interesting. Later for that. Go on."
"I was tired of being the guy that everybody counted on, so one night, Danny called—one night Danny called, crying, upset about something. I had to study for an exam. So I—I hung up… took my things. I went to the library so I wouldn't have to hear the phone ring," continued Wilson.
"I wonder how that turned out?" said House, already knowing the answer. He phrased it like a question since he realised that his friend needed to say these things.
"My mother called me the next day;" Wilson said sadly, "Danny had run away and left his meds behind. Which I knew meant that he would never be able to choose to come back, because he'd be so detached from reality."
Blue eyes studied his friend and realised that this was the event that enabled his enabler. "So you made your one effort to live a normal, selfish life, and the universe immediately smacked you down. And because we're wired to find meaning in semi-random events, you decided never to be that careless again."
Wilson looked at House, surprised. "You don't think that's a little facile?"
"Actually, I don't. I think you did it consciously," said House as he stood up and faced his friend. "You developed your people-pleasing talents the way an Olympic athlete develops his muscles. Talk about an overreaction to a single event."
"It was a pretty big event!" But even as he said it he realised that it wasn't really true.
"Hanging up the phone? That's what you're blaming all this on. That's the behaviour you've been trying to correct. As though nothing else went wrong in your brother's life. Of course, he overreacted too but…" House trailed off trying to remember the details of his patient, "His glucose was normal?" and it was.
House pulled out his cell phone and moved over to the window as he flipped through his contacts he vaguely registered that his friend was talking to him but his brain was miles away. "It's House. ADMs don't explain his glucose."
The conversation went quickly, with House revealing to his team that their patient had Doege-Potter syndrome. When he hung up the phone he turned to look at his friend and noticed that he was no longer there.
He glanced around the room and concluded that Wilson went in to see his brother. Making another cup of coffee House walked back over to the chair he had been sitting in. House sat down, laying his cane in another chair, and his coffee on the end table covered in periodicals.
Reaching into his pocket Gregory pulled out his bottle of Vicodin and shook a couple into his hand. He tossed his head back but before he dropped the Vicodin in he paused. Righting his head he looked at the pills in his hand. With his thumb he flipped the pills the pills over and inspected them. Glancing around the room he took the nearly full bottle of Vicodin and dumped it out onto the end table.
Blue eyes scanned every pill. Noting that some were laying with the 'VICODIN' imprinted side up, some were laying with the up side with the line through the centre to make the pill easier to cut in half, and some were on their sides. House methodically went through each pill lining them up with the imprinted side showing. He counted the pills and counted how many he took in the day to make sure that Chase hadn't shorted him any more pills. He checked each pill for the identical Vicodin stamp and then flipped all the pills over to see if the line was on the reverse side. When he was satisfied with that portion of the pill he began to stack them to see if they were all uniform in size. To House's frustration the pills only stacked, if he was lucky, three high. So once he was satisfied with one stack he would take the top pill and start a new pile. Once he had finished his inspection and was sure that they were all Vicodin, he took two and leaned back in the chair staring at the organised white pills.
Author's Note: Please Read and Review