Disclaimer- This paragraph is written at the start of every chapter, though it was only truly needed at the start of Chapter One, to restate that I do not own House, M.D., nor any of its characters/affiliates. Why do I persistently do so? To make it blatantly obvious to any who might challenge my legal rights in creating this fiction. Not that suing this author would bring any monetary gain or satisfaction to the oppressors of fan-dom. But, on with the story…

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-Chapter Three-

Challenge

Gregory House propelled himself down the corridor as fast as his crutches could take him. He was hurrying to Kevin Zalinski's room, because he did not want to talk to the boy. The sooner he got it over with, the better. He narrowed his eyes. When he had stated that someone should go talk to the teenager, find out how he'd managed to stash a firearm in a hospital, he had meant someone else. But apparently, Foreman had clinic duty, Chase was on his lunch break, and Cameron had to finish some lab work. James Wilson had the best excuse of all: being an oncologist, he had been paged for the treatment of a newly arrived cancer patient.

So, twice in the same day, House was on his way to a patient he had absolutely no wish to see. Of course, now he could justify his reasons for not wanting to go. Earlier in the day, he'd procrastinated about telling the boy about the promises of the most recent treatment he'd prescribed. As soon he'd stepped through the door and made his way over to the patient's bed, Kevin had leapt up, gun in hand. It was almost funny. The one time he'd visited a patient of his own volition…

He glanced down at his watch. Two fifty-four o' clock. Good. Once he'd finished his little chat with the kid, he could finally take a nice long break. He hadn't had food since breakfast, and though he hadn't noticed previously because of the pain from his broken leg, he was famished.

During the time that House had been musing about his annoyances, a distinct clip-clip of high heels had grown louder, until it intruded on his thoughts. By the time he'd realized whose stride it was, the owner of the shoes had caught up with him.

"You seem to be in a hurry. If it weren't for the fact that you're headed into the patient's wing, I'd say you were running away from something."

"Dr. Cuddy. I'm currently on my way to see a patient whose case means very much to me. Unless you leave now, I might just lose my resolve."

"Your concern is admirable. But it's going to have to wait, unless Kevin is in critical condition."

House stopped and glared at Lisa Cuddy. "What."

"I have an issue-"

"As usual."

"-to discuss with you. It's three o' clock. Three doctors are scheduled to be staffing the clinic. Two of them arrive."

"You can hardly expect anyone to stand for four hours in a clinic with a broken leg and ankle. The pain-" House muttered, dry-swallowing a Vicodin, "would be unbearable."

"Mmm… Yes, but I'm not expecting anyone to stand. I do, however, know someone who has some defining features: he carries painkillers with him, he uses the convenient chairs in the exam rooms. And, he has nothing pressing to do in the next, oh… Four hours."

"Well, it can't be me then. I-"

"The clinic is overfull. There are people standing in lines that have been there for hours."

"All the more-"

"And most of them have minimal cases."

"So I'm-"

"Free to help."

"Will you stop interrupting me?"

"Not unless you're trying to agree. Look, normally I'd let you off today, since you broke your leg. But you and the other two doctors are the only people free to diagnose the forty-three patients in the clinic."

House looked up with a mischievous sparkle in his eyes. "And if we do…"

"I don't understand. If you do what?"

A cunning grin spread over his face. "If, by the end of four hours, the clinic is empty, I get a month off of clinic duty."

"Four hours? That's impossible," Cuddy scoffed, "even for you three."

The inflection on 'you three' piqued House's interest. "Us three? Us who?"

"You'll find out. And just to be fair, I'll say… Start at three-thirty. Now you'll have half an hour to get down there and discuss the rules with your colleagues. But if you lose, you're at the clinic every day, no complaints."

"Mmm… Okay. You know I can't resist a challenge."

House glanced around the crowded clinic lobby as he made his way over to the first exam room. He pushed open the door, and peered inside. Dr. Foreman was inspecting a child's arm, whose mother looked on anxiously.

"It's nothing serious, ma'am. Your son pulled a muscle. Make sure he takes it easy, and doesn't play in any heavy sports for a week or so." He looked up, and saw House standing in the doorway. "Excuse me for a minute."

"Party in Exam Room Three in five minutes. Be there, no excuses."

Then House turned, and closing the door behind him, maneuvered his way past the many people waiting to be diagnosed. Standing before Exam Room Two, he raised his hand to knock, hesitated for a moment, and instead, flung open the door.

James Wilson stood behind a woman in a paper gown, both hands on her back.

House leaned against the doorframe, and rapped one of his crutches against the wall. "If you're giving massages, can I have one too?"

Wilson stiffened at the sound of the familiar voice. "I'm checking for scoliosis. She complained of back pain, and inability to sit straight."

"Right. So she isn't that guy with the cancer."

"What? Oh."

"Yeah. Everybody lies."

"Well… I… Kevin's your patient, not mine. I visit Kevin all the time. And he's not even in my field."

"But it could be. His irrational actions could have been caused by a tumor pressing in on his frontal lobe."

"And you expect that this tumor would just have sprung up since the time we checked last?"

"Possible."

"Highly improbable."

"But possible."

Wilson sighed. "I'll run some tests later."

House levered himself back onto his crutches. "Finish up here, then come to Exam Room Three. I need your help.

"Four hours?" an incredulous Eric Foreman asked, "Four? To diagnose a roomful of patients?"

House nodded, a serious look on his face. "That's the idea, obviously. We each get about fourteen-point-three patients. " He gestured to Wilson. "Do you have any objections?"

"No," Wilson replied, "none that you'd listen to."

Foreman had peered through the shades in the clinic-facing window, and was watching the people milling around. "Why are we doing this?"

"Well, Cuddy said it was impossible, even for 'us three'. And I've got a hefty bet running on this. Not just with Dr. Cuddy, either."

Wilson nodded. Another one of the many trials that House put himself through, no doubt… "We'd better get going. It's almost half-past three."

"Okay."

House watched his colleagues leave his exam room, before levering himself back onto his crutches. He felt a raw excitement running through his veins, the same feeling that he got when he administered the correct treatment to a patient just in time to save their life. This was good. He could do this. He made his way over to the main desk in the lobby.

"Three-thirty. Gregory House checks in. Who's my first patient?"

The secretary looked up at House with an amazed look, for the second time in the day. He looked happy about diagnosing patients! The poor deskbound nurse shook her head. She must be overworking herself. "Anna and Jo Tiernan!" she called out. "Exam room three!"

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Author's Note- Chapter Three is here! Sorry it's kinda on the short side. The next chapter will be way bigger. Heh. I planned to finish the story yesterday, 3-17-06, but yesterday was my birthday, so it was way too hectic for me to make it to the computer. An advance warning: from here on I'm going into the medical aspects of House, so expect to see some exciting things. However, my medical knowledge is severely limited, so please forgive (and notify me of) any slip-ups I may, and inevitably will, make.

Bye for now!

-P'Bantonox.