Wow… it's been a while since my last update, hasn't it? You'll be happy to know, however, that this is really the only story up here of mine that seems to be getting any attention. So, hooray for that, eh?

Dr. Thatcher, I think, will be mentioned or appear at least once a chapter, because I sadly can't think up enough filler without him. It pleases me to no end to have House abuse him endlessly, with no way for Thatcher to win. Perhaps Wilson will save him in the end, who knows? And just to clear things up, because it was mentioned in a review, Thatcher is original in design and not taken from any other show, such as Grey's Anatomy. I've actually never watched that show. House is the only medical show for me, unless you count C.S.I.

I realize this story hasn't been keeping up with what the summary promises lately, but in this chapter you'll see the beginning of House's musing on his and Wilson's friendship. This will evolve over time until it ends with House ripping off his shirt and yelling, "Wilson!" at the top of one of the hospital's stairwells. Not really, but it makes a good image to think about.

Disclaimer: I don't own House M.D. If I did, Stacy would either resolve things with House or have an unfortunate accident in a broken elevator shaft, House would do stunts on his motorcycle, and Wilson would be hugged once an episode.

Note: Thank you to Corculum for pointing out some typos/spelling mistakes. I appreciate it and I hope I got them all.

---

Nice Guys Don't Run Races

---

"Ah, the clinic," House mused, staring up at benign white ceiling tiles. "So clean, so hygienic, so blinding white. What would my life be without you to remind me that color is wonderful?" He heaved a heavy sigh and looked down at the girl next to him.

Mary Herman, twenty-something, looked at him with a frown. "Who cares?" she offered helpfully, crossing her arms. "Are you done mooning over the room or are you planning to fall in love with the sink next?"

House glanced over at the faucets and gasped. "You have a good eye, if a whiney voice," he said, moving over to gaze at the shiny steel better. "Mr. Sink is a fine specimen of draining might!" He heaved another sigh and stared longingly down the drain, perhaps wondering if he could fit.

"Are you going to ask me what's wrong or not?" came the high pitched whine of his patient. House fancied a room full of screaming babies drawing their itty fingernails down chalkboards would be more pleasant.

House rolled his eyes. Oh, I know what's wrong with you, he wanted to say. You have no brain. Instead he bared his teeth in his best fake smile and said, "Why yes, whatever is the matter dearest, sweetest Marie?"

"Mary," she said, sniffing indignantly.

"Whatever," he countered, fiddling with the pen his clipboard came with.

"Well you see," she began, eyes lighting up as she lifted her shirt enough to show a hit of bellybutton and a rather unpleasant looking patch of purple, "this appeared a few days ago and hasn't gone away. It hurts to touch, too." She looked almost giddy.

House looked between her expression and the bruise. "And?"

"And I want to know what's wrong."

A golden moment of silence settled on exam room two as House savored the easy in he'd just been given. It would be so simple to chew the annoying baby nail voice out for wasting his time over something so common and trivial. Honestly, a bruise? He thought every person on the face of the planet had been introduced to them during the wee years of childhood.

"You're serious?" House wanted to make sure he wasn't hallucinating. She nodded. "Well, dear, that's what we doctors call a bruise. It happens when you get hit with something that's hard or heavy or thrown with enough force."

"But nothing like that has happened to me lately!"

House considered this for a moment. "Rough sex," he concluded and limped from the room. With how happy she'd been to show off her 'trophy,' he was willing to bet that Mary Chalkboard enjoyed poking the bruise just to feel a twinge of pain. Why was the world filled with such weird people?

He flipped the woman's chart into the waiting pile and strolled out of the clinic. He pulled Wilson the littlest unicorn out of his pocket and stuck him on his shoulder. "The world is full of idiots," House cautioned his little charge. "Watch out or you might catch whatever it is they have. Unless it's a birth defect," he mused. "Then you're probably safe."

House cruised around the hospital, leering at the nurses every chance he got. Thanks to little Wilson, he managed to reduce his count of eye rolls by at least twenty five percent, which to him meant a good day. His tour through Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital concluded in the glass conference room where his posse sat, flipping through files and generally looking hard at work. At least until House swooped in like a large, ungainly vulture making a bad landing on the Serengeti.

Cameron was the first to perk up and scurry at him, sweaty fist clenched tightly onto a manila folder. "House," she squeaked, eyes lit up like a child at Christmas, "I really think you should look at this case. It has unusual symptoms and none of the other doctors that have looked at the patient know what's wrong."

House favored her with a long, withering stare before shuffling around the table, away from Cameron. He stopped, perched over Foreman, and proceeded to poke the other doctor's shoulder. "Whatcha got there, Foreman? Anything good? Does it have unusual symptoms?" He shot a wry grin towards Cameron, who now had her hands on her hips, file still clenched mercilessly.

"If you count age as an unusual symptom, then sure." He rolled his little eyes. "This is a file from a few years ago, which you never bothered to chart properly, or sign, or do any of the other things a responsible doctor would do."

"Good thing you're here then, Foreman. You can be responsible for the two of us." House looked up at the other two posse ducklings. "Either of you want in on this? Foreman can be responsible for you, and we can all go off and have fun."

Chase looked up from a stack of papers he was currently battling against. "Would this be your treat, then? After all, Dr. Wilson isn't here to foot your bills and I hardly think that toy on your shoulder has a pocketbook."

"Don't listen to him, Wilson!" House shielded the unicorn from the others in the room. "I bet you can score me lots of free stuff if you try hard enough, and maybe if I fall down some stairs." He grinned. "Everyone loves a cripple, you know."

"Is there any point to your visit? I thought you were going to hide in a storage closet somewhere until we managed to finish all this paperwork."

"Not that Cameron's been much help either," Foreman said under his breath.

"Alas kiddies, you're stuck with me." House settled himself down next to the whiteboard with a contented sigh. "I just love sitting here watching you do my work." He picked up a dry erase marker and began to doodle.

---

Hours later found House staring, bored, at a whiteboard that had just been erased for the millionth time. Behind him, the constant crinkle and shuffle of paper continued on along side the scratching sound of pens jotting notes or signing off. He sighed, wondering why the day seemed to take forever. Even the littlest unicorn seemed droopy in his spot atop the whiteboard.

If big Wilson were here, I wouldn't be so bored, House mused to himself. We could sneak away to some hidden part of the hospital, sip coffee, and laugh at people. On an impulse, House wrote 'Wilson' on the white board and circled it. Then he wrote 'escape' somewhere off to the left and circled it, too. A line connected both bubbles and a little box that said 'laugh at humanity' attached onto 'escape.'

If big Wilson were here, we could go outside and talk about the good old days, and then remind ourselves that we aren't old and that I have a bitchin' motorcycle to prove it. 'Balcony' attached itself onto 'escape.' He stared at his diagram for a moment, lost in thought, and then snapped the marker down and stood.

"Don't you ever take breaks?" He asked the three doctors who were half-buried under forms and charts and folders. "Or are you afraid that a little time away means no cookie for you later?" House used his cane to nudge Chase. "Come on, up, up, up! We're going for a walk." He hobbled toward the door. "And look important while you do it, so no one suspects."

"Suspects what?" asked Cameron.

House flicked his nose. "Exactly."

---

"House, why are we in the cardiology wing?" Foreman was tired of following his supervisor around with little more than a 'you'll see' to go on as to what they were supposed to be doing. "Are you hoping to jump into rooms and give people heart attacks?"

"That would be a little heard with the cane, don't you think? But that's why you're here, Foreman. You can terrorize people with scary stories from your child years in the hood." House patted him absently on the shoulder, squinting and looking around for a target. "Aha! The goose has landed. Deploy, deploy, deploy!"

The three doctors stared at him.

"It means move, duh," House said, pushing Chase into Cameron and unsuccessfully trying to guide them into a shallow doorway. "Well, you're obviously not going to become an award winning figure skating couple are you?"

Rather than try and figure out where the skating reference had come from, Cameron tried to see over House into the hospital wing, trying to spot whatever had him trying to cram four people where four people should never be crammed. "Why are we here?"

"Do either of you know where a Dr. Thatcher, cardiologist, lives?" House asked innocently. "I have a wicked urge to T.P. his house, but I'm at a loss as to which of the thousands in this city are his."

"So we're here to steal his personal information?" Chase tried unsuccessfully to remove Cameron's elbow from his side. "Now I see why you brought Dr. Foreman." Said doctor shot the Australian a dirty look which was cut short by a narrow miss between his head and House's cane. "Wouldn't it be easier to look up his record or something?"

"But that's no fun. Only you British like boring things like that."

Chase rolled his eyes. "I'm Australian, remember?"

House put his hands to his ears. "La, la, la, not listening," he sang, eyes still focused on the milling medical staff and occasional patients in the area. He spotted a semi-familiar head of dark hair and grunted, "Aha."

"Have you noticed that he forgets patient's names all the time, even doctors some times, but this guy has been burned into his memory?" Cameron asked Chase and Foreman. "I wonder what he did to get House so riled up?"

"Considering it's House, his being born could well be enough." Foreman nudged House' cane with a foot. "Can we please stop asphyxiating to death in here and go back to the conference room? You can get your revenge later."

House looked back at him in disappointment. "You're no fun at all, though brownie points for using such a big word in your whining." He waved a hand. "Fine, you can go back to your glass house for now. But I expect you free and willing tomorrow, when I will make my move."

"House," started Cameron, "you really have too much time on your hands. If you would just look at this file…" She produced the manila folder from under her hospital issue white coat. House pretended not to hear her.