Doctor Feelgood [House MD] ::Intro\Part 01::

Okay, basically, this is a House MD fanfiction where your character is a young doctor with the same addiction to Vicodin as House. Your's is for a different reason though, which you will soon learn. Because you and House have got the same addiction, and are quite alike when it comes to personality, House finds you interesting. If you've noticed, the beginning of this fanfiction is very similar to another fanfiction on Quizilla with the same title. The reason for this is because that's my old account, so PLEASE don't report me if you've seen the other story and think I'm ripping it off, because I'm not. If you want proof, read the newest quiz on that account. And by the way. If I'm missing any punctuation marks, such as quote marks and apostrophes, it's because Quizilla doesn't like having things posted from Pages, which is the Mac equivalent to Word. I've tried to go back and fix all of what was missing, but I have a feeling I missed a few. My apologies on that. Also, keep in mind, I'm really not used to posting things on Quizilla yet, so if I mess something up, let me know, and bare with me. Understood?
Now let's get started, Shall we?
Beep. Beep. Beeeeeep.

Stupid alarm. You wake up to the shrill sound of your alarm clock, rub your eyes, and shrug. Today is your first day working at Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital as the hospital's newest addition to the pediatric department, and you're excited. You look at the clock, and realize your alarm had been going off for fifteen minutes before the incessant beeping finally woke you from your slumber. You jump out of bed, not wanting to be late, even though you've already got a migraine.
"I wonder what it's going to be like," you say to yourself as you button up your freshly ironed shirt. You can't seem to find your shoes...
You can't help but worry, considering you're probably going to be the youngest doctor in the entire hospital. Thanks to home schooling, you graduated from high school early enough to go to college and get your medical degree by the age of twenty-four. And now, because of your intelligence and good grades, you came in first in your class, and landed yourself a job at Princeton Plainsboro, with a little help from your good friend, James Wilson. You definitely earned it though. As horrible as you can sometimes be around people, you've worked like hell to get where you are now, with or without people skills.
Once you finish getting ready for your first day at your new job, you go over to your medicine cabinet and grab a prescription bottle of Vicodin. You've been on the stuff since you were thirteen, when you were first diagnosed with chronic migraines. Unfortunately, the medication has ruined quite a few of your relationships, because almost everyone you've gotten close to has argued that you don't need it to function, and that you're a different person when you're popping pills. For arguments sake, you always end up in the emergency room when you try to detox, because the pain of the withdrawals and the migraines combined are too much. Not to mention, it keeps you somewhat pleasant, because if you don't have a migraine, you're less likely to snap at someone.
"Doctor Lauren Reed," you say to yourself, looking in the mirror.
You pop a couple pills into your mouth and grab your keys. Goose, your puppy, comes running over to you after she hears your keys rattle, thinking she's going with you. Goose is the one creature you have a soft spot for. You've always loved animals more than people, and Goose can always make you smile. People lie, Goose doesn't.
"Not now, Goose. I've got work," you say, picking her up and setting her in her bed. She looks at you, knowing you'll be gone awhile.
You bolt out the door before she has a chance to run back over to you, hoping there won't be traffic this morning. You plan on at least attempting to impress Lisa Cuddy, the woman who hired you after Wilson bothered her about it enough, and being late wouldn't make a very good impression. Besides, you're supposed to meet Wilson for coffee before your shift starts.
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"House!" Wilson yells as he runs down the hall to catch up to the doctor.
"Wilson, I told you, you and I were a one night thing!" House says loudly as he stops at the elevator, and pushes the button with his cane. A few doctors turn around and stare.
"Thanks," Wilson says, annoyed, as he finally catches up with House. "Was that really necessary?"
The elevator door opens, as House gives Wilson a look. The two step into the elevator and Wilson pushes the button for the first floor.
"There's a new pediatrician starting today," Wilson continues.
"And?" House asks, staring at the elevator buttons, obviously uninterested.
"She's an old friend of mine, and I'm hoping you'll be nice to her," Wilson says, knowing he still hasn't hooked House into the conversation.
House glances over at Wilson, still not amused. The elevator door opens to the first floor, and the two get out. Wilson follows House through the clinic and over to the pharmacy, and House picks up his Vicodin.
As House goes to pop a pill or two into his mouth, Wilson says, "She's on Vicodin too. Reminds me of you sometimes, actually."
House's face lights up, despite his trying to hide his interest in what Wilson is telling him.
"But my mommy told me I was one of a kind!" House whines.
"I'm meeting her for coffee," Wilson says, walking to the door.
"Me too," House says, following Wilson to his car.
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You quickly arrive at the Starbucks near the hospital, and park your car in the closest available parking space. Since you don't see Wilson anywhere, you decide to go inside and order your usual; a grande, non-fat, soy, cinnamon-dolce latte with no foam and three extra shots of espresso. When you first started coming to Starbucks, you ordered a normal drink, but decided it was more fun to watch the barristers scramble over getting a complicated drink correct. Most of the time they screw it up, and you find it amusing to order them to make you a new one.
About five minutes after you've been standing in the corner, waiting for your drink, and chewing on a straw, you see Wilson walk in the door. You notice that he's talking to a man with a cane, and the man is following him over to where you're standing.
"Wilson!" you say, excited, as he walks up to you, because you haven't seen him in almost five years.
"Lauren, hi! How have you been? You've grown up so much," Wilson says, hugging you.
You proceed to tell him you've been good, and notice the man who followed him over to you has the most vivid blue eyes you've ever seen in your life. Wilson notices you staring at House, and realizes he forgot to introduce you.
"Lauren, this is - " Wilson starts to say, only to be cut off by House.
"Greg House," House says, sounding bored, taking out his bottle of Vicodin, popping off the lid, and tossing a pill into his mouth.
"Grande, non-fat, soy, cinnamon-dolce latte, no foam, with three extra shots of espresso!" the barrister calls out.
"Oh, that's mine," you say, walking over to the counter to pick up your drink.
You walk back over to the two of them, and follow them to a table.
"Do you think you're fat?" House asks, bluntly, as soon as you're seated.
Wilson shrugs House's rudeness off as House being House. Apparently you've got a confused look on your face, because House decides to go into further explanation.
"You ordered a non-fat drink."
"I think it's fun to order ridiculously complicated drinks, and watch the morons attempt to make it correctly," you answer, smirking.
House manages to hide a grin, and decides to grab your drink out of your hand to take a sip. He cringes as he sets it back down on the table.
"That," he says, staring at the drink like it's done something wrong, "is disgusting."
"That's what happens when you steal someone else's drink, House," Wilson laughs.
After about twenty minutes that consisted of you and Wilson catching up, and House making sarcastic comments every once in awhile, your cell phone begins to ring. It's Doctor Cuddy. She's just gotten out of a meeting early, and wants to you to meet her in her office.
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You find yourself sitting in Lisa Cuddy's office, waiting for her to come back from her meeting. For some reason, you're feeling intimidated, as you look around and see all of the diplomas Cuddy has scattered around her office. Intimidation is an awkward feeling for you, as you don't feel it often. Hardly anything intimidates you anymore, and you never let anyone get the best of you. Some people think you're egotistical, but you consider it to be mostly confidence. Just as you shake off the intimidation and your thoughts start to trail off, the door opens, and Cuddy walks in. You stand up, extending your hand to introduce yourself.
"Doctor Reed, it's nice to finally meet you. Doctor Wilson's told me about you; he says you're a great doctor," Cuddy tells you.
You can't help but wonder how Wilson decided that, because quite frankly, you've been out of medical school less than a year, and your only job so far has been an attending at another hospital's walk-in clinic. But then again, it's almost unheard of to go from med student to attending, so you must be doing something right.
"Unfortunately, we don't have your office set up yet, so you're going to be working clinic duty for the next week," she tells you.
"I don't mind," you lie. You hated your last job, and you're not looking forward to another week in a clinic full of people complaining of a stuffy nose. You want something interesting, something to piece together, like a puzzle. You've always loved piecing things back together, and figuring out things that made sense to no one else. You didn't become a doctor to save lives, or to help people, like most other doctors. In fact, you don't even like most people. You became a doctor because you loved the idea of a puzzle. And since it's quicker to get the truth out of a lying kid faced with the option of dying or telling the truth, rather than a stubborn adult, you became a pediatrician.

Cuddy hands you a couple files and sends you off to the clinic. As soon as you walk out of her office, into the waiting room of the clinic, you see about thirty people waiting for you to tell them they've only got a cold. You shrug, realizing you've got a long day ahead of you.
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Elsewhere, House is sitting in his office, looking through papers, as Wilson walks in. Wilson notices that House seems to be looking through resumes and hopes he plans on hiring a team soon. Ever since Cameron, Foreman, and Chase left, House has gotten paid to do nothing except clinic duty, and he managed to get out of clinic hours as often as possible.
"Resumes? Are you planning on hiring anyone?" Wilson asks, hopeful.
"Nope," House says, not even looking up from a file.
"Then who's resume are you looking at?"
House glances up at Wilson for a second, and decides not to answer. A moment later, House closes the file, tosses it on his desk, and turns to his computer. Wilson stares at him intently, knowing he's up to something.
"House, you need a team," Wilson says, trying to get something out of him.
Again, House ignores him, and doesn't even look away from what he's reading on his computer. Eventually, he turns to Wilson.
"How does someone who was arrested at eighteen for forging Vicodin prescriptions end up as a doctor?" House asks, curious, ignoring the fact that he's forged scripts for the same thing.
Wilson looks at House, confused, not knowing what he's talking about. Then it clicks in Wilson's mind, and he realizes House was asking about you. Wilson isn't exactly thrilled that House is finding out about your past, because he knows House could bring it up next time he sees you, and since both of you are stubborn, it probably won't end well.
"You did a background check on Lauren?" Wilson asks, seemingly offended.
"I was researching," House states.
Wilson takes a breath, and starts to tell House about your arrest. About how you were diagnosed with chronic migraines, and after five years of being on Vicodin, every doctor you went to decided you were just another drug-seeker. He tells House about you forging scripts to get your medication, because you couldn't deal with the pain. He also mentions how you were never charged, because the judge felt bad for you.
Then, out of nowhere, House stands up, grabs his cane, and limps out of his office as fast as possible. He has an agenda...
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Until next time, rate the story, and let me know if you think I should keep posting<3