Looking out the window again, jiggling my left leg, lightly bouncing my super ball on the desk. It's hard to tell what color the sky is through the tinted windows; probably dull, pale, snow-laden grey.

The Vicodin hasn't kicked in yet. Foreman looks up, catches himself, and quickly looks back down at his work. He is irritated as hell but he's biting his tongue. He isn't quite used to it yet. Cameron and Chase are. Or else they're just more practiced at pretending to ignore it.

Bounce. I'm about ready to crawl out of my skin. Bounce. I'm tired -- my eyes feel like they're about to fall out of their sockets. Bounce. I'm hungry, so hungry I have a headache. Bounce. I ache -- I can feel that storm coming. I don't blame Foreman for being annoyed by my fidgeting. I annoy myself.

The door opens, and four pairs of eyes look up to see who it is. It's Wilson, here for lunch. The ducklings stand as they murmur hello, Dr. Wilson and eagerly shuffle their papers away.

"Dr. House. Are we going straight to conference after lunch?" Chase asks.

"Sure, if you eat all your vegetables."

Chase grins under his ridiculous haircut and walks over to the microwave. He rummages in a drawer and sticks something in his pocket.

Wilson looks around; they're all collected. He looks at me and lifts his eyebrows. Yes, I'm ready. I haul myself to my feet and we're off to lunch.