"House!" Hearing Cuddy's frantic shouting, House quickly hid the bottle of scotch under his chair and leant forwards to read over the file on his desk. He just hoped she wouldn't notice it was for a sixty-nine year old runner who'd been admitted by Cameron after complaining about having sore legs.
The door burst in and a teary eyed, angry and slightly drunken Cuddy burst through the door. She was dressed in a black suit and to fit the occasion had actually done the top buttons of her shirt up.
"House! What the Hell, do you think your doing!" She stood only yards away from his desk, her hands shaking in fury. A trickle of wet tears darting down her cheek.
"Masturbating." House smiled innocently. "Or my job, I can't really remember. You probably don't have the same problem since both of them interconnect for you, but it's actually a relatively common state of confusion." He allowed his eyes to stay on Cuddy for just the right amount of time before turning back to his work.
Cuddy stepped towards his desk, her face covered in a mixture of angry and saddened tears. "Stand up!" She only just managed to string the end of the sentence together.
"Sorry?" House looked up from the file in confusion
"I said, Stand up!" She repeated, her hand pointed towards House.
For a moment House considered vocally retaliating but finally decided just to play along. Standing up he suddenly found himself thudding to the ground as the palm of Cuddy's wet hand slapped him across the face. A sharp pain shot through the whole in his leg causing him to jerk violently into a humiliating ball as he struck the ground.
"Don't you feel any guilt!" Cuddy moved around the table to stand above House, "Any Pain!" She screamed before kicking him hard in the leg with the side of her heel.
Trying to ignore the pain House replied through gritted teeth, "I wasn't driving the bus! I wasn't driving the garbage truck!" He clawed towards his desk and threw a hand onto it for balance as he pushed himself back onto his feet
"Your fired House." Cuddy said before turning her back to him and walking towards the door.
"Your firing me for not going to a funeral." House grabbed his cane as he was almost on his feet and in painful stricken limp he marched after her.
At the door Cuddy turned to face him. Her face was now covered in tears. Her eyes red and her throat was swallowing down ever breath painfully as she tried to keep form.
"House!" She didn't shout, instead she was begging with something she believed to be inside him - a conscience. "He was your best-friend! Wilson did everything for you!" At the sound of his name House's eyes darted to the ground away from Cuddy. "He loved you." She turned and walked out of the office leaving House alone in his dull lit world.
"I don't feel guilty!" He shouted after her in defiance.
"I'm not sorry." He muttered to himself before turning back to his desk. Allowing his cane to rest on his seat he reached into his pocket for his Vicodin. Pouring out the last two pills he threw them to the back of his mouth before swallowing.