Greg House was having a relatively good day. Whilst on his Vicodin high he could ignore the blasted weather and the fact that Cuddy was, in all likelihood, going to guilt-trip him into hours of clinic duty again.
Still, his leg was merely throbbing instead of commandeering his complete attention and Cuddy had capitulated into surrendering his parking space back to its, rightful, original owner - him.
With any luck his House-trained ducklings will have also found a new sick person for him to torture. Cure.
And Wilson was talking to him again.
House tried not to dwell on the fact that that thought seemed to hold the most importance to him.
He was actually singing as he cruised in the parking lot, automatically turning into his new-old space.
He swore fluently as he nearly careered into the large blue box serenely standing there.
"What the -?"
Ten minutes later, good mood well and truly squashed, he squelched through the lobby, brushed off his idiotic ducklings and stalked into his boss's office.
His ire increased by several notches as his carefully executed door-slamming entrance didn't even cause Cuddy to glance up.
"You know, if you didn't like me, you could've just told me. I wouldn't have cried into your bountiful bosom. Much."
Cuddy calmly shuffled papers.
House continued, irritation creeping into his voice despite all his best efforts.
"You didn't have to try to kill me."
Oho, now she looks up.
Cuddy stared at him with her standard House-look, two parts exasperation, one part impatience.
"And which particular murder attempt are you referring to...?"
House glared.
"Your attempt, successful attempt, I might add, at crashing my car."
At her confused expression, House furrowed his brow.
"You didn't know."
"No, I didn't. Why would I try to kill my best, most aggravating doctor? Especially just after I saved your ass?"
She had a point.
He drew a breath.
"Then why is there a great big blue box parked in my parking space? I mean, much as I admire and respect the confidence and abilities of Dr. Wheel-Chair, she's not exactly going to go about wheeling big blue boxes around."
"It's Dr. Whitner, and, no, she's not."
Cuddy paused.
"House, are you sure there was a...blue box in your parking space? I mean, you're sure you didn't just-"
"Imagine it?"
House spat out.
"Long-term use of Vicodin can cause neurological side-effects."
Cuddy mentioned matter-of-factly.
"Depression. Not hallucinations."
"Well, you've been under a lot of strain recently. We all have. Maybe the sleep deprivation's finally catching up on you."
He gritted his teeth.
"I'm fine. Come on then, I'll show you the damn thing!"
He limped out of her office.
Following him, Cuddy remarked, as though to herself,
"And given all the substances you've shoved into your body in the last few years, it's hardly surprising..."
House limped faster.
Cuddy suppressed a smile.
The parking lot, though covered with a thick layer of sleet, was decidedly free of boxes, blue or otherwise.
House stared.
His car was neatly parked in his disabled parking space, as if to mock him.
He circled it, prodded it, got in, got out.
It remained stubbornly normal.
At last he turned back to Cuddy, who stood, arms akimbo, watching him.
"It was here", he stated, hating the note of desperation which entered his voice.
Cuddy watched him exasperatedly.
"Cut back on the Vicodin, House."
With that she turned away and walked back to the hospital, leaving House standing alone by his car.
Cuddy leaned back in her chair studying her visitor as he strolled about inspecting her office.
He smiled at her,
"So, Doctor Cuddy, how did it go?"
She grinned.
"Even better than expected."
There was a pause, while her visitor watched her, waiting, his mouth twitching.
She couldn't help it, she burst into alarmingly girlish giggles.
"You should've seen his face!"
She gasped.
She stood up, dabbing at eyes watering from mirth, trying to hold back further giggles.
She grabbed her visitor's hand, smiling up at him.
"Thanks again for doing this."
"My pleasure", he beamed at her.
"After all, what are friends for?"
"Still", she purred, reaching up to give his pinstriped tie a tug, "I'm sure there must be some way I can repay you..."