A/N: This'll be a rather short fic…I like them short. Again, I give my thanks to Userunfriendly! You have prompted this story and given me many ideas. Thank you.
Disclaimer: Sure, I have a great average…but I'm nowhere near as smart as David Shore, who created House, M.D.
Cuddy shook her head as her office door opened. "No, can't we do this later?"
A tall man stepped into the room. "I'm sorry, Dr. Cuddy, but performance reviews are necessary. You know how much trouble Diagnostics has caused this hospital, and the Board needs to know you can handle it."
She looked down, anxiously trying to focus her eyes on anything, anything but the folder in his hand. With that manila envelope came death to her lovely hospital…if she let it. Suddenly, Cuddy stood up. She wouldn't let House ruin her job. Heck, she wouldn't let a freight train crush her chances at passing this test. She was going to watch him. And he was going to behave.
"Dr. House, I—" Cuddy began fiercely, before cutting off in horror. Not even her favorite patent-leather pumps could help her out of the hole she was almost definitely going to be stuck filling in. She stood in the diagnostics room, wearing a grey pencil skirt that showed off her curves (her lucky skirt), and yet she was starting to believe that it wasn't as magic as previously thought. There, before her very eyes, were her four employees, her four diagnostic doctors…playing Monopoly and drinking hot chocolate. In July.
"Why, hello, Cuddles! Make yourself at home." Said House cheerfully, and it almost pained her to hear it. She mentally slapped herself, however, as her eyes shifted towards the widow to search for—what else? Flying pigs.
Foreman bared his pearly whites in a semi-blinding smile, adding "Yes, Lisa, come play with us! You can be on my team."
Suddenly, Cameron's eyes flared. "Hey! Ere-bear, you promised that Lisa could be on MY team." Cuddy edged slowly to the back of the room, hands gripping the door handle in fear. If she needed to, she could run.
Chase's blonde head bobbed in agreement. "Foreman, you said Allie could be on Lisa's team. Remember? It was right after House told us all about his night with Lisa. They don't use the janitor's closet!" A series of loud gasps echoed throughout the room, and Cuddy's face turned white as a sheet. She had done what? With House? She would never!
Suddenly, House spoke up. "Hey, Cuddy." Her jaw set high, she turned as slowly as she could to face him. Honestly, he looked rather drunk. Immediately, she felt anger rushing through her veins—drunk?! Today, of all the stupid days he could've been high, he chose today?! She wanted to kill him…wanted to kill him with her bare hands…wanted to slit his throat with an envelope…the manila envelope…the vanilla envelope…vanilla…
That was her last thought before her head started swimming, her vision clouded into a cacaphony of bright colors and her ears started picking up House's voice louder than she'd ever wished.
"Cuddy. Cuddy. Cuddy! LISA!" House yelled, jarring Cuddy's eyes open.
"Wh-what? What time is it?" Came her flustered response, angrily looking down at her wrist to find she wasn't wearing a watch.
"It's 2:30. You fell asleep. Right here." As Cuddy looked around her, she found he was right—she was exactly in the same place she had been all day long, working primly at her impeccably neat desk. A knock of the door interrupted her findings, and House continued, dragging his eyes carelessly to Cuddy's low-cut blouse. "Make sure the three of you look as perky as usual." He jerked his thumb in the direction of the noise. "I hear this one knows the tango." With that remark and a pair of devilishly raised eyebrows, House exited the room, slamming the door on a certain Andrew Hartford, Director of Hospital Services and collector of performance reviews.
Nervousness still flooded Cuddy's brain, but somehow she knew she'd make it through reviews without a hitch. Chase, Cameron and Foreman were reliable, and they'd keep House low-key until Hartford was gone...she'd bet her Monopoly on it.