Disclaimer: I do not own "House" or any of its characters. No profit is being made off this story, no infringement of any rights intended!

Summary: What starts out as a normal day in the clinic spices up as one of the patients becomes aggressive for no apparent reason. As his team struggles to find a fitting diagnosis, House hopes to skip clinic duty by driving six hours to investigate the man's vacation house. But his master plan is foiled when an annoyed Cuddy decides to join the trip to keep him honest.

A/N: While this story does feature a lot of House/Cuddy scenes, it will not stray too far from their (convoluted and puzzling) cannon relationship! I hope you'll still enjoy it, nonetheless ;)

Road Trip

Chapter I: Tight Fix

She rolled over on her right side with a distinctly ominous feeling. Her feet tangled slightly in the warm, wrinkled sheets. She kicked out lazily, wondering why the sensation of a stranger weight on the other half of the bed brought such an odd mixture of unease and excitement to her. It was certainly not what she usually experienced the morning after. In fact, she recalled apprehensively, as she brushed the tousled hair out of her eyes to clear her field of vision, there had been one other time—

"Ohh, I missed this scalding glare first thing in the morning."

Doctor Lisa Cuddy groaned inwardly as her colleague and subordinate, Dr. Gregory House, flashed his trademark smug grin from the other half of the bed.

Two days before…

"Where. Is Doctor. House."

The nurse shot her the need-you-ask look, accompanied by a small shrug. Cuddy could have sworn the entire hospital staff had been trained to respond that way to that particular question.

"When did his clinic shift start?"

"Two hours ago," the nurse at the reception desk replied between stapling two records and issuing a form to a rather vocal elderly lady. "Called him earlier, said he'd be right in...and could you please take his first patient in case the traffic is heavy."

"Traffic? What traffic, he was in his office when I last checked!" She took a calming breath; snapping at the beleaguered nurse was not only rude, but utterly useless as well. "Are there any patients waiting for him?"

Wordlessly, the woman handed her a case file and nodded to a man standing next to an exam room door. Tapping an impatient foot, he frequently glared towards the nurses' station. Despite the black suit he wore, there was a rather haggard, unkempt look about him. Cuddy tried to muster an ounce of enthusiasm and put on a pleasant expression.

"Call Dr. House again, please," she instructed the nurse in a hurried whisper, "tell him to be down in exam room two in five minutes, or else...or else…just add whatever you can think of after that. The nastier, the better." She straightened her shoulders and headed for the scruffy man in the suit. "Good afternoon, I'm Doctor Lisa Cuddy. Could you step to exam room two, please…"

"Sure took your sweet time," he muttered. "Been waitin' a couple o'hours for that other fella, whasisname…"

House was so getting double clinic duty that day.

"Can you take your shirt off, please?" (The doctor in her silenced the woman who was screaming that he should keep it on, no, really, just leave those buttons alone!) "I need to see if the rash is present anywhere else."

Surely enough, it was. The red irritation that went up both the man's arms was visible on his chest and upper torso, maybe a shade lighter, but there nonetheless. She examined it with a frown. It drew strange patterns on his skin, and Cuddy had a hard time identifying which class it could belong to.

"Well?" he demanded. "What is it?"

"Could be an allergy," she offered, "could be some new material or substance you've come into contact with recently. Can you remember anything?"

"No."

"Did you try any new foods? Foreign cuisine, sea food, poorly cooked meat?"

"No."

"Bought any new clothes?" she tried.

"No."

"Alright," she gave up. It was never going to be that easy, anyway. "Are you experiencing any other symptoms? Nausea, hot flushes, sweats, headache, muscle pain?"

"What is it?" he demanded again. "Should my head hurt? I thought it did yesterday. Muscles always hurt. Knew it wasn't the gym, told my wife, she keeps nagging I quit, all you women are the same, nag and nag—"

His arms flailed wildly as he made his point. A real charmer, Cuddy judged while she checked his back for signs of the eruption. She found it, but it looked vastly different. Only a slight red flush marked his shoulders and lower back, while his front was covered by an intense crimson spot, with minuscule pustules and angry red lines drawn across it, almost like…

"Mr. Roberts, did you scratch your arms and chest?" she asked in alarm, praying the answer would be negative.

"Yeah, so?" He pushed his chest forward in defiance. "'What if I did? Didn't know what to make of it. Maybe it'd go away. It keeps stinging, though. What is it?" he asked for the third time, but Cuddy was too busy gaping at the revelation to keep count. He had scratched so hard that he had virtually torn off the skin, leaving the angry red welts she had found so disconcerting. Was that a symptom, too? She suddenly saw his rudeness in a new light. Obsessive behaviour, lack of inhibition, aberrant social conduct could be the indications of an imminent neurotic fit, maybe a psychotic episode—

"Whatcha lookin' at, lady? You doctors never give a straight answer. Messing with people's heads. Just tell me what I got!"

She retreated a step from the examination table, taking in his rapid breaths, the droplets of sweat at the base of his hair, his dilated pupils. If he was going to have a psychotic episode, a confined exam room filled with medical supplies was not the place to do it.

"I,uhm, need to run a few more tests, if you'll just wait here for—"

"Wait! I waited for two damn hours out there!" He leapt off the table, arms flailing as he protested furiously. "You don't keep me waiting no more, you hear? That's why you got this billion-dollar hospital! Just gimme a shot to make me better!" In his rightful indignation, he knocked over the small metal table in the room. "I ain't paying for that!"

Figures that House's first patient would be a madman. Possibly an addict in withdrawal, in which case she was in serious trouble unless she got out of there. Instinctively, Cuddy made for the door, only to find him in front of her in an instant. His hands got a rough grip of his shoulders.

"Mr. Roberts, let go of me!" she commanded as firmly as she could. "Calm yourself and let go!"

But his grip only became tighter as he pushed her back into the wall.

"Why won't you tell me what I got? Is it bad?" Sweat trickled down his temple as he started shaking her. "I have to know and you're going to tell me! Tell me now!"

"Calm down!" she half-shouted, not quite knowing if she was addressing the neurotic patient or herself. "I'm here to help you, just let go and we'll see what's wrong with—"

"No! I'm tired of waiting!" He had relaxed his grip for an instant, but clutched her arms again as she once more tried to get away. "I've a right to know what's wrong! I can get it out of you if you won't say it! Tell me!"

A/N: I would love to get your thoughts on this! It is my first "House" story ever, so I'm not at all sure about how plausible, in-character etc. it comes across as. Your comments and criticisms are appreciated! Thank you for reading:)

Myosotis