A/N: I'm not sure how good this is, but I needed to write something before school STOLE MY SOUL. And because I have way too many story ideas in my head. They're taking up valuable memory space.

In case anyone didn't realize it—I have a prequel to these short stories called just "Firefly Forever." Feel free to go check it out!

Feedback: Wins. Please review!

House was playing his ever-present video game when Cuddy walked into exam room one in the clinic. But that was okay—there was nothing he could do that would put a damper on her mood today. "House."

The man in question pointedly ignored her, concentrating intently on the beeping device in his hands. She tried again, louder this time. "House."

He finally paused the game and looked up at her, fake surprise on his face. "Oh, Cuddy, it's you! All I could see out of the corner of my eye was cleavage and a short skirt—I should have realized who it was right away."

Cuddy ignored House's verbal barbs. "No hiding in the clinic, House. You're supposed to be seeing patients."

"C'mon, Mom, do I have to?" he whined, hopping off the exam table he'd been lounging on and moving toward the door. "Especially since you're here now—we can swap! So I'll be on my way now…"

It was the perfect moment, and Cuddy seized the opportunity. "Oh, House, I've been meaning to ask you—have you heard about the convention being held in town in two weeks? The actors from some defunct television show are going to talk..."

Hand reaching for the door handle, House snorted. "I could really care less, Cuddy. What in the world could have brought this up?" He turned away from her and started opening the door, with no intentions of waiting to hear her answer.

A self-satisfied smile started to curl up the corners of her mouth. "Just thought you might have heard of it. Such an unusual name for a show—Firefly."

House froze mid-stride. A few seconds passed in silence before he slowly, painstakingly turned back to face her, eyes wide in astonishment. The smile on Cuddy's face turned into a triumphant smirk as she held aloft the slip of paper. "Tickets have been sold out for weeks. But I have friends, and know people who have friends…you don't need to know the specifics. All that matters is that I was able to procure four tickets to this event. I already gave the other three to Chase, Foreman, and Cameron—a gift from the hospital, for all their hard work so far this year. That leaves this one." She twirled it around her fingers, watching with amusement as House followed its path with his eyes, leaning forward a little in yearning. "I could give it to you now, but I think it'll be better if I hold onto it for you. You never know what could happen. It's so easy to lose tickets, or accidently ruin them…you know?"

She watched House's internal struggle play out over his face. As much as he wouldn't want to admit it, there really was no way out. She had him right where she wanted him, and they both knew it.

Sighing heavily, House visibly deflated as he came to the same conclusion. "Fine. What are your demands?"

"First," Cuddy stated, holding up a finger to start counting them off, "the seminar on Friday. You will go, you will not make the presenter cry, and you will mingle afterwards, no matter how much you hate it. Second, you will complete all of your clinic hours between now and the convention, without complaining or hiding. And finally, you will just generally behave. I don't want to hear a single complaint about you from anyone."

House was horrified. "That's harassment! Blackmail!"

The smile gracing her lips got even wider. "No, that's doing business, House. So, do we have a deal?"

The baleful look he threw her way almost made her laugh out loud, but she somehow managed to hold it in. "I hate you," House muttered under his breath, then thrust his hand out stiffly for her to shake. "Deal."

For the next two weeks, House was a different person. He did what he was told, when he was told. He didn't scare the nurses or the patients, although he had to physically bite his tongue at times to prevent a caustic comment from escaping. His fellows and Wilson seemed to know what was going on—they'd been walking around the hospital with gleeful smirks on their faces—but no one else could figure it out. He wasn't talking about it either, only letting out a few mutterings of "Blackmail" and "Devil woman" if some brave soul got close enough to eavesdrop. They were the worst two weeks of House's life.

Cuddy, reclining happily in the rare quiet of her office, had a different viewpoint—they were two of the best weeks of hers. She picked up the phone and dialed. "House," she said, the laughter apparent in her tone, "I heard that you and your team just finished with your last patient. Since you have nothing else to do now, I thought it would probably be a good idea if you went down to the clinic. At the rate you're going, pretty soon you might not even be behind anymore." She grinned. "Yes, I know you appreciate the reminder. You're welcome."

It was times like these that made her remember how much she loved her job.