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House sat in his easy chair hiding behind the newspaper and waited. The small, hard toy mouse on the floor in the middle of the den. He had baited the trap by putting a cat treat on the floor near it. Subtlety was the key.

After about ten minutes, House was about to give up in disgust. Roman had to be the world's laziest cat. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw him. He walked into the room as though he were just on his way somewhere more important. He couldn't have been less interested in the treat. He stopped and looked around. Only when he was sure that no one was watching him, he gobbled up the treat. He lifted his head and sniffed.

House smiled as Roman moved to investigate this new item. He bent his head down and nosed it, getting a good dose of catnip. House waited. Not all cats were affected by catnip, but Roman was. Soon he capered around the room. He did a bit of a dance on the floor, then he rolled around on his back. "Meow!" He stated, shocking House who had never heard him speak.

Roman jumped up on the entertainment center, knocking over a book. Then he leapt onto the back of the sofa. He arched his back and fluffed his fur out. House would have to see it again, to believe that he saw it the first time, but Roman performed a perfect back-flip.

Then, as though nothing had happened, Roman pawed at the cushion on the sofa and curled up to have a nap. Thoroughly entertaining and rewarding. Cameron poked her head into the room, "What was that?" She stooped down to pick up the book.

House peeked over his paper, trying mightily to wear an innocent look on his face. "What was what?"

"I thought I heard something fall." She scanned the room and saw the small lump on the floor. She bent over and picked it up. "What's this?"

"One of Roman's toys? I don't know, he's your cat." He pretended to read his paper.

"I didn't buy this for him." She held it by the braided yarn tail. "What's in this anyway?" She sniffed it. "Is this catnip? Did you get my cat high?"

He again lowered his newspaper and affected a puzzled look, "What are you talking about?"

She walked over and picked up the snoozing cat, "Just say no." He batted at her, half-heartedly. She put him down, he licked his paw and shut his eyes. "Daddy is a bad influence." She started to exit the room only momentarily halted by the appalled look on House's face.

The next day House sat with Wilson in the cafeteria cutting the part of the bread that had dared to touch the pickle off of his reuben. "She referred to me as Daddy." He complained.

Wilson dropped his fork. "I so don't want to hear this."

"She was speaking to the cat." House explained, trying to control his blush.

"I don't follow." Wilson peppered his hard-boiled egg.

"I am the cat's daddy." House explained contemptuously. "You can stop laughing, it's not funny."

"You're wrong, it's hilarious." Wilson giggled. "Do you dress him up in outfits and wheel him around the neighborhood in a stroller?"

"I'm sorry I told y…"

"No! I know! You both hold him at night and talk to him in baby-talk under the covers. Is he your 'ittle fluffy-wuffy boy?" He laughed hysterically, a tear formed at the corner of his eye and slid down his cheek. He flicked it away, "Damn, I needed that. Seriously House, you're becoming domesticated. You're losing your edge."

Cuddy had rolled up on them while House was distracted. "Hey, I need you in the clinic this afternoon. Borland can't make it." She started to move away quickly, having learned that hanging around only resulted in excuses and abuse.

House had opened his mouth to say something, but she was already halfway across the dining room. "Damn."

"See? Soft." Wilson took another bite of salad and chuckled. "Daddy."

xxxx

Cameron, Foreman and Chase sat around the conference room table with a stack of charts. Cameron dictated while the two men played with a triangular, paper football.

"…ten milligrams of epinephrine, followed by…Hey!" The paper went awry and caught her on the cheek.

"Sorry." Chase apologized as she slid it across the table at him.

She finished dictating the information and put the chart aside. "I'm bored."

Forman laughed. "Yeah. Well, it's slow."

"No, I mean I'm bored with our cases. I'm bored with you guys. I'm bored…period." She pushed back from the table.

"You bored with House?" Foreman asked.

"No. You can't be bored with House, but there's something missing." She slid her foot out of her shoe.

Foreman held up his index fingers as a goal-post for Chase. "Line it up better."

"So you played this all though high school?" Chase shook his head.

He turned towards Cameron, "Yeah, there's not an awful lot written about happily ever after. So the excitement's worn off?"

"I don't know how to describe it. I've got everything I ever wanted. Work is good, my personal life is good, it's all here. Now what do I wish for?" She took off her glasses and wiped them.

Foreman grinned, "Nobel Prize?"

"Well, yes, there's always that. How do you say 'thank you' in Swedish?" She mused.

"Jag tackar," House replied from the doorway. "I've been practicing." He limped in and sat down. He noted the stack of charts, "anyone would be bored with these. Once I'm done with something, I have no interest in it anymore." He held up his own goal-post for Chase, "Is this Australian rules or regular."

Chase thwacked the 'ball', "Hey, right between the uprights!"

"Good job. You got the extra point." House stood again. "I am sensing a distinct feeling of ennui around here."

"That's what I'm feeling!" Cameron cried.

"Gee. Thanks." Houses said, feigning hurt feelings.

"Since when are you responsible for how I feel?" She said testily, "taking the whole weight of the world on your shoulders." She grumbled under her breath.

He turned away from her, it never paid to annoy her when she was on a roll. "I think we should author a paper."

Three heads turned towards him. Foreman was the first to speak, "That would be amazing."

All three knew that publishing a peer reviewed article in a medical journal would be a boost to their careers. They also knew that if they co-authored with House that it was certain to be published.

Chase sat up, "So what would we write about?"

Cameron perked up, "JAMA's having a theme issue on women's health in March of next year. Maybe we can do something for that." She suggested.

"I'd rather target The Lancet." Chase said, noting his colleagues dirty looks, "Come on, it's more prestigious than JAMA. It's British." As if that explained it.

House looked at him, "But then we'd have to spell funny."

"You already spell funny." Chase countered.

"I have an idea." He said. Actually, he didn't. He came up with this on the spur of the moment, but he felt a divine guidance and continued. "Let's write about differential diagnosis in cases where two or more factors are at work."

Foreman sat up, "Like when the patient is taking an herbal supplement that causes symptoms apart from her disease?"

"Or the patient has two diseases, like in AIDS." Cameron chimed in.

"Exactly." House agreed stepping up to the whiteboard to begin outlining. "Let's pull our cases from the last year." He indicated the pile of charts, "I think those are they? How far behind on this are we?" He shook his head, knowing that it was primarily his fault that they were behind in the first place

Soon they had a pile of their cases which provided a good foundation for their research. He left them chattering with excitement as he went to the clinic. He ran into Cuddy who was delegating patients.

"I can't believe that you're actually here, voluntarily, on-time." She consulted her watch. "I should have gotten you laid years ago."

"You had your chance." He said.

"What's the team working on?" She ignored him and changed the subject.

"We're writing a paper." He said. "They're researching."

She nodded. "Good idea. You haven't published in a while. What's the topic?"

"Multi-variable, differential diagnosis." He surveyed the waiting room and grabbed a chart, "Hey, this guy might have malaria."

"Really?" Cuddy snatched it from him to see.

"No." He took it away from her. "But it would be neat if he did. That's the problem with practicing medicine. Ninety percent of everything you're ever going to see, you see in the first year. After that you're just going through the motions, waiting for the ten percent that relieve the boredom."

"You've got a patient waiting for in you in two." She pointed him towards the exam room and handed him the chart.

"Ninety percent." He said as he opened the door to a man blowing his nose into a tissue.