Well, this went better than I thought. Admittedly, I have written this fully in the knowledge that my beta is going to kill me for not working on my CSI fic…but I doan wanna. Fortunately, as my beta is about 12000 miles away, I am relatively safe…

Here's hoping you enjoy this, I have to admit though, I am starting to feel a little sorry for House, I'm starting to doubt whether he will ever get to the clinic…what next? Kidnapped by aliens? (Don't worry; I would never do that to you…or House…)

As always, you may shower me in reviews 

If Gregory House thought his wit, charm and charisma was enough to overcome the sheer horror that contrived to resemble his clinical consultations and therefore to convince Doctor James Wilson, head of the Oncology Department to accompany him then he had another thing coming. Wilson might have been generous-of-spirit, warm-hearted and overtly sentimental but he was neither insane, masochistic nor inclined to professional suicide and as such politely made his excuses - something to do with a terminally ill lab rat if House's memory served him - and departed in the other direction with the speed, and expression, normally reserved for someone looking for a toilet.

House shrugged, he hadn't expected his friend to hang around.

Of course he didn't did actually expect anyone to hang around when offered the choice of his company; voluntarily, that is, the minions weren't given the luxury of choice they were there to serve. House chuckled inwardly, thinking that perhaps he would recommend to Cuddy that the minions' lab coats were changes to an attractive red colour; Starfleet red to be exact. Unfortunately, he didn't expect Cuddy to go for such a notion, puritanical stickler that she was for things such as rules and regulations and perhaps more disturbingly the absurd notion that it was House's job to act as an example, a role model, if you will.

House couldn't fathom it, himself; in his considered opinion the only role he was fit for modelling was cynic and resident misanthropist, a role none of his lackeys were really suited for. The mere thought of Cameron in any way, shape or form acting the part of a world-weary cynic was just too incongruous to even consider; for a start, the woman believed that human nature was inherently positive and selfless and this, in and of itself was enough to reduce one to alternate tears of laughter and anguish. Foreman, likewise, was difficult to imagine as a cynic, the world was far too black and white a place for the man and House doubted that fractured rose-coloured spectacles, necessary for one to retain the title of cynic, would go with Foreman's choice of ties, insofar as rose, as a colour, bespoke not the world of power dressing and moral superiority.

Now Chase, Chase, had potential, albeit the sort of potential a three-legged horse had of winning the Grand National, but potential nevertheless, House shrugged as he slowly made his way towards the clinic; maybe he'd take on Chase's conversion as some sort of long term project right after he turned water into wine and developed a gene therapy for the ante-natal insertion of common sense in the public-at-large.

"Doctor House!" The precise tones of Doctor Lisa Cuddy hurtled down the corridor towards him in such a manner as to put House in mind of a vengeance-seeking harpy.

Briefly, ever so briefly, House thought about running, but surrendered the idea in favour of the logistical reality of waiting to see what his omnipresent bureaucratic shadow had in store for him.

"Doctor House, might I inquire as to where you might be going."

Head set at a rakishly sardonic angle; House took great pleasure in his response. "Actually, Doctor Cuddy, I am headed towards the clinic."

Cuddy's expression was disbelief made manifest, "You? The clinic? Voluntarily? Your standards of evasion are slipping House, next you'll be telling me you're going to check on a patient's well-being."

"Irrespective of what you may or may not believe, Doctor Cuddy, I am indeed headed towards the clinic, I have decided that the clinic presents a wonderful opportunity to provide those under my tutelage with a wide range of practical experience, which I believe can only work to further their burgeoning medical knowledge."

Taking a moment to translate, Cuddy regarded her nemesis through narrowed eyes, "So you're going to use the members of the public, who make use of the free facilities offered by this hospital, as lab rats, in order to satiate some ghoulish predilection of yours for ritual embarrassment and blatant degradation and humiliation."

"I would never do that to a member of the public," House sounded mildly offended.

"I meant your staff," retorted Cuddy.

"Oh Cuddy," House purred, "you know me too well.

"More's the pity," she sighed, "so, Doctor House, what prompted this charade in the name of healthcare of the greater commonweal."

"You're not going to believe me if I told you I cared are you?"

"No."

"Would you believe I was bored?"

"No. You can torment your staff from the comfort of your office; you generally have no desire to inflict them, nor yourself, on the hospital at large in order to provide yourself with a measure of entertainment."

"I'm not so sure I understand what you mean by 'inflict' Doctor Cuddy, even you admit that I am a capable doctor."

"Indeed you are Doctor House, although even I am at a loss to fully describe what precisely it is that you are actually capable of. No, I use the verb 'inflict' from the perspective of any nurses, administrators, orderlies or, for that matter, patients that have the misfortune to come within range of your alleged good offices."

"Touché; I see your time spent with the inestimable Vogler is improving your sarcasm."

Cuddy shrugged, "He keeps me too busy to practise on you."

"I could come visit."

"Thank you, House, but no. While I appreciate your care for the development of my linguistic skills I am not so desperate for conversation as to willingly invite you into my office.

" …Said the spider to the fly; and here I was thinking that you enjoyed my little visits."

"As you know, my door, as Dean of Medicine, is always open to faculty – even you – however, I don't believe that I have done anything in the last week that would warrant a visit from you; frankly, House, I don't deserve a visit from you, even my priest has granted me absolution in advance for any dealings I might have with you."

House pounced on the last statement with the glee of a paedophile at a jamboree.

"Your priest?" You've been talking to a priest? About me."

"…Only insofar as discussing the philosophical and spiritual ramifications of murder and whether or not the Ten Commandments contained a little wriggle room."

"The only commandment I recall," opined House, "was something to do with coveting your neighbour's ass; which I am completely in agreement with as an ass is a fine thing to covet; especially yours, Doctor Cuddy."

"Well it's nice to see you've retained something, certainly you've failed to grasp the finer points of property ownership, you're not doing so well on the graven images clause and as for that bit about honouring your mother and father, well, I'm not sure anyone will forget what you said about yours at last year's Christmas function."

"I have an excuse; I was stone cold sober."

Cuddy sighed, "At least we can't hold bearing false witness against you; if only because telling the truth is more likely to upset a greater number of people, which can always be counted on to provide you with some small measure of vicarious gratification; and speaking of upsetting people, you've reminded me of the reason I was looking for you."

House attempted to appear like he cared about what Cuddy had to say, and failed, miserably "What's got Darth Vogler's panties in a twist this time?"

"Strangely enough, it's not Vogler, although he's still trying to round up a posse to hang from you from the nearest telephone pole."

"So who does that leave?"

Cuddy favoured the diagnostician with a faintly amused look, "You mean other than the other doctors, the nurses, the patients, the patient's families..."

"Yes, other than the little, insignificant people."

"How about students?"

"Well, if you want little and insignificant, you've struck gold."

Cuddy paused to smile maliciously "…and speaking of students, do you remember how you had to cover that class for Doctor…"

"…the idiot with the lead paint mug…yes, I remember; why?"

"Well, he's sick again…"

"Oh no, not a chance, was there something about the words 'never again' that you didn't understand, Cuddy?"

"Well, House, not only do I not care what you said, but would you believe that the students actually asked for you."

"But…but…I have to go to the clinic."

"You know, House, I never actually thought I'd hear you say those words to me, and such sweet words they are too, and you know what, you can go to the clinic because the class doesn't start for another two hours."

"That's harassment, what do I get out of this?"

"Why Doctor House, I do believe that the answer is nothing, you get nothing out of this. Is that a problem?" Cuddy's smile was saccharine, sickeningly so and House wanted nothing more than to remove it with his cane."

"No, it's not a problem," he ground out, "I will get you back for this you know."

"You can but try, House, she turned to leave, "and House? Have a nice day."

House watched Cuddy, saunter off down the corridor, he could have sworn that he heard her say something about 'her work here being done' as she disappeared from his line-of-sight and thus it was that Gregory House M.D, glowering like a thundercloud, Vicodin in hand, who resumed the long and increasingly interminable journey towards the clinic.