Disclaimer- I do not own them, but I do own the DVD, so I'm happy

House's office 2.25pm

House half-sat, half-lay in his chair, idly tossing his over-sized tennis ball against the wall. Five minutes until showtime. And counting. And all he could hear were the words, 'don't wanna do it, don't wanna be here', rattling around in his mind. Maybe he could strike a plea-bargain with Cuddy. Blind-side her by offering to do a few extra hours of clinic duty. Go crazy and actually attend the clinic in his lab coat. Or, really go out on a limb and surrender his Vicodin to her for the rest of the day.

House shook his head violently, as if to try and rid his brain of the little green men that had invaded it and were making him delusional. His mind snapped briefly back to reality. Performance reviews. Could do them with his eyes shut. So what was the problem with doing this one?

Clarkson was a good doctor, professional, ambitious and the owner of a razor sharp mind. In fact, he reminded House in many ways of himself, minus the bum leg, three days growth on his chin and penchant for daytime soaps. Maybe that was why the new kid on the block had turned Dr. Cameron's head. Because he was a younger, able-bodied version of House. Without the warped personality. But maybe her head hadn't been turned at all. There was no doubt in his mind that Clarkson definitely perked up when he was near to Cameron, hell, he was only human (allegedly) after all. But looking at it objectively, he didn't recall ever seeing Cameron reciprocate. Anyway, Clarkson looked at all women in that way. So what was he fretting for? Not like Cameron was his girl or even that he wanted her to be, right?

'Dr. House, ok to come in?'

House looked up briefly, his train of thought interrupted, to see Clarkson standing in the doorway. He dipped his head slightly as if to acknowledge the question, and proceeded to throw two Vicodin down his neck. He leant forward across the desk, extending his hand to offer Clarkson his Vicodin.

'A little something to put you in the party mood, doctor?'

Clarkson shook his head and smiled graciously.

The next forty-five minutes passed uneventfully. House went through the motions, conducting Clarkson's review as he had undertaken so many others previously. He discussed performance to date, set objectives for the year ahead and listened to his junior's thoughts on where he saw himself in the future. The atmosphere was relaxed, no blood was shed and House's little helpers remained safely stashed in their bottle. Wilson's words did ring in his ears about two-thirds of the way through the review, but House dismissed the thought of Cameron and Clarkson 'doing it' as quickly as he usually dismissed one of Chase's diagnoses.

At 3.15pm, Clarkson left House's office, and House felt a sense of relief sweep over him. Now he could get back to concentrating on the important things in life, like lollipops and dreaming up new ways to torment Cuddy. How very differently the review could have gone.

How would it have gone had House known that whilst he and Wilson had been verbally sparring over a half-eaten bacon sandwich, just a few hours earlier, that Cameron too, had been having a very eventful lunch break.

That Clarkson had pulled up a chair alongside her, chatted casually about nothing in particular for a while, and then completely out of left-field, had asked her out on a date. A proper date. Even more out of left-field was Cameron's reply, and the eagerness in her voice as she accepted. A 'pick you up at 7.30, movie and then grab a bite to eat' type date. This evening.

Would her response have been different had she only known that the entire exchange was overheard by Foreman and Chase. That Foreman's eyeball rolling almost put his sockets into meltdown as a result. Or that Chase, mouth frozen wide open in disbelief and cheeks an envious shade of green, almost acquired a personality on hearing the developments.

Or that fifteen minutes later, the prospective date was the talk of the nurse's station. And that ten minutes after the news broke there, it was brought to Wilson's attention. The very same Wilson who was now sitting outside House's office, rubbing his hands with glee, waiting for House to conclude Clarkson's review.