Summary, disclaimer, etc. in chapter 1.

Cuddy's first appearance in this little fic. I don't know if a PT area would have free weights, so, um, please suspend disbelief…? The vasculitis thing, too – I got nothin'.

Many thanks to all you awesome reviewers. :)

Persuasion

January 2000

"I want to hire you," Cuddy said, peering down at House as he did bench presses, his right leg stretched out motionless in front of him.

"I'm not sure I want to be hired," House responded breathlessly, grunting with effort.

He knew regaining his strength was going to take a while but it had been months and he still hadn't cracked the triple digits. He heaved the bar up in frustration, happy to feel his muscles burn.

"I talked to Stacy and Dr. Wilson," Cuddy said. "They both say you're ready to come back to work."

House replaced the bar and sat up.

"Did you stop to think that if I wanted the job I would have come to you first?" he said with annoyance, catching his breath.

"I saw your article on reevaluating the differential for systemic vasculitis," Cuddy said. "You're publishing. Why not start practicing again?"

"Most administrators court me with fancy dinners, expensive champagne, the use of their private mountain villas," House said wiping the sweat from his face. "You stalk my PT sessions."

"Dr. Singh says you're progressing—"

"Singh is an idiot," House snapped, moving his leg to the floor and reaching for his cane. "What makes you think I would want to work here again, now that I know firsthand just how incompetent everyone is?"

"It's an easy way to rise above the field," Cuddy offered lamely.

House scowled, struggled to his feet, and did his best to stalk off.

Cuddy caught up with him quickly. "Stacy says you're bored," she said. "James says you're miserable."

"Glowing recommendations," House growled. He stopped at the elevator. "You know I've been fired four times?"

Cuddy nodded. "Twice by my predecessors," she added in a tone that let him know she was not at all bothered by the fact. "You're good at what you do."

"I'm an asshole," House said decisively as he boarded the elevator.

Cuddy caught the elevator door before it could close. "You tried no less than three times to revive the Department of Diagnostic Medicine while you were here," she said. "Come back and it's yours."

House pulled a bottle of Vicodin out of his pocket and rattled it.

"Can't," he said, popping the cap off and tossing a pill into his mouth, "too high to work."

Cuddy stepped onto the elevator. "Legitimate pain control for legitimate pain isn't a problem. Not with me, not with any hiring committee."

"Maybe it is for me," House said.

"I'll reinstate your tenure, add twenty to your annual salary, and double your bonus," Cuddy cajoled.

"Not interested."

He shifted his weight to put on his overcoat in preparation for the wintery weather, cane balanced against his hip.

"What can I do to get you to come back?" Cuddy asked, trying not to reveal just how flustered she was. Though why she thought this would be easy in the first place was a mystery to her.

House glanced down, ogling her chest. "Put your melons where your mouth is."

Cuddy blushed angrily. "House! What would Stacy think?"

He looked away. "We're breaking up," he said.

Cuddy was instantly sympathetic. "I'm sorry to hear that," she said.

"Don't be," House said exiting the elevator.

She took a few steps after him as he limped toward the out-patient entrance, but stopped, not sure what to do.

"Well?" she called, wincing a little at his uneven gait.

"I'll think about," he called back over his shoulder.