A/N: 50th Chapter! Woo-hoo! Thanks to all my wonderful readers!
It was Thursday. House was waiting for Cuddy in her locked office. She never bothered to get the locks changed since he never stole anything and he would just find a way to pick the new lock. It wasn't worth the hassle. A barbed wire fence and guard dogs couldn't keep him out.
"Morning, boss," he said with a Cheshire cat grin from the overstuffed chair by the door.
"I know you have a very good reason for breaking into my office...again."
"I don't need a reason."
"No, you don't. But if you're trying to hide from clinic duty, this is a bad place to hide."
"Thank you for the tip. Actually I just wanted to make sure our special day off was still on track."
"Unless I say otherwise, the answer is yes."
"Such a good boss. You really know how treat your employees so very, very well."
She settled into her chair and switched on the computer. "Now I know you don't want any kind of interruptions or postponements, so I know you will have all your work done by Saturday, all your clinic hours caught up for the week, all your paperwork signed, sealed, filed and delivered. And you will let me do the same."
"Say no more," he grunted, pulling himself up with his cane.
"I did a lot of shuffling to get Saturday off, Greg."
"I can imagine."
"Your work will be done or I'll call it off."
"It'll be done, Dr. Cuddy. On Saturday you can give me my blue ribbon for excellence."
Of course, time seemed to drag on endlessly like thick molasses over the North Pole in the minutes, hours and days leading up to that Saturday. Every time Cuddy turned around there seemed to be another fire she had to put out, another form she had to sign, another clinic patient of Dr. House that she had to calm down. It was a loop–fire, form, patient; over and over again. She felt trapped in Groundhog Day.
For House, every single patient to cross his path during clinic duty was a waste of time. A cold, a sore throat, an ordinary headache. Don't people drink hot tea and take aspirin anymore? Do they really need to drive all the way down here, he thought morosely as he limped back to his office. Why is every little headache suddenly an inoperable brain tumor? These people should get a life and not take E/R so fucking seriously. A case that looked halfway interesting turned out to be nothing a boatload of antibiotics couldn't fix, barely worth looking at. There must be some kind of diabolical plot to bore me to death. Why don't people contract strange diseases like they used to?
House knew that a watched pot never boils. However, he felt a strange compulsion to keep his eye on it to make sure it didn't boil over. One little splash on the stove wasn't going to ruin his weekend.
There were still dinners at each other's tables, nights spent in each other's beds. House had no complaints about their unorthodox relationship and habits. There was always room in his apartment and schedule for Cuddy. The only possible thing to grumble about was those fleeting hours always flew by. Blink and it's morning. Back to the hospital and bitchy housewives who think a slight fever is the end of the world. Those women had more money than God and couldn't spare a few dollars to buy themselves a clue on sale. House might have laughed if he had been compelled to spend a few seconds thinking about it. The thought floated out of his head like a leaf in a summer breeze before it had a chance to take hold.
An entire day to spend together. Finally something to look forward to, something worth waiting for. House couldn't help but grin every time he thought about it. Unlike clinic duty, it would go by too fast. Oh, well. He'd just have to bug Cuddy to death for another special day off. He was persuasive that way. It was a gift. Cuddy would label it a curse.
Friday night. About fourteen hours to go. Cuddy would be over at about 9am. The food had been delivered earlier in the evening from the best gourmet store in town: steaks, potato salad, pasta, asparagus and a huge key lime pie. A small fortune in food and worth every red cent. Great food to go along with great champagne and great company. Hell, Cuddy could be dressed in a garbage bag and bring a five dollar bottle of Wild Turkey and he wouldn't care. The evening would be reserved for dinner, the rest of day would be for satisfying their other appetites.
Cuddy stayed at the hospital to make sure everything was caught up, every conceivable loose end was tied. House might understand if some unforseen, unavoidable natural disaster–the tornado scenario came to mind–were to strike. But if she was called in for a detail she overlooked, she would never, ever hear the end of it. That thought alone made her double check, then triple check her to-do list. When she was satisfied that all the files were in order, all the patients had their needs met, and all shifts were covered, she let herself look at the clock and nearly tripped when her bleary eyes saw it was midnight.
She knew she had the easier end of their deal, and smirked at the thought. But still, easy or not, she fully intended to come through with her part. The Dom Perignon was chilling in her fridge, the tee-shirt was in the dryer, and the alarm was set. Now it would be interesting to see how much or how little House came through on his part. Earlier that afternoon he had hinted about how much he "splurged". What counted as "splurging" in House's bizarre little world was anyone's guess. That could mean anything from lobsters and caviar to extra eggrolls in the Chinese takeout to saving the last Pepsi for her. She was eager to see what he had in store for her tomorrow.
Nothing to do now but hurry up and wait.
