"Drugs," House muttered curtly as Lisa Cuddy handed him an overstuffed manila folder. "All rock stars are on drugs, especially the kind that like to dress up all pretty and try on girls' jeans to be cool. I never got that. Are they trying to entice me with their feminine lack of an ass? I like ass."

"Well you definitely are an ass so at least you're keeping it all around the same region of the body." Cuddy smirked as the corners of her lips flowered upwards, the smooth peach shade of lipstick she wore crinkling along her flesh. It was always about banter with House. There were no boundaries, no limits. It was every man for himself and nothing was ever a fair fight.

"I don't understand why you'd even think to waste my time with something so obvious," House argued gruffly as he moved the pads of his fingertips against the bristle of his stubble infused chin. A young boy shot past, barreling through the small amount of space between his left foot and the cane and he wobbled slightly at the sudden motion. House opened his mouth to shout something at the child but caught that dangerous flicker in his boss' eyes – a defiant warning that should he do what Cuddy was sure he was about to do, his ass was on the line. Noticeably defeated House gave a tiny little sigh and once more flipped through the stacks of medical documents protruding from his clutches. "Scratch that," he continued. "I know why it is you want me to waste my time with this kid since if there is actually something wrong and the great doctor doesn't fix him the world will be deprived of lyrics and songs about bleeding hearts and doomed relationships. What I don't understand is why you couldn't just give the case to Cameron or even Foreman. Did you even take a look at this kid's mental file? You really think I should be the one giving him advice?"

"You can complain all you want House, the case is still yours. If it is drugs then that's great because considering what's going on with this kid right now that would be the least of our worries. Take some hair and give him some promethazine while you're waiting for the results. I don't want to be slapped with a law suit that we let this kid vomit so long his voice got ruined."

House gripped at the head of his cane, lines of flesh folding just along the creases of his eyes as he stared blankly ahead. "I'm sorry," he apologized in a perfectly sardonic tone. "I didn't hear a word you said. I was too busy watching your breasts trying to escape from that pathetic excuse for a shirt." His face was lit with boyish mischievousness as he flashed a halfway sort of grin. "Clearly you have yet to determine the line between your wardrobe for your daily profession and your nighttime one. By the way, Wilson mentioned he saw you dropping quite a handful at dinner the other night. The streets must be treating you wonderfully."

Cuddy grimaced, though amused, as she responded haughtily. "A lot better than you do." It was odd, but despite there being hundreds of people milling around – millions of sounds taking place and buzzing in and out of their consciousness, it always felt as though only the two of them were there. Though she would never admit it, often her repartee with House was the most alluring thing throughout her days crammed of scheduling, bills, and calls between life and death. In a way, it was almost reassuring to know that another person was as blind to life as she was – preferring the hospital to nights on the town with good friends. "Now, go?"

"Aye aye cap-tit, I mean captain." Obviously pleased with himself, House feigned a regal bow, the rubber soles of his bright red tennis shoes squeaking softly against the linoleum floor. Cuddy merely watched, no longer fazed by his blunt and often strange nature.

"If you ever fall in love House, make sure you let me know. I'll want to see what she's like before you turn her crazy."

"To be fair, she'll probably already be crazy."

Cuddy nodded with a slight turn of a smile. "Fair enough. Now go do your job."

- - -

"How long have you two been together?" Cameron asked as she gave the small bag of saline a little flick with the back of her delicate knuckles. Her wispy brunette locks were rolled tightly together in the form of a bun on the top of her head, though a few strands had come astray along the sides of her neck.

"Almost ten years," Connyr replied with the slightest of cringes as the cold liquid dripped into his veins.

"You'll get used to it," Cameron assured him. "In a few minutes you won't even notice it anymore."

"Okay. Thanks," Connyr mumbled uncomfortably, scratching at the coarse gown they had given him. It was taught against the shape of his frame, clearly too small a size. "Can I have my clothes back? I don't really like this."

"You look as beautiful as ever," Otley interjected swiftly. She was curled up against his side atop the bed, holding a bag of ice chips in both hands – every now and then placing one along the tip of Connyr's blanching tongue. "And we've only been officially dating for about three years but we were best friends for all the rest."

"What made you realize you wanted to be together?"

"Did you give me a bigger bed because I'm fat?" Connyr interrupted, plainly in a state of distress. He was shaking from his shoulders all the way down to the brittle edge of his fingernails. "You thought I would break one of the regular beds, didn't you? I mean this is where you put those people that come in and are just too big for the normal bed. I've heard about it. I heard you sometimes have to send people to the zoo for tests because they're so fat." The tremor in his voice shook like earthquakes of centuries and his frightened eyes were welling with inevitable sobs. Cameron seemed frozen – too taken aback by the rupture of erratic thought that had just taken place.

"No – no," she stammered. "I wasn't trying to imply that at all. The ER just mentioned that you wanted to keep Otley close so I set it up so that you could have a bed where you could both fit. That's all, I swear."

Otley, however, had a different approach. Placing the soggy bag of melting forms of ice to the side, she hoisted herself up onto the crying boy, sitting herself atop his legs so that her face hovered directly above his. "Hey," she whispered with a caring smile as she gingerly began to stroke the length of his forehead. "Hey you there – look at me. Look at me, baby. You are perfect and there is no one in the world more gorgeous to me than you. Take a deep breath." He did so, his body starting to calm though iridescent streams of tears were still coursing down the bridge of his nose.

"I'm so sorry," Cameron repeated though still shocked. Otley remained atop Connyr, continuing to touch his face – keeping unremitting contact.

"Baby its okay," Otley murmured. "You're sick. There's something wrong with your belly and the doctors are going to find out what. Nobody is going to send you to the zoo and I'll be here the entire time."

"I don't know. I think we should send him to the zoo." Otley glanced up, surprised at the sudden sound of another voice.

"What?"

House pushed the clear glass of the door aside, shutting it as quietly as it had opened. The soothing clunk of the cane against the floor becoming repetitious as he made his way to Cameron's side. "Okay, okay maybe not the zoo. How about the aquarium? I'm sure the little fish could always use another little whale friend to play with," he said dryly as he thrust the manila folder he had been carrying atop Cameron's clipboard.

"He's not even that overweight for his height. Maybe fifteen pounds." Otley argued as though it would make any difference. "And he's beautiful. How could you say something like that?" Connyr began to bawl, running his hands through his fine hair anxiously as he rocked back and forth. Otley quickly removed herself from his lap and wrapped her frail arms around the suffering rock star.

"Yeah, keep telling yourself that sweetheart. He's about as beautiful as a lump of clay," House snapped.

"Are you going somewhere with this?" Cameron demanded as she stared at House with disbelief. "I mean I know you love to torture patients but this is beyond your normal bastard behavior." Nurses were gathering around the outside of the room, Connyr's wails resounding loudly throughout the halls. He was scraping at the flesh of his arm in frustration, attacking himself bitterly as sobs became muddled with hiccups from lack of oxygen. "House, do something!" Otley seemed just as frantic, uselessly trying to placate Connyr's distress.

House casually sauntered over to the bed as though he was deaf to Connyr's screams, and reaching out a single hand to push against the young man's chest he uttered a single, breathless word. "Moo."

Connyr went silent, House's hand still against his gown and their gazes met. And without so much as another snivel, he arched his back and began to vomit just as House grabbed the empty bedpan from beneath the sheets - holding it steady in silence. "I'm sorry," he whispered as he did something Cameron had never seen him do – he reached out and smoothed down the sides of Connyr's hair as though he meant to comfort him. It was a brief yet undeniably honest gesture; something that House never did. With a sigh he shoved the bedpan into Cameron's grasp as Otley began to grab napkins from the side table, wiping away at Connyr's mouth. "Give that to Chase, tell him to run some tests and that his hair looks horrible today."

"Why did you do that? Just for a bedpan full of vomit?" Otley asked with anger in her voice as she lay against the pillows, wrapping her arms around Connyr as he rested his head in the crook of her shoulder and closed his eyes though tears were still spilling from them uncontrollably.

"I like making Chase earn his job," House replied with a sarcastic drawl as he unscrewed the top to his bottle of Vicodin, popping two into the bowels of his mouth and swallowing quickly. Using his cane to ease himself up, he shot Cameron an aggravated stare. "Why are you still here? Chase – vomit – now." Cameron scurried away. "Don't forget the part about bad hair," House called after her as he began to follow the direction in which she had left.

"That's it?" Otley asked incredulously. House paused at the glass door and gave a short, simple nod.

"That's it."