Plum-colored pencil skirt. Black turtleneck sweater. Magenta belt. To bring it all together, a pristine white coat draping down her sensual hips, nearly as wide as her shoulders. She was the picture of discipline in all the ways that don't matter, but what about the ways that do? She looks like the picture of grace, eyes locked firmly to the ground in front of her matching pumps but never missing a step. Each movement is calculated.

Greg House couldn't stop his gaze from lowering to the enormous melons on her chest. She doesn't even look at him, brushing past and muttering a soft apology under her breath. Long ginger waves pick up the wind as she moves away from the office door, thick fringe obscuring the doe eyes set deep in her sockets. His distracted stare rests on her generous backside as she stalks down the hall, file clutched close to her chest while her hand goes berserk with a red pen on a memo pad.

"Who was that?" House asks, swinging the thick door closed behind him. Wilson couldn't possibly have a woman like that doing him sexual favors under the table, could he?

Paging through the file on his desk, Wilson flips it closed with a snap. "I'm in the middle of something, House." His other hand sorts a few papers out and drops them in his outbox. He straightens his striped tie, smoothing it down. His frazzled manner not only tells House about his state of mind, but also his reaction to the questions.

He's trying to make it seem like it's not a big deal, which means it is a big deal. That, of course, sounds to House like a fun way to spend a Tuesday afternoon, so he proceeds.

"Right. And I'm gonna win an Olympic Gold medal." Body weight suspended by his right arm locked straight over his cane, House limped to the wooden chair on that side of the desk. He holds the lacquered handle tight, bending his left leg and lowering himself into the chair with his right straightened out.

"Her name's Darling Sweety." Wilson's eyes slide up to House's, a stern look telling him not to make fun of the name. Thick brows lowered over his sockets while the oncologist shook his head, wincing. "Give her another year and she'll probably make department head."

House can't hold back a startled laugh. "No, seriously. Who is she? Where did she come from? What's her cup size?" He ignores the way Wilson looks at the door, longing for a way out. House leans closer, a few phalanges settling on the cherry-stained desk. "There's got to be something juicy, otherwise you wouldn't lie about it."

"I'm not lying about it. That is her name." House stays defiant. Wilson closes his eyes, unable to outlast his friend's skeptical stare. "Fine. Everyone calls her Dr. Melina, her middle name. It's not a secret. She's been with Urology for several years now. She's a little awkward with the patients, but she actually seems to enjoy dealing with them, so..." He trails off, brown irises perusing the paper in his hand.

"Oh, how sweet. Her parents must have thought they were hilarious." House raises his brows, a facetious smile curling on his lips. "And you harbored this pretty little secret in your office... why?"

Wilson begins shaking his head and his mouth opens, closes, then opens again. "Just another referral. She screens a lot of patients for regular urology exams. She sends me the ones with tumors, uh, down there." He waves his open hand in a circle over his lower abdomen, most of it hidden behind the desk, causing Greg to look questioningly at him.

"Yes, I'm sure many men are eager to make appointments with her." House's stare darts about the room, questions about his newest puzzle piece thrumming in his synapses. "Hmm, old men go to see her so she can touch their balls and tell them they have cancer. It's a mystery why that would keep on happening."

"I don't want to know, House." Wilson sighs, standing and stuffing the final pages from his inspection into a purple file folder. Grabbing his coat, he sweeps it over his shoulders before heading to the door. He must be either extraordinarily busy or extremely uncomfortable with the topic of discussion to run away so soon. "I have a patient to see to, so I'm leaving. Close the door behind you." He sends a withering smile back over his shoulder, then takes a cowardly step out the door.

The cripple waits a full thirty seconds before leaping to his feet. As fast as someone in his state could, he hobbled over to the office chair and accessed the terminal. Luckily, James Wilson has a bad habit of leaving his terminal unlocked. House doesn't even need to crack his passcode.

He wonders about the sweetly-named doctor. Melina being a Greek name meaning "little honey," he'd say her progenitors had some weird obsession with sugary things or pet names. She may play the part of the dutiful doctor to the untrained eye, but how would she stack up under scrutiny? He'd soon find out, he decides, hatching a scheme he feels quite proud of in the end.

Checking for the last email to Ms. Darling Melina Sweety in Wilson's outbox, he mirrored the format in the new email he drafted. First, a copy-pasted greeting with a quip about the weather. Then something about a patient that presented with the inability to urinate. A note here or there about how he wanted the patient to feel relief, or remove some discomfort. Something mushy, the likes of which Wilson said all the time. Top it off with his cell, pager, and office number to make it feel official.

Twenty minutes after he first got to Wilson's office, he's clicking the gray 'Send' button and launching an email that secures him a 10:20 appointment with the busty Urologist. He also jots down her contact information from the tail end of her reply email.

He'd dealt with a head cold a few days back. It was the perfect excuse to pick up some generic Sudafed from the pharmacy counter, taking a reasonable dose to stop his urine in its tracks.

Downing a bottle of water is its own treat, the cool liquid soothing his scratchy throat. He had a lingering cough yesterday, and the irritation led to a leftover ache. He can't help but feel the timing is perfect, like the universe was encouraging him, giving him the go-ahead. The fullness of his bladder doesn't even bother him now, mostly because it serves a purpose.

He gets to the exam room early, ecstatic to meet the woman formally. Would she ever look at him? Make eye contact, maybe? She was, if nothing else, an interesting mixture of odd behavior and erotic curves. Maybe this wouldn't be a waste of his time, after all.

Settled on the exam table, he fidgets with his fingers until the door opens. Through it steps that wild beauty, her coppery hair like fire burning around her pale face. Dusty rose lips rolled against each other, her tongue swiping the bottom one to wet it slightly. She wears mascara and lipstick, but not concealer, allowing her multitude of tiny freckles to stand proud.

She snaps open the file that was left on the countertop. A bright purple pair of horned glasses hang on a beaded string from her neck. She slips them onto her face to read his file.

"Good morning, Greg," she greets, reading his name from his record. "You feeling okay?"

"Oh, I'm in perfect health, that's why I'm here, seeing a doctor. Just wanted to hang out with someone smart for once, that's all." He was, of course, being rude on purpose. What a lame question to ask! Any patient with a referral was clearly not feeling okay. She's probably reciting a useless platitude she'd heard from other doctors, which he hates, but knows everyone repeats.

She'd have seen his reason for being here if she read the file before she got to the room, though it's not entirely her fault. Wilson couldn't hand it over because it wasn't Wilson who referred her the patient. He brought his own file with him and purposefully did not include the specifics of his infarction. She would only see his past through the window he carefully crafted for her. Nothing more.

"It says here you haven't been urinating recently." Shadowed eyes took in his body, flitting over the cane leaning on the chair and his blazer on the hook behind the door. "How long has that been going on?" When she talks, her eyes are low. She looks up at his face for a fraction of a second, returning her gaze to his groin without a word. She's either afraid of eye contact, or afraid of him. Whatever it was, he would figure it out, but until then, he'd take his time unraveling the mystery.

He makes a show of looking at his left wrist, checking the hands of his subtly elegant timepiece. "Twenty-four hours. I'd like to get back to the regularly scheduled programming, so I came to the urine expert."

"That was a good idea on your part." She writes something down on his chart, probably about the length of time since he evacuated his bladder last. "I'm guessing you can't provide a sample for me, then."

Sample, he thinks, makes it sound like he's running a ice cream stand. He can't help the whip of his tongue, lashing out another jibe about her name and the situation all rolled into one. "Pipe's not running right now, Sweety. Sorry if you were feeling thirsty."

She has the decency to look put off, but covers it up quickly. The girl has an exceptional poker face, he realizes. Her long lashes obfuscate her pretty green-ringed pupils when she makes more notes on his record. "I'd really prefer you call me Dr. Melina. Been sweating a lot?"

He has to be getting to her. He's pretty sure it's because of the name, but there's no conclusive evidence. However, he's thrown off by her question. So simple, it reminds her of something one of his ducklings would say.

"I know what you're thinking: It's gotta be the Vicodin, right?" Greg stands. "Patient takes too much pain medication, maybe he sweats out all the moisture and none is left for pee. I promise you, that's not the case. My sweat volume has been maddeningly normal." He shows her his open hands, then clasps them in front of his crotch. Drawing attention to the area should help get things moving in the right direction.

"Alright. Well, there's a few things we can test-"

"My bladder is full, no need to test for that... Sweety." He squints, pretending to read her name from her pin. He's actually looking at her breasts. Ogling them, really. She'll never know that because she won't look at his face to see where his eyes are pointing. Her loss.

"Please, call me Dr. Melina."

"Nope!" House answers, popping the 'p'. He smiles, a phony thing he plasters on for her benefit. Or maybe it's for his benefit, since she doesn't seem to be paying attention to his face at all. "Anyway, I'm here for an examination, not an interview. Let's get down to brass tacks, or should I say brass balls?"

"Right. Please remove your pants, Gregory." She looks fed up, like she wants to roll her eyes in frustration, but she doesn't. He lets a beat pass to see if her anger sharpens or fades. Nothing jumps out at him.

"Happily." He tugs down his breeches, enough to bare the area between his hips, but not enough to reveal his thighs. Gray boxer briefs cover his genitalia, but he knew they were soon to follow. He hops back onto the table at her gesture and she squeezes herself between his knees. From his position, she makes a mighty fine picture, like something that ought to be on a calendar. Full page spread.

"Tell me if anything hurts while I'm doing this." Dr. Sweety has such a strange way with patients. She's either hyper-specific or intentionally vague, making her likely a bit off-putting to patients.

Curious of her reaction, he ratchets the flirting up to an 11. "And if it feels good, should I not say anything?"

"Not unless it's medically relevant." Her shoulders come up in a detached shrug and he thinks the innuendo might've gone over her head.

Disappointing, but she had kept up with him surprisingly well before that. "Your wish is my command." He dips his head in mocking reverence.

She starts feeling him up through the fabric of his boxer briefs, dainty fingers poking and pressing into his testes with slight force. It's never too much and her soft touch is almost pleasant, though he reminds his little friend to stay professional. She'd probably learned to be very gentle with a man's taint, considering how sensitive it is.

"Are you circumcised?" she asks, one of her nails scratching him lightly along the apex of his hip bone. He wonders if she did that on purpose, or if she was truly unaware enough to do it accidentally.

"Find out for yourself, Darling."

The palm of her free hand hits her forehead softly, massaging, and she gives him a bit of space. "I told you, it's Dr. Melina. Please remove your boxers for me."

"It's not any fun if I'm the only one undressing," he complains and peels down his underwear, freeing his soft yet heavy member. He was a shower, so the majority of his length was already on display. The ladies love it, but it forces him to make more of an effort to hide it with baggy jeans and untucked oxfords.

It made her eyes widen, a hungry quality gracing her features. As though staring at an all you can eat buffet, she drank him in visually, green-blue irises tracing his member. It was gratifying, being looked at that way by one so much younger than him. She was a veritable child in the medical world. Graduated at 16, then went off to university, studying at Hopkins to get her doctorate, and looking at becoming department head at just 34.

If it were him in the doctor's chair, he would ask how she beat the odds. He'll hold on to those questions for later, maybe sometime long after she'd forgotten about this whole incident. Is it too much to hope that she'd forget?

She uses two fingers to softly pull back his foreskin, baring his glans to the cool air. He lets out a groan, probably because it's difficult to keep himself flaccid. He's flexing his bicep to keep the blood flowing there instead of his cock, but he won't be able to keep that up forever.

Vinyl-gloved hands grasped his base without preamble, cinching around his cock about every centimeter. If he wasn't getting turned on before, he sure was now. Her pinching his urethra from the outside was a perfectly efficient way to check for plaque, but most doctors didn't feel comfortable groping their patients like that. More often that not, they'd at least give a little warning.

Evidently, she doesn't share their concerns.

"There-" He almost groans again, her lithe fingers slipping off his cock head due to it's self-lubrication, but gulps down his saliva instead. He sucks a long breath in through his nostrils, her gentle touch sliding along his base accidentally when she lost her grip. "There's nothing like a sexy urologist checking you for Urethral plaque, as I always say. Some people say librarians are hotter, but I disagree."

She lifts her brows, looking surprised as she finishes checking out his urinary tract. She moves on to the next logical area, the muscles around the bladder. She's just pressing them, checking if they're swollen or locked up. She goes to check his superficial inguinal lymph nodes and has to push his dark pubic hair out of the way. The slight touch against his skin sends a shiver down his back.

"I wasn't aware. I've met a number of ugly librarians." Even though it was Melina who said it, she looks confused. She furrows her brows, continuing to look down, unsure of her own words.

"Like I said, it doesn't align with my personal opinion." House had never had the librarian fantasies or the fever making him hot for teacher, but this new one got to him. Beautiful Urologist with red hair and a huge pair of knockers... The wet dream almost writes itself.

Then she had to ruin it. He knew they should've discussed a safe word earlier. "I'll need to examine your prostate once I'm done here, unless I can relieve-"

House cuts her off, hoping that she doesn't need to put anything up his rectum, now or ever. He's wild, but maybe not that wild. "Just prescribe me some Alfuzosin," he says, scrubbing his hand over his face roughly. The song and dance was fun, at least, but he is getting more irritable as the pressure in his bladder builds.

And because of the increasingly unsubtle way she avoids his gaze.

"Uroxatral? Why?" She narrowed her gaze, moving from the crease of his thighs to higher up on his torso. Her fingertips

"I need to pee and I need to not be in pain," he explained, waving at his bum leg. House tries finding a spot in the corner of the room to stare at. She stares quite intensely at his penis even while she examines other areas and he can't say he's upset by it. Those emerald eyes drinking him in did things to him. She's the kind of girl people write songs about.

It only makes him more suspicious as to why he only heard about her now, after uncovering her like a stack of porno mags stuffed under the mattress. She's young, talented, pretty and stylish. Why was the office rumor mill not going crazy with stories about her? She'd been at PPTH at least six years and not once has he heard the woman's name around the watering hole?

"There are many other treatments that could-" She stops herself, taking heed of House's now waving arms. She looks confused by his antics.

"I don't want another treatment. I just want to manage my symptoms, pop this balloon so to speak," he explains, shaking his head. If he could just counteract the side effects of the pseudoephedrine with Alfuzosin, he'd be fine.

"You'd be risking a lot of other symptoms for no good reason. Just, let me try something, okay?" Unwavering. Cautious. Moves with purpose. All qualities he'd normally he'd respect in a doctor, but right now it just put him on edge. He feels like his balloon really will pop if he doesn't piss soon.

He blows air out his nose, rolling his eyes. "Depends what it is." He pretends to suffer through her diagnosis. In reality, he likes the cut of her jib. She's working smarter, not harder, using treatments as tests like he was trying to teach his team to do.

He just wishes it didn't have to affect him. She doesn't know his symptoms are medically-induced, not naturally-occurring. She doesn't know everything because everybody lies, especially House. That was a lesson she'd still need to learn if she wanted to be Head of Urology.

"I'm going to massage the areas around your bladder and see if I can get your body to urinate."

"Tried that." He'd put ice on his pubis, massaged the area, even pinched himself to try stimulating urination. Nothing had worked, though he wouldn't tell her he was just making sure his ailment was believable. "Couldn't even get a drop," he breathes softly, a wave of discomfort passing over him.

"I want to rule out everything before going to the prostate, and sometimes it works better when done by another party," she assures him, her face softening but never losing its neutral expression. "Close your eyes. Try to relax the muscles in your bladder."

He does as she asks because he honestly did want some relief, but his heart isn't in it. If he gets better, he doesn't get to ask anymore questions. He doesn't really want that. There's still so much he hasn't found out about her.

"Aren't you a little too young and pretty to be a urologist?" he prods, a subtle jab at her inexperience disguised as a compliment.

"I'm 34." She still doesn't look at him, eyes flicking to parts of his groin as she inspects him.

"Is that supposed to explain everything?" Forcibly exhaling a breath, he taps his fingers on his knee. He has to think through his next sentence, attempting to level with her. "You look great. You're a bombshell, but for some reason you're messing around with a bunch of old men's genitals. I'm curious."

Her wide green eyes flash to his baby blues, showcasing her shock. An instant, maybe less, and her gaze is on his thighs again, as if it never happened, but House was nothing if not observant. The few times she met his eyes

"I thought you weren't here for an interview," she countered, not sure what to make of his advances. Her squint narrows and she gazes further up, but never at his face.

"Well, to be honest, I-"

He doesn't know what he planned on saying. Whether he was going to come clean, tell her he was faking it or that he's a doctor, maybe even that he was only interested in her because of Wilson's initial behavior. Whatever he was going to say shriveled up in his throat, a grateful grunt replacing it. The release felt good after the several hours spent blocked up.

"That's good, let it go," she says quietly, as though there wasn't piss streaming down her top, pooling in the center of her skirt. It was pulled taut between her thighs, leaving a puddle of urine over her crotch. She sniffles slightly, her stare slipping distractedly to the puddle then jerking away. Letting it spill to the floor, she retrieves a handful of paper towels from the wall near the sink, patting down her front. Her sweater would probably never smell the same.

"Well, it could be a lot of things, but... You want to know what I think?" At his encouraging nod, she continues cleaning. She kneels down on the linoleum with more paper towels, wiping up the mess he'd made unintentionally and speaks with confidence. "Your urine would be darker if you hadn't peed for 24 hours. That and I think something's missing from your file. Your urethra doesn't feel obstructed or shrunken at all. Did somebody prescribe you Sudafed from behind the counter, Gregory?"

She catches on fast, he realizes, staring down at the doctor he'd just doused in piss. She didn't seem even a little mad, which made him think she must be in a silent rage. There was nobody with enough composure to be cool with that, or so he thought until today.

He recognizes an offered out when he sees one, and for once he chooses to take it. Whether or not she was offering it intentionally was another thing. Did she know he was lying or could he convince her it was a mistake made by his physicians?

"Now that you mention it..." House crosses his arms, chewing on his lip while he figures out how to spin this new lie. "I do remember a prescription for pseudo-something or other. I can't remember what he called it."

"Pseudoephedrine," she says to his feigned frustration. She plasters a fake smile on her face, one that barely reaches her nose let alone her eyes. "It seems you only needed a helping hand getting those muscles to tense up and release your bladder. Lay off the pseudoephedrine from now on, and any other drugs that may interact with your pain killers. I'd like to examine you again in a couple of days."

"Can't get enough of me, Darling?" A badly-hidden smile turns her lips up and parts them just slightly to show her teeth. He catches a peek of her two front teeth bared by her grin, a thin, dark gap appearing between them.

"Good question. Go see Susan at the desk by the elevators and schedule and tell her I want to see you in 7 days." Making one last change to his record, she stuffs the file under her arm and pulls a notepad from her pocket. "I need to go clean myself up." She turns away, scribbling in her pad diligently.

"Sorry about the mess." He winces, golden liquid bathing the white floor in yellow.

"These things happen, Gregory. I'll have it taken care of, you just focus on your recovery." Another little smile graces her lips, this one almost real. "I'll see you next week." She flees, leaving him alone with his thoughts and his mess.

"I know what you did." Wilson steps into the diagnostician's office, glass door closing softly.

House brings down his brows, narrowing his gaze and blinking rapidly. "You're gonna tattle on me?" Tossing the oversized ball, it bounces off the wall and lands once more in his open palm, just as he'd been doing before the oncologist butt in.

"Maybe. I just- You know, she's a good doctor."

House gasps, halting his throwing of the red and white ball. "My, God. That changes everything!" His feet resting on his desktop, the cripple leans back further and uses his hands to pick up his bum leg. Placing it back on solid ground, he faces his friend.

"If you're looking for someone to use, to make you feel smart, it shouldn't be her. She's the pride and joy of the Urology department. She helps a lot of people and.. well, I don't want you screwing that up, honestly."

House plays up a falsified outrage coupled with his signature sarcasm, hoping to throw off the baby-faced doctor. "Honestly? Honestly, I'm insulted you would say such a thing honestly!"

It prompts Wilson to cross his arms, leaning against the bookcase by the door. He stares hard into House's blue orbs, "I've never referred her a patient with urinary retention, but she was sure convinced I had. Whatever you did, she isn't her usual self anymore. You pissed her off, so fix this or I'll have no choice but to tattle."

The tenured diagnostician can't help but shrug his shoulders, twisting his lips in an unsure look. "Closer to being pissed on, if you want to be specific."

"House." Wilson closes in on his desk, concern wedging his brows together and wrinkling his forehead. He lays his hands on the edge closest to his, leaning down with his voice urgent. "What happened?"

"That's what I get for bringing my pet snake to work," House begins, threading his fingers together and tenting them in front of his chin. "He always makes a mess."

"You wouldn't. You couldn't!" Wilson exclaims, perturbed. His face passes through stages of denial before settling on acceptance. "Oh, God. You did, didn't you?"