The Art of Subconscious Illusion: Rewritten (Death NotexHouse, MD crossover)

An Epic of Time Wasted

"That's what I thought." Said Cuddy, handing the doctor back his cane. With his third leg safely back in his hand, he pocketed the DS and limped out of the office, Cuddy following close behind. Walking in step with him down the corridor – like that wasn't difficult – Cuddy began talking again. "You know, House. That has to be the first time I've seen you speechless. I think I'd like to see that more often."

The lift doors opened, the present occupants being two surgeons in green, a doctor in his white lab coat and two visitors who looked to be a couple, what with how the dark-haired East Asian girl had her arms linked with the naturally black-haired young man, a pink Nike cap pulled down to cover his face in a couple-y way, as though the girl had done it in jest. "Yeah, "House replied, the pair walking into the lift, "and I'd like to see your ass more often but that isn't likely to happen in the future, now is it?" Cuddy just looked dumbfounded at him, along with the five others in the lift. "Hey, don't blame me!" he put his hands up in mock submission, "You saw the way they were looking at me!"

The lift doors opened at the clinic, and House and Cuddy stepped off, stopping outside the clinic entrance. House was about to walk though, when Cuddy stopped him. "Oh, and House, before I forget, you've got a date with the local detective in two hours or so – something to do with a missing shipment of pain relief drug…"

"Yeah, yeah, I've got the point: Do the clinic hours, cut my dosage."

"That's right, now go get 'em, tiger!"

With a small grin playing on his face, House limped into the clinic, narrowly avoiding the large puddle of vomit on the floor and Cuddy following suit. The waiting room was packed up, and he was sure now that Cuddy had not been exaggerating earlier.

"Good morning, tragically ill ones!" he shouted loudly, bringing everyone to his attention. "I'm Dr Gregory House and I'll be in Examination Room 1, where I'll only be too happy to diagnose your sniffles and poach your Rhino Virus –"

"Yes, so if you will make your way-" Cuddy said, hoping for the short and sweet approach. But of course, neither of those things existed concerning House.

"However, there are a few rules in my Examination Room: If you sneeze or puke on or near me, I'll rip your face off; if you bring in any food or drink, I have a lovely trash can to put it in for safe keeping; if you bring in alcohol, gimme, and the same goes with your drugs…prescription or otherwise."

One mousy woman put her hand up, looking about ready to object, but House was too quick, and he jumped the gun on interruption, "Oh, don't worry, these aren't your usual Examination Room regulations: Those things about patients just really tick me off. Which reminds me, if you really tick me off…" he reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out his little nest egg of vicodine, "You'll see these, and no, you can't have them: These are mine." He'd said those last three words slowly and firmly, as though he was talking to a mischievous Afghan hound, glaring as though the patients had already committed such a heinous crime.

Cuddy just sighed, rolling her eyes before addressing the worried crowd, "Yes, I know he can be a little unbearable sometimes, but-"

"Your damn right I can be unbearable! I just took a big dose of these little babies earlier," he kissed the vicodine bottle at this point, "and if I weren't stoned off my face right now, I'd be…well, let's just say that that you wouldn't like me when I'm straightedge… so," suddenly, he stretched out his arms, like a child wanting to be picked up, "who wants me?"

And as five people slowly stood up and left, House put his hands on his hips, gave a satisfied smirk at a job well done, and strutted as any cripple could into the Examination Room, closing the door behind him.