Disclaimer: They're not mine, I'm just messing around with their lives before I return them to Paramount.

Cuddy

"Do you think that insulting the patient is going to make me say yes?"

"The patient is an idiot…"

"If you don't let me get back to work soon, I'll get that inscribed on your tombstone. Or would you prefer 'everybody lies'?"

"The woman is a psychotic."

"I believe the word you're looking for is psychic." I interrupted yet again.

"No, she thinks she is a psychic, which by definition makes her a psychotic." House leaned over my desk and placed his hands pointedly over the paper I had been trying to read. Now I had no choice but to give him my full attention, which unfortunately meant that I had an unobstructed view of the downward angle of his gaze. "If I ever want to contact my dead grandfather I'll ask for her help. By that logic it's kind of rude of her not to trust my medical opinion isn't it?"

"Your opinion has nothing to do with medicine," I informed him, refusing to give him the satisfaction of adjusting my jacket, "you just can't stand…"

"Doing nothing is doctor-assisted-suicide!" He yelled, frustration finally getting the better of him. More quietly, but certainly no more calmly, he added "Isn't there something in the rule book against that? I'd have to go and look back through my first year notes to double check."

"I'm not even going to bring up all the times you've ignored that ethical code…"

"You just did." He grumbled, sitting back down and resting his chin on his cane.

I continued to speak, ignoring him; it was easier to project my thoughts when he wasn't staring down my blouse. "You wouldn't be here if you didn't realize that it's her decision and not yours, but now I want you to remember that it's not my decision either. She doesn't want the surgery."

I picked up my pen once more and resumed my examination of the letter on my desk, signifying the end of the conversation. A moment later I heard the irregular shuffle of movement towards the door, then the brush of glass against carpet, then nothing.

I tapped my pen on the page, waiting for the door to swing off its hinges and a certain cranky cripple to barge back in and start making demands.

Nothing.

I went back to the first paragraph and skimmed it, trying to re-focus my attention on the letter. Why was it that I could pay much closer attention to something like this when House was quite literally breathing down my neck? He would be outside my office, watching through the glass and waiting for the tension to rise before he made his grand entrance. Well I refused to give him that satisfaction; I dragged my eyes from one word to the next.

Nothing.

Finally I couldn't stand it anymore. I glared up through the glass wall of my office to the spot where I was sure he would be standing: nothing.

I frowned even more, annoyed with myself; House didn't even need to be anywhere near me to make me nervous and agitated. If I was a patient I'd diagnose myself with paranoia. Actually that isn't entirely true; if anybody besides House made me feel this way I'd waste no time in signing myself into the nearest psych ward, but as it was I knew that he wasn't giving up, just re-directing his energy. This, as far as I was concerned, provided plenty of justification for my nervousness.

I sighed and rolled my shoulders; whatever it was, I was sure that I would hear about it soon enough, and in the meantime I had better things to do than follow one of my doctors around like an overwhelmed babysitter.

,',

I was acutely aware of an extra bounce to my step and an extra sharp click to the sound my heels made as I marched out of the board room, but I was in too good of a mood to worry about my professional image. I was pretty sure nobody but myself, and a hyper-observant diagnostician, would notice anyway.

And how sad is it, I thought with mild amusement, that all it takes to put me in a good mood is to discuss everything on my agenda ten minutes ahead of schedule. It wasn't an exhilarating rush like the kind that came from a particularly intense confrontation with House, but rather a strange sort of confident satisfaction; I might even take my midmorning break, which had always been a part of my timesheet but never once in fifteen years did it make its way into my schedule, plus that extra ten minutes of course.

Rather than taking the direct route back to the first floor, I skirted around to the back stairwells and detoured through the maternity ward. It was hard to imagine myself screaming in pain as it took three dozen hours to push a seven pound infant through a very small, and very sensitive, part of my anatomy. Then of course there was the pregnancy itself; nausea, back pain, inability to sleep or sit down, small bladder space, spotted bleeding, swollen feet, hormones… so why did I want this so much? I couldn't fool myself into thinking that it was all about holding a precious little life in my arms, knowing it was completely dependent on me, although that thought did hold a certain allure. In truth my desire to have a baby was something I wanted to prove I could do. I had already excelled as a student, a doctor, a boss and a dean, but here I was being presented with a huge part of life that I had never experienced. I wanted the challenge of being thrust into a new situation, the thrill of learning something new, the satisfaction of knowing I could handle two full time jobs simultaneously.

I slowed my pace as I neared the viewing room. Two men were conversing in low tones as they peered in through the glass at the new babies kicking awkwardly in their hospital brand cradles. What a beautiful picture, no wonder it was so popular in movies. What didn't make it onto the screen of course is the shot of the new mother, shifting uncomfortably in the narrow hospital bed, tired and groggy from her drugged up ordeal yet unable to get comfortable for fear of tearing her stitches. What a beautiful start to life; at least, I thought to myself, I hold no illusions as to what I am getting myself into. I allowed my hand to brush against my stomach, disguising the action as part of my movement as I breezed past the rows of tiny incubated beds. My caution was probably unnecessary as nobody was watching me, but I enjoyed the stealth anyway; nobody knew my secret and I was determined that nobody would know until I was good and ready to tell them.

"Doctor Cuddy!" I groaned and glanced at the hall clock as I reached the first floor; one minute. One minute until the scheduled break which I was determined to enjoy and here I was being confronted with a pressing hospital issue in the form of an agitated Nurse Brenda waving a chart at me from down the hall. Ignoring the temptation to take an example from House and duck into a nearby room to hide, I plastered a professional look of attentive indifference on my face and stared her down as we approached each other. Any staff member with an ounce of sense would take the hint and press on only if the matter was extremely urgent. Brenda must have thought that the balance of the universe would be upset if I didn't attend to this situation NOW… either that or she really was immune to the best glares of the hospital's two most intimidating doctors.

"Ms. Frost died this morning, Dr. Cuddy. Her brother is making a fuss down in the morgue, he's threatening to sue." I had expected the first part; Crystal Frost was the most recent patient of the Diagnostic Department; House's department. It was regarding this patient that the cranky doctor had come to my office about yesterday afternoon. House had no idea what was causing the large tumour in the woman's brain, but he did find out that she had two options; die or… well, die. House wanted her to get brain surgery to remove the tumour, which was extremely risky and would kill her at the least; at the most it would almost certainly leave her severely brain damaged or catatonic. My last update on the situation was that she was still refusing the surgery, the reason for my encounter yesterday with a very annoyed Dr. House.

My good mood long forgotten, I started down another floor to the morgue. Ms. Frost's brother knew very well that his sister was dying; it was understandable that he was upset but I failed to see why it was my responsibility to coddle every grieving relative that came through the hospital doors.

My tone of voice implied all of this when I responded to his unintelligible abuse, even if I hid it behind soothing words of condolence. "Mr Frost, I sympathize with your grief but you must remember that we are a hospital and not a house of miracles."

"I know it's a hospital!" he snapped back, "It was Crystal who thought she'd be cured by the elemental spirits, not me."

I immediately felt the warning flags go up in my mind; this was more than a simple case of shock that I was dealing with. "I am sorry for your loss, but there was nothing more we could have done for your sister."

"If there was nothing more that could have been done, then why did you have to go and do what you did!" He demanded, his voice echoing throughout the eerily silent room. "Why couldn't you let her die in peace?"

The warning flags in my mind were now accompanied by loud alarm bells. This was a deceased patient of House's… but surely he wouldn't…not without informed consent. With a deep sense of foreboding, I looked over and down to where Ms. Frost lay; her cold form positioned on an even colder slab. Her head had been partially shaved and there was an angry, curved red gash which had yet to be stitched up. "She had the surgery." I breathed, my quiet voice carrying through the sterile space. I hadn't meant to say anything; it was obvious that she'd had the surgery, and had died in the midst of it. As a rule I tried to avoid the appearance of being caught off guard by anything; it was never good for the appearance of the hospital for one doctor to question another in the earshot of a client.

"Damn right she had the surgery. Right after she said she didn't want to. What's your hospital's policy on that?"

Despite the immobility of my mouth, my mind was whirling sixty miles per hour in second gear. House would never perform surgery without some form of legal consent… would he? Could he if he wanted to? Granted he had been known to ignore every other ethical guideline at his convenience, but this had always been the one rule he would never cross. So then what could have happened? I would have known immediately if he had appealed to the courts, assuming he could find a way to do so without my cooperation, and even if he had managed to talk the patient into signing a form, without her brother's knowledge, I certainly would have gotten the memo.

And anyway, House had to have had some sort of paper trail around this incident; there wasn't a surgeon in this country who would perform brain surgery on such short notice without a thorough examination of the particulars. I would have to find him and figure out what had happened before I could even begin to console the poor woman's grieving brother. "I…I'm sorry, but if you're serious about suing, then I really shouldn't be speaking to you without consulting my lawyers." I finally stammered out pathetically and practically fled the room. I would have to get the full story out of Dr. House before I could deal with the situation any further.