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Post by Lisa Cuddy on Feb 19, 2007 4:55:57 GMT -5
Lisa Cuddy sighed heavily, running her hand through her thick black hair in vexation. Her shoulders ached, her knees burned. Her eyes could no longer tell the difference between a nap and a blink, and each small break she took held the restorative powers of the latter. When she moved her arm back down to her side she could almost hear the strain, her aching muscles groaning physically in silent protest. She shook her head, drawing a deep breath.
It was days like this, days where the coffee she kept continuously in a sorrowfully used cup would do better as a direct transfusion into her bloodstream via IV, that reminded her why she enjoyed her administrative duties so much. Being trapped behind a desk, almost lost under a pile of paper work, the light on her phone flashing as omni-present reminder of more problems, seemed almost an idyllic, surreal fantasy to the work day she was now trudging through.
Clinic hours had never been easy. They were never fun. Most patients had such strange, innocuous complaints that diagnosis and treatment was more of an irritation than an intellectual challenge. She couldn't blame her peers for disliking the menial tasks presented at the Clinic, but also held the firm belief that the work was necessary and, ultimately, helpful.
So she put herself in the fray. It wasn't strange for her to be working in the Clinic, putting in more hours there than many of her employees, but never had she been trapped there for so long, with so little rest. She had lost count at fifty-four hours, with four of them belonging to uninterrupted sleep. She was, in every sense of the word, exhausted. Yet she remained, for no other reason but to remain. She had no where else to be, and no one was missing her. Except, maybe, her secretary.
Standing behind the reception desk, not heeding the people around her, Cuddy perused a small stack of unattended case files. In reality, she was simply staring at the blurry pages as she leaned against the counter, stifling a yawn and letting her body recover a modicum of strength.
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Post by Molly Martinez on Feb 24, 2007 20:41:03 GMT -5
A yearly checkup always seemed to make Molly healthiest. She felt terrible last year that she couldn't afford a checkup because she had no job, and no money. But this year was different. Being employed by a hospital was the smartest thing she could have ever done--granted it was just a tech job, but the work wasn't challenging, and she got these wonderful employee benefits. Not that she'd ever used them. After all, she rarely got sick, and this was a free clinic. But it was always nice to think that she was somewhat covered by the hospital if things somehow did go south.
So here she sat, among the many sick people. Molly wasn't sick at all, so being stuck between two large, sweaty, sick men was something that did bother her. But hopefully she wouldn't catch anything. They didn't seem to have nothing more than just a bad cold, anyway--or pneumonia, or bronchitis, or something like that. Molly sighed softly at the thought of having pneumonia. She'd be covered, of course, if it got too bad--and with her asthma, it probably would. Who knew, her throat may even close up, or she could develop some sort of skin reaction triggered by the pneumonia. Molly sighed even harder.
She'd been her for a while. She knew how busy doctors were, because she saw them quite a lot behind the scenes. And when they weren't reading Entertainment Weekly, they were doing their job. So probably the doctor was doing his job somewhere, and most likely doing it well. Molly didn't need to complain. She slowly rose up, and walking over to a less crowded area, where less people were hacking and coughing. On this day (mostly her day off, though she was required to be on call if the whole system of computers crashed or something) she wore a simple pair of jeans, and some random t-shirt that probably once belonged to her father. Her hair was pulled up into a ponytail, because she just didn't bother with it, as per usual. Appearance just wasn't important to Molly.
She tapped her foot, looking around once more. She saw a little boy get up, and just vomit on the floor. She closed her eyes immediately, but it didn't stop the smell from reaching her, and she suddenly regretted living by what her father had told her, and she felt like getting up and leaving right now before she caught anything. She heard a nurse call for a janitor to clean it up and she heard the mother hold the boy, but...yuck. Molly shifted uncomfortably, wishing her name would just be called and she could avoid all of this...mess.
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Post by Gregory House on Mar 4, 2007 1:35:06 GMT -5
House savored the image of of a vulnerable Cuddy fighting fatigue while in the middle of her clinic hours.
He had been lacking cases as of late and had been seeking Cuddy for an update on any promising opportunities, only to come upon an empty office. After performing expert interrogation tactics on a hapless secretary, he learned that Cuddy was working diligently at the clinic.
Obviously, it was too good to pass up.
He approached from behind the central desk, discreetly coming up from Cuddy's right. Then he abruptly slammed a heavy palm next to her, the startling volume causing a few waiting patients to jump.
"Good day, doctor Cuddy." He greeted brightly, purposely using his highest degree of voice and even leaning a little closer, so he quite close to shouting directly in her ear. Wearing a smile dripping in sweetness, he watched her carefully, wanting to taste each expression she made.
"I see you've finally lowered yourself from the throne and joined us commoners. How noble of you." He paused, waiting for the sarcasm to sink in, then happily continued. "As it happens, I've decided to pick up the slack on my clinic hours as well."
Perhaps he was overplaying his enjoyment, but the thought of spending his clinic duty with Cuddy was immensely appealing.
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Post by Lisa Cuddy on Mar 4, 2007 16:04:15 GMT -5
The slam House created when his hand met the counter did not make Cuddy jump. It woke her violently from her standing sleep, causing her to cry out and, to her miserable embarrassment, almost fall over. She caught herself by grabbing the edge of desk helplessly, for dear life. She drew a deep breath, a futile effort to get her heart to slow down, but before the slam was done reverberating in her mind, House's voice was piercing her ear drums. She whirled on him, pulling a few steps backwards to keep herself from punching him in the stomach or kneeing him just south of that.
"Doctor House!" She yelped, unable to keep her surprised out of her voice. She swallowed hard, letting anger replace fear before continuing, "this is a hospital, not a bar. There's no need to yell at me." She tried to remain composed, too many nurses, doctors and patients around to scream at him. With a sigh, she shook her head, doing her best to scrape together some dignity.
She grabbed a chart and flipped it open, relieved to see a simple check up staring up at her. As tedious as those generally were, they usually ended up without incident, and it was a welcomed break from being coughed, sneezed and vomited on. She moved away from the desk, letting herself get absorbed in reading over the patient's history. Stopping in front of the waiting area, as the nurses were wont to do, she called the name on the chart.
"Molly Martinez?" She looked up to see a nurse soothing a child who had just vomited. Cuddy sighed.
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Post by Gregory House on Mar 5, 2007 20:08:33 GMT -5
He grinned smugly at her skittish reaction, glad he was able to witness (and cause) such a spectacle. Seeing Cuddy off-guard was something he cherished, knowing that her confident facade must get tiring to wear constantly. He prided himself in believing that he was doing Cuddy a favor by helping her shirk the mask.
Admittedly, he impressed by how quickly she had recovered and went on the defensive. He also noted that she was bent on retaining her calm, business-like composure, which was a bad move on her part; it merely ensured that House would be bent on breaking that demeanor.
He hastily followed her, which was surprisingly easy, since he figured Cuddy was too tired to walk faster.
"If this place was a bar, I would never leave." He muttered to her, not bothering to be obnoxiously loud anymore since she had awoken from her stupor.
He stood next to her while she read off a name and managed to sneak a peek at the chart. He wrinkled his noise in distaste. Check ups were much too trite and predictable for him. But that didn't mean they had to be for Cuddy, he thought with a half-smile.
He frowned as a child unceremoniously heaved, knowing that smell would be lingering for a while, despite any amount of cleaning supplies used. Then he noticed the consistency of the puke and gestured to the nurse.
"When you're done cleaning that up, get the kid a decent meal. He's only throwing up because dear ol' Mommy doesn't notice that Junior has been feeding all his meals to the dog." He observed dryly, knowing that if a person didn't even enough proper food over a lengthy period of time, their digestive tract would turn on them. He also knew that the kid's family must be particularly feckless, if his own mother didn't notice her son skipping meals.
He glanced back over to Cuddy, wondering if she had ever needed a consult for a routine check up. Of course, it didn't really matter if she did, because she was going to get one very soon.
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Post by Molly Martinez on Mar 5, 2007 20:27:47 GMT -5
Molly finally did rise up, carefully avoiding the vomit, the boy and even the nurse, for fear that she'd follow suit. She let out a small sigh, and nodded to Dr. Cuddy, allowing her to lead the way to the room. She did hope this man wouldn't follow them in there--first off, he was a man, and who knew what Dr. Cuddy had to do to her for this checkup. And second of all, she wasn't a big fan of him, and she did /not/ want to make this already somewhat irritating chore to be even more irritating because of him.
She listen to him make the 'diagnosis', though, and saw the guilty look on the boy's face immediately. Molly was impressed, even she had to admit. This man was even a more brilliant diagnostician than she'd heard, or was pretty good with kids. And she had a feeling it wasn't the latter.
((Ack. It'd been longer, but I have no idea if this is before or after the Gala x.o Which is it?))
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Post by Lisa Cuddy on Mar 6, 2007 15:22:21 GMT -5
Cuddy looked back at House as he followed her, knowing instantly what his devious plan was. She snorted, looking down at the chart, up at Molly, then back at House. Checking her watch with near theatrical exaggeration, she feigned a look of surprise and then shifted an apologetic gaze towards Molly.
"I'm afraid, Ms. Martinez, that I lost track of time. I'm due for an administrative meeting upstairs, but don't worry," she took a step towards House and shoved the chart towards him, looking up into his eyes with confidence and a slightly teasing smirk, "but Doctor House, here, is on duty and will be more than honored to give you your check up. It's a routine procedure, so there's nothing to worry about. If you're uncomfortable," here she shot a knowing look towards the patient, more for House's benefit as she subtly commented on his character than for anything else, "as I know I would be, I'll call a nurse to assist."
She was perfectly aware that House had a distaste for all things pertaining to Clinic Duty. And of these routines and endless chart work, he held a particularly loathing for the inane process of a check up. There was no challenge for him, and, on the rare occasion that something did appear in a check up, the cases rarely developed into his favorite brand of medical mystery. People did not receive check ups because they were feeling sick, or presenting strange symptoms. The kind of people that got annual checks ups were, generally, those that took good care of themselves.
While it was true Cuddy did not know Molly, she assumed the young woman was capable of handling herself in an examine. Even if her doctor was rude and abrasive, Cuddy doubted Ms. Martinez would come out of it the worse for wear. No worse than any of House's other patients, anyway...
The more she thought about it, the more guilty she became. It hardly seemed fair, particularly considering that this would put House in a bad mood. Not only did he now have to perform a check up in the clinic, he did not have the joy of bothering Cuddy. By escaping, even through as slight a lie as making up a meeting, Cuddy felt like she was sending the patient to a firing squad.
Still, the guilt was not quite enough to make her want to stop it.
"If you need me," Cuddy said, taking a step back with a smile far brighter than she thought herself capable at this stage in her exhaustion, she winked at House and waved, "I'll be upstairs."
Sleeping.
(Oh, uh. It doesn't really matter. Heh. It can be after, I guess.)
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Post by Gregory House on Mar 7, 2007 22:04:07 GMT -5
"You bitch." He growled to her in her pause between ending a sentence and beginning another.
His aspirations dashed, his mind was frantically searching for a way to still get what he had looked forward to. Even horribly sleep-deprived, Cuddy was a valuable opponent, showing that she could still match his stride and ruin his fun; that fact was admirable, if not a little frustrating.
She threw him that smirk of hers, and he fumed silently, knowing that smirk was very well sexy at any other time, when it wasn't assigning him an impossibly boring task in clinic duty. He could taste her presence as she stepped near, making him act on the impulse to brush her hand as he steadied the file she thrust upon him. His fingertips grazed the skin just enough to leave the tips tingling, if only for a moment. It was subtle and quick, but still noticeable.
With it, he allowed himself a cocky sneer, and he was sure Cuddy got the message- Greg House was not to be defeated by her exit. He never lost. His victory was merely postponed.
He had to keep telling himself now as he faced the endless abyss of insipid tasks.
Matching her merry smile with a newly-burdened glare, he sighed, glancing to the chart. He paused, striking upon an idea, and forced himself to stifle a grin as to not arose suspicious.
"In that 'meeting' of yours, suggest turning this place into a bar." He called after her as an afterthought, then turning back to the multitude of patients before him. He grimaced at the sight, then focused on Mindless Idiot #1- Molly Martinez. A small frown passed over his face, wondering why that name seemed vaguely familiar. He brushed off the feeling.
"Just a sec." He told her with feigned consideration, watching Cuddy leave the area, knowing he needed her out of sight to put forth his plan.
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Post by Molly Martinez on Mar 8, 2007 5:19:58 GMT -5
Molly blinked. No. No, please no, she thought to herself, and closed her eyes for a moment. This can't be happening to her--she didn't deserve this. She only needed a damned checkup, she didn't ask for this. Molly looked to Cuddy as she continued to talk, and Molly let out a sigh, and she shook her head. "No, a nurse won't be necessary," She mumbled, and she looked to her feet.
She knew this was going to be both painful and offensive to her, so Molly decided something right then and there. She wasn't going to respond, because she had a feeling Dr. House only relied on the hope that the person to actually respond to his biting sarcasm. She instead she just put a small smile on her face, nodding to Doctors Cuddy and House, and she put her arms behind her back. Molly would want to say all she possibly could against this man, but she had to tune him out somehow, someway. She pushed back some of her hair, nodding at House's command to wait.
This was going to be bad.
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Post by Lisa Cuddy on Mar 8, 2007 22:04:50 GMT -5
Cuddy smiled pleasantly at House as she cast one last glance back over her shoulder. She was not offended by his name calling. In fact, it tickled her. She loved how much he hated her in that instant, and the triumph she felt knowing he could do nothing about it, defeated by her hand. She sighed and retreated, opting for the elevator rather than the stairs.
She decided that she would take a ten or fifteen minute break, then return to the clinic to check up on House. And on Molly, fearing that the woman may become an unwitting sacrifice in this merry war between the Dean of Medicine and the Head of Diagnostics. She shrugged the last of her guilt away. What would war be without a few casualties?
Of course, she knew that had just been one victory, in one small battle. House would return fire, with something she could not yet begin to imagine. It was dangerous angering him, as he was capable of almost anything, his devious mind able to work in ways Cuddy had not opened her thought processes to. It was because she considered herself a good person, and while torturing House was fun, she made it a rule to not practice such arts on anyone else.
Unless they were asking for it and/or working with House.
Smiling privately, she made her way to her office, making sure to leave it dark and lock the door behind her. Ten, maybe fifteen minutes. Then she would return to the clinic. She nodded, reaffirming her resolution, then reclined on the sofa chair in the corner of her office.
The moment her head hit the pillow of the arm she fell to sleep.
(No worries, I'll be back in the next post. Hahaha.)
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Post by Gregory House on Mar 12, 2007 21:04:54 GMT -5
As soon as Cuddy stepped onto the elevator, House sprang into action. As well as a person with a cane can spring, at any rate.
Glancing back at the main reception desk, he confirmed what he already knew; the nurses were busily hogging the telephone lines, and certainly wouldn't allow him free use without a fight. Tossing Molly's file at her with the assumption she had enough coordination to catch it, he hobbled forward, approaching a particularly-humble looking young man waiting to be called for examination.
"Hey. Mind handing over your cell phone a minute? Gotta make a call- very important doctor business." He explained with his best professional air and a painfully strained smile, nodding reassuringly. The man made haste to oblige, as if he was preventing House was saving a life just by taking a moment to get his phone. House snatched it and turned curtly, dialing the right numbers just by memory.
He knew she was in her office. All that comfy furniture had to be put to some use. And he also knew that, as a rule, he couldn't cut Cuddy any slack.
That's why he called her office, knowing the persistent ringing would be annoying enough to ruin whatever method of relaxation she had planned.
He lowered the phone to his side after the deed had been done, a finger poised over the redial button, pressing it every time he heard the ringing stop. If she answered, he would, of course, hang up. Perhaps he would repeat the cycle, if she wasn't back in the clinic within a reasonable time limit.
It wasn't his best means of revenge, he realized, but it had the benefit of affecting Cuddy herself, so she couldn't punish him formally as she could've if he had, for example, glued all the exam room door's shut (which was an enticing idea that had crossed his mind more than once). He also favored the unspoken message it sent, the one that said, 'Yes, I can affect you this personally, because our relationship allows it."
There was the tricky possibility that she would leave her office to escape his method of irritation and still avoid the clinic, but then he was content with that, for it meant Cuddy still lost time to recuperate.
He turned back to Molly, as if suddenly noticing her existence. Moving past her and snatching the file back in the process, he threw open the exam room door with the depressing reminder he had a check-up to look forward to. He waited for her churlishly, making sure to send her the clear signal that she was causing him extreme agitation. He stole a quick glance back to the file, wondering if she was another insufferable hypochondriac who would request all those unnecessary extra tests.
He also wondered if he should hurry and try to finish the visit quickly, or if he should prolong it just to entertain himself, and perhaps Cuddy, if she returned soon. He was leaning toward the latter, since he had already gone through the trouble of attempting to get Cuddy back to the clinic.
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Post by Molly Martinez on Mar 15, 2007 18:55:38 GMT -5
Molly was brought back from her thoughts when the file was tossed back to her, and she caught it a little flimsily, watching House go over to a complete stranger, dial a number, and never even put the phone to his ear. She wrinkled her nose, having an idea about who he was calling and why, but she didn't say anything. This was a battle she was sure it would be wise to stay away from. She watched him continue to redial, and she rolled her eyes, wanting to comment on his juvenile behavior, but...she held her tongue.
When he turned back to her, she jumped somewhat, and she relinquished the file. She followed after him, somewhat hesitantly (smelling vomit for another hour may have been more enjoyable than this checkup, but she wanted to get it over it). Molly hopped up onto the table, putting her legs together, and looking at him, deciding not to say anything. He was good at what he did, and what he did was medicine and sarcasm. Molly didn't want to give him an excuse to take out the fact that he hated himself on her. She simply looked around, placed her hands politely on her lap, and held her tongue.
Well, she tried her best to, but after a while, she just couldn't help herself.
"You know," Molly began, watching him. "And I'm sure this probably struck you, but she might actually need to...go wherever it was that she was going." She knew Cuddy was lying, of course. "And your calling her isn't helping. But no, you're going to do what you're going to do, because you're just that special kind of narcissist. It's all about you. Even this exam, it's not about me, it's about you not wanting to do this. Why I can't say," She continued, looking into his chilling blue eyes. "Maybe you should give the poor woman a break," She continued. "But you're not going to listen to me, cause you've got your agenda, I understand."
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Post by Lisa Cuddy on Mar 15, 2007 22:17:53 GMT -5
Cuddy awoke with a start at the sound of her phone. She groaned, making her way to it with belabored steps, her vision blurred with lingering sleep. Picking up the phone on the fourth ring, she said her regular introduction, professional and concise, only to find no one waiting on the other end. It took her three more times of picking up to no one to realize what was going on. Grunting, she slammed the phone down on the last call she intended to answer, then made her way to her front door.
Two short sentences to her secretary later, and she was heading back to her couch for, what she hoped, completely undisturbed sleep. And since House had been so kind as to pester her in the middle of her short ‘just ten or fifteen minutes’ pledge, she decided to restart the clock. Turn about was fair play. She realized he wanted her to go down there and yell at him, so her plan consisted of the complete opposite move.
Her secretary would screen her calls, patched to her desk line, taking notes from important calls and keeping tally on the ones sent by House. For every crank call House delivered Cuddy would… do something. She hadn’t quite thought that far ahead, settling on waiting until there was a final number before jumping to a punishment. Clinic hours seemed appropriate, but there might be a better response to his game beyond what her exhausted mind was currently capable of creating.
She had left a message for the secretary to deliver should House stay on the line long enough to hear it.
Stop being an idiot, House. All those years of medical school add up to at least a modicum of intelligence and maturity. Why don’t you find that, somewhere deep in the neglecting recesses of your mind, and pretend you’re an adult for a change? Oh. And enjoy your evening in the Clinic.
Wondering how her secretary would timidly rephrase that brought a smile to her face.
She would not grace House with her presence. He could suffer down in the trenches for a while yet, while she imagined his misery while lying on her sofa and sawing logs. Of course, his pain would be much more sweet in her mind, but that was the glory of ignoring him. He was like a petulant child, and the only way to deal with a misbehaving child was to avoid rewarding his behavior. House’s reward would be her giving in to his taunts, and going down to him to either make him stop, or go back to work. For now, she was content to not do either.
With a yawn, she flopped back down on her sofa, closing her eyes. She found it a bit more difficult to drift off this time, and instead teetered in that strangely comfortable world between sleeping and waking.
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Post by Gregory House on Mar 15, 2007 23:08:45 GMT -5
He looked at her while she talked, making a point to shut the door with a what he hoped was a menacing click when she had finished.
She was going to be one of those patients.
When she was done, he nodded in that dismissive way of his, turning it into a motion toward the counter, where he rifled through a few drawers. In order to do this, he had to set his cane beside the door, which wasn't particularly bothersome, since he could hop around well enough. What was annoying was her perceptive assumptions.
He revealed an arm cuff and a stethoscope after a short while, turning back to Molly. He gave her a lips-pressed-together-into-not-really-a-smile and shoved the phone into her hands just as the secretary picked up. House figured Cuddy now was either on her way, or had escaped his vengeance by other means. He banked on the latter, noting how weary she had looked, and thus was content to put off dealing with him in turn for some well-needed sleep. He also assumed she had planned a nasty message for him, her own version of the last laugh- a message of which he hoped that Molly was getting an earful of.
While Molly was preoccupied with that, he gripped her free arm with unnecessary roughness, wrapping the cuff around it. He then put the stethoscope around his ears with one hand and began to pump air into the cuff with the other. This display of multi-tasking was one he liked to flaunt when he could.
As he pumped the air, he spoke.
"Your knack for jumping to conclusions will probably be a pain in the ass someday." He mentioned idly, as if talking to an old friend. He continued to pump air, which he knew would start feeling uncomfortable. "It's none of your business, and you should feel like an idiot for ever thinking it was. And I know you women are supposed to stick together and all that, but really, you have no evidence to show that I'm not the victim here, so to assume she's the one to sympathesize with is....well, you know what they say about assuming." He said airily, controlling his tone so she couldn't hear his aggravation, impatience, or amusement. Despite the fact Molly had delved into matters that were not hers to delve, she did have a brashness that House knew would at least make her somewhat entertaining.
That still left the dilemma of getting to Cuddy, however. He couldn't do much from the clinic, admittedly, especially now that he was in the exam room. He pondered the possibility of her still having her cell phone on her person; an undeniably foolish mistake, one that a sleepy Dean of Medicine was bound to make. But then he found that he was unable to make himself snatch the phone back from Molly and smugly dial Cuddy's number. He imagined the lack of answer at first, her disbelief and anger influencing her to fume silently and not give him the gratification; perhaps she would discard the phone altogether, or maybe she would answer and start venting. All options seemed distinctly promising, but he lacked the motivation.
He sighed irritably. He was going soft. For Cuddy, no less.
He provided a reasonable alibi for himself- Cuddy was only a worthwhile rival when she was awake and aware, and that could only be gained by her rest. He had no choice but to let her be for now.
Noting he had been pumping air for a much longer time than needed, he stopped, and watched the dial wave at him. He mentally noted the numbers, not even needing to write them down- all he needed to know was that no, Molly did not have a blood pressure problem, even after his lax procedure.
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Post by Molly Martinez on Mar 15, 2007 23:20:53 GMT -5
As he spoke, her arm began to hurt, but she tried not to show much discomfort. She shifted slightly, listening to what House had to say. She wasn't interrupting at all, no, but she sat still and quiet through his little speech. She waited for a moment when he was done, holding the cell phone and listening to the very nervous voice on the other line, chuckling lightly. Molly gave the cell phone back to House when he snatched it, losing some feeling in her arm, but she didn't say anything about that.
"It's no assumption that you like to torture Dr. Cuddy for no particular reason, Dr. House. It's a lot like a little boy in the third grade pulling a little girl's pigtails. It's like flirting for you two, it's cute," She said simply with a shrug. While the techs weren't exactly janitors, they were ignored like janitors, and conversations happened in front of them all the time. They were the eyes of the hospital; they knew what was going on, even though all they did was sit at computers. It was an excellent set up that she was very proud of. "I realize that none of this is my business, Dr. House, and this isn't about any gender," Molly continued with a very quaint nod.
"You have a case every so often, am I correct? A doctor of your stature can't be bothered with any of the lowly checkups." All of this was said with a sick amount of respect and politeness behind each word. "I sympathize with Dr. Cuddy because she runs a hospital, and have to deal with employees, patients, and you," She said to him, and she looked up to him. "Not to mention that everybody knows she is typically the victim. That, Dr. House, is no secret." She smirked somewhat at him, clearing her throat, readying herself for the rest of the examination.
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