Title: Backstabbing, Conspiracy and Eggnog
Author: Gomey
Archive: Anywhere, just let me know so I can brag...hehe.
Rating: Strong R
Spoilers: Humpty Dumpty
Pairings: House/Cuddy + Cuddy/Wilson friendship
Disclaimer: All known characters and premises belong to their respective owners. So there.
Summary: "...but what about your perverted fantasies?"

Chapter One

"Bend over."

"Excuse me?"

Greg closed his eyes, letting out a bored sigh. "You're having trouble sitting down, but you haven't found any 'gross bumps' as you so eloquently put it, thus ruling out hemorrhoids. So...do you want me to find out what is wrong, or not?"

The young woman nodded, twirling the ring that encased her left ring finger.

"Great!" Greg clapped his hands together, before opening up a drawer. "Pants down. Bend over." He paused, smiling slightly sadistically. "Oh, I never tire of that!"

The woman looked at him aghast before complying with his demands, nervously shimming out of her tight hip-hugger jeans, revealing a fluffy baby-pink g-string, one size too small.

"Either you still don't know your panty size, or your boyfriend-who-just-proposed-to-get-you-into-bed has a fetish," he mumbled, his thoughts directed at the minuscule garment.

"What?" She whipped her head around, glancing at him over her shoulder, as she thrust her buttocks out. "This...what you're doing now, this is going to help, right?" She asked, her voice trembling.

"Nah," he snapped on a latex glove, "I just really really enjoy anal."

Greg pushed open the door to her office, taking a seat in front of an empty desk. He glanced around, thumping his cane on the floor, welcoming the silence.

"You are unbelievable!" She breezed in, whacking him behind the head as she past by.

"Really? Hmm...I don't remember you being there last night, but then again, there were a lot of people, I wouldn't be surprised if I - oh, you weren't talking about that. And what's this with all the bathroom breaks? Have something baking in the oven, Dr. Cuddy?" He asked sweetly.

She glared at him, straightening out her desk, refusing to answer his question. "You are damn lucky she doesn't sue for sexual harassment. Because that's all you need, another lawsuit in your folder which, by the way, you have an entire cabinet dedicated to your name."

"What can I say...I don't like to share."

"Y'think?" She retorted, shaking her head.

"She won't sue for sexual harassment - too embarrassing for her. Besides, she kind of liked it." He stood up, pacing the area in front of her desk. "And just what is the law on sexual harassment because I feel that I have been made a victim."

Lisa opened her mouth, the corners twisting into a toothy grin. "You...victim of sexual harassment? Just because they don't adhere to your perverted fantasies doesn't make you a victim, House."

"No...but what about your perverted fantasies?"

She narrowed her eyes momentarily, not sure whether or not to call his bluff. "What are you talking about?" She once again found comfort in straightening up her desk, giving her means of distraction from his piercing stare.

"See, this has been plaguing me every since Chico Jones fell off your roof -"

"- his name is Alfredo."

"Bah, minor detail," he disregarded her correction, "when I was inspecting your house - for medical purposes only - I came across a dresser. Nothing out of the ordinary, right?"

She opened her mouth to speak, but he slapped a hand on her desk, effectively startling her. "Wrong-o!" He straightened up his body, now towering over her petite form. "When opening the first drawer which contained," he pretended to think, "either t-shirts or sexy lingerie, can't remember which one," he lied, "a certain picture seemed to have been mistaken for clothing."

"House..." she warned.

"A picture of Robert Chase -"

" - so how does that make you a victim?" She interrupted, eyeing him suspiciously.

"Oh wait," he snapped his fingers, lips pressed together in a pout, "it was me! I just told Chase that it was a shrine dedicated to him so he wouldn't feel left out."

"Okay, so you've made your point," she gritted out through clenched teeth, motioning the door with a sweeping gesture.

"Now why would the sexy Dean of Medicine have a picture of her arch-enemy, the head of Diagnostics?" He paused, taping his index finger to his stubbly chin. "And why, of all places, would she keep it in her no-no drawer?"

"If you had checked the other drawers, you would have found pictures of the other staff members," her words fell out in a pitiful puddle of lies. "Dr. Cameron resides in my pyjama drawer, Dr. Foreman hangs out with my socks, and Dr. James lives with my pants."

"...yeah, I bet you would like him in your pants." Greg muttered, looking at her, unconvinced.

She pressed her lips together, closing her eyes, exhausted. "House...it's five o'clock." She stood up, palms flat on the desk, offering her support.

"Time goes by and you still haven't answered my question," he countered, eyes staring at her, unblinking.

She gazed back at him, searching out answers in his bright blues. Silence lay heavily on both their shoulders as their battle waged out without movement. Lisa finally broke, eyes leveling with the desk. "It's five, and unfortunately, annoying me isn't in your job description. Work day's over...go home."

He gripped his cane a little tighter, his eyes keenly observing her posture, her body language and finally the fear in her eyes. Giving her a curt nod, he swivelled on his left leg and exited her office, leaving Lisa to breathe a little easier.