RIFFING ON HOUSE – Six Vignettes


The young resident fidgeted as he sat facing Lisa Cuddy. Surely she wore that top on purpose. He could see so much of her breasts that he almost expected a big black "CENSORED" bar to suddenly appear in front of her chest.

She had to have worn it to make him nervous. That was the only reason he could see.

Finally, she stopped looking through his papers and looked up at him. "Well, Dr. McCleod, it looks like you certainly are a very qualified doctor. You'd make an excellent addition to our Diagnostics Department."

He sighed in relief and leaned back in his chair, allowing a smile to creep across his face. That smile was wiped off of his face by the next thing Dr. Cuddy said.

"You're going to be working with some very strange people. You really ought to know more about them."


Robert Chase tried to control his breathing. The amount of anger he felt was insane. There was his car, his precious car, smashed to shit by a careless UPS driver.

Turning away, he closed his eyes. He took a deep breath – held it – counted to ten – let it go. He felt some semblance of calm return.

He reversed to face the UPS driver. But the sniggering smirk on the man's face just pissed him off.

Taking another deep breath, he approached the UPS driver. "Sir, I'm going to need your name, phone number, and insurance information," he said.

The driver laughed. "Kiss my ass, Ozzie! You can talk to UPS. They're the ones who're gonna have to fork over the money, and good luck with that!"

Chase shook his head. "Sir, please don't make me angry."

The driver belched, and then snorted. "Why the hell not? You gonna bust some karate shit on me? I got a better idea. Go back down under, and play with a koala."

Chase looked up. His eyes, usually a sedate blue, were suddenly a brilliant green. "You wouldn't LIKE me when I'm angry."

In a split second, Chase nearly doubled in size. His skin went from its normal tan to a bright kelly green. Gigantic muscles split his clothing, leaving him clad in only a pair of spandex tights. He punched a hole straight through the UPS truck, scattering packages, and had lifted his fist to squash the driver like the bug he was, when he felt a sharp prick in his right calf.

"Glad to see you dressed for the occasion this time," House's voice rasped behind him. "You nearly caused a massive pileup on the street last time when your hulking genitalia was exposed to the whole world."

Those were the last words Chase would hear for fifteen minutes as the sedative took hold. As he sank to the asphalt and shrank back to his normal size, House turned to face the terrified UPS driver.

"I believe you had a package for me?"


James Wilson only did this once a month – and sometimes not even that. He'd tell his co-workers he was going to Vegas for the weekend, and indeed he would – but after landing in Vegas, he'd catch the first JetBlue or Southwest flight down to the Burbank airport. He'd rent a car, drive down to West Hollywood, and get a room at the Sunset Plaza Hotel.

And now, as he walked out the door of the hotel, he didn't even draw a single look for dressing in a way that would've caused the people in New Jersey to have strokes and heart attacks.

Wilson was clad in a black leather miniskirt, a pair of boxer briefs to keep from exposing himself, a midriff-baring pink top with a bustier underneath, and six inch stiletto heels. With a blonde wig and makeup, looked just a little bit better than Courtney Love.

And down to Santa Monica Blvd. he went. Parking himself at the corner of Crescent Heights, he gestured to the cars as they passed. He knew it was a little early – only 10:30 – but he also knew from experience that he'd turn at least two tricks before the end of the night.

Here came number one. A black Lexus sedan pulled to the curb, the shotgun window rolled down, and a raspy voice came from inside. "Hey, baby, how'd you like to have some fun?"

The voice sounded familiar to Wilson. However, given the number of times he'd done this, he would've been surprised if he hadn't had a repeat customer. So, he opened the door, slid in, and turned to face his john. "So, what would you like to-"

"WHAT THE FUCK?!" Greg House shouted in shock, directly in Wilson's face. They both just sat there staring at each other in shock for a moment. Then House started to chuckle.

"I should've known," he said, his laughter turning into a full blown gale. "I should've known."



She tried to ignore him. She tried so hard. He pissed her off ALL THE TIME, and yet there were so many times when she wanted nothing more than to strip off his clothes and have her way with him.


She threw her pen down and huffed aloud. "What?!" she snapped.

"Your mom's on the phone."

"Oh, Jesus tapdancing Christ."

House watched as she picked up the extension in the conference room. It didn't look like she was pleased.

"Allison, you never come home!"

"I'm a doctor, Mother. I have a job. I have responsibilities. People's lives depend on me."

"I think you just like that doctor you work for better than you like your family."

"Mother, the doctor I work for is a misanthropic bastard. But you know what? He doesn't nag me all the time about how I never go home!"

"Allison, please. We just want to see you for Thanksgiving. That's all."

"Oh, joy. Which of my drunk relatives will be there for that?"

"None of them! Just your Aunt Jeannie!"

Cameron resisted the urge to smash the phone against the wall. There was nothing she could do. Her mother would keep on her until she gave in.

She took a deep breath. "Fine, mother," she ground out through her teeth.

House had turned away from Cameron's phone conversation to read a couple of e-mails. He turned back to her to call her in to the office –

And as he did so, she laid one arm on top of the other, nodded – and disappeared.


Foreman's apartment was dark. Well, at least the lights were off.

It was well lit from the multiple beakers of glowing liquids all around the room.

Eric Foreman walked around the darkened apartment, clad in a thick robe. He wore glasses – not ordinary for him – and chanted in Latin, of all languages.

The phone rang. He picked it up, and answered it. "Yes. No. Yes. WHAT?"

He hung up the phone quickly. Shedding the robe, he turned on the lights. Turning to face the beakers, he pointed a thin rod at them, saying something in Latin. They all disappeared.

The apartment was almost back to normal when the doorbell rang.

Foreman opened the door.

Detective Tritter stood before him.

"Good evening, Dr. Foreman," he said.

"Detective." Foreman sized him up. "I thought you were going to leave House alone."

"Oh, I have no intention of bothering Dr. House," Tritter replied with an evil smile. "It's you I'm after."

Foreman gasped in protest. "Me? I haven't done anything wrong in fifteen years!"

Too late, he realized he was still holding the thin rod.

Tritter's smile grew wider. "That's what I thought." He reached behind his back. Foreman, thinking he was going for his gun, tried to dive for the floor – but Tritter whipped out a silver rod of his own, pointed it at Foreman, and yelled, "Petrificus totalus!"

Foreman was frozen, hanging in mid-air like a marionette. Shit, he thought. How the fuck did I let this happen?

Tritter approached Foreman, almost giggling with glee. "You're screwed now, Dr. Foreman!"

He rolled up his sleeves. "You're… a Death… Eater?" Foreman grunted, seeing the mark on Tritter's forearm.

"You betcha," Tritter replied. "And I have your phone tapped. So, when you got that call just now about Voldemort, I figured it was time to move in!"

Tritter's inattention to his spell was causing it to weaken. Enough so that when he got up in Foreman's face to gloat, Foreman was able to lift his foot far enough and fast enough to kick Tritter square in the nuts.

Tritter collapsed to the floor in pain, his spell broken. Foreman picked his wand up off the floor and pointed it at Tritter.

"Avada kedavra… bitch."


Dr. McCleod couldn't believe what he was hearing. The Fantastic Four, this was not. In fact, working with this team Cuddy had described? This was too much to handle!

The door opened, and a scruffy looking man in a lab coat walked in. Cuddy stood up to greet him. "House, meet Dr. McCleod."

Dr. McCleod stood and turned to face House. "Pleased to meet you… I think," he said quietly.

House looked at his outstretched hand and shook his head. "No, I don't greet people by shaking hands," he said. "I greet new doctors by having them give me a physical examination."

Dr. McCleod looked at House in bewilderment. Then, he cocked his eyebrow, and said, "Well, I guess that makes sense."

He had House sit down in the chair. Finding his pulse point, he took his blood pressure and heartrate. Both were normal, although the feeling of his pulse almost seemed double – kind of like there was an echo or something.

"Take off your shirt," McCleod said. House complied.

Putting on his stethoscope, McCleod pressed the amplifier against House's back. "Deep breath… and out." He switched to the other side. "And again… and out."

He moved the stethoscope to the area of House's heart. As he listened, though, he actually heard the echo he had felt before. "What the hell…"

As he moved the amplifier across House's back, the echo grew stronger, and the beat grew weaker, until he was directly opposite his heart – except he could hear what sounded like a heart beating strongly, directly beneath his stethoscope's amplifier.

He backed away from House, a look of wide-eyed shock on his face, as a hugely mischievous smile split House's face. "Hearing double, are you?"

Before McCleod could reply, a sound filled the room. It was a strange sound, sounding like a length of chain being dragged through a parking lot. As he watched in astonishment, a blue structure that said "Police Call Box" on it appeared in the corner of Cuddy's office.

When it became solid and was no longer see-through, the door opened. A tall, skinny man with short hair and a leather jacket popped out. "Greg-o!" he said, a distinctly northern British accent flavoring his voice. "Ready to go?"

House stood up, and put his shirt back on. "Dr. McCleod, a pleasure to meet you. But, if you'll excuse me, my ride is here."

He stepped inside the box, but as he was shutting the door, he turned back to Cuddy. "Lisa? He'll do JUST fine."


Dr. McCleod sat in shock. "I don't think I can do this," he said.

"Oh, you'll be fine," Cuddy replied. She stood up, and strode behind him. Placing her hands on his shoulders, she began to rub his neck. Oh, that felt good.

The longer the neck rub went, the more drowsy he felt. Suddenly, she stopped. As McCleod looked up in curiosity, Cuddy stepped in front of him – and stripped off her clothes, dropping them to the floor. She stood before him naked. In his drowsiness, he registered no shock, and put up no resistance as she stripped his clothes off his body.

Straddling him, she sank down on top of him. The sex was fast and furious, but she seemed satisfied.

"Wow," he mumbled through his stupor. "What was that for?"

"Oh, I always make love to my victims."

He struggled to sit up. "What?"

"Well, I figure it's the least I can do for them before I eat them. You see, I'm a succubus."

There was an unearthly roar, then a piercing scream – and then silence.

Cuddy got dressed once again, and then returned to her desk – her office now empty once more.