First of all, to get it over with, I own squat.

I realized that I needed to post something, so I will warn you that I came up with this on a whim. Hopefully it's at least in character.

So I decided to name this after the prompt (Tamaro) despite the fact that it doesn't have much to do with the story. And, uh, prompt is a pretty relative word, it's really just the first word that popped onto the tv screen when I decided that I wanted to write a house fanfic. It's actually Janet Tamaro who co-produced CSI: NY for eight episodes and was the supervising producer for thirty-one episodes of Bones, all of which I just found out from IMDB; at the time the credits for CSI: NY just happened to be on.


Cuddy pulled another file across her desk. One more file before she would go down to the cafeteria for lunch. Normally if she had this much work to do she would just work through her break, but it was only one o'clock and her eyes were already starting to blur.

Cuddy opened the folder and let herself thump back into the chair. "Bugger." It was yet another complaint over House. It was the fourth one that she had received this week and one of them was from a donor who was insistent that Cuddy meet with him tomorrow – a Saturday for christssake – to discuss what would be done about House's irresponsibility. Unfortunately for Cuddy, tomorrow's meeting would probably amount to something along the lines of: "Meaning no disrespect sir, I am not firing him … best diagnostician … truly hope that you will reconsider your financial decision." Cuddy put her head in her hands and let out something between a moan and a sigh.

There was a quiet click and Cuddy heard her door slip open, followed by a quiet thump, shump. Thump, shump. "House, just leave." She knew that it was begging, but had stopped caring, too tired even to raise her head. "House, please." Ignoring her request, he thump-shumped across the room and dropped a plastic container on her desk.

"Frank Tamaro." Cuddy frowned, and then realized that he was talking about the file in her hands. House sat down across from her with a sandwich in his hands and Cuddy started looking through the file, still resting her head on one hand. "Semi-professional runner, muscle death," Cuddy froze. House noticed, and chose to plough on; uncomfortable but insistent. "He avoided any kind of diagnosis or treatment for months, fearing for his career. He ended up here early enough that only a minimal amount of muscle needed to be extracted, with physical therapy he will be able to run again, maybe not live off the sport, but he'll run." Cuddy's throat was tight, her body was tense. House shrugged. "Everyone involved was lucky, I knew exactly what I was looking for."

Cuddy finally looked up and met House's gaze, shifting uncomfortably and trying to blink away the ache behind her eyes. It was House broke the silence, biting into his sandwich and chewing loudly. Cuddy sighed. "Why are you here House?" Was he here to take advantage of her exhaustion and rub the infarction in her face, or was he actually being unprecedentedly helpful and giving her information about her hospital?

He swallowed loudly and swiped her water to wash it down, then smirked. "Well Cuddy, I was worried about you." House paused and she narrowed her eyes. "You hadn't been down to lunch and I certainly didn't want anything," he looked pointedly at her chest and nodded to behind her desk, "to fade away." Cuddy rolled her eyes and pushed the file away from her. House gave her a funny look. "Wanna go for a walk?" Cuddy gave him another suspicious look and then just shrugged.

"One of us has to be productive enough for the both of us House, and I'm not putting any bets on you." Cuddy looked longingly at the stirfry and then, giving up, pulled both the container and a file towards her, resigned to working through lunch. However, her file hand was quickly rapped with a paper plate.

"Ah-ah. It's a beautiful day, you have a disgustingly vegan stirfry, and there is an exciting game of lacrosse going on outside which we are going to watch seventeen minutes of while you eat your lunch." Cuddy frowned again and House spoke condescendingly. "A tired, distracted administrator makes for a chaotic hospital." He added smugly, "And I know that that's your worst nightmare." House stood with some difficulty and limped to Cuddy's coat stand. "Well?" He insisted, launching her jacket towards her before proceeding out the door. Cuddy grabbed the stirfry as she went – impressed that House had remembered her dietary preferences – and hurriedly separated her jacket from her papers before following House out the door.

Catching up to him at the lifts just as the doors were opening she murmured a quiet "Thanks, Greg," hoping that he wouldn't hear it.

House smirked and spoke excitedly. "Does this mean that I get free clinic duty?"

"Shut up House."

Thanks for reading my ramblings and I'd be eternally grateful if you left a review. : )