Title: The Sandbox
Summary: House vs. Cuddy fun! This is NOT a House/Cuddy pairing.
Word Count: 616 words
Disclaimer: If I owned House, M.D., there would be a lot more dirty and a lot less angst.
A/N: I'm relatively new to the House World (been here four months, planning on staying), so if anybody is ooc, please forgive.

Lisa Cuddy sighed as she walked down the hallway. She was (once again) on a House & Co. hunt. This routine was really getting tiresome. Cuddy was sure there were only so many places a man and his fellows to hide and yet, House just seemed to come up the new and more outrageous places to force Cuddy to drag him out of. Why couldn't the man just do something the normal way for once. She was about to give up and find Wilson (who seemed to have a House-Detection Radar) when she heard the distinctive sound of House criticizing someone. She hurried down the hallway as fast as her (questionably appropriate) skirt would allow, throwing open doors as she went. She could hear Cameron now, protesting vehemently (about something House had suggested, she was sure) and pushed the speed up a notch, praying that her skirt wouldn't rip and that she'd find House before he scared a patient's family or offended another valuable staff member. When she realized the voices were coming from the men's bathroom, she sighed deeply and steeled herself for yet another sparring match with House.

Taking the last few steps, Cuddy burst into the restroom, startling Chase and Cameron, and making Foreman grin and shake his head.

"House! You cannot diagnose in the men's room!" Cuddy said with exasperation.

House turned from the mirror he'd been writing on. "Not now, mom. We're busy doing a differential and your obscenely short skirt is distracting me," he said, then went back to writing on the mirror.

"Let me rephrase that last statement: Cap that marker, step away from the mirror, and march your gimpy ass back to the diagnostics room or I'll make sure that all your clinic patients are children and old ladies for a month."

"But mo-oooooom," House said in a whiny, 3-year old voice. "Napoleon got to draw up his war plans in a sand box."

"Would you like me to have one built in your office then? I'm more than willing if it will keep you there." She wished she were joking.

"Only if you come and play in it with me. And by play I mean without pails, shovels, or clothes," he answered, smirking and waggling his eyebrows at her.

"Ehr!" Cuddy threw her arms up in the air and her nostrils flared angrily. Suddenly she deflated and gave a long, deep sigh (again). "Fine! Fine. Do whatever you like. Diagnose in the bathroom, write on hospital property, relocate your damn desk down here if you like! I give up," Cuddy said, stomping out of the restroom.

House watched her go with a triumphant look on his face. When the door shut behind her, he turned back to his quietly waiting ducklings (this power struggle was new to no one). "Where were we?" House asked with a grin.


Later that night as his place, House recounted the story for Wilson while The L Word was on a commercial break.

"Did Napoleon Bonaparte really construct battle plans in a sandbox?" Wilson asked.

House grinned. "Yeah. He really did. And to think, that little tidbit of knowledge was probably completely wasted on Cuddy."

"Well can you blame her. Between having to chase you down in the morgue or the men's bathroom and all the bad luck she's been having, she's starting to think you're out to get her."

Still grinning, House took a bite of his pizza. "Maybe I am." He laughed then. "Cuddy's eve graciously offered to have a sandbox built in my office."

Wilson laughed now too. "Unknowingly fueling your war efforts, huh?"

Both men were still laughing, as The L Word came back on (muted of course).