To say House was in pure heaven would have be an understatement…
He was positively GLOWING. FINALLY he had evidence to use against Cuddy, his boss, the bane of his very egocentric existence, for his own benefit. Grinning like a Cheshire cat lost in a dairy, he suddenly developed a profound admiration for this numbnut wrapped in plastic packaging.
Setting Michael’s chart down, House tied Dr. George's leash to a chair and turned back to the group. Rubbing his hands in a very Snidely Whiplash fashion, the glint in his eye reflected the lighting. “So, you’ve impregnated Dr. Lisa Cuddy? She’ll be SO HAPPY to see you. Let me call her.” House's smile widened when Michael’s grin intensified. Never taking his eyes from Michael and his entourage, House limped to the phone on the wall. “So, where did you meet her?”
“At a grocery store in Scranton. I was thumping a melon when I looked up and saw her own melons greeting me through her tight little pink sweater. Talk about KNOCKERS! I suddenly became very thirsty.”
“That’s what she said,” Jim remarked as the group either smirked, rolled their eyes or gasped in horror (that one was hot-body-blonde-chick.).
House snorted just as Cuddy answered the phone. Startled, she asked, “Can I help you?”
“Cuddy, waddle yourself over to Exam Room One. There’s someone here who claims they know you.”
Cuddy hesitated. “I’ll be there in a few minutes.” “Are you wearing a pink sweater?”
“Yes…why?”
House snorted once again but just hung up. “Oh, this should be good.” Turning to Michael, his eyebrow lifted once again. “So, is your arm really hurt?”
Pretty frump girl shook her head. “Nope.”
“Doctor?” Kelly asked, looking House up and down, clear approval written all over her utterly clueless eyes. “Are you married? Involved? Gay? Pam needs a boyfriend since Jim is seeing someone else. She’s very pretty, don’t you think?” She pointed at the frump girl.
House was startled by Kelly’s forwardness…but quickly recovered. After all, HE was Dr. Gregory House, the King of Forwardness. He could take what he was dishin’. Greg glanced at Pam who had turned three shades of red and was backing even further into the background; Jim couldn’t look anywhere but down; and Ryan, who clearly was the obnoxious chick's boyfriend (who actually knew why?), looked as if he could commit felony homicide right there in that clinic room.
House held up his left hand, revealing his wedding ring but didn’t say anything.
“That bites,” Kelly muttered in defeat.
He turned back to Michael. “Michael, take off the bubble wrap…unless you want to ship your arm to Atlanta. Because I can arrange for that. In fact, we’ve got big, shiny knives here. I can make it painless for you.” Michael looked horrified and defeated but didn’t say anything. Playing hard-to-get, huh? I’ve got ways of making him talk. But with Michael, the best option really was the direct approach. Slowly limping closer, he grabbed one end of the “cast” and yanked, popping some of the bubbles in the process. No yelping, no screaming in pain. He’s such a faker.
House stood there, holding the “cast” with one hand, eyeing Michael with a “This has got to be the most ridiculous idea” look.
“This is nothing,” a tall, balding, rather rotund man slowly spoke from the back of the crowd. “You should’ve seen Michael when he burnt his foot on his George Foreman grill. He wanted Pam to rub Country Crock on his foot and he walked around on crutches." The man grinned stupidly. "It was freakin' funny.”
House closed his eyes, tilted his head, then shook it with genuine disbelief while Michael hissed, “Shut up Kevin.”
Just as House was pondering how Michael could’ve POSSIBLY burned his foot with a George Foreman grill, Cuddy walked in. She looked around then back at House. “What seems to be the problem?”
House’s eyes went wide. “You mean you don’t recognize anyone here?”
Cuddy shot House a bewildered look then looked at everyone. “Should I?”
Michael looked kinda struck down, probably with disbelief. “Lisa, honey, it’s me, Michael Scott, the father of that baby.”
*****
