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The Adventure of the Employed House (House M.D., House/Cuddy, PG)
Title: The Adventure of the Employed House
Fandom: House, MD
Rating: PG
Word Count: 502
Summary: "Of all the offices in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine."
A/N: Written for the September 2009 housecuddylolol House/Cuddy Crack!Fic-a-Thon. Some thematic references to the episode "Top Secret" (3x16). The title is a reference to the Sherlock Holmes short story "The Adventure of the Empty House." Warning: a bad pastiche of hard-boiled crime fiction follows.

An early December dusk was falling on the seedier side of Princeton. A saxophone could be heard noodling on a minor-key theme.

In his office, private eye Gregory House put down the sax and cracked open a fresh bottle of bourbon. He then cracked open a fresh bottle of Vicodin, and used the whiskey to wash down a dose of the pills.

House leaned back in his chair, and eased his gimpy leg (like all things good and bad, the gift of a woman) onto his desk. Grabbing a pair of balls from a desk drawer, he lazily juggled and manipulated them, as he gazed up at the stilled ceiling fan, and thought. What is "Jewboy" Wilson up to with that hardboiled Volakis broad? How did the Kutner boy really die? Why is "Lucky Thirteen" Hadley going around with "Brainiac" Foreman—I thought she didn’t like men…?

Someone rapped on the office door. "Come in!" House hastily yanked his bad leg off of the desk.

The door opened, and a draft from the hallway blew in a gust of a musky perfume. The scent was followed by a woman in the highest heels House had ever seen. She slipped out of her coat, revealing that she was wearing the most tightly fitted tailored suit—with an extraordinarily short pencil skirt—imaginable. She gracefully sank down onto the chair across from House. She had the dark, wavy hair, pale skin, and prominent nose characteristic of those of the Jewish persuasion, and on her the total effect was agreeably piquant. House rubbed his cheek. Maybe I should have shaved this morning.

"My name’s Lisa Cuddy. I'm here on behalf of a soldier of my acquaintance who just returned from overseas—he’s being mysteriously attacked, and I was told you should be able to get to the bottom of what's troubling him." From her handbag she extracted an envelope, and leaned across House's desk to hand it to him. The way she emphasized her magnificent bust and deep cleavage as she did this couldn't have been accidental.

House glanced at the photos in the envelope—whatever was ailing soldier boy, it looked damn gruesome. "Any reason you're asking me about this, rather than referring your…acquaintance to the military authorities, Mrs.—or is it Miss—Cuddy?"

"Miss Cuddy. And I believe in supporting the troops, don't you?"

House suppressed his instinctual rush-of-bile response to all things military. "I charge $500 a day, plus expenses."

Miss Cuddy raised an exquisitely groomed eyebrow. "So you will take the case? But are you sure you want to insist on that much? Detective Tritter tells me these days you’re in no position to make demands." Damn the dame. She had done her homework.

"Look over those pictures tonight. Tomorrow I’ll call you, and we’ll settle the terms." She rose from the chair and turned away. Just before she put back on her coat, House caught a glimpse of a rear end that might have been sculpted by Michelangelo.