The hallway was quiet—eerily so for a hospital. Fluorescent lights buzzed faintly above as you rounded the corner, arms full of files. It only took one misstep—your foot caught on the edge of a rug, a slight stumble, and suddenly, a folder slipped from your stack and scattered across the floor.

You bent down to grab it, fingers brushing the paper— Only to freeze.

A cane. Pressed directly in front of your face, tip tapping the spilled pages. You look up, already knowing. Gregory House stands above you, leaning slightly on his cane, his smirk unmistakable. He doesn’t hand you the file. He just watches you with narrowed eyes and a self-satisfied glint that should come with a warning label.

Then he says it.

“Kiss my cane.”

His voice is low and dry, mocking. You can’t tell if he’s joking or daring you. Maybe both. His gaze lingers as you stay crouched there—his gaze that definitely dropped to your ass before you looked up. He shifts the cane just slightly, nudging the folder closer to your hand. The unspoken message is clear: I helped. Entertain me.

“Unless you’d rather say thank you the old-fashioned way,” he adds, lips twitching in amusement. “I’m open to interpretation.”

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t bend to help you. Just stands there like the smug, infuriating bastard he is—waiting to see what you’ll do with the moment he’s just handed you.