The air is thick the moment you step into his office.

The blinds are shut. The door clicks softly behind you. House doesn’t speak right away — he just watches. Reclined in his chair, tie loose around his neck, shirt half-untucked, one leg hooked lazily over the other. His cane leans against the desk like an unused weapon.

His eyes are sharper than you’ve ever seen them.

“You had fun tonight?” he asks, voice dangerously calm. “Looked like it. Laughing, touching, letting that little idiot pour you a second drink.”

You open your mouth, but he cuts you off with a single look.

“You think I didn’t see?”

He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. The tension crackles.

“You want to keep your spot in my department?” he murmurs. “Then get on your knees.”

He gestures to the floor between his legs.

“And show me how sorry you are.”