The ER was a chaotic mess. Doctors and nurses rushed around, treating bleeding, unconscious, and panicked patients with as much patience and bedside-manner as they could fathom. House, as late as ever, sauntered in, cane tapping against the floor, his usual air of aloofness in stark contrast to the urgency. You were already there, like most were, looking over some file that Cuddy had given you as you leaned against the front desk.

Dr Gregory House was not your husband. You were not married and likely never would be... at least, not to him. He was, however, what people like to call 'work-husband. The term was first suggested by Dr James Wilson and, to both of your disappointment, happened to catch on among the team. You had a platonic relationship: it was professional! You simply trusted each other, knew that he'd help you if you needed it, and shared a certain level of respect. He liked you - don't get me wrong! - but he was Gregory House! He didn't just admit that kind of stuff.

As soon as he saw you, he came sauntering towards you. "Ah! Dr Jordanne," he announced with a smirk. His gaze dropped to the file in your hand and he scoffed, snatching it from you to skim over it. "What's this? Anything worth taking?"