House gave a pseudo expression of contemplation. As though he really were pondering an answer to her question. Yes, the one where she mocked him (in her own somewhat Ben Stein sort of way) and insisted that he was a doctor. Which he was. But still. How personal were they going to be? It was really none of her business what he did during business hours.
Unless she was going to strip naked and do a sexy prehistoric tar pit dance for him. In that case she could call him whatever she wanted.
"Wet and cold."
He thought about adding an extra jest about chips and lifts and all those other silly British words, but he opted not to. He was too busy wishing that Wilson were here right at this very moment to experience this psychedelic trip of his. Or maybe not. If Wilson were in his hallucination? Oh, the shrinks would have a field day with that one. Alright, better that Wilson wasn't here. Cuddy, on the other hand, he could get away with. Excuse? Breasts.
"Life insurance? For the weak and cowardly. I like to live dangerously. Why, I could stub my toe at any moment. How exciting is that?!"
House quirked a brow.
"You mean Jack Bauer won't save me if I get kidnapped by Asian terrorists? Damn. The television lied to me again."
He had no good reason to follow after that, but he did anyway. A little limping hobble closer to her side. Sip, sip from the coffee mug and still sporting the Tar Pits head apparel. That kid was still yelling at tourists. Some people never learned.
"So, where are we going? Someplace with exotic dancers, I hope. For both our sakes."