House fic prompt: Dragon

[triedunture]

A tiny drabble for a prompt from mylexie. Harmless fluff.

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Dr. James Wilson, the youngest head of oncology in the entire eastern seaboard, is doodling in a meeting. It’s not too bad, Cuddy thinks, watching his quick pen strokes out of the corner of her eye. She doesn’t begrudge Wilson the distraction. Dr. Wagner is boring, and he’s been pontificating on research funding for nearly thirty-five minutes.

Why is it, Cuddy wonders, that no one ever learned in eight years of medical school how to give a simple, bare-bones speech? Or maybe old men just like to hear their own voices.

She realizes that Wagner is looking to her, perhaps for some sort of affirmation of what he just said (or rather, repeated). Cuddy gives him a businesslike nod and he continues, unabated.

Wilson is now shading some of the figures of his drawing. Cuddy can make out three small forms in the corner, with a larger shape looming over them. One of the sketched faces is completely blue. Cuddy frowns, thinking it’s an alien, but then realizes that Wilson’s blue pen is shading in the nicely proportioned face of Foreman.

In the drawing, Foreman is holding a broadsword.

Cuddy can’t look away now. She recalls reading in some medical journal that women, on average, have much better peripheral vision than men. So she figures she’s much less likely to be caught watching Wilson doodle than, say, Dr. Franks, who is on Wilson’s other side. And, apparently, nodding off.

She studies the drawing surreptitiously, shuffling the papers in front of her for cover. Doctors Chase and Cameron are becoming more clearly defined. The tiny figure of Cameron is ducking behind Foreman the Knight. Actually, so is Chase.

She can tell it’s Chase from the wave in his doodled hair.

Now Cuddy is trying very hard not to giggle, and passes her hand over her mouth in a gesture of concentration. But it’s really just to hide the smile.

Wilson now realizes he has an audience, and stops drawing. With a slight cough, he tries to flip his binder closed, but Cuddy reaches over and stays his hand. She’s looking straight ahead at Wagner, still covering her mouth.

She taps a fingernail on the unformed blob that the diagnostic team is fighting. Wilson gets her meaning; she wants to see what it is. A few quick squiggles and some darkened lines, and Wilson slides the finished product in front of her.

Cuddy can only rely on years of administrative training to not laugh out loud just as Dr. Wagner is mentioning terminal children. The scraggly doodle shows a scaly, fire-breathing dragon with three-day stubble and a familiar cane in one claw. Cuddy can’t help it. She snorts.

The board members turn to stare at her, except for Wilson, who’s tapping his pen against the table and looking at the ceiling.

“Allergies,” Cuddy says with a tight smile. She folds the paper primly and motions for Dr. Wagner to continue.



fin.