"I hate you."

"I don't like doing this anymore than you do."

"I really hate you."

"Could you at least try to be professional? Half an hour. That's all I'm asking."

"I am being professional."

"Yeah, right."

"I have clothes on."

"Common decency, House."

"The clothes are clean. I think."

"I'm so proud. You know, we go through this every year."

"What can I say - you're a glutton for punishment. I had a bet with Wilson that you'd give up a long time ago. Your unnatural persistence is costing me twenty bucks a year."

"Unfortunately, I actually have to do this every year. It's in my contract."

"You could just say we did. I'll back you up. Cut you in on my winnings."

"Bargaining and bribery. Charming. But no."

"Spoilsport."

"The word is 'boss', House. Get used to it. Now - justify your existence."

"I'm brilliant and have heartbreakingly beautiful blue eyes. At least, I'm fairly certain that's what Cameron would say. Until she started doing Chase all over the hospital, anyway."

"Cameron isn't here anymore. And I meant, justify your department's existence."

"I thought I just did."

"Tell your ego to shut up. Your fellows weren't hired to worship you."

"Tell that to Cameron. She had a shrine in her locker, you know. Fresh flowers everyday, candles at Christmas, a menorah at Hanukkah. Ecumenical adoration. I think Chase was a regular visitor, though Foreman? Not so much."

"Well, the only adults in your department are all gone now. Any reason I should keep Diagnostics up and running anyway?"

"What would I do with my free time if you killed the department? Watch General Hospital?"

"You already do that."

"The marathons and reruns."

"You already do that."

"True."

"Okay. Maybe statistics will help. Cases handled this year, House. Give me numbers."

"Numbers lie."

"As do you. I still need the latest numbers for our records."

"Well, Cameron said thirty on her way out the door. She told me to tell you that, for some unfathomable reason."

"Because she's actually responsible and did all the paperwork in your department? Which, by the way, I am assuming you've at least read before you signed off on all of it."

"Will assuming that make you happy?"

"I'm going to ignore that. Thirty, then. That's good. Two up on last year."

"Thirty-one if you count the guy we fixed but who offed himself a week later. Who'd have guessed rabidly manic-depressive guy wouldn't want a new lease on life? Oops, our bad."

"Thirty it is."

"At least three thousand if you factor in the people who didn't have to attend dreary funerals or be utterly, tragically devastated by the loss of their loved ones."

"Still thirty."

"There was that pandemic I saved your hospital from."

"You mean the paroxysms of euphoria that infected everyone on your floor that time you took an unscheduled day off?"

"Ooh, burn! You're getting better at this snappy comeback thing, Cuddy."

"Next. Staff welfare."

"I don't have any staff."

"Such a shock, given how warm and nurturing you are. This is for the future, if you still plan on having a job in the next few weeks. You need new staff."

"Don't need new staff."

"Yeah, you do."

"I am perfectly competent..."

"... and a junkie with a God complex. Who'll run your tests for you?"

"I'm pretty sure Wilson went to medical school. Didn't he?"

"Wilson has a job. An actual, serious, grown-up job. He's not your flunky, House."

"At least I didn't say coma guy. I'll run the tests."

"Hire a team."

"But how will I find someone as blonde and pretty as Chase? Or someone as black as Foreman? And who but Cameron would hang on my every word and admire my dulcet tones? You?"

"Don't look at me. Hire a team. I'll dispatch resumés to you later this week."

"A new team will only slow me down."

"And you're going at the speed of light now, are you? You haven't taken a case in three weeks."

"They'll cramp my style."

"Only in the sense that you're currently the hospital's leading candidate for the cover of Soon-To-Be-Unemployed Monthly. Hire. A. Team."

"Can you be on it?"

"No. Obviously."

"Team House. Come on! We can have jerseys. Yours can say 'House's bitch'."

"Team Cuddy, House. 'Cuddy's bitch'."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you."

"More than you'll ever know. Okay, moving on. Feedback on your performance."

"Will exaltation be involved? That's always welcome."

"You wish."

"Deification?"

"Clinic, House. You need to log those hours. And you need to log those hours yourself, without stealing Wilson's or making your future employees do them for you."

"But Wilson does so many hours. He can spare me some."

"Not the point. Do the hours, House, or I will send you back to jail, so help me god."

"You bully and emasculate me, Cuddy. I feel aggrieved and helpless and adrift in a sea of poor mentoring."

"Excellent. Any achievements this past year you're particularly proud of?"

"I still haven't killed you. Or my erstwhile minions. Or Wilson."

"Which is par for the course for normal people, but praiseworthy for you?"

"You're so understanding, boss."

"Let me take a stab at this. In the past year, you've forged scrips for Vicodin. Anal-raped a cop with a thermometer. Landed in court and faked your detox. Got your boss to perjure herself for you. Pretended to have brain cancer. Broke at least thirty million dollars worth of hospital equipment, and did about seventy-two other highly illegal and morally questionable things. Did I miss anything?"

"Wow, I've been busy."

"The board is going to call me on all of these things, House. Anything to say in your own defense?"

"I'm a ray of sunshine who brings untold joy to the lives of those around me?"

"House, be serious. For once. For two minutes."

"I am serious. You already know what you're going to tell them anyway."

"I do? Pray enlighten me."

"I'm a sick miserable bastard who's rude and difficult to deal with and it's 50-50 if I save more lives than I inconvenience. But I do save lives. I fix the people and solve the puzzles you send my way. Too bad I'm also just a really sick, really miserable bastard."

"Don't get carried away with making yourself sound too good now."

"Come on, Cuddy. Where else in this hospital do you have a department boasting a 99% survival rate? Look at Wilson. All his patients die on him. Horribly. Their skin sloughs off and everything. And their hair..."

"In case you haven't met Wilson, House, he's an oncologist."

"Oh, fine, just because they haven't yet found the cure for cancer..."

"God, House. You are infuriating."

"I'm not sure that's the best way to engage your staff with professional feedback. Am I supposed to feel encouraged?"

"I tailor these sessions to suit individual needs. You get the special House-is-a-jackass treatment."

"I'm touched. Can I go now?"

"Fine. I'm just as sick of this as you are. One last question, because I have no choice. Any complaints or concerns?"

"Just one. My boss keeps sending out mixed signals. She wears these incredibly inappropriate tops to work everyday, necessitating cold showers on the part of at least half the male doctors on her staff, and yet has regularly turned down all my suggestions to improve employee morale by holding wet T-shirt parties every Friday afternoon."

"Alright, that's it. No more attempts to allow you your democratic right to self-expression. Consider your performance review over."

"Was it fun for you too?"

"Shut up."

"For the record, I still hate you."

"Then my job is done. Now get out of my office."

"Certainly, mistress."

He pauses with his hand on the doorknob, then grins at her. "Same time next year?"

She groans, rolls her eyes. "Count on it."