Fic: Chaos Theory
Because I miss watching new House episodes. And the clinic patients. And I'm really starting to wonder what the hell I did in my free time before I started writing Huddy fic...
Annoyance
“Here, here, and here, and here, and sometimes… here.”
Each spot was punctuated with a jab to an entirely different part of the body: head, chest, stomach, left leg, right elbow. Barely five minutes into clinic duty and House already had a frontrunner for Most Annoying Patient. Everyone else he saw that day was going to have their work cut out for them if they wanted to stay in the race-though knowing the usual slime and grime that drudged into the clinic on a daily basis, each and every patient would probably take that as a personal challenge.
“If it really hurts in all those places, there’s a good chance you’ll be dead in about three seconds,” House stated coolly, holding out his watch and making a show of studying it.
The boy’s already big eyes widened almost impossibly further. “It only sometimes hurts here,” he squeaked out, poking himself directly in the center of a more sugar- than cherry-scented stain on his stomach-the gesture, miraculously, not appearing to cause any pain. The boy cautiously watched the seconds tick by on House’s watch, seeming to hope that this admission would make everything instantly better.
“Yeah?” Away went the watch-kids may be stupid, but he was betting that even this one could count past three. “When?”
Obviously out of danger as far as imminent death was concerned, the boy plucked up his courage and crossed his arms over his pink-splotched t-shirt, eyes suddenly dangerous-or as dangerous as a Kool-Aid-drinking kindergartener’s could get. “When Logan punches me.”
There had been no eye contact, no pointing, but, of course, the response from across the room was automatic, loud and defiant. “I do not!”
“Do too!”
“Do not!”
“Quick tip,” House interjected, throwing a glance toward the far side of the room, the chair and the three small wriggling bodies piled on top of it. “Next time-keep your mouth shut.”
The eldest, trying his damndest to look both tough and innocent and managing to not quite hit either, jutted out his chin, awkwardly hiking up the pudgy baby that gurgled on his lap. Drool dribbled from the baby’s chin and onto the shoulder of the toddler squished beside the boy on the chair, but the kid either didn’t notice the impromptu shower or simply didn’t care, continuing to stare, unblinking, while solemnly sucking his thumb.
“I only punch him when he deserves it,” Tough Guy muttered at last, refusing to make eye contact.
“What’s he do? Steal your girlfriends?”
Gleeful giggles mixed with the crinkling of paper as Kool-Aid squirmed on the exam table-both hands over his mouth as if to keep himself from bursting, but the joyful exclamation still finding its way through his fingers. “Logan gots a girlfriend!”
“He’s annoying,” the older boy responded flatly, looking from his brother to House with a resigned sigh.
Filled with an overwhelming urge to silence the still-shouting boy beside him by whatever means possible, House nodded. “With you so far.”
“Logan gots a girlfriend!! Logan gots-”
Tough Guy could apparently only take so much. “Shut up, Cody!”
Kool-Aid did quiet, for an instant, but it wasn’t immediately noticeable through the sudden, piercing shriek that erupted from the small mouth of his youngest brother. Somewhere close by, glass was shattering-had to be, the way the pitch heightened as the wail amplified: either an audition for the world’s worst opera singer or some ancient war-cry aimed at deafening all opponents within a hundred-yard radius. The sound continued, somewhat softer after the initial rush of energy subsided, the baby red-faced and kicking as Tough Guy clung to him tightly: that gesture, the split-second break in the argument, and Thumb-Sucker languidly (finally) turning his unblinking attention in its direction, were the only signs that the three were even aware of the sound at all.
Maybe it was their call to arms. The battle raged on, only louder.
“You shut up! Stupid-head!”
“Fart face!”
“Booger breath!”
“Nice,” House broke in, nodding at Kool-Aid before Tough Guy could take a breath or think of a fitting response. “Just wait until you start learning all the really cool insults.”
The idea seemed to throw both kids for a loop. Tough Guy was practically salivating-as if House had not only offered up a treasure trove of secret little brother torture techniques, but had also promised that anyone who used them correctly could never be caught. Kool-Aid, still innocent (or maybe stupid) enough, turned towards House, cocking his head inquisitively. “Like what?”
“Uh-oh.”
Even over the screaming and in such a babied voice, the careful exclamation rang loud and clear. Thumb-Sucker had let the appendage drop to the corner of his mouth, his free arm outstretched, reaching past The Screamer with its little index finger pointed directly at the door. House may never have seen that exact look on such a small face, but even so, the expression was unmistakable: fear of rejection and castration, dread, and something like awe, all rolled into one.
House waited, grinning, could probably count down the seconds to when the voice would come, perfectly tinged with outrage and disbelief: three, two….
“What is going on in here?”
“Aww, Mooooom,” he whined, stretching the vowel out as long as he deemed safe while Cuddy was glaring at him in just that way (and maybe even a little bit longer). “Just hanging out with the guys.”
“She’s your mom?” Tough Guy asked, giving Cuddy a thorough, almost reverent, once-over-even though he should’ve been way too young to even know where to look, much less appreciate even a fraction of the view. The instant this kid’s hormones kicked in, the entire female population of New Jersey was going to run, screaming, for the hills.
Kool-Aid was gaping, though due to a completely different revelation. “She’s gotta be like a million years old!”
“And that’s only like 40 in wicked witch years.” Hooking his cane over his arm, House stood, grabbing The Screamer and shoving the baby into Cuddy’s arms. “Here. This one needs a woman’s touch.”
Frowning and more than a little taken aback (though it might have only been because he had actually admitted believing she was a woman), Cuddy fumbled to get a good grip on the writhing bundle of flailing arms and kicking legs. It didn’t take much maneuvering. The Screamer gave one last weak cry and then began to quiet so quickly, House was almost sure black magic must have somehow been involved. No one could have looked more surprised at the baby’s sudden docility than Cuddy herself, who simply stared at the chubby little demon before shifting him into a better position on her hip. Hiccupping, The Screamer hid his tear- and drool-stained face in the shoulder of her lab-coat, and Cuddy brought a hand up to his little back, rubbing gently, automatically, without seeming to realize the action.
“Where is their mother?”
She spoke out of the corner of her mouth, as if the question were riddled with words too scathing for young ears. Her eyes were two blue flames, the heat there so condensed that when she turned to him, House could almost feel the bristle and oozing of blisters. He shifted his gaze back to her hand, still caressing the baby so tenderly, so naturally, it seemed to exist for no other purpose.
House blinked, remembered the question hanging in the air between them.
“Praying at the porcelain altar, courtesy of number….” He paused to sweep the room for a quick headcount: The Screamer, Kool-Aid, Thumb-Sucker, Tough Guy. “…five. You’d think that after the first four bundles of joy, she’d-”
Cuddy’s gasp was sharp, almost a yelp, and startling, so close to his ear. He looked over just in time to see her pull The Screamer from where he had latched his mouth onto her right breast. The baby squealed, still sucking at the air, little hands pawing at Cuddy’s chest as he fussed and twisted in her grasp. There was a small (distracting) dark spot on Cuddy’s shirt-an almost-perfect circle, complete with teeth-marks, just over the nipple-and The Screamer managed press his lips to it once more before Cuddy tugged him away.
The smirk that House felt pull at his mouth simply couldn’t be helped. “Looks like I’m not the only fan of your assets.”
“Is assets like ass?” This was Tough Guy: nonchalant, as if the word were the first he said every morning after downing Mom’s homemade oatmeal and shaving his milk moustache with the back of his hand.
“Ooh! I’m telling you said that!”
“Sometimes,” House mused, ignoring Kool-Aid completely. “But in this case-”
He would’ve thought it too dangerous for Cuddy to take a hand off the half-pint Don Juan-still hell-bent on getting up close and personal with the girls-but he would have been very, very wrong. Her arm cut across him so fast that he was nearly winded. “Don’t you dare.”
“I’m gonna telllll!”
“Up!” The small voice came from below him, and House looked down to see two large eyes staring pleadingly up at him. Thumb-Sucker had obviously squirmed down from his chair sometime during the commotion and now not only had taken his thumb out of his mouth, but was also raising both arms insistently in House’s direction. “Up!”
“What? I didn’t say anything bad….”
“Did too! You said ass!”
“Ha! So did you!”
“He’s kidding, right?” House tilted his head towards Cuddy, still eyeing Thumb-Sucker warily. The kid was practically on his tip-toes, had his arms stretched to the limit but still reached no where near House’s waist. It shouldn’t have posed much of a threat, but he couldn’t be too careful. “You take him.”
“Did not!”
“Did too!”
“Yeah, I’ll get right on that,” Cuddy answered dryly, trying one last time to keep the baby’s hands and mouth off her chest and finally giving in with an exasperated sigh.
The swift and overwhelming anger House felt towards those ten small fingers (not to mention the lips) was simply delayed annoyance at their loud and drool-covered owner.
Grimacing as The Screamer reached out and squeezed, Cuddy placed a gentle hand on top of Thumb-Sucker’s head. The tyke seemed to have already resigned himself to the fate of the middle child, understanding that the small gesture was as good as it was going to get with his baby brother around. He popped his thumb back into his mouth and went back to staring.
Reaching around Cuddy, House cracked open the door and stuck his head out. “Nurse!”
The sound seemed to suck all other noise from the room: the bickering brothers quieted, even the baby stopped searching for his meal ticket, startled.
Cuddy was thin-lipped, fierce, and about half-a-second from reading him the riot act when Brenda appeared in the doorway, a hand on her hip. “You bellowed?”
“Mom’s in the john. Kids need a babysitter.”
“They’re not the only ones,” Cuddy muttered, turning to hand The Screamer over to Brenda, murmuring an apology and something about finance reports. Thumb-Sucker stepped back, retreating to his brothers before he could suffer a similar fate-or maybe simply in anticipation of what was to come. The baby glanced from one woman to the other, lower lip trembling.
“I wouldn’t do that…” House managed to get out before The Screamer once again lived up to his name, so stridently this time that House had to shout to be heard over the racket. “Can’t give him Chicken McNuggets after he’s sampled the breast at Chez Cuddy. Kid’s a connoisseur.”
Brenda didn’t waste any malice on him, turning instead to Cuddy, where the effects of any look or remark would at least be felt and the guilt was already oozing. “Why do you always have to punish the rest of us by giving him more clinic hours?”
“I stopped responding “appropriately” to spankings,” House retorted before Cuddy had a chance, making sure to exaggerate with air quotes. “Or so she said.”
“You wouldn’t need to be punished at all if you’d behave,” Cuddy hissed, smacking him with the back of her hand even while the corners of her mouth twitched-almost in a smile.
“You wouldn’t be begging me to behave if-”
“House.”
Cuddy said his name with an air of warning, nodded pointedly at the kids-hanging on their every word like little monkeys and with about as much understanding, though seeming to sense that there was something in the mysterious grown-up tone that was worth paying attention to. Brenda was smirking, an eyebrow raised-probably trying to read way more between the lines than was actually there (and anything was more than nothing at all).
A hand was suddenly on his arm and Cuddy’s head was tilted close to his (the jolt he felt here wasn’t a thrill-only momentary panic at finding himself so close to the devil). “Grow up. And do your job.”
There was a gentle breeze that carried the swift scent of perfume. Movement. The door clicked shut behind her, the clacking of her heels still audible for a few seconds more.
“You’re in trouble,” Kool-Aid sing-songed joyfully- seemingly thrilled at seeing this fate cast on someone else.
“So are you,” House grunted, twirling his cane. “You’re stuck with Nurse Ratched.”
Brenda’s fierce stare might have been fixed on him, but the two older brothers shared worried glances and even the baby seemed to think it best to quiet. “Better with me than Doctor-”
But House was already out the door.
Cuddy had stopped at the main desk, was bent over some papers, busily signing, and House managed to sidle up behind her unseen-or so he had thought.
“What do you think you’re doing?” She whirled so quickly that the last of his momentum nearly forced him into her, and though he was able to steady himself with his cane, there was still a prickle of something in that lightning-quick brush of contact that he tried to ignore.
“Is there even a workplace-appropriate way for me to answer that?”
“Heading back to your patient?” she offered, the dripping sarcasm implying that she knew chances of this were about as good as the chances of a would-be terrorist being struck twice by lightning while trying to rig up a series of explosives on the hospital roof.
There was no reason to give her false hope for some kind of miraculous transformation (if she started to develop expectations, he might have to eventually live up to them). So he snorted with derisive laughter, rolled his eyes. “Yeah right. I don’t want to be the one to tell that woman that she’s incubating more of Satan’s spawn. She’ll kill me.”
“You don’t finish your clinic hours and there’s a good chance I will kill you.”
“One-on-one?” He looked her up and down (for practical purposes only). Those heels posed a threat, but he had his cane-similar, larger, if not as sharp. Really all he’d have to watch out for was that she didn’t try to smother (or distract him) with some of softer assets, and he would be golden. “I can take you.”
If his smugness, his careful (bordering-on-sexually-harassing, in some work environments) examination of her bothered Cuddy in any way, she did nothing to show it. “You can work in the clinic or you can work up in the daycare. Your choice.”
“You’d be sued for child endangerment.”
She had been expecting this-he could tell the moment she flashed that coy grin. “The way things were going back there, I’d say you’ll be in more danger than the children will be.”
The only logical response to that was right in front of his nose-practically on display thanks to the sheer genius of low-cut v-necks and the underwire. “Yeah? And how’re the breasts?”
This remark earned him something of the transformation-the corners of that I’ve got you smile trembling, and he waited for it to break into a thousand little pieces: surprise and righteous anger and even after all these years, I still cannot believe….
But that wasn’t what happened at all. Either he was way off his A-game today, or she had completely nailed one out of the park while he’d had his back turned and simply couldn’t be stopped. He watched the edges of her expression-the smile, the eyes, every muscle playing into it-fold into themselves and twist like origami into something of entirely new dimensions: not disappointed or angry all, but wouldn’t you like to know….
With that, Cuddy pushed past him, through the clinic doors and across the hall to her office. There was nothing for House to do but watch her walk away-not a bad consolation prize in itself, with the way her skirt clung and moved with her curves.
Damn.
The sudden voice in his ear was low and unsettling-its owner probably close enough to notice him cringe, caught. “Enjoying the view?”