Fic: milk of human kindness
Title: milk of human kindness
Author:
ellixian
Characters: House, Cuddy
Rating: PG
Summary: It's a cold night - a ridiculously cold night - and she's in a dress - a ridiculously thin, uncomfortable-as-fuck dress - and she missed the office Christmas party. (Post-ep for 4x10 It's A Wonderful Lie)
Concrit: Absolutely.
Disclaimer: I don't make money off this, and all related characters don't belong to me.
A/N: Written as part of the House/Cuddy Drabble-a-thon hosted by
speckle_dots. After the last few angsty outings, I make absolutely no apologies for the fluff that ensues... (Word count: 724; prompt: cookies)
For:
jukebox_grad, who pic-spammed while I ficced, and always allows me to consult her on the randomest things ever, and
alexia88 (you'll see why, hon - watch the episode first, though!)
- - - - -
Winter trails itself across her lawn in drifts of crystal and powder, and she smiles.
It's a cold night - a ridiculously cold night - and she's in a dress - a ridiculously thin, uncomfortable-as-fuck dress - and she missed the office Christmas party.
But it snowed, it's snowing, in big, lazy flakes across the sky, and snow always makes her smile.
Finally, her fingers numb from the frost, she feels the key click into place, and she opens her front door. Quickly, she kicks off her heels, and pads into the kitchen, searching for warmth and marshmallows in hot chocolate. (It's the holiday season, she can afford to indulge.)
There's a bowl and a glass on the counter, and she frowns. It's a point of pride for her that she always cleans up after herself - and anyone else who makes a mess, a big sister from the word 'go' - and she doesn't even recall...
She laughs, when she gets closer, and realises that the bowl contains cereal, and the glass is filled to the brim with milk.
There's a note too, dashed out in his rumpled scrawl - at the top, in capitals, the words 'NAUGHTY' and 'NICE', with three heavy lines drawn through 'nice'; at the bottom, a jumble of squiggles that she knows spells his name.
"House," she smiles to herself, and picks up the phone.
He answers on the first ring.
"You criminal," is the first thing she says, "you broke in. Again."
"Wow," he drawls, "that's gratitude for you. I only committed the crime of trespassing to provide you sustenance on a freezing winter's night. Milk of human kindness and all that."
"I'd have to check it hasn't expired," she sniffs, but knows he knows she's grinning. "And what's with the cereal anyway? Not my holiday, House, but I always thought Santa preferred milk and cookies."
"You're the one with all that macrobiotic crap in your kitchen, Cuddy," he retorts, "The alternative was tofu and, I don't know, whey or something. Anyway, if you recall, the last cookie in your kitchen died a noble death last week. I needed a sugar buzz after you tied me up with your shower curtain and..."
"Made you a very happy, very lucky man who couldn't walk for two hours after," she cuts in, as she laces her fingers through the telephone cord. "So what's the occasion for this particular break-in?"
"You missed the Christmas party," he says, not reproachfully and not even particularly seriously, but suddenly she gets the sense that - for however long he actually attended the party - he would have wanted her to be there.
"Couldn't get out of the Glennie bash, you know that," she reminds him, "he's our biggest donor. I had to go. On pain of death and all that jazz."
"I know," he says, and she imagines him shrugging theatrically, arching his eyebrows comically as he continues, "that's why I stalked you for Christmas."
Only House, she thinks, would think of breaking and entering as an endearing gesture.
"Can you hear me rolling my eyes?" she asks, as she takes a sip of the milk - soy, the only kind she drinks, and the kind that never fails to draw loud protests from him - if i wanted vegetables in my milk, I would get a broccoli milkshake. Get that crap away from me!
"It's the soundtrack to my life, Cuddy," he informs her, "you, rolling your eyes from a hundred miles away. From twenty years ago."
She smiles, a mixture of milk and snow and the warmth of his voice on the line.
"We should hang up," she tells him, though she doesn't want to, "it's two. We have to be at work in five hours."
"Correction," he interjects, "you have to be at work in five hours. I'll be in bed, cheering you on."
She laughs, again, and doesn't say thank you - it's not something they do - but she tells him in a way she thinks he'll know anyway, "Merry Christmas, House."
"Not your holiday, Cuddy," he reminds her. "Not mine either. But sure. Whatever you say."
She waits on the line, just a couple of seconds more, then hangs up.
The window is dusted thick with frost now, glowing white in the dark of her kitchen.
For a moment, she looks at the bowl on the counter.
Then she puts the glass down where he left it, and heads to her bedroom.
Author:
ellixian
Characters: House, Cuddy
Rating: PG
Summary: It's a cold night - a ridiculously cold night - and she's in a dress - a ridiculously thin, uncomfortable-as-fuck dress - and she missed the office Christmas party. (Post-ep for 4x10 It's A Wonderful Lie)
Concrit: Absolutely.
Disclaimer: I don't make money off this, and all related characters don't belong to me.
A/N: Written as part of the House/Cuddy Drabble-a-thon hosted by
speckle_dots. After the last few angsty outings, I make absolutely no apologies for the fluff that ensues... (Word count: 724; prompt: cookies)
For:
jukebox_grad, who pic-spammed while I ficced, and always allows me to consult her on the randomest things ever, and
alexia88 (you'll see why, hon - watch the episode first, though!)
- - - - -
Winter trails itself across her lawn in drifts of crystal and powder, and she smiles.
It's a cold night - a ridiculously cold night - and she's in a dress - a ridiculously thin, uncomfortable-as-fuck dress - and she missed the office Christmas party.
But it snowed, it's snowing, in big, lazy flakes across the sky, and snow always makes her smile.
Finally, her fingers numb from the frost, she feels the key click into place, and she opens her front door. Quickly, she kicks off her heels, and pads into the kitchen, searching for warmth and marshmallows in hot chocolate. (It's the holiday season, she can afford to indulge.)
There's a bowl and a glass on the counter, and she frowns. It's a point of pride for her that she always cleans up after herself - and anyone else who makes a mess, a big sister from the word 'go' - and she doesn't even recall...
She laughs, when she gets closer, and realises that the bowl contains cereal, and the glass is filled to the brim with milk.
There's a note too, dashed out in his rumpled scrawl - at the top, in capitals, the words 'NAUGHTY' and 'NICE', with three heavy lines drawn through 'nice'; at the bottom, a jumble of squiggles that she knows spells his name.
"House," she smiles to herself, and picks up the phone.
He answers on the first ring.
"You criminal," is the first thing she says, "you broke in. Again."
"Wow," he drawls, "that's gratitude for you. I only committed the crime of trespassing to provide you sustenance on a freezing winter's night. Milk of human kindness and all that."
"I'd have to check it hasn't expired," she sniffs, but knows he knows she's grinning. "And what's with the cereal anyway? Not my holiday, House, but I always thought Santa preferred milk and cookies."
"You're the one with all that macrobiotic crap in your kitchen, Cuddy," he retorts, "The alternative was tofu and, I don't know, whey or something. Anyway, if you recall, the last cookie in your kitchen died a noble death last week. I needed a sugar buzz after you tied me up with your shower curtain and..."
"Made you a very happy, very lucky man who couldn't walk for two hours after," she cuts in, as she laces her fingers through the telephone cord. "So what's the occasion for this particular break-in?"
"You missed the Christmas party," he says, not reproachfully and not even particularly seriously, but suddenly she gets the sense that - for however long he actually attended the party - he would have wanted her to be there.
"Couldn't get out of the Glennie bash, you know that," she reminds him, "he's our biggest donor. I had to go. On pain of death and all that jazz."
"I know," he says, and she imagines him shrugging theatrically, arching his eyebrows comically as he continues, "that's why I stalked you for Christmas."
Only House, she thinks, would think of breaking and entering as an endearing gesture.
"Can you hear me rolling my eyes?" she asks, as she takes a sip of the milk - soy, the only kind she drinks, and the kind that never fails to draw loud protests from him - if i wanted vegetables in my milk, I would get a broccoli milkshake. Get that crap away from me!
"It's the soundtrack to my life, Cuddy," he informs her, "you, rolling your eyes from a hundred miles away. From twenty years ago."
She smiles, a mixture of milk and snow and the warmth of his voice on the line.
"We should hang up," she tells him, though she doesn't want to, "it's two. We have to be at work in five hours."
"Correction," he interjects, "you have to be at work in five hours. I'll be in bed, cheering you on."
She laughs, again, and doesn't say thank you - it's not something they do - but she tells him in a way she thinks he'll know anyway, "Merry Christmas, House."
"Not your holiday, Cuddy," he reminds her. "Not mine either. But sure. Whatever you say."
She waits on the line, just a couple of seconds more, then hangs up.
The window is dusted thick with frost now, glowing white in the dark of her kitchen.
For a moment, she looks at the bowl on the counter.
Then she puts the glass down where he left it, and heads to her bedroom.