Fic: Plans and Apologies
Title: Plans and Apologies
Fandom: House
Rating: PG-13
Prompt # 34 - Not Enough
Characters: House, Cuddy
Author's notes: Spoilers for Airborne. This is an answer for the au100 challenge. You can find my complete table here.
Her secretary didn't even bother anymore.
She gave his presence a scornful acknowledgment and he decided to annoy her even more by taking a fistful of the candy she kept in a bowl on her desk and shoving it in his jacket pocket, ignoring the few pieces that escaped his hand and hit the desk and the carpet. She huffed quietly and he stood there a moment longer to see if she would say anything, but she didn't, and so he just smirked and continued his trek into the office. He gave this one a week, tops.
Her office was deserted and for a moment he stood there, contemplating this unimportant development, which, if he could admit it to himself, was kind of important and strange. He reached into his pocket and popped a candy piece into his mouth, looking at the empty chair behind her desk. Then he heard it.
House frowned, looking into the direction of the bathroom and walked over, pushing the door without any tact, his curiosity reeling.
He briefly noticed she had her cheek pressed to the toilet seat before it all fell into place. She quickly realized she was no longer alone and straightened up, but when she realized it was him standing there she sighed in annoyance and flushed the toilet before standing up.
"I'm gonna fire her," she grumbled.
House frowned as he watched her walk to the sink. "Good, I'm gonna make 20 bucks."
"Maybe write to the local penitentiary to see if they'll send someone over to stand watch over the door."
"How would that differ from your usual WriteAPrisoner.com entries?" he sneered, watching her rinse her mouth in the sink.
She ignored his comment and truthfully his mind wasn't that much into it, either. She looked hot and her skin was flushed, and it momentarily brought back flashes of the infamous intercontinental flight. He approached her from behind, hooking his cane onto the sink and he heard her take a breath as he unapologetically reached for her shirt. Fingers came into contact with the taut muscles of her waist as he pulled the garment up, and ignoring the burning sensation the action produced in his groin, he ducked his head, frowning at the still prominent rash on her back.
She looked at his reflection miserably before she pulled her shirt back down. Turning around, she was momentarily taken aback by his close proximity. She looked down and tried to move past him, but he didn't budge an inch, and though she was too miserable to play his games, she took a deep breath and looked at him almost defiantly.
"Get out of the way, House."
He narrowed his eyes at her. "Why didn't you-"
"It's no big deal."
He re-directed his weight again to his good leg, and she took the opportunity to push him aside and walk away, and as she neared her desk she heard the thumping of his cane getting closer. He stood there a moment, watching her straighten up some files on her desk before she sat down and began to work, ignoring him.
He'd always been able to stand gracefully at the receiving end of her scorn, but when she ignored him he felt the frustration bubbling inside of him, felt anger and annoyance and wanted nothing more than to grab her arms and shake her and make her look at him, because when he wasn't the center of her world he felt like a fucking nobody and nothing angered him more than that.
She was good at it, too. She knew how to sit there and pretend he wasn't there, continue working on whatever file she had in front of her. Anyone else would grow restless by his presence after a few minutes and give him the attention he craved. Not her. He could get out of the office and come back with a marching band and a heavy metal band and conduct a musical stand off, and if she so wanted she'd continue sitting there, eyes fixed on her work.
The frustration grew to unbearable levels.
"I thought you said it was mass hysteria."
"You said it was mass hysteria," she said, giving him an intense look but she found him looking down at the carpet instead.
"You agreed," he said and looked up, feeling inexplicably angry. "You're not supposed to agree, that's our thing. I say something, you disagree, I call you a bitch, you call me a jackass... I thought you'd have this routine down after all these years."
"Yes, this is precisely my primary concern right now, rehearsing our little deviant Gilbert and Sullivan act with you," she said, and he could tell she was pissed now, quickly scribbling something on a piece of paper and her handwriting looked messy and incomprehensible. After playing this little game for so many years he knew it was his turn to say something, call her ugly or fat or irresponsible, but for reasons he couldn't figure out, he couldn't bring himself to say anything.
"What did you want?"
He looked at her, trying to ascertain the situation, trying to figure out just what the hell her problem was but it quickly came to him when he remembered those other times.
It came to this now. Good news turned into bad news and hope into loss. So many missed opportunities but he figured now even those were better than having it all and losing it in a matter of days. Just days. Because for some godforsaken reason she never did make it past the second month. In a few days he'll come to work and find her in her office, her lights dimmed and without make-up, a bottle of painkillers on her desk. In a few days he'll know not to bother her too much, though he'll also know not to let her know the reason. In a few days he'll change the subject every time Wilson asks him what's wrong with Cuddy.
In a few days he'll fight the urge to take her home, give her a sleeping pill and make sure she gets into bed, order a pizza and fall asleep on her couch watching whatever wrestling match is on that night. But in a few days he will leave her alone in her office instead.
"It's not important."
She started to look up but didn't quite make it, so she looked down again and concentrated on the paperwork in front of her.
He stood there a moment longer, vapid words rushing through his head as he tried to figure out whether he should congratulate her, because she's wanted this for so long and it's been one hell of a ride; or apologize to her, because it didn't matter how many times she succeeded, it was always preceded by disappointment.
She looked in his direction, not exactly at him but close enough, and he concentrated on a spot on the carpet, not knowing why they could never quite look directly at each other when it came to this.
"Nothing I do is gonna change it," she said for him, and for the first time her voice dropped and she sighed, running her hand through her forehead in a momentary lapse of strength.
House looked at her, still not knowing what to say, still not knowing whether he should tell her maybe this time would be different and she'd get what she wanted, or give her his condolences right up front.
So he nodded instead, looking around the office and feeling awkward, feeling useless, because he was one of the best diagnosticians in the world and yet he hadn't figured out why this kept happening. Not that he'd asked her. Not that he would ever corner her in a room and take a blood sample. Not that she would let him, either. Pretty soon none of it would matter anyway.
Her attention was back to the file, calmer and recollected this time, and House knew that was it. He started to walk away, thinking he should ask her to call him when it happens. He closed the door softly behind him instead.
The End
Fandom: House
Rating: PG-13
Prompt # 34 - Not Enough
Characters: House, Cuddy
Author's notes: Spoilers for Airborne. This is an answer for the au100 challenge. You can find my complete table here.
Her secretary didn't even bother anymore.
She gave his presence a scornful acknowledgment and he decided to annoy her even more by taking a fistful of the candy she kept in a bowl on her desk and shoving it in his jacket pocket, ignoring the few pieces that escaped his hand and hit the desk and the carpet. She huffed quietly and he stood there a moment longer to see if she would say anything, but she didn't, and so he just smirked and continued his trek into the office. He gave this one a week, tops.
Her office was deserted and for a moment he stood there, contemplating this unimportant development, which, if he could admit it to himself, was kind of important and strange. He reached into his pocket and popped a candy piece into his mouth, looking at the empty chair behind her desk. Then he heard it.
House frowned, looking into the direction of the bathroom and walked over, pushing the door without any tact, his curiosity reeling.
He briefly noticed she had her cheek pressed to the toilet seat before it all fell into place. She quickly realized she was no longer alone and straightened up, but when she realized it was him standing there she sighed in annoyance and flushed the toilet before standing up.
"I'm gonna fire her," she grumbled.
House frowned as he watched her walk to the sink. "Good, I'm gonna make 20 bucks."
"Maybe write to the local penitentiary to see if they'll send someone over to stand watch over the door."
"How would that differ from your usual WriteAPrisoner.com entries?" he sneered, watching her rinse her mouth in the sink.
She ignored his comment and truthfully his mind wasn't that much into it, either. She looked hot and her skin was flushed, and it momentarily brought back flashes of the infamous intercontinental flight. He approached her from behind, hooking his cane onto the sink and he heard her take a breath as he unapologetically reached for her shirt. Fingers came into contact with the taut muscles of her waist as he pulled the garment up, and ignoring the burning sensation the action produced in his groin, he ducked his head, frowning at the still prominent rash on her back.
She looked at his reflection miserably before she pulled her shirt back down. Turning around, she was momentarily taken aback by his close proximity. She looked down and tried to move past him, but he didn't budge an inch, and though she was too miserable to play his games, she took a deep breath and looked at him almost defiantly.
"Get out of the way, House."
He narrowed his eyes at her. "Why didn't you-"
"It's no big deal."
He re-directed his weight again to his good leg, and she took the opportunity to push him aside and walk away, and as she neared her desk she heard the thumping of his cane getting closer. He stood there a moment, watching her straighten up some files on her desk before she sat down and began to work, ignoring him.
He'd always been able to stand gracefully at the receiving end of her scorn, but when she ignored him he felt the frustration bubbling inside of him, felt anger and annoyance and wanted nothing more than to grab her arms and shake her and make her look at him, because when he wasn't the center of her world he felt like a fucking nobody and nothing angered him more than that.
She was good at it, too. She knew how to sit there and pretend he wasn't there, continue working on whatever file she had in front of her. Anyone else would grow restless by his presence after a few minutes and give him the attention he craved. Not her. He could get out of the office and come back with a marching band and a heavy metal band and conduct a musical stand off, and if she so wanted she'd continue sitting there, eyes fixed on her work.
The frustration grew to unbearable levels.
"I thought you said it was mass hysteria."
"You said it was mass hysteria," she said, giving him an intense look but she found him looking down at the carpet instead.
"You agreed," he said and looked up, feeling inexplicably angry. "You're not supposed to agree, that's our thing. I say something, you disagree, I call you a bitch, you call me a jackass... I thought you'd have this routine down after all these years."
"Yes, this is precisely my primary concern right now, rehearsing our little deviant Gilbert and Sullivan act with you," she said, and he could tell she was pissed now, quickly scribbling something on a piece of paper and her handwriting looked messy and incomprehensible. After playing this little game for so many years he knew it was his turn to say something, call her ugly or fat or irresponsible, but for reasons he couldn't figure out, he couldn't bring himself to say anything.
"What did you want?"
He looked at her, trying to ascertain the situation, trying to figure out just what the hell her problem was but it quickly came to him when he remembered those other times.
It came to this now. Good news turned into bad news and hope into loss. So many missed opportunities but he figured now even those were better than having it all and losing it in a matter of days. Just days. Because for some godforsaken reason she never did make it past the second month. In a few days he'll come to work and find her in her office, her lights dimmed and without make-up, a bottle of painkillers on her desk. In a few days he'll know not to bother her too much, though he'll also know not to let her know the reason. In a few days he'll change the subject every time Wilson asks him what's wrong with Cuddy.
In a few days he'll fight the urge to take her home, give her a sleeping pill and make sure she gets into bed, order a pizza and fall asleep on her couch watching whatever wrestling match is on that night. But in a few days he will leave her alone in her office instead.
"It's not important."
She started to look up but didn't quite make it, so she looked down again and concentrated on the paperwork in front of her.
He stood there a moment longer, vapid words rushing through his head as he tried to figure out whether he should congratulate her, because she's wanted this for so long and it's been one hell of a ride; or apologize to her, because it didn't matter how many times she succeeded, it was always preceded by disappointment.
She looked in his direction, not exactly at him but close enough, and he concentrated on a spot on the carpet, not knowing why they could never quite look directly at each other when it came to this.
"Nothing I do is gonna change it," she said for him, and for the first time her voice dropped and she sighed, running her hand through her forehead in a momentary lapse of strength.
House looked at her, still not knowing what to say, still not knowing whether he should tell her maybe this time would be different and she'd get what she wanted, or give her his condolences right up front.
So he nodded instead, looking around the office and feeling awkward, feeling useless, because he was one of the best diagnosticians in the world and yet he hadn't figured out why this kept happening. Not that he'd asked her. Not that he would ever corner her in a room and take a blood sample. Not that she would let him, either. Pretty soon none of it would matter anyway.
Her attention was back to the file, calmer and recollected this time, and House knew that was it. He started to walk away, thinking he should ask her to call him when it happens. He closed the door softly behind him instead.
The End