Good Intentions, House/Cuddy, PG
Title: Good Intentions
Pairing: House/Cuddy (though they are at war!), Wilson
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Set sometime in season 7 - House and Cuddy are arguing/on the outs and Wilson is a reluctant observer, as always.
Disclaimer: Not mine. These belong to Shore, NBC Universal, FOX and anyone else with rights. Transformative work and no profit is being made, etc.
Summary: House thought he'd found an innovative way to apologize to Cuddy. The result is a homicidal Cuddy, so he might be wrong on that one. Wilson POV.
Prompt: House/Cuddy (involving Rachel somehow) What would you do if your girlfriend gave you the cold shoulder? Using her daughter to earn some forgiveness?
Dedication: For the loveliest wanderlonely who is my constant in writing and in LJ life generally. I wish I could repay all your great ::Hugs:: when I need them most, and this story is just a little way to say how grateful I am to know you.
"I will kill him," Cuddy rages, slamming her hands down on the dining room table. "Understand me, I don't mean 'I will get mad at him'; no, I mean I will very deliberately murder him and put years of medical training to use in disposing of his remains." She smiles, and there's no warmth in it whatsoever. "So I will kill him, and I will get away with it."
"Cuddy, he probably--" Wilson interjects, but she silences him with a glare.
"Nope, don't want to hear it. House can't send his little wife in here to plead his case every time he crosses a line."
"Well, in the past it has actually--"
"Shut. Up."
"Sure. Good note," Wilson nods frantically, because if Cuddy is this mad, he's ready to throw House to the wolves and run for safety. "He's at home, by the way. If you need a confirmed location, for your murder plans and all."
"Go," Cuddy orders, and Wilson doesn’t even hesitate. He’s practically in a sprint by the time he clears the Nurses’ Station.
*
“You ratted me out!” House yells the minute Wilson answers his cell. Well, it’s more like whisper-yelling, since House is obviously trying not to be overheard.
“Hey, I was tortured,” Wilson makes it sounds pleading, but he’s not actually feeling that guilty.
“She’s been banging on my front door for fifteen minutes now. And not remotely in a good way,” House hisses, sounding pretty panicked.
“Time to face the music, House. Just let her in,” Wilson suggests. “What’s the worst that could happen?”
*
Wilson takes pity on House an hour later, and drives over to the apartment. There are no immediate signs of life, but House comes limping out when Wilson lets himself in.
“I see you’re alive,” Wilson observes, scanning for signs of Cuddy.
“Barely,” House huffs, looking thoroughly wounded by the whole experience.
“Did you kiss and make up?” Wilson prods, wanting to know if there’s likely to be a Molotov cocktail coming through the window at any point.
“Funnily enough, no,” House pouts. “Apparently kidnapping is a felony and I should be oh so grateful that she didn’t press charges.”
“Well House,” Wilson interrupts. “You took Rachel and nobody knew where she was for three hours.”
“For good reason! I was trying to teach the stupid brat my apology speech. I figured Cuddy would find it cute coming from her,” House explains, and it doesn’t sound any better this time around. “It’s not my fault the kid is so stupid she couldn’t get the first sentence right in three hours.”
“Gee, I wonder why,” Wilson sighs, with an eye roll.
“Also, I took the kid back. It’s not like I left her at a fire station or anything,” House pouts even more.
“Yes, you’re a regular Mother Theresa,” Wilson tells him with a smack on the arm. “So what did you get--twenty-five to life?”
“I should be so lucky,” House grumbles. “A month of full-time clinic duty and double my regular hours for three months after that. Don’t get me started on how she wants me covering a podiatry rotation. It’s too cruel to contemplate,” he pauses, for dramatic effect. “Plus, I have to go to fundraisers. While not being rude to every overpaid jackass in the room. It would have been kinder if she’d killed me. ”
“That was--apparently--an option,” Wilson warns him, reaching for the TV remote on the coffee table. “So, shall we see if there’s anything good on?”
“Only if you buy me dinner first,” is House’s reply. “And let me use you as a human shield when Cuddy comes back.”
“Eh, fair deal,” Wilson shrugs, and he fires up ESPN.
Pairing: House/Cuddy (though they are at war!), Wilson
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Set sometime in season 7 - House and Cuddy are arguing/on the outs and Wilson is a reluctant observer, as always.
Disclaimer: Not mine. These belong to Shore, NBC Universal, FOX and anyone else with rights. Transformative work and no profit is being made, etc.
Summary: House thought he'd found an innovative way to apologize to Cuddy. The result is a homicidal Cuddy, so he might be wrong on that one. Wilson POV.
Prompt: House/Cuddy (involving Rachel somehow) What would you do if your girlfriend gave you the cold shoulder? Using her daughter to earn some forgiveness?
Dedication: For the loveliest wanderlonely who is my constant in writing and in LJ life generally. I wish I could repay all your great ::Hugs:: when I need them most, and this story is just a little way to say how grateful I am to know you.
"I will kill him," Cuddy rages, slamming her hands down on the dining room table. "Understand me, I don't mean 'I will get mad at him'; no, I mean I will very deliberately murder him and put years of medical training to use in disposing of his remains." She smiles, and there's no warmth in it whatsoever. "So I will kill him, and I will get away with it."
"Cuddy, he probably--" Wilson interjects, but she silences him with a glare.
"Nope, don't want to hear it. House can't send his little wife in here to plead his case every time he crosses a line."
"Well, in the past it has actually--"
"Shut. Up."
"Sure. Good note," Wilson nods frantically, because if Cuddy is this mad, he's ready to throw House to the wolves and run for safety. "He's at home, by the way. If you need a confirmed location, for your murder plans and all."
"Go," Cuddy orders, and Wilson doesn’t even hesitate. He’s practically in a sprint by the time he clears the Nurses’ Station.
*
“You ratted me out!” House yells the minute Wilson answers his cell. Well, it’s more like whisper-yelling, since House is obviously trying not to be overheard.
“Hey, I was tortured,” Wilson makes it sounds pleading, but he’s not actually feeling that guilty.
“She’s been banging on my front door for fifteen minutes now. And not remotely in a good way,” House hisses, sounding pretty panicked.
“Time to face the music, House. Just let her in,” Wilson suggests. “What’s the worst that could happen?”
*
Wilson takes pity on House an hour later, and drives over to the apartment. There are no immediate signs of life, but House comes limping out when Wilson lets himself in.
“I see you’re alive,” Wilson observes, scanning for signs of Cuddy.
“Barely,” House huffs, looking thoroughly wounded by the whole experience.
“Did you kiss and make up?” Wilson prods, wanting to know if there’s likely to be a Molotov cocktail coming through the window at any point.
“Funnily enough, no,” House pouts. “Apparently kidnapping is a felony and I should be oh so grateful that she didn’t press charges.”
“Well House,” Wilson interrupts. “You took Rachel and nobody knew where she was for three hours.”
“For good reason! I was trying to teach the stupid brat my apology speech. I figured Cuddy would find it cute coming from her,” House explains, and it doesn’t sound any better this time around. “It’s not my fault the kid is so stupid she couldn’t get the first sentence right in three hours.”
“Gee, I wonder why,” Wilson sighs, with an eye roll.
“Also, I took the kid back. It’s not like I left her at a fire station or anything,” House pouts even more.
“Yes, you’re a regular Mother Theresa,” Wilson tells him with a smack on the arm. “So what did you get--twenty-five to life?”
“I should be so lucky,” House grumbles. “A month of full-time clinic duty and double my regular hours for three months after that. Don’t get me started on how she wants me covering a podiatry rotation. It’s too cruel to contemplate,” he pauses, for dramatic effect. “Plus, I have to go to fundraisers. While not being rude to every overpaid jackass in the room. It would have been kinder if she’d killed me. ”
“That was--apparently--an option,” Wilson warns him, reaching for the TV remote on the coffee table. “So, shall we see if there’s anything good on?”
“Only if you buy me dinner first,” is House’s reply. “And let me use you as a human shield when Cuddy comes back.”
“Eh, fair deal,” Wilson shrugs, and he fires up ESPN.