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FanFiction: So This Is Your Holy Sacrifice: HetChallenge/HouseFic50: (1/1)
Title: So This Is Your Holy Sacrifice
Author: Catherine
Fandom: House, MD
Character/Pairing: HouseCuddy, Cuddy/Wilson, Cuddy/Vogler
HetChallenge: three things included - snark, inappropriate clothing choice, blackmail / three things excluded - ducklings, men who act like women, anyone's home (for cometjantshira)
Prompt: 007: Hospital
Word Count: 3650
Rating: PG.13
A/N: Ed Vogler is a brilliant businessman. A brilliant judge of people, and a man who has never lost a fight. is ripped directly from the show (1x17, Role Model). This is why I don't write fic so much.
Her office is dark and his steps unheard. Her back is to the door, filing, straightening, putting everything into place (even though it’s rarely out). He stands close behind, amused; she doesn’t know he’s there, too absorbed, too distracted, too tired.
‘The extent to which you micromanage is truly inspiring.’
She jumps, turns, their bodies touch. ‘Jesus,’ she breathes, and glares, only to be met by an accomplished smirk and a step closer, pinning her against the shelf.
‘House…’ she warns, eyes over his shoulder, but he doesn’t take her very seriously. ‘not here.’
He scoffs, critical and rolls his eyes dramatically, gesturing to the empty clinic. ‘Oh, what? There’s nobody around-’
‘It’s still work,’ she reminds him, slipping away.
‘Right, I forgot. The lines don’t cross. Ever.’ She looks up from her desk long enough to glare. House pauses briefly, mildly annoyed at her amused smile, then adds, ‘Which is why you voted the way you did for Carly’s transplant.’
Her fingers recoil from the paper she’s putting in her briefcase. It’s less than a second, but he sees it, was watching for it, welcomes it; he can still throw her off-guard. ‘Excuse me?’
He waits, drawing the silence a little too tight and steps close, too close, and she freezes, stares. He’s close enough to touch, but won’t. She swallows. ‘You’re gonna tell me it had nothing to do with this.’
She tries to laugh. ‘You’re not that good.’
‘Wanna test that theory?’
She wants to say yes and he knows it; smirks; steps closer. She can almost feel his breath on her neck and wants to lean back, closer; wants to leave all of this - piles and piles and stacks and stacks and whatever it is she has buried under white sheets and pink memos - behind. She steps away.
‘Not tonight,’ she says, but doesn’t look at him. ‘These numbers aren’t going to calculate themselves.’ She says goodnight and disappears, too quick for him to protest. Too quick to change her mind.
--
‘This isn’t going to work,’ she says firmly (simultaneously convincing herself). ‘It’s bad enough Vogler thinks I can’t ‘control’ you;’ She adds a short glare for emphasis. ‘If I give him any reason to assume that my professional decisions are compromised by a ‘current or prior relationship’-’
‘This coming from the woman who set aside Saturday night to have ‘dinner’ with the large, affluent donor.’ Cuddy looks up in surprise. ‘Something she’s never done. Ever.’
‘Wha-’ She frowns, shakes her head, swallows. ‘How did you know about that?’
His eyes gleam (bitterly? resentfully? She doesn’t know; doesn’t know if she cares). ‘People talk. Doctors talk. Not all that intellectually, but man, do they hit the gossip mill.’
‘House-’ She bites off the rest of her sentence and looks away. He edges closer, stands behind her, torments her - it’s what she wants, but she set the boundary. He makes sure she can feel the rumble in his chest as he speaks, feel the soft breath of air on her ear.
‘You know this is a bad idea,’ he says softly; his voice makes her defenses fail slightly more. Little by little, he wants those walls down. Not because of what’s on the other side, just so he won’t have to leap to get there.
She sighs and looks at him over her shoulder, shakes her head slightly. ‘What choice do I have?’
--
Wilson keeps his pace as he plows down the hallway, trying to absorb some of his friend’s agitation, deflect it, talk about it and understand it. ‘All of this over one dinner?’
‘It’s not dinner. It’s what comes after dinner.’
Wilson raises an eyebrow. ‘Desert?’
‘Exactly.’
He pauses, Wilson slows and House realizes several long strides later than he’s fallen behind. ‘House,’ he starts slowly, returning to his place by his side. ‘Are you… jealous? Of Vogler?’ He pauses on House’s look of distain, then presses on as they continue walking. ‘I just mean… first she calls off your…’ he waves his hand. ‘whatever it is you have because of the money involved, now she’s having dinner with him in a little back dress at a quiet little place and they’re actually going to talk like two civilized human beings.’
‘Talking is overrated. Let’s be alternative and shut up.’
‘I’m just saying-’
‘You’re just saying I’m jealous Vogler’s going to be fingering Cuddy before the night is over.’
Wilson winces and takes a moment before following House into his office. ‘I didn’t need that image.’
House drops into his chair and shrugs. ‘Neither did I, but if I have to suffer so do you.’
Wilson runs a hand through his hair. ‘Oh, goody.’
--
‘Are you-’ he stops, reworks the sentence in his mind, continues. ‘are you sure this is what’s best? Not just for the hospital, but for you?’ He pauses. ‘For House?’
She doesn’t look up. ‘What about House?’
He sighs heavily. ‘Cuddy.’
She drops the pen and looks up, meets his gaze. She shakes her head lightly. ‘This place comes first. For both of us,’ she adds when he starts to protest. ‘He knows that.’
‘It’ll become a wall,’ he says and she gives him an incredulous, slightly offended look.
‘Why do you both assume that I’m going to sleep with him? Not all women in positions of power used sex to get there.’
‘You’re not in a position of power, Cuddy. You’re being played. Vogler’s going to take what he wants when he wants it and he’s going to give you back whatever he decides is a fair price.’ Wilson sighs and gives her a hopelessly sympathetic look. ‘You love this place. Sometimes I just worry, maybe you love it too much.’
--
‘ ‘If you don’t then I will.’ Blackmail, pure and simple.’
She shakes her head, amused, and looks up from her desk. ‘It’s not blackmail; it’s dinner. I know you haven’t been out in a long time, but dinner without sex really does happen.’
‘Yeah. If you’re eighty and the nurse has confiscated your little blue pills.’
Cuddy sighs, exasperated. ‘It doesn’t even come close to-’
‘ ‘If you don’t have sex with me, I will fire you.’ ’ She glares, he ignores her. ‘Sound familiar?’
‘You are being pretty irrational - and - overprotective-’
‘You can do what and who you want, Cuddy, I just want to be damn sure that when this all goes to hell, you know I was right.’
--
The folder hits the desk sharply, burying her frustrated sigh. ‘You’re just angry he’s treading on your turf-’
‘Yeah, because he’s not a doctor! He’s a businessman; he’s going to destroy this hospital focusing on stats and numbers-’
‘Patients! People!’
‘Guinea pigs! Nothing matters to him but the money-’
‘Nothing matters to you except solving the puzzle!’
‘Yeah, our goals clash, but at the end of mine, people live.’
--
She almost laughs, but she’s too frustrated. Like walking in a small circle, trying to catch your shadow. She gives up; she says again: ‘It’s purely business.’
‘Yeah, with his hand up your skirt trying to cop a feel-’
She shakes her head and forces an awkward smile, continues writing on her calendar. ‘He’s a professional. He’s not going to try to get me into bed-’
‘Would you listen to yourself?’ His voice is too loud, too harsh, too something else she doesn’t know or care to identify, but it makes her stop, look up, catch his gaze. The silence is strong, bitter; she sighs.
‘It’s just dinner.’
‘Dinner’s foreplay.’
She wants to shut him up, shut him down, make him stop reminding her things she already knows, things she’ll handle when they come up. She can’t worry about this now, not now, not with so much at stake (but she can’t tell him that, can’t tell him she’s doing it for him. She can’t even tell herself that).
So she closes a folder and grabs her purse and looks him in the eye when she says, ‘I have to go,’ but what she really means is ‘enough.’
--
‘A hundred million dollars is a lot of money,’ he offers.
House glares. ‘It’s not that much money.’
Wilson shrugs. ‘Apparently it’s enough.’
‘Certainly enough for Cuddy to prostitute herself-’
‘For her to do what it takes.’
‘Yeah. She’s the one making a huge sacrifice. At least she gets to get laid.’
‘She’s doing it for you.’
He stops, grimaces, and watches as she leaves her office, disappears into the walls, into the building; absorbed and swallowed whole by it. He sighs sharply. ‘Well, she shouldn’t.’
Wilson nods and looks over, catching his attention. ‘Then tell her that.’
--
‘You’re going to ruin your reputation and the reputation of this hospital.’
‘I’m not going to sleep with him.’
‘Not even when he ups the ante?’ She stops, turns near the door. ‘Guy’s willing to pay a hundred million dollars for dinner. What’d you think he’s willing to spend on the full meal deal?’
--
Her back is too him when he comes in, mid-sentence, mid-argument. She turns to retaliate and his voice fails, but not for lack of anything to say. The dress is black and low, too low and fits too well, way too well; he opens his mouth but her voice is louder.
‘What’d you want, House?’ Impatient, aggravated, maybe worried. He doesn’t want to think so hard to decipher.
‘I uh…’ He stares, blatantly, deliberately. She turns and rolls her eyes, pulls her arms through the sleeves of her coat and closes it tightly around her. He blinks and shakes his head, leans on the cane with both hands. ‘Sorry. I was just remember this one night I spent in Vegas-’
‘Oh, shut up.’
She turns off the lights and grabs her purse and tries to slip past him. The heels slow her down; he catches up.
‘So who’s the unlucky bastard to get eviscerated this evening?’
Her glare holds less wither than he’s used too, less ferocity, more apprehension.
‘Well, it isn’t you,’ she counters, but the pause is too long, her thoughts too deep. She steps outside and the wind blows her hair back from her face. She looks cold.
‘I’ve got pizza, booze and twenty-two Tahitian babes in bikinis waiting for me-it’s gonna be one hell of a night. Don’t be too concerned if I don’t show up tomorrow.’
Distracted: ‘I’ll be sure to limit the festivities.’
She looks away and hails a cab and he notices she’s biting the inside of her lip subconsciously. He pauses, studies her. He knows she’s uncomfortable, worried. She glances over and then quickly away. His gaze is too fierce, too unwavering, too knowing. She shifts.
‘If you’re so nervous then why are you doing this?’
The cab pulls up to the curb and she ignores him, opens the door. He shuts it.
‘House-’ He says nothing, just stares. The cab driver leans across the seat to say, ‘hey, buddy’ but he stops. They both look mad and they both look tired and when he finally steps back his face is in a natural grimace.
‘Fine,’ he says, but only the driver sees her mouth open to call him back as he walks away, the shake of her head in acceptance of a futile endeavor, and the weak little sigh she gives before climbing in.
--
‘You went home with him.’
She starts to say ‘no’, starts to lie. They never lie, they only stretch the truth. They omit, they lie by default, but they never lie. Not to each other.
‘He’s staying in a hotel-’
He steps into the room. ‘Hotel, bungalow, Ashram hut, you still went-’
‘Nothing happened.’ Her voice is firm, honest.
‘Right. That’s why he just agreed to fund an extension of the oncology research department.’
‘Wow. Wilson must be really good. Maybe you should be hounding him instead of distracting me-or even better, why don’t you go fill some of those clinic hours-’
‘Even Wilson’s not that low. Sure, he’ll shag anything with two legs and a vagina, but businessmen, politicians and administrators are off limits-’
‘I didn’t sleep with him.’
House glares, leans back slightly and straightens. ‘I never said you did.’
‘You implied it.’
‘If you’d seriously done the nasty with that guy they’d be wheeling you to the back in a body bag. Unless of course you were on top,’ he pauses, sneers. ‘That’s where you like it anyway, so I suppose it’s no different-’
‘It’s not that I enjoy it more, I’ve just had more practice.’
She snaps the rubber band around the stack of folders and ignores the brief, harsh silence, ignores that she caught him off-guard.
‘Ouch.’
She says nothing, focuses on her computer, her numbers. It’s so simple to her, what needs to be done. He stands, waits, watches and clenches his teeth. He waits her out, waits until she finally looks up, eyes wide, uncaring.
‘Are we finished?’
House glares. ‘Apparently.’
‘Good.’
--
‘Ed Vogler is a brilliant businessman. A brilliant judge of people, and a man who has never lost a fight. Most people don’t know the first thing about money, or how to spend it. But Ed… he’s got a knack for this kinda thing. I mean - who knew that a hundred million could buy you a date with a sexy administrator? If I’d known about that, I’d have forked over a much larger sum for a piece of that action if you know what I’m saying.’
He raises his eyebrows suggestively in her direction but she barely notices. Wilson puts his hand on her knee and gives it a gentle squeeze. She misses the rest of his speech, the silence ringing in her ears, trembling and throbbing. She can feel curious eyes on her neck, disdainful stares at her back. But mostly she can feel sympathy, and when the audience begins to file out, the murmurs aren’t about him, they’re about her, and they all wonder ‘why’.
--
‘Dr. Cuddy!’
Wilson cringes. ‘House, don’t.’
He doesn’t listen, makes his way across the hall. People watch him from the corner of their eyes. People stare. He ignores them. She ignores him. She tries, until he’s right next to her, matching her speed down the hallway.
‘So, what’d you think?’
‘I think you’re in the wrong career. Professional ass would be so much more appropriate.’ Her voice doesn’t carry half her anger, doesn’t reflect any of the tears bottled up in her throat.
‘I do try.’
She stops, suddenly. He jolts, stops a pace in front of her, turns to face her. Her eyes are so cold. ‘No, you don’t. You poke and you prod and you fuck things up until they suit your purposes.’
He shrugs. ‘Job hazard,’ then whispers conspiratorially, ‘you see there’s this administrator here who’s always-’
‘I don’t ask you for a lot. This one thing. One speech.’ She scoffs, blinks; she won’t cry for him. Won’t give him that satisfaction. Ever. ‘You couldn’t even do that.’
Wilson approaches after she’s left, stands and watches her leave. They exchange a glance, and House leaves him standing there with his hand running through his hair and a thousand shattered pieces to pick up. As usual.
--
It’s quiet, deathly, and he watches her closely, sighs, and tries not to feel pity. He steps closer, keeps his voice soft. He doesn’t want to break the silence (doesn’t want to break her). ‘The reason why this works is because you’ve never tried to change him.’ He pauses, nearly begs, ‘Are you really willing to start now?’
The silence makes her bow her head, look away, sigh. ‘No,’ she breathes, and Wilson nods.
‘Good.’
He waits, but she says nothing, stares into her cup. He knows its gone cold by now. She looks cold. She doesn’t drink from the cup.
‘Cuddy,’ he starts, and his voice is even softer, smoother, like he wants to touch her but he won’t. He stays where he is, across the room. It’s not his territory.
‘Yeah,’ she murmurs. ‘I know.’ There’s a pause, not real silence, but a break in speech that fills the gap between what they say and what they think. ‘Everything’s changed,’ she tells him in confidence, but he shakes his head, tries to smile, fails.
‘Has it?’
--
The creases on his face make a neat little line and House stares at it intently, avoiding but barely, eye-contact. ‘Have you talked to Cuddy yet?’
‘Haven’t had time. Double-edition of People this week. Two hundred pages of trashy goodness and a full spread on Angelina Jolie.’
‘I’m serious.’ House braces himself for the lecture with an inward sigh and rolls his eyes over Wilson’s reprimanding tone. ‘The least you could to is apologize to Cuddy for single-handedly putting her career in total jeopardy-’
‘She did that herself. She should know better than to get caught up in inter-office relationships.’
‘Yeah. Yeah, it’s all her fault. She was wrong, you were right, Vogler lost. All is right with the universe. Now this way when you lose the grant money for your department and Cuddy fires you, you’ll have a career to fall back on - ruining someone’s life in thirty days or less. You could write a book.’
House palms the Vicodin. ‘It’d be a best seller.’
Wilson sighs and puts his hands on his hips. He’s patronizing, reproachful. ‘If the hospital loses Vogler’s money she’ll never forgive you.’
‘Yeah, she will. She always does.’
‘Pretty sure of yourself, aren’t you.’ He doesn’t phrase it as a question.
House shrugs and leans back in his chair. ‘Cuddy’s no enigma.’
‘Really?’ His eyebrows go up and he folds his arms across his chest. ‘Have you talked to her lately?’
He thinks for a moment. ‘Commented on her breasts.’
‘House.’
‘They looked very nice,’ he protests, then adds with a mixture of appreciation and disdain, ‘Considering you could practically see down to her naval with that blouse-’
‘House.’
He rolls his eyes and makes an excuse in a bland tone. ‘I’ve been busy. Not treating patients - hiding from Cuddy, so as not to have to treat patients - it’s strenuous.’
Wilson pauses, glares. House wonders when he’ll leave, or at least change the subject. ‘You know what else is strenuous?’ House looks on his desk for a distraction. ‘Packing up your office into cardboard boxes.’
‘Oh, yeah,’ he grimaces, and reaches for his gameboy. ‘I bet it’s hell on the thighs.’
Wilson’s teeth clench and his eyes narrow but what he wants to say he doesn’t. ‘Talk to Cuddy,’ he says instead. ‘Before you have nothing left to say to each other.’
--
All their conversations seem to happen in the dark. She’s standing by the window with her arms around her stomach and he’s sitting on her couch, waiting because there’s nothing left to say but ‘I’m sorry’ and he won’t give her that.
‘I didn’t sleep with him,’ she says finally, and he nods curtly.
‘I know.’
--
She’s heading down the hall at a normal pace with a normal expression and a normal stance but he knows there’s something wrong. Something happened.
‘Cuddy.’
She doesn’t answer, doesn’t look at him, just passes by. He follows her, catches up, grabs her arm lightly then immediately lets go. ‘Cuddy. What happened?’ His eyes are almost scared, curious, apprehensive. He doesn’t want to know.
Her face softens at his tone and Wilson’s eyes widen.
‘You voted no.’
A nurse comes up and interrupts, hands her a piece of paper on a clip-board and a pen and he watches as she looks it over, quickly, precisely with trained eyes. They’ve been doing this for so long. Too long.
She signs the paper and hands it back. The nurse disappears. Cuddy watches her go, then turns to Wilson and offers a blank smile. ‘I’ll see you in the unemployment lines.’
--
All the lights are off. He can barely make her out, standing in the shadow of the window, white light from outside barely reaching her face. He sighs, pushes through the door. She doesn’t turn, doesn’t acknowledge.
‘You’re still here,’ he says but is met with nothing. Not even a glance, a shift. She won’t spare anything for him. He clears his throat lowly, awkwardly. He’s not used to trying. ‘It’s almost two.’ He waits, listens, sighs, slightly exasperated. ‘Look, about the party…’ he starts, and trails off to give her time to interject. She doesn’t look away from the window, her gaze focused on something so obviously out of reach. He shifts uncomfortably. ‘Okay, see this is where you jump in and make some sarcastic comment, so I can return it and we’re back to normal.’
The silence deafens him, annoys him, and he moves closer, too close, until he’s staring at her profile in the light. She’s not crying, but barely. He knows now, if she says a word she will, and he sighs. He didn’t mean for this. Not all of this. He doesn’t know what else to say.
‘Cuddy.’
He’s close enough to touch but he doesn’t move, until the heat from his body draws her in, until her head’s against his chest and her fingers claw around his shirt. Then his hand is oh so light and oh so soft at her back and he lets his chin rest near her head. He can smell her shampoo. It’s familiarity in a bottle, mixed with the alcohol from before and probably some after and she’s shaking slightly but he knows it’s from anger and frustration and pure exhaustion (and maybe, just maybe a little bit of relief).
‘You bastard,’ she whispers, eyes closed, cheeks dry and his hand at the base of her spine.
Title: So This Is Your Holy Sacrifice
Author: Catherine
Fandom: House, MD
Character/Pairing: HouseCuddy, Cuddy/Wilson, Cuddy/Vogler
HetChallenge: three things included - snark, inappropriate clothing choice, blackmail / three things excluded - ducklings, men who act like women, anyone's home (for cometjantshira)
Prompt: 007: Hospital
Word Count: 3650
Rating: PG.13
A/N: Ed Vogler is a brilliant businessman. A brilliant judge of people, and a man who has never lost a fight. is ripped directly from the show (1x17, Role Model). This is why I don't write fic so much.
Her office is dark and his steps unheard. Her back is to the door, filing, straightening, putting everything into place (even though it’s rarely out). He stands close behind, amused; she doesn’t know he’s there, too absorbed, too distracted, too tired.
‘The extent to which you micromanage is truly inspiring.’
She jumps, turns, their bodies touch. ‘Jesus,’ she breathes, and glares, only to be met by an accomplished smirk and a step closer, pinning her against the shelf.
‘House…’ she warns, eyes over his shoulder, but he doesn’t take her very seriously. ‘not here.’
He scoffs, critical and rolls his eyes dramatically, gesturing to the empty clinic. ‘Oh, what? There’s nobody around-’
‘It’s still work,’ she reminds him, slipping away.
‘Right, I forgot. The lines don’t cross. Ever.’ She looks up from her desk long enough to glare. House pauses briefly, mildly annoyed at her amused smile, then adds, ‘Which is why you voted the way you did for Carly’s transplant.’
Her fingers recoil from the paper she’s putting in her briefcase. It’s less than a second, but he sees it, was watching for it, welcomes it; he can still throw her off-guard. ‘Excuse me?’
He waits, drawing the silence a little too tight and steps close, too close, and she freezes, stares. He’s close enough to touch, but won’t. She swallows. ‘You’re gonna tell me it had nothing to do with this.’
She tries to laugh. ‘You’re not that good.’
‘Wanna test that theory?’
She wants to say yes and he knows it; smirks; steps closer. She can almost feel his breath on her neck and wants to lean back, closer; wants to leave all of this - piles and piles and stacks and stacks and whatever it is she has buried under white sheets and pink memos - behind. She steps away.
‘Not tonight,’ she says, but doesn’t look at him. ‘These numbers aren’t going to calculate themselves.’ She says goodnight and disappears, too quick for him to protest. Too quick to change her mind.
--
‘This isn’t going to work,’ she says firmly (simultaneously convincing herself). ‘It’s bad enough Vogler thinks I can’t ‘control’ you;’ She adds a short glare for emphasis. ‘If I give him any reason to assume that my professional decisions are compromised by a ‘current or prior relationship’-’
‘This coming from the woman who set aside Saturday night to have ‘dinner’ with the large, affluent donor.’ Cuddy looks up in surprise. ‘Something she’s never done. Ever.’
‘Wha-’ She frowns, shakes her head, swallows. ‘How did you know about that?’
His eyes gleam (bitterly? resentfully? She doesn’t know; doesn’t know if she cares). ‘People talk. Doctors talk. Not all that intellectually, but man, do they hit the gossip mill.’
‘House-’ She bites off the rest of her sentence and looks away. He edges closer, stands behind her, torments her - it’s what she wants, but she set the boundary. He makes sure she can feel the rumble in his chest as he speaks, feel the soft breath of air on her ear.
‘You know this is a bad idea,’ he says softly; his voice makes her defenses fail slightly more. Little by little, he wants those walls down. Not because of what’s on the other side, just so he won’t have to leap to get there.
She sighs and looks at him over her shoulder, shakes her head slightly. ‘What choice do I have?’
--
Wilson keeps his pace as he plows down the hallway, trying to absorb some of his friend’s agitation, deflect it, talk about it and understand it. ‘All of this over one dinner?’
‘It’s not dinner. It’s what comes after dinner.’
Wilson raises an eyebrow. ‘Desert?’
‘Exactly.’
He pauses, Wilson slows and House realizes several long strides later than he’s fallen behind. ‘House,’ he starts slowly, returning to his place by his side. ‘Are you… jealous? Of Vogler?’ He pauses on House’s look of distain, then presses on as they continue walking. ‘I just mean… first she calls off your…’ he waves his hand. ‘whatever it is you have because of the money involved, now she’s having dinner with him in a little back dress at a quiet little place and they’re actually going to talk like two civilized human beings.’
‘Talking is overrated. Let’s be alternative and shut up.’
‘I’m just saying-’
‘You’re just saying I’m jealous Vogler’s going to be fingering Cuddy before the night is over.’
Wilson winces and takes a moment before following House into his office. ‘I didn’t need that image.’
House drops into his chair and shrugs. ‘Neither did I, but if I have to suffer so do you.’
Wilson runs a hand through his hair. ‘Oh, goody.’
--
‘Are you-’ he stops, reworks the sentence in his mind, continues. ‘are you sure this is what’s best? Not just for the hospital, but for you?’ He pauses. ‘For House?’
She doesn’t look up. ‘What about House?’
He sighs heavily. ‘Cuddy.’
She drops the pen and looks up, meets his gaze. She shakes her head lightly. ‘This place comes first. For both of us,’ she adds when he starts to protest. ‘He knows that.’
‘It’ll become a wall,’ he says and she gives him an incredulous, slightly offended look.
‘Why do you both assume that I’m going to sleep with him? Not all women in positions of power used sex to get there.’
‘You’re not in a position of power, Cuddy. You’re being played. Vogler’s going to take what he wants when he wants it and he’s going to give you back whatever he decides is a fair price.’ Wilson sighs and gives her a hopelessly sympathetic look. ‘You love this place. Sometimes I just worry, maybe you love it too much.’
--
‘ ‘If you don’t then I will.’ Blackmail, pure and simple.’
She shakes her head, amused, and looks up from her desk. ‘It’s not blackmail; it’s dinner. I know you haven’t been out in a long time, but dinner without sex really does happen.’
‘Yeah. If you’re eighty and the nurse has confiscated your little blue pills.’
Cuddy sighs, exasperated. ‘It doesn’t even come close to-’
‘ ‘If you don’t have sex with me, I will fire you.’ ’ She glares, he ignores her. ‘Sound familiar?’
‘You are being pretty irrational - and - overprotective-’
‘You can do what and who you want, Cuddy, I just want to be damn sure that when this all goes to hell, you know I was right.’
--
The folder hits the desk sharply, burying her frustrated sigh. ‘You’re just angry he’s treading on your turf-’
‘Yeah, because he’s not a doctor! He’s a businessman; he’s going to destroy this hospital focusing on stats and numbers-’
‘Patients! People!’
‘Guinea pigs! Nothing matters to him but the money-’
‘Nothing matters to you except solving the puzzle!’
‘Yeah, our goals clash, but at the end of mine, people live.’
--
She almost laughs, but she’s too frustrated. Like walking in a small circle, trying to catch your shadow. She gives up; she says again: ‘It’s purely business.’
‘Yeah, with his hand up your skirt trying to cop a feel-’
She shakes her head and forces an awkward smile, continues writing on her calendar. ‘He’s a professional. He’s not going to try to get me into bed-’
‘Would you listen to yourself?’ His voice is too loud, too harsh, too something else she doesn’t know or care to identify, but it makes her stop, look up, catch his gaze. The silence is strong, bitter; she sighs.
‘It’s just dinner.’
‘Dinner’s foreplay.’
She wants to shut him up, shut him down, make him stop reminding her things she already knows, things she’ll handle when they come up. She can’t worry about this now, not now, not with so much at stake (but she can’t tell him that, can’t tell him she’s doing it for him. She can’t even tell herself that).
So she closes a folder and grabs her purse and looks him in the eye when she says, ‘I have to go,’ but what she really means is ‘enough.’
--
‘A hundred million dollars is a lot of money,’ he offers.
House glares. ‘It’s not that much money.’
Wilson shrugs. ‘Apparently it’s enough.’
‘Certainly enough for Cuddy to prostitute herself-’
‘For her to do what it takes.’
‘Yeah. She’s the one making a huge sacrifice. At least she gets to get laid.’
‘She’s doing it for you.’
He stops, grimaces, and watches as she leaves her office, disappears into the walls, into the building; absorbed and swallowed whole by it. He sighs sharply. ‘Well, she shouldn’t.’
Wilson nods and looks over, catching his attention. ‘Then tell her that.’
--
‘You’re going to ruin your reputation and the reputation of this hospital.’
‘I’m not going to sleep with him.’
‘Not even when he ups the ante?’ She stops, turns near the door. ‘Guy’s willing to pay a hundred million dollars for dinner. What’d you think he’s willing to spend on the full meal deal?’
--
Her back is too him when he comes in, mid-sentence, mid-argument. She turns to retaliate and his voice fails, but not for lack of anything to say. The dress is black and low, too low and fits too well, way too well; he opens his mouth but her voice is louder.
‘What’d you want, House?’ Impatient, aggravated, maybe worried. He doesn’t want to think so hard to decipher.
‘I uh…’ He stares, blatantly, deliberately. She turns and rolls her eyes, pulls her arms through the sleeves of her coat and closes it tightly around her. He blinks and shakes his head, leans on the cane with both hands. ‘Sorry. I was just remember this one night I spent in Vegas-’
‘Oh, shut up.’
She turns off the lights and grabs her purse and tries to slip past him. The heels slow her down; he catches up.
‘So who’s the unlucky bastard to get eviscerated this evening?’
Her glare holds less wither than he’s used too, less ferocity, more apprehension.
‘Well, it isn’t you,’ she counters, but the pause is too long, her thoughts too deep. She steps outside and the wind blows her hair back from her face. She looks cold.
‘I’ve got pizza, booze and twenty-two Tahitian babes in bikinis waiting for me-it’s gonna be one hell of a night. Don’t be too concerned if I don’t show up tomorrow.’
Distracted: ‘I’ll be sure to limit the festivities.’
She looks away and hails a cab and he notices she’s biting the inside of her lip subconsciously. He pauses, studies her. He knows she’s uncomfortable, worried. She glances over and then quickly away. His gaze is too fierce, too unwavering, too knowing. She shifts.
‘If you’re so nervous then why are you doing this?’
The cab pulls up to the curb and she ignores him, opens the door. He shuts it.
‘House-’ He says nothing, just stares. The cab driver leans across the seat to say, ‘hey, buddy’ but he stops. They both look mad and they both look tired and when he finally steps back his face is in a natural grimace.
‘Fine,’ he says, but only the driver sees her mouth open to call him back as he walks away, the shake of her head in acceptance of a futile endeavor, and the weak little sigh she gives before climbing in.
--
‘You went home with him.’
She starts to say ‘no’, starts to lie. They never lie, they only stretch the truth. They omit, they lie by default, but they never lie. Not to each other.
‘He’s staying in a hotel-’
He steps into the room. ‘Hotel, bungalow, Ashram hut, you still went-’
‘Nothing happened.’ Her voice is firm, honest.
‘Right. That’s why he just agreed to fund an extension of the oncology research department.’
‘Wow. Wilson must be really good. Maybe you should be hounding him instead of distracting me-or even better, why don’t you go fill some of those clinic hours-’
‘Even Wilson’s not that low. Sure, he’ll shag anything with two legs and a vagina, but businessmen, politicians and administrators are off limits-’
‘I didn’t sleep with him.’
House glares, leans back slightly and straightens. ‘I never said you did.’
‘You implied it.’
‘If you’d seriously done the nasty with that guy they’d be wheeling you to the back in a body bag. Unless of course you were on top,’ he pauses, sneers. ‘That’s where you like it anyway, so I suppose it’s no different-’
‘It’s not that I enjoy it more, I’ve just had more practice.’
She snaps the rubber band around the stack of folders and ignores the brief, harsh silence, ignores that she caught him off-guard.
‘Ouch.’
She says nothing, focuses on her computer, her numbers. It’s so simple to her, what needs to be done. He stands, waits, watches and clenches his teeth. He waits her out, waits until she finally looks up, eyes wide, uncaring.
‘Are we finished?’
House glares. ‘Apparently.’
‘Good.’
--
‘Ed Vogler is a brilliant businessman. A brilliant judge of people, and a man who has never lost a fight. Most people don’t know the first thing about money, or how to spend it. But Ed… he’s got a knack for this kinda thing. I mean - who knew that a hundred million could buy you a date with a sexy administrator? If I’d known about that, I’d have forked over a much larger sum for a piece of that action if you know what I’m saying.’
He raises his eyebrows suggestively in her direction but she barely notices. Wilson puts his hand on her knee and gives it a gentle squeeze. She misses the rest of his speech, the silence ringing in her ears, trembling and throbbing. She can feel curious eyes on her neck, disdainful stares at her back. But mostly she can feel sympathy, and when the audience begins to file out, the murmurs aren’t about him, they’re about her, and they all wonder ‘why’.
--
‘Dr. Cuddy!’
Wilson cringes. ‘House, don’t.’
He doesn’t listen, makes his way across the hall. People watch him from the corner of their eyes. People stare. He ignores them. She ignores him. She tries, until he’s right next to her, matching her speed down the hallway.
‘So, what’d you think?’
‘I think you’re in the wrong career. Professional ass would be so much more appropriate.’ Her voice doesn’t carry half her anger, doesn’t reflect any of the tears bottled up in her throat.
‘I do try.’
She stops, suddenly. He jolts, stops a pace in front of her, turns to face her. Her eyes are so cold. ‘No, you don’t. You poke and you prod and you fuck things up until they suit your purposes.’
He shrugs. ‘Job hazard,’ then whispers conspiratorially, ‘you see there’s this administrator here who’s always-’
‘I don’t ask you for a lot. This one thing. One speech.’ She scoffs, blinks; she won’t cry for him. Won’t give him that satisfaction. Ever. ‘You couldn’t even do that.’
Wilson approaches after she’s left, stands and watches her leave. They exchange a glance, and House leaves him standing there with his hand running through his hair and a thousand shattered pieces to pick up. As usual.
--
It’s quiet, deathly, and he watches her closely, sighs, and tries not to feel pity. He steps closer, keeps his voice soft. He doesn’t want to break the silence (doesn’t want to break her). ‘The reason why this works is because you’ve never tried to change him.’ He pauses, nearly begs, ‘Are you really willing to start now?’
The silence makes her bow her head, look away, sigh. ‘No,’ she breathes, and Wilson nods.
‘Good.’
He waits, but she says nothing, stares into her cup. He knows its gone cold by now. She looks cold. She doesn’t drink from the cup.
‘Cuddy,’ he starts, and his voice is even softer, smoother, like he wants to touch her but he won’t. He stays where he is, across the room. It’s not his territory.
‘Yeah,’ she murmurs. ‘I know.’ There’s a pause, not real silence, but a break in speech that fills the gap between what they say and what they think. ‘Everything’s changed,’ she tells him in confidence, but he shakes his head, tries to smile, fails.
‘Has it?’
--
The creases on his face make a neat little line and House stares at it intently, avoiding but barely, eye-contact. ‘Have you talked to Cuddy yet?’
‘Haven’t had time. Double-edition of People this week. Two hundred pages of trashy goodness and a full spread on Angelina Jolie.’
‘I’m serious.’ House braces himself for the lecture with an inward sigh and rolls his eyes over Wilson’s reprimanding tone. ‘The least you could to is apologize to Cuddy for single-handedly putting her career in total jeopardy-’
‘She did that herself. She should know better than to get caught up in inter-office relationships.’
‘Yeah. Yeah, it’s all her fault. She was wrong, you were right, Vogler lost. All is right with the universe. Now this way when you lose the grant money for your department and Cuddy fires you, you’ll have a career to fall back on - ruining someone’s life in thirty days or less. You could write a book.’
House palms the Vicodin. ‘It’d be a best seller.’
Wilson sighs and puts his hands on his hips. He’s patronizing, reproachful. ‘If the hospital loses Vogler’s money she’ll never forgive you.’
‘Yeah, she will. She always does.’
‘Pretty sure of yourself, aren’t you.’ He doesn’t phrase it as a question.
House shrugs and leans back in his chair. ‘Cuddy’s no enigma.’
‘Really?’ His eyebrows go up and he folds his arms across his chest. ‘Have you talked to her lately?’
He thinks for a moment. ‘Commented on her breasts.’
‘House.’
‘They looked very nice,’ he protests, then adds with a mixture of appreciation and disdain, ‘Considering you could practically see down to her naval with that blouse-’
‘House.’
He rolls his eyes and makes an excuse in a bland tone. ‘I’ve been busy. Not treating patients - hiding from Cuddy, so as not to have to treat patients - it’s strenuous.’
Wilson pauses, glares. House wonders when he’ll leave, or at least change the subject. ‘You know what else is strenuous?’ House looks on his desk for a distraction. ‘Packing up your office into cardboard boxes.’
‘Oh, yeah,’ he grimaces, and reaches for his gameboy. ‘I bet it’s hell on the thighs.’
Wilson’s teeth clench and his eyes narrow but what he wants to say he doesn’t. ‘Talk to Cuddy,’ he says instead. ‘Before you have nothing left to say to each other.’
--
All their conversations seem to happen in the dark. She’s standing by the window with her arms around her stomach and he’s sitting on her couch, waiting because there’s nothing left to say but ‘I’m sorry’ and he won’t give her that.
‘I didn’t sleep with him,’ she says finally, and he nods curtly.
‘I know.’
--
She’s heading down the hall at a normal pace with a normal expression and a normal stance but he knows there’s something wrong. Something happened.
‘Cuddy.’
She doesn’t answer, doesn’t look at him, just passes by. He follows her, catches up, grabs her arm lightly then immediately lets go. ‘Cuddy. What happened?’ His eyes are almost scared, curious, apprehensive. He doesn’t want to know.
Her face softens at his tone and Wilson’s eyes widen.
‘You voted no.’
A nurse comes up and interrupts, hands her a piece of paper on a clip-board and a pen and he watches as she looks it over, quickly, precisely with trained eyes. They’ve been doing this for so long. Too long.
She signs the paper and hands it back. The nurse disappears. Cuddy watches her go, then turns to Wilson and offers a blank smile. ‘I’ll see you in the unemployment lines.’
--
All the lights are off. He can barely make her out, standing in the shadow of the window, white light from outside barely reaching her face. He sighs, pushes through the door. She doesn’t turn, doesn’t acknowledge.
‘You’re still here,’ he says but is met with nothing. Not even a glance, a shift. She won’t spare anything for him. He clears his throat lowly, awkwardly. He’s not used to trying. ‘It’s almost two.’ He waits, listens, sighs, slightly exasperated. ‘Look, about the party…’ he starts, and trails off to give her time to interject. She doesn’t look away from the window, her gaze focused on something so obviously out of reach. He shifts uncomfortably. ‘Okay, see this is where you jump in and make some sarcastic comment, so I can return it and we’re back to normal.’
The silence deafens him, annoys him, and he moves closer, too close, until he’s staring at her profile in the light. She’s not crying, but barely. He knows now, if she says a word she will, and he sighs. He didn’t mean for this. Not all of this. He doesn’t know what else to say.
‘Cuddy.’
He’s close enough to touch but he doesn’t move, until the heat from his body draws her in, until her head’s against his chest and her fingers claw around his shirt. Then his hand is oh so light and oh so soft at her back and he lets his chin rest near her head. He can smell her shampoo. It’s familiarity in a bottle, mixed with the alcohol from before and probably some after and she’s shaking slightly but he knows it’s from anger and frustration and pure exhaustion (and maybe, just maybe a little bit of relief).
‘You bastard,’ she whispers, eyes closed, cheeks dry and his hand at the base of her spine.