11/25
FanFic: Never Heals Angel/House crossover: (3/3)
part one
part two
boston. day.
1991
The pounding on the door doesn’t stop until it opens. He’s standing on the other side with a woman limp in his arms.
‘It’s not what you think,’ is the first thing he says in a rush. ‘There was a werewolf, she was attacked, I didn’t get there in time. He didn’t bite her but she’s bleeding and I can’t take her to a hospital.’
She’s almost too stunned to speak. ‘How did you-’
‘This building has sewer access. Please. Help her.’
She looks from him to the girl and back and forth and then opens the door wider. ‘Get in.’
He enters quickly and lowers the woman gently on the floor, then backs swiftly into a dark corner of the room. Cuddy kneels next to her and peels back her blouse, sees the long, jagged slices on her rib cage.
‘Get my bag.’
Angel starts and tries to hide a wince. ‘What?’
She points. ‘My bag, hand it to me.’
It’s in the sun but he snatches it anyway and gives it to her and she pulls out medical supplies, working swiftly and calmly.
‘What are you doing?’
‘You asked for my help,’ she says sharply.
Angel looks flustered almost. ‘Why don’t you just do your hand-wavy magic thing and heal her? She’s almost dead.’
‘She’s not almost dead. These wounds are relatively shallow; nothing gauze and antiseptic won’t heal with time.’
‘But you-’ He watches, dumbfounded as she cleans the wounds, bandages them, checks for other markings.
‘I didn’t bite her,’ he says stiffly.
‘Forgive me for not believing you.’
The girl stirs slightly, moans. ‘She’ll regain consciousness soon,’ she says, returning things to her bag and standing. She makes no move to close the blinds.
‘How did you find me?’
He hesitates. ‘I can smell you.’
Her only reaction is a small nod.
Angel straightens and hisses, doubles back over. When he looks up she’s standing right in front of him, her hands on the edge of his shirt. ‘Lift this up.’
‘Why.’ He glares. She glares back. He holds his shirt.
The wound is small but deep on his abdomen; the skin around it is raw and dried blood crusts the opening.
‘Nice clotting factors.’
‘Thanks,’ he says dryly, on the end of a gasp of pain as she touches her fingers to the wound.
‘Hold still.’
He feels something warm and soft over his muscles, like sun. A few moments later he looks down at the smooth, healed skin.
Looks back up at her. ‘Why would you-?’
She shrugs, but never turns her back to him completely.
The girl on the floor groans louder, and her eyelids start to flutter.
Cuddy raises her eyebrows at him. ‘So do you want to explain this or should I?’
--
l.a. night.
present.
‘Lisa!’
Her eyes fly open and she jumps off the couch, runs out of the office into the lobby. All three of them are carrying bodies, and there’s a woman clinging to Angel’s side. Behind them are people she doesn’t recognize, all of them human, all of them either wounded, or helping someone wounded.
‘What the hell happened?’
‘Another bloody portal,’ Spike grumbles, carefully laying the girl down on the floor.
‘Opened right in the middle of a shopping mall. There are more.’
‘How many?’
‘About fifteen, I’d say.’
‘Most people ran.’
‘Or they were already dead.’
Cuddy exhales sharply. More are being laid down around her and she quickly surveys the damage. ‘Who’s worst?’
Illyria points. ‘That man, there. He bleeds from the head.’
She hurries to his side and examines him, speaks in a clear, crisp voice. ‘Some of these are minor wounds. They can be fixed normally, and by you.’ She looks at Angel. ‘In my bag is a medical kit. Start with the scrapes and bruises, leave the bigger things to me.’
Angel nods, hurries to get the bag. Spike watches as the head injury disappears under her hands.
‘Never let it be said that you don’t have a lovin’ touch,’ Spike says, and she laughs softly.
‘Get to work.’
--
early morning.
Illyria studies Cuddy as she stares out the window at the breaking dawn. ‘You’re getting stronger. You wield your power with more control.’
‘I’m learning,’ she says, turns her back on the window.
Illyria pauses, tilts her head. ‘You… learn fast.’
‘By god,’ Spike says, ‘I think that was a compliment. Which team do you play for anyway?’
‘Spike,’ Cuddy reprimands, over Illyria’s,
‘Team.’
‘We got boys, girls, vamps, demons. Somethin’ must strike your fancy.’
Illyria seems to glower at him. ‘I do not understand the meaning of your words but by your tone I can tell that you are mocking me.’
‘Wouldn’t dream of it, Blue,’ Spike grins, resting his head against the back of the couch, his hands tucked behind his head.
‘Arrogant,’ Illyria says distastefully. ‘It will get him killed one day.’
Cuddy just laughs. ‘It’s comforting. Reminds me of someone I know.’
‘Ahh, your secret lover man.’
Cuddy glares. ‘He’s not my lover man.’
‘So you want him to be your lover man.’
‘No, I-’ she sighs flops down on the couch next to him. ‘He’s… I’ve known him for a long time. He’s important to me, but he’s… difficult.’
Illyria sits down in the adjacent chair and studies her. ‘I don’t understand these… relationships. Why you feel they are meaningful.’
Cuddy shrugs. ‘It’s the only thing we’ve got going for us. Humans aren’t very powerful, we’re not very strong. We can’t alter time or live forever. But we have each other,’ she says. Then quieter, ‘Most of the time.’
‘A few problems in Happy Land?’ Spike asks, but his tone isn’t teasing or cruel.
Cuddy laughs softly. ‘Just a few.’ She turns, smiles at him briefly. ‘Where’s Angel?’
‘Back out, recruitin’ the people-lovin’ demon population, trying to get a few more fists in our fight.’
She nods, sobers, then laughs again. Spike looks at her quizzically.
‘Got a little nutty, have we?’
‘No,’ she smiles, ‘It’s just… this time last week I was writing a lecture on thyroid storm and groaning about a dinner party. It all seems so…’ she trails off, shakes her head. Her smile fades.
Spike sighs. ‘You miss it, don’t you?’
She wipes the tear from her cheek as quickly as possible. ‘Yeah.’
Illyria leans forward suddenly and puts her hand on Cuddy’s knee. Spike stares at her in surprise. Cuddy covers her hand with hers.
--
princeton. night.
1998
Incessant banging on her door at two in the morning is never a good thing. ‘Dr. House,’ she says, ‘I swear to god-’ and yanks open the door.
‘Hello,’ the man says breathlessly. ‘I’m Wesley Wyndam-Pryce and I’m being chased by a heard of… rowdy teenagers, do you mind if I-’
She glowers. ‘Did House put you up to this?’
‘A house? No, I-’
Behind him is a loud banging sound as a trashcan gets knocked over and there’s some hysterical laughter and the sound of quick, light feet.
‘Please,’ he begs. ‘I won’t stay long.’
Stupid, stupid, stupid, she thinks, but opens the door anyway, just as a man with a crumpled face jumps out of her bushes. Wesley lets out a quiet shriek and dives inside; the man hits her open doorway and staggers backward. Wesley slams the door, laughing nervously.
‘Heh, oh, you know. The… drugs kids have access to these days.’ He turns around to find her holding a very heavy looking vase.
‘If Angel sent you I swear to god I’ll kill you where you stand.’
Wesley looks frightened, confused and curious. ‘How… how do you know Angel?’ and then quickly, ‘I’m not here because of him, honestly!’
She lowers the vase but doesn’t set it down.
‘Who are you?’
‘I think you should answer that question first, as this is my house and those vamps outside are your friends.’
‘They aren’t my - how do you know they’re vampires?’
‘You talk first.’ She says harshly, then: ‘Do you want something to drink, you look a little pale.’
‘No, no I’m fine,’ he says, takes a step and staggers. ‘Really,’ he mutters, trying to haul himself upright. ‘I’m fine.’
Cuddy rolls her eyes and puts the vase on the table, helps him to the couch. ‘I’ll get you some water.’
‘Yes, thank you, that would be lovely.’
She returns a moment later with two glasses of water and a medic bag. ‘Where’d they get you?’
‘Uh… shoulder, I think. I’m not really quite sure.’ He wavers slightly; she holds him still. She can see the wound through the rip in his shirt.
‘It’s a minor wound. I can stitch it up here.’
‘Stitches?’ he asks, his voice bordering on high-pitched.
‘Only a few. It doesn’t hurt.’
He relaxes slightly, then chuckles. ‘Funny that I’d walk into a house with a healer.’
She stiffens.
‘What did you say?’
‘Oh, just that of all the doors I could have banged on… you’re a doctor.’
She nods, relaxes but only slightly. She gives him a thin-lipped smile. ‘Well, this is Jersey. Everyone’s a doctor.’
--
l.a. night.
present.
‘What’re you doing?’
She turns, catches his gaze. ‘Just looking,’ she says, fingering the spine of an old book. ‘These are Wesley’s.’
‘Yeah.’ He says, coming to stand next to her. ‘They’re only here for storage. Once the library’s finished, we’ll put them in there.’ There’s a little pause, and then he chuckles quietly, leans against the wall and looks at her. ‘Remember the time we ran into you at the conference downtown?’
Cuddy rolls her eyes and lets out a huff. ‘Us, arguing as usual and Wesley valiantly trying to remember where he knew me from. Did he ever figure it out?’
Angel smiles. ‘About a week later. He yelled ‘Princeton’ in the middle of a conversation. One of his 'eureka' moments. You saved him from vamps?’
She shrugs. ‘I let him into my house. He had no idea who I was.’
‘Small world.’
‘Yeah.’ She hesitates, looks away. ‘I’m not going to stay,’ she says. ‘After tomorrow. I… I understand what you’re doing but it’s not me.’
He nods. ‘I know.’
They look up when Illyria storms in.
‘Spike is wounded.’
They both move quickly, following her out of the office into the lobby.
‘What happened?’
‘He was arrogant.’
Cuddy reaches him first, drops to his side. There’s an small ax lodged in his neck and his leg is bloody.
‘Spike.’ Angel’s voice demands answers.
‘I was doin’ my bit, you know. Helpin’ the helpless.’ He hisses loudly as Cuddy removes his hand from his leg. ‘Portal opened -- right on my head. Big hairy things came pourin’ out. Blue and I stuck it out for a minute but there were just too many of them. Got to be a Hell dimension-Ahh!’
‘Don’t be such a baby.’
‘I’ve got an ax in my neck; I think I have right to be a little testy!’
‘Just hold still,’ she mutters, braces one hand on his neck and carefully removes the weapon, then quickly closes her palms over the open wound. Spike sucks in a breath and holds it until she’s finished.
He touches his hand to his neck. ‘Handy,’ he mumbles. She smiles. Angel disappears while she works on the other wounds, most of them small except for the one in his leg. She tries to think objectively but it’s the same leg, the same place and she hesitates.
‘Thinkin’ of your lover boy?’ Spike asks softly.
‘Yeah,’ she murmurs, and doesn’t bother to correct him.
Just as she finishes Angel comes back, weapons in hand.
She glares at him. ‘You’re not seriously considering going out there. You saw what those things did to Spike.’
‘Name of the game, love,’ Spike says, grabs a sword. ‘You comin’ with?’
--
It isn’t that they’re strong or smart or particularly fast, it’s just that there are too many of them. On all four sides.
‘Is this what all apocalypses are like?’ she yells over the screeching.
‘Sort of!’ Spike yells back, throws a punch. ‘The last one had a dragon. And the one before that I imploded.’
‘Good times,’ Angel yells, and Spike gives him a dirty look. Cuddy ducks a swinging fist and stabs the creature in the stomach. It falls, and another one takes its place.
‘This is pointless.’ Illyria says bitterly.
‘Yup,’ Spike agrees, ‘but it sure is fun.’
Illyria gasps suddenly as a blade runs through her. The demon laughs, until it’s head falls to the side and Spike drops the ax, catches her before she hits the ground.
‘Lisa!’
She’s already there, helping him move her to the shadows, well out of the way of the fight.
‘I could use a little help here!’ Angel hollers.
Spike disappears into the fray; the portal whines and more creatures spill out. They can hear the clanging behind them, the grunts and tearing flesh. The portal glows bright green, red, orange and it illuminates their faces.
Cuddy lifts Illyria’s head into her lap and gently fingers the sword.
‘I have to pull this out.’
‘Do it,’ she hisses. ‘I am oblivious to pain.’ Her voice ends on a harsh gasp as Cuddy yanks the sword out, smooth and swift, then discards it. She puts her hands over the wound, but Illyria stops her.
‘This wound is mortal. It won’t heal properly.’ She moves slightly and gasps. ‘I’ll be… less.’
‘You’ll be fine, just let me-’
‘No.’ She pushes Cuddy’s hands away, holds the wound and sits up. Cuddy puts her arm around her back, supporting her.
‘Illyria-’
‘I do not like this world, and I will not pass up the opportunity to leave it.’
‘You’ll die.’
‘Hell does not exist for me so there are no repercussions to my death.’ She tilts her head, notices the shine in Cuddy’s eyes. ‘You will miss me.’
‘Yes.’
Illyria fumbles slightly, hesitates. Her voice softens. ‘Then my presence here has not been wasted.’
She coughs suddenly, violently, and her lips and teeth turn red.
‘You should lie back down-’
‘No!’ She grabs Cuddy’s arm fiercely, her grip still strong enough to bruise. ‘I wish to stay upright,’ she says softly. Cuddy nods wordlessly, shifts just enough to firm her grip; she takes one of Illyria’s hands in hers, unconsciously. Illyria stares down at their fingers, almost intertwined.
She looks up suddenly, surprised, and with her other hand laces her fingers around the back of Cuddy’s neck. The kiss is soft and cold and around them things are falling apart. The metallic taste of blood is thick and nauseating but it doesn’t matter.
Illyria breaks away on a gasp. Her eyes close in pain, and open again when she feels soft fingers threading through her hair.
‘I do not know what it means,’ she whispers, ‘But you are a comfort to me.’
‘Illyria.’
But the weight in her arms is heavy.
A suddenly blast knocks her back, away; her head strikes the ground.
‘Lisa!’
She opens her eyes, and realizes that nothing hurts. She stands slowly, looks down at her hands, her torn clothing stained with blood. Everything’s the same, and yet her veins are humming.
Spike appears at her side, bruised and bloody and panting heavily.
‘You alright?’
She frowns. ‘I don’t…’ She holds out her hand, and the world around them ripples.
Spike steps back. ‘How did you-’
Angel appears next, the same degree of battered. ‘We gotta get out of here, there’s more of them then- what the-?’
She flattens her palm and the ripples spread. The demons freeze. Spike blinks.
‘Well. That’ll make it easier.’
--
‘Portal is closed, demons are hacked to little bits, thanks to our Time Stoppin’ Majesty over here-How did you do that, anyway?’ Spike shrugs, holds out his hand. ‘Doesn’t matter. I say we party. Anybody got some Jack?’
Angel’s more interested in Cuddy, watching as she retreats to the far corner of the office.
‘Illyria gave you her powers.’
‘Her real powers, not the distilled version either,’ Spike crows.
‘Because you’re part demon, your body will be able to tolerate it unlike hers-Fred’s-couldn’t.’
There’s a long silence. Angel and Spike exchange a glance; Spike shrugs, flops into a chair. Angel approaches her slowly, raises his hand to her shoulder, drops it at the last second.
‘What is it?’ he asks instead. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Seems funny. I never wanted my simple power to begin with. And now…’ She shakes her head. ‘I can’t go back, can I? Not really.’
Angel sighs. ‘No. Probably not. At least until we know what you can do… and you know how to control it.’ He hesitates. ‘We could use you, Lisa. We need someone like you on our side. Always have. And there's no telling what Illyria's strength did to your healing powers.'
'Fixin' whole rooms with the snap of a finger and the like,' Spike cuts in.
'If you can open and close portals like you did back there-’
Cuddy's voice is sharp. 'I have no idea what I was doing out there, it just- I don't have any control over it. It just happened.'
'I know,' Angel says quietly. 'It's strange. Disorienting. But... if you can learn to use it to help people, to fight against-'
Spike makes a slicing hand motion across his throat and Angel glares, looks back at Cuddy.
‘One day at a time, love, how about that?’
‘I’ll need to tie up a few loose ends.’
‘We can put you on a plane to Jersey tomorrow if you want.’
‘Thanks.’
Angel takes a chance and puts his hand on her shoulder. She doesn’t even seem to know it’s there.
‘We can help you.’
‘Yeah.’
--
princeton. night.
The light flicks on by it’s own accord but she’s too tired to be surprised.
‘Nice vacation?’ he asks, his voice laced with bitterness.
‘Invigorating,’ she mutters, pulls the towel from her hair. Her robe is big and soft and hides everything well but she still feels exhausted and exposed.
‘You’ve been back for a week; where have you been?’
‘I had some things I needed to do. What do you want, House?’
He stands up, moves awkwardly toward her. ‘You’ll be glad to know nobody died in your absence. The hospital didn’t burn down. Nobody got shot.’
She laughs bitterly at the irony. House frowns. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Nothing.’
‘You’re lying.’
‘Everybody lies, right?’ she scoffs. She wants to touch him. She wants to bury her face in his shoulder and hold him close but she’s afraid she’ll hurt him.
He raises his cane to waist level and stops her from passing. His eyes narrow as he watches her face. ‘Cuddy.’
She inhales sharply but it comes out shaky and she gasps, reaches for the wall. House grabs her arm.
‘I,’ she whispers, but can’t say anything else. He doesn’t move.
‘You look like crap.’
She smiles softly up at him, ‘Thanks.’ and moves slowly from his half-embrace. ‘I appreciate… whatever this is, House, but I’m tired. I just want to get some sleep.’
His eyes never leave her face.
‘You want me to stay?’
She wavers; the desire for a human touch - his touch - wins out over her fears and she nods wordlessly. He follows her down the hall; leans his cane on her nightstand and strips down to his boxers.
‘Give me your shirt,’ she says quietly. He frowns questioningly but hands it over. She slips the robe off and the shirt on and burrows under the covers.
‘It smells like you,’ she whispers as he curls around her, his arm over her stomach.
‘I smell like me too,’ he says slowly, trying not to let his confusion show. She smiles, turns in his arms and kisses him; their noses bump gently.
He’s distracted, and she lets her hand drift down to his thigh and rest there. He kisses her eyelids. ‘Your hands are warm,’ he mutters, his voice a harsh contrast to his gentle touch. She removes her hand and wraps her arms around his back, tucks her face into his neck; their calves brush under the covers.
‘I expect answers in the morning,’ he grouses.
‘I know you do,’ she says, and wishes so badly that she could tell him. That he’d believe her. She likes to think maybe, with a little proof, he would.
‘Thank you,’ she murmurs.
‘For what?’
Her breathing’s even and her arm is heavy and House just sighs. It’s nowhere near perfect but her body fits with his and her hair smells nice and his thigh doesn’t hurt, it’s just warm and tingly.
He falls asleep without a second thought.
--
Cuddy’s gone when he wakes up. Her clothes are gone. Important things are gone. He hadn’t noticed last night in the dark; maybe they were gone then?
She took his shirt with her.
The interim dean makes a speech to the board and House tries to scowl his way out of confusion and concern and nobody knows what to say except the Dean of Medicine is not coming back.
Wilson tries to ask if he’s okay, but it isn’t a question he knows the answer to. His brain is reeling and his chest is aching and it takes him all day to realize he hasn’t had a single Vicodin, and he doesn’t need one.
He’s sitting in his office trying to figure out what could have happened and where she could have gone and when she’s coming back; he finds an envelope with his name on it in her handwriting. The single word on the card is in her writing too. House sighs.
Everything.
--
l.a. night.
Angel picks her up at the airport. He tries to make small talk about her flight and the renovations but she barely answers, just stares out the window of the car.
Most of the new office is completed. There’s a full roof, a handful of offices, decent locker rooms, both a weapons room and a training room, and three separate bedrooms in the back.
She spends a few days getting acclimated, learning the names of the small but loyal staff, brief histories of L.A and Sunnydale, as far as evil is concerned.
Four days after she arrives Angel finds her in the training room just standing, staring.
‘Why me?’ she asks. He wonders how long she’s known he was there.
‘She trusted you. Liked you even.’
‘She knew I didn’t want this.’
Angel sighs. ‘We can’t always get what we want.’
She turns sharply, looking for any trace that he understands what he’s said, what it means to her. He just blinks and frowns. She looks away.
‘Lisa,’ he says, approaches her slowly. ‘I know… I know you didn’t ask for this, but maybe… maybe it’ll work out. For the best.’
‘Maybe,’ she says.
‘I can’t help you if you won’t let me.’
She turns and eyes him carefully. ‘You really think I can learn to control this? To use it to help people?’
Angel nods. ‘I’m sure of it.’
There’s a slight pause, a single, resounding note of silence. Cuddy releases a sharp breath.
‘Well, then.’ She tilts her head. ‘What are we waiting for?’
part one
part two
boston. day.
1991
The pounding on the door doesn’t stop until it opens. He’s standing on the other side with a woman limp in his arms.
‘It’s not what you think,’ is the first thing he says in a rush. ‘There was a werewolf, she was attacked, I didn’t get there in time. He didn’t bite her but she’s bleeding and I can’t take her to a hospital.’
She’s almost too stunned to speak. ‘How did you-’
‘This building has sewer access. Please. Help her.’
She looks from him to the girl and back and forth and then opens the door wider. ‘Get in.’
He enters quickly and lowers the woman gently on the floor, then backs swiftly into a dark corner of the room. Cuddy kneels next to her and peels back her blouse, sees the long, jagged slices on her rib cage.
‘Get my bag.’
Angel starts and tries to hide a wince. ‘What?’
She points. ‘My bag, hand it to me.’
It’s in the sun but he snatches it anyway and gives it to her and she pulls out medical supplies, working swiftly and calmly.
‘What are you doing?’
‘You asked for my help,’ she says sharply.
Angel looks flustered almost. ‘Why don’t you just do your hand-wavy magic thing and heal her? She’s almost dead.’
‘She’s not almost dead. These wounds are relatively shallow; nothing gauze and antiseptic won’t heal with time.’
‘But you-’ He watches, dumbfounded as she cleans the wounds, bandages them, checks for other markings.
‘I didn’t bite her,’ he says stiffly.
‘Forgive me for not believing you.’
The girl stirs slightly, moans. ‘She’ll regain consciousness soon,’ she says, returning things to her bag and standing. She makes no move to close the blinds.
‘How did you find me?’
He hesitates. ‘I can smell you.’
Her only reaction is a small nod.
Angel straightens and hisses, doubles back over. When he looks up she’s standing right in front of him, her hands on the edge of his shirt. ‘Lift this up.’
‘Why.’ He glares. She glares back. He holds his shirt.
The wound is small but deep on his abdomen; the skin around it is raw and dried blood crusts the opening.
‘Nice clotting factors.’
‘Thanks,’ he says dryly, on the end of a gasp of pain as she touches her fingers to the wound.
‘Hold still.’
He feels something warm and soft over his muscles, like sun. A few moments later he looks down at the smooth, healed skin.
Looks back up at her. ‘Why would you-?’
She shrugs, but never turns her back to him completely.
The girl on the floor groans louder, and her eyelids start to flutter.
Cuddy raises her eyebrows at him. ‘So do you want to explain this or should I?’
--
l.a. night.
present.
‘Lisa!’
Her eyes fly open and she jumps off the couch, runs out of the office into the lobby. All three of them are carrying bodies, and there’s a woman clinging to Angel’s side. Behind them are people she doesn’t recognize, all of them human, all of them either wounded, or helping someone wounded.
‘What the hell happened?’
‘Another bloody portal,’ Spike grumbles, carefully laying the girl down on the floor.
‘Opened right in the middle of a shopping mall. There are more.’
‘How many?’
‘About fifteen, I’d say.’
‘Most people ran.’
‘Or they were already dead.’
Cuddy exhales sharply. More are being laid down around her and she quickly surveys the damage. ‘Who’s worst?’
Illyria points. ‘That man, there. He bleeds from the head.’
She hurries to his side and examines him, speaks in a clear, crisp voice. ‘Some of these are minor wounds. They can be fixed normally, and by you.’ She looks at Angel. ‘In my bag is a medical kit. Start with the scrapes and bruises, leave the bigger things to me.’
Angel nods, hurries to get the bag. Spike watches as the head injury disappears under her hands.
‘Never let it be said that you don’t have a lovin’ touch,’ Spike says, and she laughs softly.
‘Get to work.’
--
early morning.
Illyria studies Cuddy as she stares out the window at the breaking dawn. ‘You’re getting stronger. You wield your power with more control.’
‘I’m learning,’ she says, turns her back on the window.
Illyria pauses, tilts her head. ‘You… learn fast.’
‘By god,’ Spike says, ‘I think that was a compliment. Which team do you play for anyway?’
‘Spike,’ Cuddy reprimands, over Illyria’s,
‘Team.’
‘We got boys, girls, vamps, demons. Somethin’ must strike your fancy.’
Illyria seems to glower at him. ‘I do not understand the meaning of your words but by your tone I can tell that you are mocking me.’
‘Wouldn’t dream of it, Blue,’ Spike grins, resting his head against the back of the couch, his hands tucked behind his head.
‘Arrogant,’ Illyria says distastefully. ‘It will get him killed one day.’
Cuddy just laughs. ‘It’s comforting. Reminds me of someone I know.’
‘Ahh, your secret lover man.’
Cuddy glares. ‘He’s not my lover man.’
‘So you want him to be your lover man.’
‘No, I-’ she sighs flops down on the couch next to him. ‘He’s… I’ve known him for a long time. He’s important to me, but he’s… difficult.’
Illyria sits down in the adjacent chair and studies her. ‘I don’t understand these… relationships. Why you feel they are meaningful.’
Cuddy shrugs. ‘It’s the only thing we’ve got going for us. Humans aren’t very powerful, we’re not very strong. We can’t alter time or live forever. But we have each other,’ she says. Then quieter, ‘Most of the time.’
‘A few problems in Happy Land?’ Spike asks, but his tone isn’t teasing or cruel.
Cuddy laughs softly. ‘Just a few.’ She turns, smiles at him briefly. ‘Where’s Angel?’
‘Back out, recruitin’ the people-lovin’ demon population, trying to get a few more fists in our fight.’
She nods, sobers, then laughs again. Spike looks at her quizzically.
‘Got a little nutty, have we?’
‘No,’ she smiles, ‘It’s just… this time last week I was writing a lecture on thyroid storm and groaning about a dinner party. It all seems so…’ she trails off, shakes her head. Her smile fades.
Spike sighs. ‘You miss it, don’t you?’
She wipes the tear from her cheek as quickly as possible. ‘Yeah.’
Illyria leans forward suddenly and puts her hand on Cuddy’s knee. Spike stares at her in surprise. Cuddy covers her hand with hers.
--
princeton. night.
1998
Incessant banging on her door at two in the morning is never a good thing. ‘Dr. House,’ she says, ‘I swear to god-’ and yanks open the door.
‘Hello,’ the man says breathlessly. ‘I’m Wesley Wyndam-Pryce and I’m being chased by a heard of… rowdy teenagers, do you mind if I-’
She glowers. ‘Did House put you up to this?’
‘A house? No, I-’
Behind him is a loud banging sound as a trashcan gets knocked over and there’s some hysterical laughter and the sound of quick, light feet.
‘Please,’ he begs. ‘I won’t stay long.’
Stupid, stupid, stupid, she thinks, but opens the door anyway, just as a man with a crumpled face jumps out of her bushes. Wesley lets out a quiet shriek and dives inside; the man hits her open doorway and staggers backward. Wesley slams the door, laughing nervously.
‘Heh, oh, you know. The… drugs kids have access to these days.’ He turns around to find her holding a very heavy looking vase.
‘If Angel sent you I swear to god I’ll kill you where you stand.’
Wesley looks frightened, confused and curious. ‘How… how do you know Angel?’ and then quickly, ‘I’m not here because of him, honestly!’
She lowers the vase but doesn’t set it down.
‘Who are you?’
‘I think you should answer that question first, as this is my house and those vamps outside are your friends.’
‘They aren’t my - how do you know they’re vampires?’
‘You talk first.’ She says harshly, then: ‘Do you want something to drink, you look a little pale.’
‘No, no I’m fine,’ he says, takes a step and staggers. ‘Really,’ he mutters, trying to haul himself upright. ‘I’m fine.’
Cuddy rolls her eyes and puts the vase on the table, helps him to the couch. ‘I’ll get you some water.’
‘Yes, thank you, that would be lovely.’
She returns a moment later with two glasses of water and a medic bag. ‘Where’d they get you?’
‘Uh… shoulder, I think. I’m not really quite sure.’ He wavers slightly; she holds him still. She can see the wound through the rip in his shirt.
‘It’s a minor wound. I can stitch it up here.’
‘Stitches?’ he asks, his voice bordering on high-pitched.
‘Only a few. It doesn’t hurt.’
He relaxes slightly, then chuckles. ‘Funny that I’d walk into a house with a healer.’
She stiffens.
‘What did you say?’
‘Oh, just that of all the doors I could have banged on… you’re a doctor.’
She nods, relaxes but only slightly. She gives him a thin-lipped smile. ‘Well, this is Jersey. Everyone’s a doctor.’
--
l.a. night.
present.
‘What’re you doing?’
She turns, catches his gaze. ‘Just looking,’ she says, fingering the spine of an old book. ‘These are Wesley’s.’
‘Yeah.’ He says, coming to stand next to her. ‘They’re only here for storage. Once the library’s finished, we’ll put them in there.’ There’s a little pause, and then he chuckles quietly, leans against the wall and looks at her. ‘Remember the time we ran into you at the conference downtown?’
Cuddy rolls her eyes and lets out a huff. ‘Us, arguing as usual and Wesley valiantly trying to remember where he knew me from. Did he ever figure it out?’
Angel smiles. ‘About a week later. He yelled ‘Princeton’ in the middle of a conversation. One of his 'eureka' moments. You saved him from vamps?’
She shrugs. ‘I let him into my house. He had no idea who I was.’
‘Small world.’
‘Yeah.’ She hesitates, looks away. ‘I’m not going to stay,’ she says. ‘After tomorrow. I… I understand what you’re doing but it’s not me.’
He nods. ‘I know.’
They look up when Illyria storms in.
‘Spike is wounded.’
They both move quickly, following her out of the office into the lobby.
‘What happened?’
‘He was arrogant.’
Cuddy reaches him first, drops to his side. There’s an small ax lodged in his neck and his leg is bloody.
‘Spike.’ Angel’s voice demands answers.
‘I was doin’ my bit, you know. Helpin’ the helpless.’ He hisses loudly as Cuddy removes his hand from his leg. ‘Portal opened -- right on my head. Big hairy things came pourin’ out. Blue and I stuck it out for a minute but there were just too many of them. Got to be a Hell dimension-Ahh!’
‘Don’t be such a baby.’
‘I’ve got an ax in my neck; I think I have right to be a little testy!’
‘Just hold still,’ she mutters, braces one hand on his neck and carefully removes the weapon, then quickly closes her palms over the open wound. Spike sucks in a breath and holds it until she’s finished.
He touches his hand to his neck. ‘Handy,’ he mumbles. She smiles. Angel disappears while she works on the other wounds, most of them small except for the one in his leg. She tries to think objectively but it’s the same leg, the same place and she hesitates.
‘Thinkin’ of your lover boy?’ Spike asks softly.
‘Yeah,’ she murmurs, and doesn’t bother to correct him.
Just as she finishes Angel comes back, weapons in hand.
She glares at him. ‘You’re not seriously considering going out there. You saw what those things did to Spike.’
‘Name of the game, love,’ Spike says, grabs a sword. ‘You comin’ with?’
--
It isn’t that they’re strong or smart or particularly fast, it’s just that there are too many of them. On all four sides.
‘Is this what all apocalypses are like?’ she yells over the screeching.
‘Sort of!’ Spike yells back, throws a punch. ‘The last one had a dragon. And the one before that I imploded.’
‘Good times,’ Angel yells, and Spike gives him a dirty look. Cuddy ducks a swinging fist and stabs the creature in the stomach. It falls, and another one takes its place.
‘This is pointless.’ Illyria says bitterly.
‘Yup,’ Spike agrees, ‘but it sure is fun.’
Illyria gasps suddenly as a blade runs through her. The demon laughs, until it’s head falls to the side and Spike drops the ax, catches her before she hits the ground.
‘Lisa!’
She’s already there, helping him move her to the shadows, well out of the way of the fight.
‘I could use a little help here!’ Angel hollers.
Spike disappears into the fray; the portal whines and more creatures spill out. They can hear the clanging behind them, the grunts and tearing flesh. The portal glows bright green, red, orange and it illuminates their faces.
Cuddy lifts Illyria’s head into her lap and gently fingers the sword.
‘I have to pull this out.’
‘Do it,’ she hisses. ‘I am oblivious to pain.’ Her voice ends on a harsh gasp as Cuddy yanks the sword out, smooth and swift, then discards it. She puts her hands over the wound, but Illyria stops her.
‘This wound is mortal. It won’t heal properly.’ She moves slightly and gasps. ‘I’ll be… less.’
‘You’ll be fine, just let me-’
‘No.’ She pushes Cuddy’s hands away, holds the wound and sits up. Cuddy puts her arm around her back, supporting her.
‘Illyria-’
‘I do not like this world, and I will not pass up the opportunity to leave it.’
‘You’ll die.’
‘Hell does not exist for me so there are no repercussions to my death.’ She tilts her head, notices the shine in Cuddy’s eyes. ‘You will miss me.’
‘Yes.’
Illyria fumbles slightly, hesitates. Her voice softens. ‘Then my presence here has not been wasted.’
She coughs suddenly, violently, and her lips and teeth turn red.
‘You should lie back down-’
‘No!’ She grabs Cuddy’s arm fiercely, her grip still strong enough to bruise. ‘I wish to stay upright,’ she says softly. Cuddy nods wordlessly, shifts just enough to firm her grip; she takes one of Illyria’s hands in hers, unconsciously. Illyria stares down at their fingers, almost intertwined.
She looks up suddenly, surprised, and with her other hand laces her fingers around the back of Cuddy’s neck. The kiss is soft and cold and around them things are falling apart. The metallic taste of blood is thick and nauseating but it doesn’t matter.
Illyria breaks away on a gasp. Her eyes close in pain, and open again when she feels soft fingers threading through her hair.
‘I do not know what it means,’ she whispers, ‘But you are a comfort to me.’
‘Illyria.’
But the weight in her arms is heavy.
A suddenly blast knocks her back, away; her head strikes the ground.
‘Lisa!’
She opens her eyes, and realizes that nothing hurts. She stands slowly, looks down at her hands, her torn clothing stained with blood. Everything’s the same, and yet her veins are humming.
Spike appears at her side, bruised and bloody and panting heavily.
‘You alright?’
She frowns. ‘I don’t…’ She holds out her hand, and the world around them ripples.
Spike steps back. ‘How did you-’
Angel appears next, the same degree of battered. ‘We gotta get out of here, there’s more of them then- what the-?’
She flattens her palm and the ripples spread. The demons freeze. Spike blinks.
‘Well. That’ll make it easier.’
--
‘Portal is closed, demons are hacked to little bits, thanks to our Time Stoppin’ Majesty over here-How did you do that, anyway?’ Spike shrugs, holds out his hand. ‘Doesn’t matter. I say we party. Anybody got some Jack?’
Angel’s more interested in Cuddy, watching as she retreats to the far corner of the office.
‘Illyria gave you her powers.’
‘Her real powers, not the distilled version either,’ Spike crows.
‘Because you’re part demon, your body will be able to tolerate it unlike hers-Fred’s-couldn’t.’
There’s a long silence. Angel and Spike exchange a glance; Spike shrugs, flops into a chair. Angel approaches her slowly, raises his hand to her shoulder, drops it at the last second.
‘What is it?’ he asks instead. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Seems funny. I never wanted my simple power to begin with. And now…’ She shakes her head. ‘I can’t go back, can I? Not really.’
Angel sighs. ‘No. Probably not. At least until we know what you can do… and you know how to control it.’ He hesitates. ‘We could use you, Lisa. We need someone like you on our side. Always have. And there's no telling what Illyria's strength did to your healing powers.'
'Fixin' whole rooms with the snap of a finger and the like,' Spike cuts in.
'If you can open and close portals like you did back there-’
Cuddy's voice is sharp. 'I have no idea what I was doing out there, it just- I don't have any control over it. It just happened.'
'I know,' Angel says quietly. 'It's strange. Disorienting. But... if you can learn to use it to help people, to fight against-'
Spike makes a slicing hand motion across his throat and Angel glares, looks back at Cuddy.
‘One day at a time, love, how about that?’
‘I’ll need to tie up a few loose ends.’
‘We can put you on a plane to Jersey tomorrow if you want.’
‘Thanks.’
Angel takes a chance and puts his hand on her shoulder. She doesn’t even seem to know it’s there.
‘We can help you.’
‘Yeah.’
--
princeton. night.
The light flicks on by it’s own accord but she’s too tired to be surprised.
‘Nice vacation?’ he asks, his voice laced with bitterness.
‘Invigorating,’ she mutters, pulls the towel from her hair. Her robe is big and soft and hides everything well but she still feels exhausted and exposed.
‘You’ve been back for a week; where have you been?’
‘I had some things I needed to do. What do you want, House?’
He stands up, moves awkwardly toward her. ‘You’ll be glad to know nobody died in your absence. The hospital didn’t burn down. Nobody got shot.’
She laughs bitterly at the irony. House frowns. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Nothing.’
‘You’re lying.’
‘Everybody lies, right?’ she scoffs. She wants to touch him. She wants to bury her face in his shoulder and hold him close but she’s afraid she’ll hurt him.
He raises his cane to waist level and stops her from passing. His eyes narrow as he watches her face. ‘Cuddy.’
She inhales sharply but it comes out shaky and she gasps, reaches for the wall. House grabs her arm.
‘I,’ she whispers, but can’t say anything else. He doesn’t move.
‘You look like crap.’
She smiles softly up at him, ‘Thanks.’ and moves slowly from his half-embrace. ‘I appreciate… whatever this is, House, but I’m tired. I just want to get some sleep.’
His eyes never leave her face.
‘You want me to stay?’
She wavers; the desire for a human touch - his touch - wins out over her fears and she nods wordlessly. He follows her down the hall; leans his cane on her nightstand and strips down to his boxers.
‘Give me your shirt,’ she says quietly. He frowns questioningly but hands it over. She slips the robe off and the shirt on and burrows under the covers.
‘It smells like you,’ she whispers as he curls around her, his arm over her stomach.
‘I smell like me too,’ he says slowly, trying not to let his confusion show. She smiles, turns in his arms and kisses him; their noses bump gently.
He’s distracted, and she lets her hand drift down to his thigh and rest there. He kisses her eyelids. ‘Your hands are warm,’ he mutters, his voice a harsh contrast to his gentle touch. She removes her hand and wraps her arms around his back, tucks her face into his neck; their calves brush under the covers.
‘I expect answers in the morning,’ he grouses.
‘I know you do,’ she says, and wishes so badly that she could tell him. That he’d believe her. She likes to think maybe, with a little proof, he would.
‘Thank you,’ she murmurs.
‘For what?’
Her breathing’s even and her arm is heavy and House just sighs. It’s nowhere near perfect but her body fits with his and her hair smells nice and his thigh doesn’t hurt, it’s just warm and tingly.
He falls asleep without a second thought.
--
Cuddy’s gone when he wakes up. Her clothes are gone. Important things are gone. He hadn’t noticed last night in the dark; maybe they were gone then?
She took his shirt with her.
The interim dean makes a speech to the board and House tries to scowl his way out of confusion and concern and nobody knows what to say except the Dean of Medicine is not coming back.
Wilson tries to ask if he’s okay, but it isn’t a question he knows the answer to. His brain is reeling and his chest is aching and it takes him all day to realize he hasn’t had a single Vicodin, and he doesn’t need one.
He’s sitting in his office trying to figure out what could have happened and where she could have gone and when she’s coming back; he finds an envelope with his name on it in her handwriting. The single word on the card is in her writing too. House sighs.
Everything.
--
l.a. night.
Angel picks her up at the airport. He tries to make small talk about her flight and the renovations but she barely answers, just stares out the window of the car.
Most of the new office is completed. There’s a full roof, a handful of offices, decent locker rooms, both a weapons room and a training room, and three separate bedrooms in the back.
She spends a few days getting acclimated, learning the names of the small but loyal staff, brief histories of L.A and Sunnydale, as far as evil is concerned.
Four days after she arrives Angel finds her in the training room just standing, staring.
‘Why me?’ she asks. He wonders how long she’s known he was there.
‘She trusted you. Liked you even.’
‘She knew I didn’t want this.’
Angel sighs. ‘We can’t always get what we want.’
She turns sharply, looking for any trace that he understands what he’s said, what it means to her. He just blinks and frowns. She looks away.
‘Lisa,’ he says, approaches her slowly. ‘I know… I know you didn’t ask for this, but maybe… maybe it’ll work out. For the best.’
‘Maybe,’ she says.
‘I can’t help you if you won’t let me.’
She turns and eyes him carefully. ‘You really think I can learn to control this? To use it to help people?’
Angel nods. ‘I’m sure of it.’
There’s a slight pause, a single, resounding note of silence. Cuddy releases a sharp breath.
‘Well, then.’ She tilts her head. ‘What are we waiting for?’