FanFicMix: If I Had Some Influence, Girl
if i had some influence, girl
a wilson/cuddy fanficmix
title: if i had some influence, girl, with the powers that be
fandom: house, md
character/pairing: unrequited wilson/cuddy, mentions of messy house/cuddy
warning: spoilers for season five & contains foul, nasty language
file: all mp3 individually uploaded to mediafire
She holds the door open for him, in the late hours, and takes his simple offerings - wine, takeout, chocolates - with tiny, brittle smiles and maybe, if he’s having a lucky week, a kiss, always soft and fleeting, always to his left cheek.
~
mr brightside - the killers
It’s so obvious, so painfully fucking obvious, the way she stares at him and smiles and touches his arm, all night long. It’s going to happen again; she knows it and he knows it and, what’s worse, House knows it, along with the whole damn hospital. She’s going to trail behind him into a cab like a pretty, glittering shadow; she’s going to fall into his arms and his bed and House just lets it happen, time and time again, joking and sarcastic all the while, sticky eyes and hands moving like moths all over her. He’s long since sick of bearing witness to the same old routine, but his eyes are stuck in the dirty habit of following her around the room, and so he sees. Everything. The scotch takes the edge off, and so does the blonde nurse in the blue dress, but he’ll go home alone, even if House doesn’t.
now i’m falling asleep and she’s calling a cab
and he’s having a smoke and she’s taking a drag
now they’re going to bed and my stomach is sick
and it’s all in my head but she’s touching his chest
now he takes off her dress
now let me go
and i just can’t look it’s killing me
~
one crowded hour - augie march
He can’t be sure exactly when it happened. He can’t really remember where he was or what she was wearing the first time he noticed, really noticed. He thinks now that it might even have been years ago; it’s been so long that he’s learned to live with it, to silently and smilingly adjust to every little stab and sting and flutter when she looks his way. He knows it began before Amber, long before, but knowing that fact doesn’t make him feel any better.
and for one crowded hour you were the only one in the room
i sailed around all those bumps in the night to your beacon in the gloom
i thought i had found my golden September in the middle of that purple June
but one crowded hour will lead to my wreck and ruin
~
as lovers go - dashboard confessional
She told him they were friends, once, years ago. The whole night he’d stared across the table at her, listening to her talk and watching the butterfly movement of her hands, and all damn night he’d been certain there was something. Something happening, something poised on a delicate edge, something precariously balanced, just waiting to tip ever so gently in his favour. After dessert, after a snow-strewn walk under cold, clear starlight, she’d kissed him on the cheek, and told him they were friends, just friends, right? He didn’t sleep that night. He didn’t sleep for a month; just spent the darkest hours sitting up in bed, staring out at that sharp starlight until morning.
she said, ‘i’ve gotta be honest
you’re wasting your time if you’re fishing ‘round here’
and i said, ‘you must be mistaken
i’m not foolin’, this feeling is real'
~
i wish you’d be my witch - the mudbloods
Sometimes, they have fun. Sometimes, when House limps, grumbling, out of her thoughts, they manage to have a really good time, together. He finds himself in hysterics, slumped messily across her Italian leather sofa, cheeks aching and tears streaming. She laughs too, and it always makes her look so very young; like a happy little pink-cheeked kid. They joke around, and when she’s all laughed out she falls in a warm heap against his side, nestling like a child or a bird beneath the outstretched wing of his arm. He blinks back the last of his feverish tears, and lets go of the last few bubbles of laughter, and it’s nice, so nice, in the afterglow.
you’ve Transfigurated my heart
and now it only beats for you
if i could Apparate into your arms
maybe i wouldn’t feel so blue
~
if i had a million dollars - barenaked ladies
He likes to buy her things. He happily maxes out all of his credit cards on presents for her brand new daughter; stuffed toys and kids books and even a snowflake mobile for above her crib, hand-made by some hippie guy in Norway. Rachel can’t tell how much money he’s spending; she can barely see past the tip of her tiny nose. And anyway, it’s not Rachel he’s spending all of his money on, not really, even though the shelves of her nursery are almost full.
if i had a million dollars
i’d buy your love
~
girl in the war - josh ritter
He’s good with tissues, and handkerchiefs. It’s a skill he’s learnt, in recent years; knowing exactly when to turn up just behind her with a quiet, sorry smile and a fresh box of Kleenex. These days, it’s more often than not, and he’s taken to getting all of his handkerchiefs dry-cleaned in weekly, fresh-smelling batches, just in case. She always gives them back, wordless and flint-eyed, a few days after the fact, and they’re always impossibly white and precisely folded into perfectly starched origami squares, as if she’d never cried at all.
but i’ve got a girl in the war, Paul, the only thing i know to do
is turn up the music and pray that she makes it through
~
22 steps - damien leith
It’s nasty and foolish and spiteful, but he hates House. He hates the way his best friend’s cruellest comments always get her biggest laugh, the way her eyes slip and skate all around the hospital, searching for him all day long, as if she’s perpetually aching for just the quickest glimpse. He hates that House knows her and doesn’t seem care that he does. House knows everything; a hundred thousand little facts and stories of her, things he himself can’t understand because he just doesn’t get the references. House knows the Skittles thing and the Chekov thing, and the way she likes her coffee and her herbal tea and her vodka, even though he pretends he doesn’t. House knows all these things; he gets to hold all these precious little sparkling prisms of truth about her in his head, and he doesn’t care at all. House doesn’t even seem to know they’re all there, in his memory, and even though they’re best friends, he hates him for it. He hates House, and wishes he could know all those things about her. The wishes always leave a bitter taste, somewhere behind his teeth.
if i were him
i’d know your birthday
just what to get
the colours you wear
~
red - daniel merriweather
She holds the door open for him, in the late hours, and takes his simple offerings - wine, takeout, chocolates - with tiny, brittle smiles and maybe, if he’s having a lucky week, a kiss, always soft and fleeting, always to his left cheek. She leans against her kitchen bench, ears still tuned to the nursery, and sips from her glass, not noticing the way he watches her. The wine, trapped and oily within the perfect bowl of her glass, makes her fingers turn scarlet in the scattered, flimsy candlelight. She doesn’t talk much, those nights, so he talks for her. Boring stuff, humdrum stuff, but they’re words, and they fill the gaps. He can’t really be sure she’s listening, even, but he still comes around, more often than he should.
and i can’t do this by myself
all of these problems, they’re all in your head
and i can’t be somebody else
you took something perfect
and painted it red
~
not alone - darren criss
He thinks, in his more juvenile moments, that perhaps she’d love him if he could play guitar. Perhaps she would stare at him in glittering wonder, if he could conjure her a melody out of thin air and pretty, lilting sound; perhaps she’d fall at his feet if he could sing her a love song. He doesn’t think the words like House could, but the ghost of the thought is there, dancing a mocking jig in the little nasty hollows of his mind. At least it isn’t his fault, this time; it’s a genetic failing, all of the Wilsons are tone deaf, and he is incapable of even humming without driving himself to ill-tempered distraction. Still, girls love guys who play guitar, and piano, and sing; guys who can serenade and seduce as easy as breathing. He suspects he wouldn’t even know the right way to hold a guitar.
baby, you’re not alone
‘cause you’re here with me
And nothin’s ever gonna bring us down
‘cause nothin’ can keep me from lovin’ you
and you know it’s true
it don’t matter what’ll come to be
our love is all we need to make it through
~
be mine - david gray
He’ll tell her, one day. One day he’ll laugh, and she’ll smile, and he’ll whisper the words and she’ll swoon with tears in her eyes, and they’ll never, ever look back. It’ll be sunny, the day he tells her; a blue and yellow morning, perhaps, or a faded pink and orange dusk, and she’ll be beautiful and she’ll throw her arms around his neck, dark curls flying. He’ll tell her, one day, and they’ll be so very happy. Not today, though, and not tomorrow, either. Maybe the day after tomorrow, or maybe the day after that, but not today.
c’mon, baby, it’s all right
sunday, monday, day or night
red or blue or white, it’s plain to see
be mine, be mine
rain or shinin’, night or day
what’s the difference anyway?
honey, till your heart belongs to me
be mine, be mine
~
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