Fanmix + Fic: Bad Romance - A House/Cuddy Lady Gaga Mix
caught in a bad romance
(your love is nothing i can’t fight)
A House/Cuddy Lady Gaga Mix
Mix and Fic By
meelsie_love78
Art by missbuterfly
Title: Bad Romance
Fandom: House MD
Character/Pairing: House/Cuddy
Warning: Spoilers up to & including current season, adult language, leaked tracks
Disclaimer: I don’t own House, Cuddy, or Gaga. I haven’t even met them. Sadly.
ETA: ALL DOWNLOAD LINKS ARE WORKING NOW, BBS.
Summary:
The eternally difficult and messy relationship between Greg House and Lisa Cuddy, as told through the immortal words and music of one Stefani Germanotta. This fmix/fic is split three ways; from their first meeting in Michigan, through the continued drama of PPTH, up to House’s time in Mayfield, and beyond.
Excerpt:
He’d railed and fought and thrashed out at her, and she’d stood as tall as she could, spine straight and eyes unseeing against the coming blows, and when he’d finally, exhaustedly fallen apart, she’d done her best to hold him together, with shaking hands and open-mouthed kisses trailing over the familiar map of his body.
Author’s Note:
This rather epic fanmix would not have happened without the endless encouragement, advice and beautiful art-related assistance of the marvellous missbuterfly , my partner in Gaga-related crime, and general all-round megababe. This little snippet of multi-fandom squeeage would not exist without you, honey.
Lots and lots of credit and love also goes to
angel_2606 , for her wonderful patience with my Gaga-fangirling, and her endless inspiration regarding our two favourite dysfunctional doctors. The name of Cuddy’s college roommate is no mere coincidence.
Extra credit must also go to the wickedly fantastical ladygagafans , home of the First Church of the Patron Saint Gagalupe. I wouldn’t know about half of these B-sides, live performances and demo tracks without that brilliant, genius, hilarious comm. Grab a hold of your wigs and take a bow, bitches.
Oh, and yeah. Props to Lisa Edelstein & Hugh Laurie for being hot and talented, and making me believe.
And to the Lady herself; you make my world a prettier, smarter and more creative place. I’m your biggest fan (I’ll follow you until you love me). One day you’ll read that meta I wrote about ‘Paparazzi’, and we’ll hug like two pathetic schoolgirls. One day.
Let the angst commence!
Peace, Love and Gaga
(and Huddy)
Introduction
Bad Romance Intro Live @ SNL
you and me could write a bad romance
Part One - Michigan
i can’t help myself
i’m in love
No Floods
i never ever thought i’d live away
from everybody that i love and say
goodbye
Red & Blue
i’d recommend
a one night stand
i know we’re just friends but
you’re my kind of man
Fever
there he goes
my baby walks so slow
Wonderful
i wrote a song about your eyes
ate a slice of cherry pie
i cried all night
Fooled Me Again, Honest Eyes
the boy fooled me again
The weather was good that year; Ann Arbor rendered in the bright shades of burnished sun and freedom, and not a night could pass without the crackling of energy, the murmured word ‘party’ running like water through the quadrangles. Someone had hung Chinese paper lanterns in the trees, and it was still warm enough for tank tops and beer coolers, lined up like children’s building blocks down the sloping lawn. Angie had led her by the wrist, giggling and throwing sparkling, mischievous glances back over her narrow shoulder all the way, and even through the crowd she could pick out the small huddles of med students, all taller and leaner of limb than their scruffy, younger counterparts. They looked untouchable; cool and casual and so far above the rest of the huddle, and right at the centre, a halo of pale gold light falling on the top of his dishevelled head, was the legend himself. Angie shoved a paper cup into her hand, snorting that little, knowing snort that had already become so familiar, and turned away to talk to someone else, leaving her alone, for a blessed moment, to memorise all the sharp corners and stubble-roughened plains of his laughing face.
He kissed her for the first time four hours later, and it felt like she’d been holding her breath all the while. He had long, graceful, pianist’s fingers, and they wound through the snarls in her hair, and no-one had ever thought to touch her like that, kiss her that way, and it all happened faster and easier than falling asleep. He was gone, her dorm room still left ajar, by the time she woke at noon.
She saw him around, all the time, and neither of them ever said a word about it. He was good at joking, at deflecting, even then, and she was good at going along with it. She only cried once, in three whole years, on the last night of the last semester of that last year, and Angie had murmured gentle words and stroked her hair the whole night through. In the morning, he was gone. Again.
Part Two - Princeton
my eyeliner runs in constellations for you
Again Again
you’ve got a lotta, lotta nerve
coming here
I Like It Rough
you’ve got me wondering why i
i like it rough
LoveGame Live @ Walmart Soundcheck
hold me and love me
just wanna touch you for a minute
Starstruck
baby, could you blow my heart up
Second Time Around
i’m so unpredictable
just like you used to be
so unemotional
i can’t forget the way you were with me
Let Love Down
and when i finally go away
i know you’ll look for me one day
when you let love down
oh you let love down
Eh Eh Live @ Alhambra, Paris
i didn’t mean to hurt you
i never thought we’d fall out of place
Viva La Vida Live Acoustic
i used to rule the world
seas would rise when I gave the word
The printed pages of his resume sat like a drowning weight in her in-tray for four whole days before she picked up the phone.
His voice was the same as ever, the same as a lifetime ago, and she hated it immediately; hated the way the gravel of it crawled like animals under her skin, the way the little pointed edges of his smart, carelessly cool words pricked at her fingertips and at somewhere deeper within her.
The first time she saw him, she couldn’t even catch her breath.
It got easier, once she’d met Stacy, and for a while it seemed like it could even work out; he was an invaluable asset to her newly-claimed hospital, and the donor money was already pouring in, the new wing already financed, the night the paramedics wheeled him in to her ED.
It was pure bad luck, the cruellest twist of fate, that made her his treating physician. She stood at the foot of his bed and watched as Stacy cried in silence, cursing karma under her breath, and when Stacy asked her what to do, she gave the perfect medical answer. It made sense, under the biting fluorescence and the noise of the monitors and the code calls rushing past, and she’d stepped so easily, too easily, into Stacy’s vacant space at his side as they’d wheeled his guerney into the operating room.
Stacy didn’t last out the year. He was so bitter, so angry, all the time, and so bubbling over with the most vicious type of hate, and she’d been almost glad to step into the firing line. He’d railed and fought and thrashed out at her, and she’d stood as tall as she could, spine straight and eyes unseeing against the coming blows, and when he’d finally, exhaustedly fallen apart, she’d done her best to hold him together, with shaking hands and open-mouthed kisses trailing over the familiar map of his body.
It only happened once, and he was gone before sunrise, but it still took him almost six months to even look her in the eye again. She’d tried to talk to him, once, about it, about them, but he’d only given her that barking laugh, and told her to save her speech for someone who mattered. And then she’d been promoted, and in the panic of having not just her hospital but the university medical program to run, she lost track, somehow, of the most painful things between them. It was still hard, still the most difficult thing she’d ever done, but she managed to almost forget how it felt when his hands moved in possession over her skin, and how it hurt when he disappeared, every time. Not meant to be, she whispered to herself; not the first time or the second or ever, she‘d murmured, flipping Angie’s old deck of tarot cards through her fingers, and it was always the same cards; the Hierophant, and the High Priestess. Somehow, they carried on, a détente, of sorts; an unspoken agreement, and eventually they even managed to carve out a sick little twisted symbiotic relationship, and very, very gradually, it got a little easier. He was the one to break the rules and flirt first, but she was right behind him, like always, snapping at his heels and letting her eyes linger too long over his face, and a new, equally silent agreement was reached. Flirt, and bicker, and push aside the fierce burn of desire, again and again, year after year. The hospital’s pull tugged at her veins, swallowing up every last molecule of energy and testing the bounds of her commitment, and there he was, right at the heart of it all, her most temperamental department head, the uneasy centre of her obsession.
Part Three - Mayfield
would you be my future love?
Paparazzi Live Acoustic @ The Chapel
chase you down until you love me
Murder My Heart
it's so beautiful
it’s tearing me apart
Wish You Were Here
i want you to know
that I wish you were here
Don’t Give Up
rest your head
you worry too much
it’s gonna be all right
PokerFace Live Acoustic @ Walmart Soundcheck
i wanna roll with him
a hard pair we will be
Bad Romance
i don’t wanna be friends
i want your love
Everything escalates, given enough time to generate momentum. It took years, but slowly, achingly, inexorably, like ancient astral bodies, they circled back around to find each other, orbits reaching and longing but never quite making contact on their elliptical paths. She tried, again and again, to shift her focus just enough to move him out of her line of sight, but he always, always returned, with the limp and the narrowed, undoing stare, and the words sharp enough to slice her skin right open. The desire was still the same, always the same, like the cards, and she’d scrabbled for something else to grab a hold of; boyfriend after boyfriend, then the first child, the child she can still barely stand to think of, and then, the kiss. He’d wrenched her this way and that like an unruly sail unfurled to a whipping wind, and as night descended over her sickeningly quiet house the sound of gravel, crunching beneath his bike tyres, sent a shiver of something indefinable right through the middle of her. All it took was five minutes; five minutes and a scant paragraph’s worth of words and one kiss, one end-of-the-world, stop-my-heart-before-it-breaks kiss, and by the time the five minutes was up and his bike was pulling out of her drive she felt nineteen, and helpless, again.
Infatuation has a clever way of sneaking beneath your sleeves and into the cold little corners of your heart, and seeing him every single day did nothing to keep her spine straight or her resolve steady. He joked, and the flirting got worse, the insults darker, and one day in his empty office she’d laid it all so bare on the table that she was certain her reflection, had she caught sight of herself in some shiny surface or other, would have been transparent. The pause, the half-second of hesitation in his impossible eyes before his hand had raised and he had touched her, before his mouth had spoken those dismissive words, was enough to make her believe he was lying. He must have known she’d seen it, seen the absolute falseness of his flippant denial, and so his efforts at derailing her had quadrupled in their usual intensity, and not even the powder-scent of Rachel’s downy hair had taken away the ache. Every tiny, pitying, wince-like glance from Wilson had made her feel only more alone.
She’d thought she could hate him. She made the stupid, foolish mistake of presuming that the anger and humiliation at his shouted, hateful broadcast would provide more than enough fuel for a lifetime’s worth of walking away from him, but her resolve lasted less than a day, in the end. He’d crumbled, like some beautiful, decaying ancient ruin, right before her eyes, and it was all she could do to listen, and get him into Wilson’s practiced grip. She’d watched the car disappear into the distance, splintered heart pinching within her chest, and somehow, God knows how, she’d made it through the whole wedding without shedding a single tear.
Wilson understood, like always, and she’d waited out the whole summer sitting in easy, melancholy silence with him in her back garden, Rachel passed like a tightly-wrapped present between them, lukewarm cups of tea cooling at their elbows. They didn’t talk about him often, because it hurt him as much as it did her, it seemed, to think of him in some tortured place, and they made loose, looping, vague vows to one another, promising change, promising an end to all the enabling and the denial and the lies. They’d promised one another, and as summer ended she’d kissed his cheek and squeezed his hand, and refused his offer to join him on the short drive downtown to the bus depot.
The first time she sees him, after almost three months, her breath catches in her chest just like it did when she was nineteen. Fingers aching to touch him, mouth longing to speak joyous words, she stands in patient silence near the door, as Wilson ducks into the kitchen and he avoids her eyes, again. He’s handsome, more so than when he left, surprisingly; the new haircut appealing to some base part of her, and the quiet, uncertain tone in his voice telling her, in less than a dozen words, that the change is real, this time. She schools her features as nonchalant as she can, and when he finally, slowly, lifts those blue eyes to hers, she could swear that the pale gold light falling on his quietly smiling face could only have been cast by a Chinese paper lantern strung on high, swinging gently on a warm, familiar breeze.
~
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Remember:
Think Huddy
Peace, Love and Gaga