A Year In Misery Almost Sort Of: Chapter Thirteen
Title: A Year In Misery Almost Sort Of
Chapter: Thirteen out of ?
Pairings: House/Cuddy
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. Don't sue me.
Summary: Cuddy recalls her past and the relationship she had with House during the college days.
Start from the beginning
OR
Conversation with House was an art form. It took skill and practice. It didn’t require much concentration after the initial understanding of how House worked was finally brought to light. Once Cuddy had wrapped her head around him, his speech, his verbal defenses, she could finally manage him and compete on his level.
However, an outsider could easily become lost in their conversation if they weren’t used to it. That thought always made Cuddy a little unsure of herself when talking with House sometimes. She didn’t like knowing that she could be on the same level as him, the same pace as him, because he could be so cruel. Sometimes she didn’t want to admit she understood.
She was seated in the med student lounge. It was earlier than usual, only just going for midnight. Valentine’s Day was steadily approaching and she had to make valentines to send to friends from back home. It wasn’t really her thing, but she decided to go along with it for the sake of her friends.
Currently, she was cutting paper hearts out of a large sheet of red construction paper. He was with her, of course, and sprawled out on the couch, his head resting on her thighs.
“I won’t tell you again,” she glanced at him. “If you don’t get your head out of my lap, I will lob it off with these scissors.” She paused and then hissed, “and they’re not very sharp.”
“We’re bonding, Cuddy,” he told her, his tone humorous. “I mean, how else will you fall for me, huh? We need this.”
“I need you to get out of my lap,” she replied.
“What is love, Cuddy?” He changed the subject. “In your personal sarcastic and cynical opinion, that is.”
“I’m sarcastic and cynical?” She set the paper and scissors next to her and stared down at those blue eyes that looked back up at her.
“Of course!” He sat up and turned to her. “Why else would you hang out with the likes of me unless you shared my bitterness?”
“Excuse me, but if I recall correctly, you’re the one who wouldn’t leave me alone,” she shot back. She didn’t quite understand what he was trying to do.
“Trust, Cuddy dear, what is trust?” His eyes burned into her.
She narrowed her eyes at him. “What are you getting at, House?”
She was confused. Most of the time she was able to grasp their conversations and even take hold of them. Tonight, however, he was making things difficult. He would delve into topics that didn’t make sense or were completely irrelevant. That always made her think he was onto something more, but she couldn’t figure out what.
He, on the other hand, was right on track. Of course he wouldn’t make it easy for her. He needed to know things about her, to know her. The only way he felt comfortable in doing so was through questions that seemingly meant nothing and would be taken lightly or be altogether ignored on her part.
“Simple questions, Cuddy.” He shrugged. “If you know yourself, they’re simple.”
“Well, what do you think love is?” Her voice was harsher than she wanted it to be. “And trust? What about trust, House? I can play your game, too.”
“You may be able to play, but you won’t win.” He smirked.
She eyed him suspiciously. “You really think it’s that easy, House? Describing love and speaking of trust? It’s not.”
“Why?” His questioning stare evoked something in her. He was close to reaching that honest point and she didn’t even realize she was being revealing.
“Because you can’t just peg emotions and feelings with words and then blindly hope it justifies them,” she answered, her mind racing and whirling as she thought it over.
He closed his mouth, thinking it over, their eyes locked on each other. “If you had to describe love in one word, what word would you choose?”
She shook her head. “One word can’t even come close to giving it a proper description.”
“Have you ever been in love, Cuddy?” His tone had reasonably softened, a tactic that made her fluster, which was his agenda.
“What kind of question is that?” She folded her arms across her chest.
“So that’s a no,” he concluded.
“No!” she denied quickly. “I never said that.”
He nodded to her crossed arms. “Your body language said it all.”
She unfolded her arms hastily and dropped the emotion from her face. “Okay. What am I saying now?”
“Blank stare... limp body...” He observed her and then concluded, “you’re dead.”
“House.” She narrowed her eyes at him.
He smirked. “And emotion’s back. You’re angry, uncertain, confused, and... do I detect a little bit of lust, Cuddy?”
“No.” She glared and that’s when it clicked. That’s when she finally understood. But, she covered her realization quickly. “You’re mistaking lust for a burning desire to stab you with blunt scissors.”
He hesitated and he knew she knew. She finally caught onto him, his questioning, his snide commenting tactics. It was his way to delve into her psyche. He would deduce her by the responses she gave him and now, she finally wised up to it.
“Kill the love of your life?” He attempted to get back on track. “How tragic.”
“Life’s tragic.” She shrugged in response and lowered the scissors she had been threateningly holding towards him.
He leaned back into the cushions, his expression curious. She had meant it with nonchalance, but he wasn’t buying it. “Why is that?”
She went back to cutting out her valentines, quite obviously showing him she didn’t want to talk about it. He stood from the couch and crossed the room, stopping at the bulletin board. He feigned interest.
“Do you like being right all the time, Cuddy?” he asked, but didn’t look at her.
“I’m not right all the time,” she answered him and set her valentines aside again. She stood and crossed the room. “Do you hate being wrong, Greg?”
He looked to her, a bit surprised that she had used his first name. “You mean once every blue moon?”
“No.” She kept her eyes on him. She was playing his game, stepping upon dangerous territory, knowing full well that if it got too personal, he could flee like before. “I mean when you’re wrong and people are shocked because Dr. Gregory House can never be wrong. Do you hate it then? In that moment.”
“Not everyone can be right.” He moved away from her and began to gather his things.
She turned and watched him, knowing there were no hard feelings, but their night meeting was over. She understood that their conversations meant something more to him. His need to understand the mystery behind everything made their conversations this way. And she decided she was okay with that.
From now on, she would be a bit more cautious, a bit more defensive. She would deflect by shooting it right back at him. It would be their new form of communicating. They would understand each other a little better through these comments. It was a way to hide their true selves yet still manage to expose themselves enough so the other understood. It was a common connection.
Click for Fourteen
Chapter: Thirteen out of ?
Pairings: House/Cuddy
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. Don't sue me.
Summary: Cuddy recalls her past and the relationship she had with House during the college days.
Start from the beginning
OR
Conversation with House was an art form. It took skill and practice. It didn’t require much concentration after the initial understanding of how House worked was finally brought to light. Once Cuddy had wrapped her head around him, his speech, his verbal defenses, she could finally manage him and compete on his level.
However, an outsider could easily become lost in their conversation if they weren’t used to it. That thought always made Cuddy a little unsure of herself when talking with House sometimes. She didn’t like knowing that she could be on the same level as him, the same pace as him, because he could be so cruel. Sometimes she didn’t want to admit she understood.
She was seated in the med student lounge. It was earlier than usual, only just going for midnight. Valentine’s Day was steadily approaching and she had to make valentines to send to friends from back home. It wasn’t really her thing, but she decided to go along with it for the sake of her friends.
Currently, she was cutting paper hearts out of a large sheet of red construction paper. He was with her, of course, and sprawled out on the couch, his head resting on her thighs.
“I won’t tell you again,” she glanced at him. “If you don’t get your head out of my lap, I will lob it off with these scissors.” She paused and then hissed, “and they’re not very sharp.”
“We’re bonding, Cuddy,” he told her, his tone humorous. “I mean, how else will you fall for me, huh? We need this.”
“I need you to get out of my lap,” she replied.
“What is love, Cuddy?” He changed the subject. “In your personal sarcastic and cynical opinion, that is.”
“I’m sarcastic and cynical?” She set the paper and scissors next to her and stared down at those blue eyes that looked back up at her.
“Of course!” He sat up and turned to her. “Why else would you hang out with the likes of me unless you shared my bitterness?”
“Excuse me, but if I recall correctly, you’re the one who wouldn’t leave me alone,” she shot back. She didn’t quite understand what he was trying to do.
“Trust, Cuddy dear, what is trust?” His eyes burned into her.
She narrowed her eyes at him. “What are you getting at, House?”
She was confused. Most of the time she was able to grasp their conversations and even take hold of them. Tonight, however, he was making things difficult. He would delve into topics that didn’t make sense or were completely irrelevant. That always made her think he was onto something more, but she couldn’t figure out what.
He, on the other hand, was right on track. Of course he wouldn’t make it easy for her. He needed to know things about her, to know her. The only way he felt comfortable in doing so was through questions that seemingly meant nothing and would be taken lightly or be altogether ignored on her part.
“Simple questions, Cuddy.” He shrugged. “If you know yourself, they’re simple.”
“Well, what do you think love is?” Her voice was harsher than she wanted it to be. “And trust? What about trust, House? I can play your game, too.”
“You may be able to play, but you won’t win.” He smirked.
She eyed him suspiciously. “You really think it’s that easy, House? Describing love and speaking of trust? It’s not.”
“Why?” His questioning stare evoked something in her. He was close to reaching that honest point and she didn’t even realize she was being revealing.
“Because you can’t just peg emotions and feelings with words and then blindly hope it justifies them,” she answered, her mind racing and whirling as she thought it over.
He closed his mouth, thinking it over, their eyes locked on each other. “If you had to describe love in one word, what word would you choose?”
She shook her head. “One word can’t even come close to giving it a proper description.”
“Have you ever been in love, Cuddy?” His tone had reasonably softened, a tactic that made her fluster, which was his agenda.
“What kind of question is that?” She folded her arms across her chest.
“So that’s a no,” he concluded.
“No!” she denied quickly. “I never said that.”
He nodded to her crossed arms. “Your body language said it all.”
She unfolded her arms hastily and dropped the emotion from her face. “Okay. What am I saying now?”
“Blank stare... limp body...” He observed her and then concluded, “you’re dead.”
“House.” She narrowed her eyes at him.
He smirked. “And emotion’s back. You’re angry, uncertain, confused, and... do I detect a little bit of lust, Cuddy?”
“No.” She glared and that’s when it clicked. That’s when she finally understood. But, she covered her realization quickly. “You’re mistaking lust for a burning desire to stab you with blunt scissors.”
He hesitated and he knew she knew. She finally caught onto him, his questioning, his snide commenting tactics. It was his way to delve into her psyche. He would deduce her by the responses she gave him and now, she finally wised up to it.
“Kill the love of your life?” He attempted to get back on track. “How tragic.”
“Life’s tragic.” She shrugged in response and lowered the scissors she had been threateningly holding towards him.
He leaned back into the cushions, his expression curious. She had meant it with nonchalance, but he wasn’t buying it. “Why is that?”
She went back to cutting out her valentines, quite obviously showing him she didn’t want to talk about it. He stood from the couch and crossed the room, stopping at the bulletin board. He feigned interest.
“Do you like being right all the time, Cuddy?” he asked, but didn’t look at her.
“I’m not right all the time,” she answered him and set her valentines aside again. She stood and crossed the room. “Do you hate being wrong, Greg?”
He looked to her, a bit surprised that she had used his first name. “You mean once every blue moon?”
“No.” She kept her eyes on him. She was playing his game, stepping upon dangerous territory, knowing full well that if it got too personal, he could flee like before. “I mean when you’re wrong and people are shocked because Dr. Gregory House can never be wrong. Do you hate it then? In that moment.”
“Not everyone can be right.” He moved away from her and began to gather his things.
She turned and watched him, knowing there were no hard feelings, but their night meeting was over. She understood that their conversations meant something more to him. His need to understand the mystery behind everything made their conversations this way. And she decided she was okay with that.
From now on, she would be a bit more cautious, a bit more defensive. She would deflect by shooting it right back at him. It would be their new form of communicating. They would understand each other a little better through these comments. It was a way to hide their true selves yet still manage to expose themselves enough so the other understood. It was a common connection.
Click for Fourteen