A Year In Misery Almost Sort Of: Chapter Six
Title: A Year In Misery Almost Sort Of
Chapter: Six 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.
Chapter One, if ya missed it
Chapter Two, ditto
Chapter Three, yep
Chapter Four, as well
Chapter Five, too
Cuddy wasn’t one for mourning the dead. Given her chosen occupation, she saw enough death in a day than most people saw in years. Constantly, she was making sure the charts and files of those who had expired at the hospital were in order and properly dealt with.
She wasn’t sure as to when she had first completely turned herself off from mourning the dead. However, she was certain it was during the shiva after her grandmother’s funeral when she decided this kind of mourning wasn’t for her. She didn’t like to dwell.
As more members in her family passed away over the years, the rest of her family couldn’t understand her reasons as to why she wouldn’t attend any shivas nor make shiva visits. The saddest part was the fact that he understood her need to withhold herself more than her family ever could.
She hadn’t seen him in a week. After her grandmother’s shiva had concluded, she had returned to school a bit more damaged and overwhelmed than when she left. If he picked up on it, he didn’t show it. He was back to his previous self. All tenderness and compassion he had previously displayed was part of the past as he set himself back into his old ways.
It was late, as always, and she was swamped with work. She was overly tired, but couldn’t rest because she had too much work to catch up on. Currently, she was sitting at the table in the med student lounge copying definitions to a study sheet she would use tomorrow morning while preparing for a test in her afternoon class. She was in the middle of hepatic encephalopathy when she heard his voice.
“Most likely to become a prostitute.”
She looked up at him. He smiled in the doorway. He wasn’t leaning against it for once. He simply stood, the light behind him illuminating him to some degree.
He stepped into the room. “Congratulations. Campus voted, you won.”
“I’m so honored,” she replied sarcastically.
She turned back to her book, scanning for where she left off. When she found her place, she began writing again. He crossed to the couch and flopped down on it. He stretched himself across it, a leg hanging over the back while an arm hung over the front.
After several moments of the scratching of her pen, he grew agitated. “Would you shut up already? I can’t get a word in edgewise.”
“This isn’t a social engagement.” She was still writing. “And I have a major test tomorrow.”
“And you’ll ace it, giving you the highest grade in class.” He rolled his eyes. “Which isn’t even necessary considering everyone knows why you stay late with Professor Jacobson. There’s no reason to be ashamed of it. If you’ve got the goods to get the grade, you might as well use them, Cud Cud.”
“Cud Cud?” That brought her eyes up to his leg which flopped about behind the couch.
“Working on a new nickname.” He swung his leg down and sat up, looking to her. “You don’t like it?”
“No.” She stared at him.
He flopped back down. “How about... Cuddybear?”
“Give me a break.” She turned back to her book, but was certain she wasn’t going to be able to concentrate.
“Cuddles?” He asked. “I like Cuddles.”
She frowned. “I don’t even like Cuddy.”
“It’s your last name,” he reminded her.
“I prefer my first name,” she replied.
“Sorry, Cuddles, I’m not so big on the first name scene.” He glanced in the direction of her voice, but his view was blocked by the thick blue couch cushion and he was too lazy to sit up.
“Doesn’t surprise me,” she muttered just loud enough for him to hear her.
“What nicknames do you have for me?” He asked curiously, hoping for something good. “I’ve got four on you. Better catch up.”
“Creep,” she immediately responded.
He raised his eyebrows. “That’s one.”
“Jerk,” she added.
He bit his lip and held up two fingers over the couch. She smiled at this.
“Greggers.” It was the next thing that came to her mind.
“Sexy.” He smirked. “Not you. Greggers, I mean. Wouldn’t want you to get confused.”
Her smile left, but she wasn’t mad. “Scumbag.”
“There.” He stared at the ceiling, noticing the brown tinted water damage stains. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
“You are impossible.” She sighed.
“Impossibly witty,” he was quick to reply.
She shook her head slightly and turned back to her book. She flipped the page in her textbook and tightened her grip on her pen, preparing to write.
“You know what I always thought was strange?” He spoke up from the couch and she loosened her grip on her pen. “The beginning of the word funeral is ‘fun.’ I’m not exactly sure what the great meaning behind that is, but it’s probably pretty important.”
“Funny.” She narrowed her eyes at the couch, hoping he could feel it. “The beginning of the word assailant is ass. Coincidence?”
“Aw, am I your assailant, Cuddles?” He sat up and looked to her. “I’m flattered.”
“Stop calling me Cuddles,” she commanded, setting her mouth in a small frown.
“Okay, Cuddy.” He shrugged.
She sighed once more. Cuddy was better than Cuddles. He stood from the couch and she watched him, wondering what he was going to do next. Her eyes followed him as he seated himself across from her.
“Is that really necessary?” She asked him.
He shrugged again. “What? Thought I could help.”
“If I need to break some rules and piss people off, I’ll call you.” She turned back to her book. She was definitely not able to concentrate now that he was across from her.
He reached over the table and took her hand. She tried to pull away, but he was stronger than her and slid his hand to her wrist. Quickly, he grabbed her pen with his free hand and flipped her hand over so her palm was facing up.
Making sure she couldn’t read what he was writing even though she tried, he carefully wrote on her palm. She strained to see, but he was clever at concealing it. Finally, he let her wrist go and threw the pen down on the table. She pulled her hand back quickly and stared at the numbers he had written. She looked back up at him, quizzically.
“For when you need to break some rules,” he replied, his eyes piercing hers, a playful expression on his face.
With that, he rose from the table and left the room, not looking back or giving her a goodbye. She looked back down at the black telephone number on her palm and pressed her lips together, trying to hold back a smile.
Chapter Seven
Chapter: Six 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.
Chapter One, if ya missed it
Chapter Two, ditto
Chapter Three, yep
Chapter Four, as well
Chapter Five, too
Cuddy wasn’t one for mourning the dead. Given her chosen occupation, she saw enough death in a day than most people saw in years. Constantly, she was making sure the charts and files of those who had expired at the hospital were in order and properly dealt with.
She wasn’t sure as to when she had first completely turned herself off from mourning the dead. However, she was certain it was during the shiva after her grandmother’s funeral when she decided this kind of mourning wasn’t for her. She didn’t like to dwell.
As more members in her family passed away over the years, the rest of her family couldn’t understand her reasons as to why she wouldn’t attend any shivas nor make shiva visits. The saddest part was the fact that he understood her need to withhold herself more than her family ever could.
She hadn’t seen him in a week. After her grandmother’s shiva had concluded, she had returned to school a bit more damaged and overwhelmed than when she left. If he picked up on it, he didn’t show it. He was back to his previous self. All tenderness and compassion he had previously displayed was part of the past as he set himself back into his old ways.
It was late, as always, and she was swamped with work. She was overly tired, but couldn’t rest because she had too much work to catch up on. Currently, she was sitting at the table in the med student lounge copying definitions to a study sheet she would use tomorrow morning while preparing for a test in her afternoon class. She was in the middle of hepatic encephalopathy when she heard his voice.
“Most likely to become a prostitute.”
She looked up at him. He smiled in the doorway. He wasn’t leaning against it for once. He simply stood, the light behind him illuminating him to some degree.
He stepped into the room. “Congratulations. Campus voted, you won.”
“I’m so honored,” she replied sarcastically.
She turned back to her book, scanning for where she left off. When she found her place, she began writing again. He crossed to the couch and flopped down on it. He stretched himself across it, a leg hanging over the back while an arm hung over the front.
After several moments of the scratching of her pen, he grew agitated. “Would you shut up already? I can’t get a word in edgewise.”
“This isn’t a social engagement.” She was still writing. “And I have a major test tomorrow.”
“And you’ll ace it, giving you the highest grade in class.” He rolled his eyes. “Which isn’t even necessary considering everyone knows why you stay late with Professor Jacobson. There’s no reason to be ashamed of it. If you’ve got the goods to get the grade, you might as well use them, Cud Cud.”
“Cud Cud?” That brought her eyes up to his leg which flopped about behind the couch.
“Working on a new nickname.” He swung his leg down and sat up, looking to her. “You don’t like it?”
“No.” She stared at him.
He flopped back down. “How about... Cuddybear?”
“Give me a break.” She turned back to her book, but was certain she wasn’t going to be able to concentrate.
“Cuddles?” He asked. “I like Cuddles.”
She frowned. “I don’t even like Cuddy.”
“It’s your last name,” he reminded her.
“I prefer my first name,” she replied.
“Sorry, Cuddles, I’m not so big on the first name scene.” He glanced in the direction of her voice, but his view was blocked by the thick blue couch cushion and he was too lazy to sit up.
“Doesn’t surprise me,” she muttered just loud enough for him to hear her.
“What nicknames do you have for me?” He asked curiously, hoping for something good. “I’ve got four on you. Better catch up.”
“Creep,” she immediately responded.
He raised his eyebrows. “That’s one.”
“Jerk,” she added.
He bit his lip and held up two fingers over the couch. She smiled at this.
“Greggers.” It was the next thing that came to her mind.
“Sexy.” He smirked. “Not you. Greggers, I mean. Wouldn’t want you to get confused.”
Her smile left, but she wasn’t mad. “Scumbag.”
“There.” He stared at the ceiling, noticing the brown tinted water damage stains. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
“You are impossible.” She sighed.
“Impossibly witty,” he was quick to reply.
She shook her head slightly and turned back to her book. She flipped the page in her textbook and tightened her grip on her pen, preparing to write.
“You know what I always thought was strange?” He spoke up from the couch and she loosened her grip on her pen. “The beginning of the word funeral is ‘fun.’ I’m not exactly sure what the great meaning behind that is, but it’s probably pretty important.”
“Funny.” She narrowed her eyes at the couch, hoping he could feel it. “The beginning of the word assailant is ass. Coincidence?”
“Aw, am I your assailant, Cuddles?” He sat up and looked to her. “I’m flattered.”
“Stop calling me Cuddles,” she commanded, setting her mouth in a small frown.
“Okay, Cuddy.” He shrugged.
She sighed once more. Cuddy was better than Cuddles. He stood from the couch and she watched him, wondering what he was going to do next. Her eyes followed him as he seated himself across from her.
“Is that really necessary?” She asked him.
He shrugged again. “What? Thought I could help.”
“If I need to break some rules and piss people off, I’ll call you.” She turned back to her book. She was definitely not able to concentrate now that he was across from her.
He reached over the table and took her hand. She tried to pull away, but he was stronger than her and slid his hand to her wrist. Quickly, he grabbed her pen with his free hand and flipped her hand over so her palm was facing up.
Making sure she couldn’t read what he was writing even though she tried, he carefully wrote on her palm. She strained to see, but he was clever at concealing it. Finally, he let her wrist go and threw the pen down on the table. She pulled her hand back quickly and stared at the numbers he had written. She looked back up at him, quizzically.
“For when you need to break some rules,” he replied, his eyes piercing hers, a playful expression on his face.
With that, he rose from the table and left the room, not looking back or giving her a goodbye. She looked back down at the black telephone number on her palm and pressed her lips together, trying to hold back a smile.
Chapter Seven