Ficlet: "House Becomes an Activist"
Title: House Becomes an Activist
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: OT3
Warnings: References through "Joy to the World"
Word Count: 878, including title
Disclaimer: FOX and David Shore own House; House owns me.
Feedback: Yes, please. I could use a pat on the head.
A/N: This is a very belated holiday gift for avidreadergirl. Her prompts were: OT3 and savory. I hope it's worth the wait. :)
House Becomes an Activist
“Hey!” Cuddy screeches. Her shrill, hyena-like tone is accompanied by the rapid-fire clatter of three-inch heels. “I want to have a word with the two of you!”
Anyone else would take one look at that big ass barreling toward them and run for cover, or at least let the elevator close in her face. But Wilson is too polite for his own good. He holds the doors without hesitation, obviously not even considering how such a decision might impact his own well-being.
Thinking of it as an object lesson, House elbows him sharply in the ribs.
As if to add insult to Jimmy’s injury, Cuddy doesn’t act particularly grateful, either. The displeased dean marches in and presses a button with a violent stab of her finger that would seem to suggest she has a grudge against the entire third floor. The air surrounding her is heavy with intensity. Every cell in House’s body is suddenly quivering and responsive. Alert.
Once the doors shut and she has them cornered, Cuddy yanks a sheaf of paper from her clipboard. Holding one corner pinched between her thumb and finger, she dangles the document in their faces. First one, then the other, then back again. “What do you know about this?”
Jimmy folds almost instantly.
“Oh, that.” His hand drifts up to his collar to nervously rub the back of his neck. His shoulders rise and fall, signaling his surrender. “Well, uh…”
House slumps against the wall, enjoying watching his best friend squirm. It isn’t often that Wilson and his buddy Lisa argue, so he always finds it particularly gratifying when they do. He waits until Jimmy has shrugged and twitched himself halfway to a seizure before going to his rescue.
“We were inspired by your recent memo concerning community stewardship,” House claims, drawing Cuddy’s attention. He doesn’t bother to keep the sarcasm from his voice, knowing it won’t be lost on her. “Call it a public service.”
She cocks her head to one side and arches her eyebrows, giving him that look-the one that says he amuses her, but she still isn’t going to listen to any of his bullshit. “I would hardly call circulating a petition to Save Our Sweater Kittens performing a public service.”
“There are over five hundred signatures on that petition,” he argues.
“Most of them fictitious.”
“Name one.”
She flips to the second page and points. “Ron Jeremy.”
House crowds in close under the guise of reading over her shoulder. What he’s really doing is getting his olfactory fix of the day, breathing in her unique blend of citrusy organic soaps and scrubs, antibacterial lotion and baby powder. “Everyone knows Ron Jeremy is a huge fan of breasts. Name another.”
She pulls away, and he feels cheated. He can’t decide if this distance is a variation on their usual dance, or if it’s something new and unwanted between them.
“My point is,” she sighs, sounding tired of the conversation, “I fail to see how the more modest wardrobe choices I’ve made since becoming a mother impact your ability to work.”
“Do you have any idea how long it took Taub and Kutner to come up with five hundred names? They were useless for anything else the whole day,” House quips. When his playful admission fails to elicit any sort of response, he realizes it’s time for drastic measures. It’s time to tell the truth. He hooks his chin at her chest and shrugs. “Besides, I miss the savory view.”
Cuddy’s cheeks pinken slightly. Hidden beneath the fabric of her high-necked blouse, he can’t see her throat or chest, but he likes to think she’s flushed there, too.
She tries to hide her evident satisfaction by refreshing the attack on Wilson. For House, it’s a win-win situation.
“I suppose you were in on this, as well?” she accuses.
Jimmy waives his hands in the air in a spastic gesture of denial. “I was merely an observer.”
“Uh-huh,” Cuddy skeptically drawls. “The two of you are like Chang and Eng. You never do anything apart.”
“Not exactly,” House corrects her. “Chang and Eng were fused at the liver, whereas Wilson as I share the same…”
He’s cut off by the chiming of the elevator as it arrives on the second floor. The doors open, and Cuddy is just about to step out when he bars her exit with his cane. He’s not letting her escape that easily.
“So are you going to bow to the masses or what?” he demands.
She looks up at him with a saucy little grin. “You’ll just have to come to work tomorrow and see.”
House’s skin buzzes pleasantly, as if he’s just come in contact with a positively charged electrical field. He lowers his cane to let her pass, and she saunters off down the hall with a delectable wiggle that even the conservative cut of her pantsuit can’t hide.
Next to him, Wilson shakes his head in disgust and withdraws a crisp twenty dollar bill from his wallet. “I can’t believe that worked.”
House tucks the cash into his pocket, determined to come to work early tomorrow. He feels a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Like taking cleavage from a baby.”