More w/c fic goodness
A brief off-topic note: anyone else catch the House reruns last night? They aired House's Head/Wilson's Heart. I couldn't watch the second ep in its entirety. Sad Wilson makes me sob on the inside. I also felt... awkward watching him and Amber. Even though those episodes kicked serious ass, I still will never get Wilson/Amber.
Anyway:
I hate the ending to this, but I love everything else about it. Read, review, and enjoy the fact that I might have gotten over my awkwardness about writing a kiss scene... I guess you'll have to read to find out!
And seriously - if you have any comments about the ending, don't be shy; suggestions are totally welcome. Happy Monday, loves. <3
There is a cooler sitting on Lisa Cuddy’s desk, and she has no idea why.
She’s been staring at it for the last 90 seconds or so, her mind instantly tracing her steps back, wondering if it was extra supplies she had ordered, or worse, someone’s liver transplant that she had completely forgotten about.
“No,” she says aloud, shaking her head. No EMT in his right mind would deliver an organ to her office. So what could it be? She’s been on clinic rounds and meetings for the last two and a half hours. She checks her watch for the fifth time. 2:30. What the hell is in this cooler?
She thinks harder. It’s not medically related. The cooler is blue and white, and slightly smaller than the standard coolers used at the hospital. She cautiously walks to her desk until she’s at her chair, still staring. She leans over it, scanning it for clues to who might own it. Suddenly the idea hits her like a pile of bricks.
She jumps back. “I’m gonna kill him.”
It’s obvious now. It’s a prank, and the culprit is House.
It makes perfect sense, she muses, thinking back to their argument last week. She assigned him several extra hours’ worth of clinic duty this month - and he had burst into her office, warning her.
“If you think I’m giving up the monster truck rally for a couple of sore throats and teenagers who are too scared to tell Mommy and Daddy that they might be prego, you have lost your mind, woman,” he had sneered.
“I’m not switching you,” she had replied dismissively. “Get back to work.”
Surprisingly, he turned to leave. Finally, House was backing down. A smile crept onto her face.
As if he had sensed her satisfaction, House turned back at the doorway. “You’re an idiot if you think you’ve ‘won’ this one. You’ll pay for standing between me and Monster Truck Mania.”
And now, a week later, whatever House had been planning had come to fruition in the form of this ominous blue cooler.
“I’m gonna kill him,” she says it again, feeling her frustration begin to grow.
“What did House do this time?”
She looks up and sees James Wilson standing at the doorway, nervously smoothing out his tie.
Cuddy sets her hands on her hips and rolls her eyes at him. “Oh, right, Wilson, you don’t have the slightest idea why I could be angry at House. You just happened to show up in time for me to open the cooler House planted on my desk and then convince me that it wasn’t him, right?”
Wilson looks completely puzzled. “You think the cooler is from House?”
Cuddy picks the cooler up. “So what is it? A stink bomb? Worms? Rotten eggs? Did he really think I was going to be stupid enough to fall for that?”
Now Wilson’s laughing. “While eighth grade pranks aren’t beyond him…I can safely say that nothing in that cooler is going to hurt you.”
She sets it down on her desk and hears a rattling sound, like ice cubes. “So it’s not a prank, then.”
“I think you just need to open it,” Wilson says, looking much less nervous and far more pleased with himself.
Cuddy looks at him curiously. Wilson might take the fall for House, but he also wouldn’t lie to her. She gingerly lifts the lid, and, bracing herself, looks inside.
Ice cream.
It’s a Styrofoam container of ice cream, smattered in almost every topping imaginable, packed in ice. Next to it, a spoon. She picks up the spoon and nudges at the giant bowl, still marveling at all of the toppings. There must be eight different types of fresh fruit - she sees mango slices, her absolute favorite - plus granola, chunks of cookie dough, caramel syrup, dark chocolate pieces, yogurt chips, coconut flakes and a cherry.
“Do you know who did this?”
Wilson’s hand reaches for the back of his neck and the answer dawns on her instantly.
Cuddy is somewhere between confused and flattered. “You got me ice cream?”
“There’s this....frozen yogurt place that opened up on Nassau,” he says casually. He starts walking around her office, not quite able to make eye contact. “I think it’s called Twirl. No. It’s ‘t’ something. Er, that’s not the point. You pick a flavor. Then there’s this…unbelievable selection of toppings. They have every kind of topping - Twist! That’s what it’s called - and House and I might have taken a long lunch to go there and yes. Yes, I got you ice cream.”
“And the cooler...?”
“If you had a delicious bowl of ice cream, would you keep it in the break room?”
“You’ve got a point,” she replies, poking at the mound of cookie dough with the spoon. “Thanks... it’s just... the toppings are a little excessive, don’t you think?”
He looks flustered. “Well. I just sort of put a little bit of everything in there.”
“You didn’t have to get me anything in the first place,” she says, nervously twirling the spoon and wondering why James Wilson has not only bought her ice cream, but gone to incredible lengths to get it to her safely.
“Well. I..." he mumbles something self-deprecating, then finally he looks her in the eyes. “I wanted to. I threw in a little bit of everything for a reason: I don’t know what you like and what you don’t like. And...the one time I tried to find that out I screwed it up colossally, and I don’t want to do that this time around and I can’t think of a better way of finding out than by bribing you with the most fantastic frozen yogurt I’ve ever had.”
This comes out all in one breath and Cuddy is a little stunned. Her heart had skipped a beat when Wilson said he’d “screwed it up” between the two of them, and suddenly she regrets writing off those two dates as nothing but friendly outings when she knows they could have been more.
She looks down at the ice cream again and smiles. No one has ever tried to win her heart with ice cream before. But fact that Wilson is attempting to do just that gives her a thrill. The ice cream is cold, but her skin is tingling with heat as she watches him awkwardly smooth out his tie, waiting for her to respond.
She gingerly lifts the container out and, with her hand, plucks out a mango slice. “I love fresh mango.”
He laughs and looks relieved. “Well, at least I got something right.”
She walks toward him. “But I hate dark chocolate.”
He nods, as if making a mental note.
“And this is way too much ice cream for one person.”
He scoffs. “Are you kidding? That’s their small size. House and I each had the “totally twisted” waffle bowls. We tried to see who could finish it first. House won. I didn’t feel like dealing with an ice cream headache.” Feeling more confident, he walks toward her.
She scoops out a bit of ice cream and brings it to her lips. It tastes like a tangy vanilla - a perfect blend of sweet and tart. Wilson’s right: it’s incredible.
Taking another spoonful, she smiles coyly and offers it to him. He steps forward, now just inches away, and covers the spoon with his mouth.
“Tell me that’s not the best frozen yogurt in Princeton,” he asserts.
“You have ice cream on your upper lip,” she replies, realizing how close they are.
His lips twist into a sly smile, and then he leans in and kisses her.
His kiss is like the ice cream. A perfect blend of sweet and tart…and absolutely incredible. Cuddy blindly sets the ice cream aside, vaguely hoping that it landed on her desk, not caring that her fingers are completely covered in it as she pulls him closer. She hates that she’s ruining one of his shirts but loves the way it feels. And she doesn’t understand how his lips can have ice cream smeared on them one minute and feel perfectly soft the next.
They pull apart. Wilson looks a little bewildered and a little satisfied, a trademark expression she’s seen before. It’s a face Wilson makes whenever he realizes he’s gotten himself and House out of trouble, or when a pretty nurse laughs at his jokes. He’s surprised at his own gusto. It used to be her favorite thing about him, but the way he kisses has quickly surged ahead to number one.
He’s blushing now. “Well, enjoy the ice cream. Or what’s left of it.”
She looks over at her desk and groans: the dessert isn’t exactly intact anymore. Swearing under her breath, she starts looking around for something to clean up the mess.
Wilson bites back a laugh. “I’ve got a case I need to get to. We can get you more ice cream. Tonight, if... if you’re free. You can have all the mango you want.”
“But no dark chocolate,” she warns.
The door closes and Cuddy finishes cleaning off her desk. There’s a little bit of everything on her hands - mango pulp, caramel sauce and a few flakes of coconut. She shakes her head and wonders just how James Wilson is going to explain how a little bit of everything got onto his shirt collar.
Anyway:
I hate the ending to this, but I love everything else about it. Read, review, and enjoy the fact that I might have gotten over my awkwardness about writing a kiss scene... I guess you'll have to read to find out!
And seriously - if you have any comments about the ending, don't be shy; suggestions are totally welcome. Happy Monday, loves. <3
There is a cooler sitting on Lisa Cuddy’s desk, and she has no idea why.
She’s been staring at it for the last 90 seconds or so, her mind instantly tracing her steps back, wondering if it was extra supplies she had ordered, or worse, someone’s liver transplant that she had completely forgotten about.
“No,” she says aloud, shaking her head. No EMT in his right mind would deliver an organ to her office. So what could it be? She’s been on clinic rounds and meetings for the last two and a half hours. She checks her watch for the fifth time. 2:30. What the hell is in this cooler?
She thinks harder. It’s not medically related. The cooler is blue and white, and slightly smaller than the standard coolers used at the hospital. She cautiously walks to her desk until she’s at her chair, still staring. She leans over it, scanning it for clues to who might own it. Suddenly the idea hits her like a pile of bricks.
She jumps back. “I’m gonna kill him.”
It’s obvious now. It’s a prank, and the culprit is House.
It makes perfect sense, she muses, thinking back to their argument last week. She assigned him several extra hours’ worth of clinic duty this month - and he had burst into her office, warning her.
“If you think I’m giving up the monster truck rally for a couple of sore throats and teenagers who are too scared to tell Mommy and Daddy that they might be prego, you have lost your mind, woman,” he had sneered.
“I’m not switching you,” she had replied dismissively. “Get back to work.”
Surprisingly, he turned to leave. Finally, House was backing down. A smile crept onto her face.
As if he had sensed her satisfaction, House turned back at the doorway. “You’re an idiot if you think you’ve ‘won’ this one. You’ll pay for standing between me and Monster Truck Mania.”
And now, a week later, whatever House had been planning had come to fruition in the form of this ominous blue cooler.
“I’m gonna kill him,” she says it again, feeling her frustration begin to grow.
“What did House do this time?”
She looks up and sees James Wilson standing at the doorway, nervously smoothing out his tie.
Cuddy sets her hands on her hips and rolls her eyes at him. “Oh, right, Wilson, you don’t have the slightest idea why I could be angry at House. You just happened to show up in time for me to open the cooler House planted on my desk and then convince me that it wasn’t him, right?”
Wilson looks completely puzzled. “You think the cooler is from House?”
Cuddy picks the cooler up. “So what is it? A stink bomb? Worms? Rotten eggs? Did he really think I was going to be stupid enough to fall for that?”
Now Wilson’s laughing. “While eighth grade pranks aren’t beyond him…I can safely say that nothing in that cooler is going to hurt you.”
She sets it down on her desk and hears a rattling sound, like ice cubes. “So it’s not a prank, then.”
“I think you just need to open it,” Wilson says, looking much less nervous and far more pleased with himself.
Cuddy looks at him curiously. Wilson might take the fall for House, but he also wouldn’t lie to her. She gingerly lifts the lid, and, bracing herself, looks inside.
Ice cream.
It’s a Styrofoam container of ice cream, smattered in almost every topping imaginable, packed in ice. Next to it, a spoon. She picks up the spoon and nudges at the giant bowl, still marveling at all of the toppings. There must be eight different types of fresh fruit - she sees mango slices, her absolute favorite - plus granola, chunks of cookie dough, caramel syrup, dark chocolate pieces, yogurt chips, coconut flakes and a cherry.
“Do you know who did this?”
Wilson’s hand reaches for the back of his neck and the answer dawns on her instantly.
Cuddy is somewhere between confused and flattered. “You got me ice cream?”
“There’s this....frozen yogurt place that opened up on Nassau,” he says casually. He starts walking around her office, not quite able to make eye contact. “I think it’s called Twirl. No. It’s ‘t’ something. Er, that’s not the point. You pick a flavor. Then there’s this…unbelievable selection of toppings. They have every kind of topping - Twist! That’s what it’s called - and House and I might have taken a long lunch to go there and yes. Yes, I got you ice cream.”
“And the cooler...?”
“If you had a delicious bowl of ice cream, would you keep it in the break room?”
“You’ve got a point,” she replies, poking at the mound of cookie dough with the spoon. “Thanks... it’s just... the toppings are a little excessive, don’t you think?”
He looks flustered. “Well. I just sort of put a little bit of everything in there.”
“You didn’t have to get me anything in the first place,” she says, nervously twirling the spoon and wondering why James Wilson has not only bought her ice cream, but gone to incredible lengths to get it to her safely.
“Well. I..." he mumbles something self-deprecating, then finally he looks her in the eyes. “I wanted to. I threw in a little bit of everything for a reason: I don’t know what you like and what you don’t like. And...the one time I tried to find that out I screwed it up colossally, and I don’t want to do that this time around and I can’t think of a better way of finding out than by bribing you with the most fantastic frozen yogurt I’ve ever had.”
This comes out all in one breath and Cuddy is a little stunned. Her heart had skipped a beat when Wilson said he’d “screwed it up” between the two of them, and suddenly she regrets writing off those two dates as nothing but friendly outings when she knows they could have been more.
She looks down at the ice cream again and smiles. No one has ever tried to win her heart with ice cream before. But fact that Wilson is attempting to do just that gives her a thrill. The ice cream is cold, but her skin is tingling with heat as she watches him awkwardly smooth out his tie, waiting for her to respond.
She gingerly lifts the container out and, with her hand, plucks out a mango slice. “I love fresh mango.”
He laughs and looks relieved. “Well, at least I got something right.”
She walks toward him. “But I hate dark chocolate.”
He nods, as if making a mental note.
“And this is way too much ice cream for one person.”
He scoffs. “Are you kidding? That’s their small size. House and I each had the “totally twisted” waffle bowls. We tried to see who could finish it first. House won. I didn’t feel like dealing with an ice cream headache.” Feeling more confident, he walks toward her.
She scoops out a bit of ice cream and brings it to her lips. It tastes like a tangy vanilla - a perfect blend of sweet and tart. Wilson’s right: it’s incredible.
Taking another spoonful, she smiles coyly and offers it to him. He steps forward, now just inches away, and covers the spoon with his mouth.
“Tell me that’s not the best frozen yogurt in Princeton,” he asserts.
“You have ice cream on your upper lip,” she replies, realizing how close they are.
His lips twist into a sly smile, and then he leans in and kisses her.
His kiss is like the ice cream. A perfect blend of sweet and tart…and absolutely incredible. Cuddy blindly sets the ice cream aside, vaguely hoping that it landed on her desk, not caring that her fingers are completely covered in it as she pulls him closer. She hates that she’s ruining one of his shirts but loves the way it feels. And she doesn’t understand how his lips can have ice cream smeared on them one minute and feel perfectly soft the next.
They pull apart. Wilson looks a little bewildered and a little satisfied, a trademark expression she’s seen before. It’s a face Wilson makes whenever he realizes he’s gotten himself and House out of trouble, or when a pretty nurse laughs at his jokes. He’s surprised at his own gusto. It used to be her favorite thing about him, but the way he kisses has quickly surged ahead to number one.
He’s blushing now. “Well, enjoy the ice cream. Or what’s left of it.”
She looks over at her desk and groans: the dessert isn’t exactly intact anymore. Swearing under her breath, she starts looking around for something to clean up the mess.
Wilson bites back a laugh. “I’ve got a case I need to get to. We can get you more ice cream. Tonight, if... if you’re free. You can have all the mango you want.”
“But no dark chocolate,” she warns.
The door closes and Cuddy finishes cleaning off her desk. There’s a little bit of everything on her hands - mango pulp, caramel sauce and a few flakes of coconut. She shakes her head and wonders just how James Wilson is going to explain how a little bit of everything got onto his shirt collar.