Bricks and Beams, Part 2/4
TITLE: "Bricks and Beams" (2/4)
AUTHOR: Meredith (
entropy_comix)
RATING: PG-13 for language and the fact that Tony's mind is constantly in the gutter.
WORD COUNT: 2360.
GENRE: Lulz, and Tony/Cuddy.
SUMMARY: Tony needs a doctor, and PPTH needs the money for at least 10 new MRI machines annually.
DISCLAIMER: Just for fun. I don't own anything.
NOTES: Thanks to
spoggly for fixing the typos and generally being awesome.
SPOILERS: Takes place after the Iron Man movie and after the season finale of House.
Dr. Cuddy had offhandedly insisted to Tony that Dr. House was here, he was just at the bar-and should be back at any moment-before immediately plowing on towards other topics.
When Dr. House's seat was still empty 15 minutes later, Tony decided to take matters into his own hands. There were no business deals to be made here-no one to charm or to flatter on a recurrent or long-term basis. In other words, no reason to tolerate insipid small talk any longer than necessary.
He made his escape and headed towards the bar.
000
Cuddy quickly reconsidered her position.
Hospital administrators do not mourn preemptively. They do not sit passively by while their best doctor irredeemably offends their wealthiest donor. They act. She excused herself from the table and walked quickly over to the bar.
000
“Scotch on the rocks and a vodka martini, extra olives.” Tony stuffed a fifty into the tip jar and drummed his fingertips on the surface of the bar while he waited for his drinks.
“Cuddy told me I had to be here.” Tony turned his head slightly. The man who spoke was seated at the only stool at the bar (which looked like it had probably been dragged over against the collective will of the catering staff at some point in the not too distant past). He was in fact speaking directly into his drink, but Tony assumed he was the one being addressed.
“Cuddy doesn't like me to be at these things. Cuddy knows that I will only be a pain in her curvaceous ass.” He finally looked at up at Tony, revealing clear blue eyes, an apparent vendetta against shaving too often, and a crooked bow tie. “So someone must have wanted me here, and I'm going to guess that person is you.”
“Someone's cranky,” observed Tony lightly. “Did you miss your nap today?”
“So what is it? Not sure Princeton-Plainsborough is the right place for you to be creating the illusion of heart-warming philanthropic goodness? Do you want me to dazzle you with medical know-how? One of my specialties is nephrology. Want me to give to you the world-renowned doctor explanation of where piss comes from?”
Observant. Calculating. Persistent. All good qualities in a doctor. He seemed to blame Tony personally for his forced attendance-which, Tony had to admit, was surprisingly astute.
He also seemed like an utter asshole.
“I've always been more curious about babies, actually. Maybe I should ask Dr. Cuddy...?”
Tony was interrupted by the sudden appearance of Dr. Cuddy, who placed a hand on Dr. House's shoulder and halted the conversation with a strained smile.
“I see you've met Dr. House.” House shifted position slightly. Tony didn't envy him-Cuddy's grip on House's shoulder looked positively vice-like. “Mr. Stark, House is the Head of our Department of Diagnostic Medicine. I'm sure you've read about him-he solves cases no one else in the world can solve. Dr. House has pioneered some very exciting new treatment techniques over the past few years.”
“Yes, I'm a pioneer. I keep my coon-skin cap next to the rifle in my office.”
Cuddy leaned forward and whispered something in House's ear.
000
“So help me god, House, if you drive this man and his money away I will hand over the entire Diagnostics Department to the janitor who wears his pants backward, and you will be cleaning up vomit in Pediatrics for the rest of your life,” she hissed, as quietly as she could manage under the circumstances.
“You mean Lou?” offered House cheerily, looking disgustingly amused by the torment he insisted on inflicting upon her. Stark took the downtime to accept both drinks from the bartender and down his one quick gulp.
Cuddy decided to ignore House. She turned back to Stark, who handed her a martini. “I'm sure you two will have lots to talk about. Later.” As she took a sip of her drink, she noticed that House seemed to be preparing to open his mouth again. Her eyes flitted over to the dance floor in the center of the room.
“Mr. Stark, would you like to dance?” Cuddy said quickly, deliberately stepping in front of House, and setting her drink back on the bar.
“Sure, let's dance - I love to dance. It's a party, right?”
“Did they change the definition of 'party' since I last had fun?” inquired House, though even the bartender ignored him.
Tony offered her his hand and she took it, allowing him to lead the way towards the dance floor.
000
The dance floor was crowded but god knows that didn't mean there was an abundance of people dancing on it. Most were chatting and clutching drinks, apparently wanting a simple change of scenery from the tables.
Tony slipped his arm around Dr. Cuddy's waist and they swayed together slowly, bodies not quite touching.
Not quite close enough to make conversation unnecessary.
“So are all your doctors that personable or was he a special hire?”
“Doctor House is an unparalleled diagnostician but he can be a bit....abrasive,” she said, after a pause. “He's a much greater asset to the hospital when he's working a case and not wearing a tux.”
Tony noticed that the words 'I'm sorry for the behavior of my employee' were conspicuously (and seemingly unashamedly) absent from her little apology.
“But he's the best at what he does,” she added.
“Assuming what he does is 'being an arrogant jackass'?” offered Tony.
“That--” agreed Cuddy, “and saving lives. You'd be surprised at how many insanely brilliant men are also arrogant jackasses. You just have to find a way to work around it.”
“I'll try not to take that personally,” said Tony.
Dr. Cuddy ignored his comment, something she looked suspiciously practiced at doing. “Despite his unorthodox bedside manner, House gets the job done. He saves people.”
He got the job done. Tony liked that. But they were just words, after all, and they came from the woman whose job it was to sell Doctor House as best she could. She could be feeding him a spectacular line of bullshit.
His dad hadn't given him a great deal of guidance over the years, but he did pick up one important rule: don't believe everything you're told, especially if a beautiful woman is the one telling it to you.
“I'd be interested to learn more about your bedside manner, Doctor Cuddy.”
000
The funny thing was, he looked utterly serious-and utterly unashamed. Most men she dated tended to show at least some small degree of uncertainty when they knew they were feeding you an utterly ridiculous line.
But not this one.
“I have a hospital to run,” she replied. Keep it casual. This was a business deal first, and an opportunity for an obscenely glamorous fling and the (potential) rights to half of everything Stark owned second. “I haven't been a practicing physician for years.”
“Maybe I could help you get back into practice.” He said innocently, smiling a charming smile. “There are some things you don't forget. Riding a...bike, for instance.”
“Mr. Stark--”
“Tony,” he corrected her.
“Tony,” she complied. “Are you flirting with me, Tony?”
“Beautiful woman...” He shrugged unapologetically. “Force of habit.”
Cuddy quirked an eyebrow. Smug bastard.
He seemed to lose focus for a moment, and stumbled slightly. Not spectacularly. (Too much to drink, maybe? Was he drinking before he got there?) They were at the edge of the dance floor. He released her hand and firmly gripped the back of an empty chair, steadying himself. He drew a sharp breath.
“Are you ok?” Cuddy asked cautiously.
“Fine,” he said abruptly. He didn't seem fine. Drunk, maybe.
He turned his face towards hers again. He was pale, his forehead clammy. He looked exhausted. Sick, maybe.
He looked just as exhausted when he walked in, she thought, it was only now that something in the way he carried himself had slipped momentarily away...
She slid two fingers down the palm of his hand and lingered on his wrist, applying light pressure. With her other hand she pushed back his sleeve, revealing the glimmering face of an oh-so-expensive wristwatch and began counting to the rhythm of the ticking, glimmering spindles.
“Dr. Cuddy--”
“Potential patient,” she explained, opting not to look at him or stop what she was doing. “Force of habit.”
000
Shit.
Shit, Shit.
SHIT.
Same glitch. Maybe a different glitch.
He had his suspicions, of course, but he needed to run a diagnostic to be sure. He needed his equipment. His very expensive, one of a kind, equipment that was currently about 3,000 miles away from where he and his immanent cardiac event were standing.
Of course he could make do with other equipment. A heart monitor, for starters. It was rudimentary diagnostic process, to be sure, but it was better than nothing. That might help him figure out what the hell the problem was.
Or he could just ask Dr. Cuddy, who had apparently decided to take his pulse.
“Give it to me straight, Doc,” said Tony, as soon as she released his hand. “How long have I got?”
He was smiling; she was not. “You're tachycardic. I--”
“How tachycardic?”
She looked as though she were trying to determine whether or not he was serious.
Sometime he wasn't sure himself.
“Your heart rate is somewhere between 190 and 210 bpm, which I probably don't have to tell you is not good.”
“Well your dress is awfully low cut...”
The compressor again? Maybe. He couldn't be sure. Sustained damage to the base plate? (An unfortunate side effect of his former business partner's attempt to quite literally squeeze the life out of him.)
“Flattering as that may be, as a medical professional, I am obligated to recommend that you make your way to the nearest hospital for emergency treatment.”
He nodded. “And yours is right down the road, isn't it? Pretty good for business if I drop here and you save me.” The room seemed to be growing brighter as he spoke, straight-edges shifting and titling indistinctly. “Pretty bad if I don't make it though...”
000
He leaned forward, not quite falling, but seemingly not entirely able to balance by his own power. Cuddy's heels were thin enough that she didn't have a lot of leeway to for balance herself, but she now found herself at least partially responsible for keeping Stark upright as well.
The fabric of his suit was cool against her bare shoulders, but his breath was hot on her neck. “Shit,” he muttered.
For lack of a better option, she started to steer them towards a chair, which, due to some kind of cosmic misfortune, was facing away and tucked underneath the nearest table. As she pondered the rather unpromising physics of pulling the chair out from under the table while still preventing Stark from teetering over onto the floor, she felt a hand close on her arm.
“You know roofies are illegal.” House said sternly. “But I have to admire your tenacity. Have you ever considered skipping all this ridiculous overture and just going straight to fucking the donors? It would save everyone else the trouble of planning these things and attending them. By everyone else I mostly mean me.”
“Pull out that chair,” Cuddy commanded quietly. And House obeyed. This should have made her feel great.
It did not.
With House, years of practice had taught her exactly when to worry.
Cuddy discreetly steered Stark into the chair. He looked down at the floor and sucked in a slow, steady breath.
“What's his pulse?” House seemed almost giddy with anticipation; the tantalizing prospect of symptoms having apparently drawn him across the room like a bloodhound trained on a new scent.
“200. Elevated heart rate, nothing exotic.” She whispered. “Don't, House. Just back off. Tachycardia isn't exactly a rare symptom.”
“You know what is rare? Guys who fly around in suits of battle armor. Now that is exotic.”
“I can hear you, you know,” pointed out Tony. “I'm fine, really.” He moved to stand up, but House picked up his cane and shoved him hard in the shoulder, sending him back into a sitting position.
“House,” hissed Cuddy in a warning voice. “I'm going to call for an ambulance.”
“No.” Tony shook his head stubbornly. Cuddy sighed.
“Then I'll drive you myself.” A few (ok, maybe a lot) of people were starting to stare in their direction, whispering. Tony looked around.
“I have a check for $350 million dollars in my pocket, made out to this hospital.”
Cuddy held back a small, rather undignified squeaking noise by swallowing hard. That was quite a few more zeros than she had anticipated. “Mr. St--Tony, that's incredibly generous of you, but I still have to insist...”
“If it disappears when you inevitably pass out, don't look at me,” said House. “Do you think the bank would notice if I scratch out 'PPTH' and write 'Greg House' instead?”
“How about a tour of your facilities?” said Tony. “I'll just...excuse myself...” With more speed than Cuddy would have expected given his present condition, Tony stood up and pushed past House, stopping at the podium in the front of the room.
While Cuddy watched with some degree of astonishment, Stark proceeded to lean heavily on the podium and give short but rambling speech about how pleased he was to be here, how wonderful it was to see everyone’s generosity toward such a worthy cause, and how gracious of a host Doctor Cuddy was. He even managed to garner a small spattering of applause by gesturing towards her, while she smiled (graciously of course) and waved.
He then announced he was leaving to take a tour of the PPTH facilities, and instructed everyone to enjoy the party, walking back towards Cuddy to a very overenthusiastic round of applause.
“Shall we?” asked Tony, offering Cuddy his arm.
She accepted it, and apparently not a moment too soon, as he leaned on her slightly as they walked out of the room together. House followed them, smirking.
Part 3
AUTHOR: Meredith (
entropy_comix)
RATING: PG-13 for language and the fact that Tony's mind is constantly in the gutter.
WORD COUNT: 2360.
GENRE: Lulz, and Tony/Cuddy.
SUMMARY: Tony needs a doctor, and PPTH needs the money for at least 10 new MRI machines annually.
DISCLAIMER: Just for fun. I don't own anything.
NOTES: Thanks to
spoggly for fixing the typos and generally being awesome.
SPOILERS: Takes place after the Iron Man movie and after the season finale of House.
Dr. Cuddy had offhandedly insisted to Tony that Dr. House was here, he was just at the bar-and should be back at any moment-before immediately plowing on towards other topics.
When Dr. House's seat was still empty 15 minutes later, Tony decided to take matters into his own hands. There were no business deals to be made here-no one to charm or to flatter on a recurrent or long-term basis. In other words, no reason to tolerate insipid small talk any longer than necessary.
He made his escape and headed towards the bar.
000
Cuddy quickly reconsidered her position.
Hospital administrators do not mourn preemptively. They do not sit passively by while their best doctor irredeemably offends their wealthiest donor. They act. She excused herself from the table and walked quickly over to the bar.
000
“Scotch on the rocks and a vodka martini, extra olives.” Tony stuffed a fifty into the tip jar and drummed his fingertips on the surface of the bar while he waited for his drinks.
“Cuddy told me I had to be here.” Tony turned his head slightly. The man who spoke was seated at the only stool at the bar (which looked like it had probably been dragged over against the collective will of the catering staff at some point in the not too distant past). He was in fact speaking directly into his drink, but Tony assumed he was the one being addressed.
“Cuddy doesn't like me to be at these things. Cuddy knows that I will only be a pain in her curvaceous ass.” He finally looked at up at Tony, revealing clear blue eyes, an apparent vendetta against shaving too often, and a crooked bow tie. “So someone must have wanted me here, and I'm going to guess that person is you.”
“Someone's cranky,” observed Tony lightly. “Did you miss your nap today?”
“So what is it? Not sure Princeton-Plainsborough is the right place for you to be creating the illusion of heart-warming philanthropic goodness? Do you want me to dazzle you with medical know-how? One of my specialties is nephrology. Want me to give to you the world-renowned doctor explanation of where piss comes from?”
Observant. Calculating. Persistent. All good qualities in a doctor. He seemed to blame Tony personally for his forced attendance-which, Tony had to admit, was surprisingly astute.
He also seemed like an utter asshole.
“I've always been more curious about babies, actually. Maybe I should ask Dr. Cuddy...?”
Tony was interrupted by the sudden appearance of Dr. Cuddy, who placed a hand on Dr. House's shoulder and halted the conversation with a strained smile.
“I see you've met Dr. House.” House shifted position slightly. Tony didn't envy him-Cuddy's grip on House's shoulder looked positively vice-like. “Mr. Stark, House is the Head of our Department of Diagnostic Medicine. I'm sure you've read about him-he solves cases no one else in the world can solve. Dr. House has pioneered some very exciting new treatment techniques over the past few years.”
“Yes, I'm a pioneer. I keep my coon-skin cap next to the rifle in my office.”
Cuddy leaned forward and whispered something in House's ear.
000
“So help me god, House, if you drive this man and his money away I will hand over the entire Diagnostics Department to the janitor who wears his pants backward, and you will be cleaning up vomit in Pediatrics for the rest of your life,” she hissed, as quietly as she could manage under the circumstances.
“You mean Lou?” offered House cheerily, looking disgustingly amused by the torment he insisted on inflicting upon her. Stark took the downtime to accept both drinks from the bartender and down his one quick gulp.
Cuddy decided to ignore House. She turned back to Stark, who handed her a martini. “I'm sure you two will have lots to talk about. Later.” As she took a sip of her drink, she noticed that House seemed to be preparing to open his mouth again. Her eyes flitted over to the dance floor in the center of the room.
“Mr. Stark, would you like to dance?” Cuddy said quickly, deliberately stepping in front of House, and setting her drink back on the bar.
“Sure, let's dance - I love to dance. It's a party, right?”
“Did they change the definition of 'party' since I last had fun?” inquired House, though even the bartender ignored him.
Tony offered her his hand and she took it, allowing him to lead the way towards the dance floor.
000
The dance floor was crowded but god knows that didn't mean there was an abundance of people dancing on it. Most were chatting and clutching drinks, apparently wanting a simple change of scenery from the tables.
Tony slipped his arm around Dr. Cuddy's waist and they swayed together slowly, bodies not quite touching.
Not quite close enough to make conversation unnecessary.
“So are all your doctors that personable or was he a special hire?”
“Doctor House is an unparalleled diagnostician but he can be a bit....abrasive,” she said, after a pause. “He's a much greater asset to the hospital when he's working a case and not wearing a tux.”
Tony noticed that the words 'I'm sorry for the behavior of my employee' were conspicuously (and seemingly unashamedly) absent from her little apology.
“But he's the best at what he does,” she added.
“Assuming what he does is 'being an arrogant jackass'?” offered Tony.
“That--” agreed Cuddy, “and saving lives. You'd be surprised at how many insanely brilliant men are also arrogant jackasses. You just have to find a way to work around it.”
“I'll try not to take that personally,” said Tony.
Dr. Cuddy ignored his comment, something she looked suspiciously practiced at doing. “Despite his unorthodox bedside manner, House gets the job done. He saves people.”
He got the job done. Tony liked that. But they were just words, after all, and they came from the woman whose job it was to sell Doctor House as best she could. She could be feeding him a spectacular line of bullshit.
His dad hadn't given him a great deal of guidance over the years, but he did pick up one important rule: don't believe everything you're told, especially if a beautiful woman is the one telling it to you.
“I'd be interested to learn more about your bedside manner, Doctor Cuddy.”
000
The funny thing was, he looked utterly serious-and utterly unashamed. Most men she dated tended to show at least some small degree of uncertainty when they knew they were feeding you an utterly ridiculous line.
But not this one.
“I have a hospital to run,” she replied. Keep it casual. This was a business deal first, and an opportunity for an obscenely glamorous fling and the (potential) rights to half of everything Stark owned second. “I haven't been a practicing physician for years.”
“Maybe I could help you get back into practice.” He said innocently, smiling a charming smile. “There are some things you don't forget. Riding a...bike, for instance.”
“Mr. Stark--”
“Tony,” he corrected her.
“Tony,” she complied. “Are you flirting with me, Tony?”
“Beautiful woman...” He shrugged unapologetically. “Force of habit.”
Cuddy quirked an eyebrow. Smug bastard.
He seemed to lose focus for a moment, and stumbled slightly. Not spectacularly. (Too much to drink, maybe? Was he drinking before he got there?) They were at the edge of the dance floor. He released her hand and firmly gripped the back of an empty chair, steadying himself. He drew a sharp breath.
“Are you ok?” Cuddy asked cautiously.
“Fine,” he said abruptly. He didn't seem fine. Drunk, maybe.
He turned his face towards hers again. He was pale, his forehead clammy. He looked exhausted. Sick, maybe.
He looked just as exhausted when he walked in, she thought, it was only now that something in the way he carried himself had slipped momentarily away...
She slid two fingers down the palm of his hand and lingered on his wrist, applying light pressure. With her other hand she pushed back his sleeve, revealing the glimmering face of an oh-so-expensive wristwatch and began counting to the rhythm of the ticking, glimmering spindles.
“Dr. Cuddy--”
“Potential patient,” she explained, opting not to look at him or stop what she was doing. “Force of habit.”
000
Shit.
Shit, Shit.
SHIT.
Same glitch. Maybe a different glitch.
He had his suspicions, of course, but he needed to run a diagnostic to be sure. He needed his equipment. His very expensive, one of a kind, equipment that was currently about 3,000 miles away from where he and his immanent cardiac event were standing.
Of course he could make do with other equipment. A heart monitor, for starters. It was rudimentary diagnostic process, to be sure, but it was better than nothing. That might help him figure out what the hell the problem was.
Or he could just ask Dr. Cuddy, who had apparently decided to take his pulse.
“Give it to me straight, Doc,” said Tony, as soon as she released his hand. “How long have I got?”
He was smiling; she was not. “You're tachycardic. I--”
“How tachycardic?”
She looked as though she were trying to determine whether or not he was serious.
Sometime he wasn't sure himself.
“Your heart rate is somewhere between 190 and 210 bpm, which I probably don't have to tell you is not good.”
“Well your dress is awfully low cut...”
The compressor again? Maybe. He couldn't be sure. Sustained damage to the base plate? (An unfortunate side effect of his former business partner's attempt to quite literally squeeze the life out of him.)
“Flattering as that may be, as a medical professional, I am obligated to recommend that you make your way to the nearest hospital for emergency treatment.”
He nodded. “And yours is right down the road, isn't it? Pretty good for business if I drop here and you save me.” The room seemed to be growing brighter as he spoke, straight-edges shifting and titling indistinctly. “Pretty bad if I don't make it though...”
000
He leaned forward, not quite falling, but seemingly not entirely able to balance by his own power. Cuddy's heels were thin enough that she didn't have a lot of leeway to for balance herself, but she now found herself at least partially responsible for keeping Stark upright as well.
The fabric of his suit was cool against her bare shoulders, but his breath was hot on her neck. “Shit,” he muttered.
For lack of a better option, she started to steer them towards a chair, which, due to some kind of cosmic misfortune, was facing away and tucked underneath the nearest table. As she pondered the rather unpromising physics of pulling the chair out from under the table while still preventing Stark from teetering over onto the floor, she felt a hand close on her arm.
“You know roofies are illegal.” House said sternly. “But I have to admire your tenacity. Have you ever considered skipping all this ridiculous overture and just going straight to fucking the donors? It would save everyone else the trouble of planning these things and attending them. By everyone else I mostly mean me.”
“Pull out that chair,” Cuddy commanded quietly. And House obeyed. This should have made her feel great.
It did not.
With House, years of practice had taught her exactly when to worry.
Cuddy discreetly steered Stark into the chair. He looked down at the floor and sucked in a slow, steady breath.
“What's his pulse?” House seemed almost giddy with anticipation; the tantalizing prospect of symptoms having apparently drawn him across the room like a bloodhound trained on a new scent.
“200. Elevated heart rate, nothing exotic.” She whispered. “Don't, House. Just back off. Tachycardia isn't exactly a rare symptom.”
“You know what is rare? Guys who fly around in suits of battle armor. Now that is exotic.”
“I can hear you, you know,” pointed out Tony. “I'm fine, really.” He moved to stand up, but House picked up his cane and shoved him hard in the shoulder, sending him back into a sitting position.
“House,” hissed Cuddy in a warning voice. “I'm going to call for an ambulance.”
“No.” Tony shook his head stubbornly. Cuddy sighed.
“Then I'll drive you myself.” A few (ok, maybe a lot) of people were starting to stare in their direction, whispering. Tony looked around.
“I have a check for $350 million dollars in my pocket, made out to this hospital.”
Cuddy held back a small, rather undignified squeaking noise by swallowing hard. That was quite a few more zeros than she had anticipated. “Mr. St--Tony, that's incredibly generous of you, but I still have to insist...”
“If it disappears when you inevitably pass out, don't look at me,” said House. “Do you think the bank would notice if I scratch out 'PPTH' and write 'Greg House' instead?”
“How about a tour of your facilities?” said Tony. “I'll just...excuse myself...” With more speed than Cuddy would have expected given his present condition, Tony stood up and pushed past House, stopping at the podium in the front of the room.
While Cuddy watched with some degree of astonishment, Stark proceeded to lean heavily on the podium and give short but rambling speech about how pleased he was to be here, how wonderful it was to see everyone’s generosity toward such a worthy cause, and how gracious of a host Doctor Cuddy was. He even managed to garner a small spattering of applause by gesturing towards her, while she smiled (graciously of course) and waved.
He then announced he was leaving to take a tour of the PPTH facilities, and instructed everyone to enjoy the party, walking back towards Cuddy to a very overenthusiastic round of applause.
“Shall we?” asked Tony, offering Cuddy his arm.
She accepted it, and apparently not a moment too soon, as he leaned on her slightly as they walked out of the room together. House followed them, smirking.
Part 3