Fic: The Birds and the Bees
Title: The Birds and the Bees
Fandom: House
Rating: PG-13
Prompt #19 - Pink
Characters: House, Cuddy, Wilson, Thirteen
Spoilers: Episode 4x02 - The Right Stuff
Author's notes: I was lurking at TWoP and reading their speculation regarding the character Thirteen (Olivia Wilde), and one of their theories (or wishful thinking) was so cool, I had to write about it. This is answer #8 to the au100 challenge. You can find my complete table here.
He never really paid attention to their names.
It became an easy strategy, really: choose the men based on their hobbies and if he thought said hobbies were cool, choose the women based on their pictures.
And this one has a hell of a picture.
Except now he has no idea what the hell her name is. What's worse, she's started calling herself Thirteen as a way of getting back at him for his "chauvinistic" methods, and everyone else is in on the conspiracy. Cuddy retrieved the files and refuses to show them to him, Wilson swears he can't remember her name from that one time she introduced herself to him, and she refuses to say.
Apparently, he really needs to learn a lesson. On what? He doesn't know. Cuddy and Wilson have a long list they like to pick subjects off of at random, and he wasn't paying attention when they were moving their mouths at him.
But she will crack, he knows. It won't be long now. A few comments about her looks, maybe her breasts or her ass, and she'll do what they all do: pretend they're offended but secretly love it.
Or be legitimately offended and still secretly love it.
It doesn't matter.
--
Week one: Battle of the Brawns.
He's made them wash cars, marathon around the hospital, and go at each other in an intense diagnostic session. The first five were eliminated in an egg spoon race.
(The twins made it to the second round before they were sent home. He was disappointed, but perhaps was being taught a lesson on greediness. Don't bite off more than you can chew.)
The third round is intense. Breaking and entering. Only the masters can break into a lock without chipping the black paint off the bobby pin, and she is one of the good ones.
"Experience," she says proudly, but refuses to give any details.
Figures.
--
Less than ten remain, and the disease of the week is being a pain in the ass. And so is the patient, insisting on going v-fib every six hours or so to make a point: it would really be super fantastic if they could figure out what is wrong with him as soon as possible, thank you.
She gets all righteous and intense when he challenges her, he's found, and he thrives on the anger. She's sitting by the table now with her hand balled into a fist, a little sneer and he narrows his eyes intensely. It's hot. He's hot.
Of course, then the moment gets ruined by an interruption of the worst possible kind: the kind that wears red pumps and tight skirts (and answers to the Dark Lord).
Clinic hours. Apparently 32 and 8 rebelled, found their underground railroad and headed north (to the human resources office on the 10th floor). House rolls his eyes and sighs, signaling the board and the list of symptoms written on it.
"Either let us finish here first, or go down to room 405, put on your strap on and personally screw this guy into the afterlife, because if we don't figure this out right now that's where he's headed. Your choice," p.s. your tits look glorious in that shirt.
Of course, Cuddy doesn't do that. Cuddy takes a deep breath, narrows her eyes, and charges at him, yielding her staff of fury. She gets away with it, but not without hearing his latest Xena related quip, both because of her new bangs and because he's been watching too much lesbian television lately. But it doesn't matter because she ignores him and walks out of the room (one hand on her hip for the kill).
She'll get what she wants, but he's pleased with his joke, and Thirteen has a little smile on her face.
Bingo.
--
But he's weary, and he likes the hunt. Likes the game. He makes sure she knows he's damaged, because chicks really dig that, and that he's a genius, because chicks really dig that, that he's funny, because chicks really dig that, and that he has handicapped tag in his car, because at this point even a pity fuck would be better than lathering his dick with Pantene (night after night).
She's sympathetic (a little), impressed (a lot), amused (slightly), and unyielding (temporarily).
But he likes the game, and he ups the ante.
He gets confirmation a week later, when he's looking for them in radiology and finds her in front of the monitors, talking to 28 (or 9, who knows. The smart ones took their signs off a long time ago.)
"Don't you think this crush is a little ridiculous?"
"I know," Thirteen sighs helplessly. "I don't know, I can't control it. My heart starts beating fast, my hands get a little sweaty and suddenly I'm like a... well, thirteen year old."
28-slash-9 chuckles. "Well, I appreciate the irony, at least."
He fires 28-slash-9 next for not knowing the definition of irony.
--
She's wearing a pink sweater the next day, similar to the shade of one of Cuddy's Victoria's Secret bras (cataloged and archived in his mind for when he's in the mood to jacking off to nostalgia).
And unlike the others, she seems to enjoy doing clinic hours, something about the people (ugh) and giving something back to the community. He's wearing his baby blue shirt and feeling confident, and he moves in for the kill, but she ignores the nurse at the admittance desk and heads straight towards Cuddy, who is working on a chart.
House stops, narrowing his eyes at the sight.
Of course, he should've known. She has that righteous air about her, a goody-two-shoes, running to mommy because big meanie uncle House has been telling the kids in the cancer ward there is no Santa Claus. Again.
He really oughtta switch to blondes already.
He's on fire then, and heads over to stand up for himself, when suddenly Cuddy stops writing, looks up for a moment, and turns around to face Thirteen with a confused expression on her face.
House stops as well, because Thirteen's cheeks are slightly... pink. Pink?
"There's a bar down the street, from here, maybe you've seen it," Thirteen was stammering nervously. "I was wondering if maybe you'd like to... I don't know, maybe some time, just--" she chuckles and blushes even more.
And he has to take a deep breath in order to keep himself from actually whimpering. He takes a few steps back, just in case he still does, and he really doesn't want to interrupt this... this... thing that is happening in front of him.
Cuddy opens her mouth to speak, and he can tell that she's both amused, horrified, and flattered (he knows that emotional cocktail well: it's his bartending specialty and Cuddy his favorite martini glass). She puts the chart down, looks at the floor and smiles, says something but House can't hear them anymore and if he gets any closer he fears his balls will explode. And Cuddy is smiling.
Cuddy.
Is.
Smiling.
"What's going on?"
He nearly whacks Wilson with his cane but he really can't move much, and he doesn't want to, fearing any movement might disrupt the moment and scare them away like butterflies or something (it's kinda hard to come up with a good simile when all his blood is pooling in his groin leaving his brain high and dry). Wilson stares at him for a moment and then follows his gaze, and his eyebrows shoot up with disinterest, not knowing what the hell is going on and what has House so enthralled.
Except Cuddy's hand is on Thirteen's elbow, and they seem to be having an intimate conversation.
Which is normal enough, but then there's that look on House's face and Wilson can practically hear the reel that's playing in his mind right now (in it, Cuddy's a screamer).
House and his stupid, juvenile fantasies. But then, Thirteen is blushing and Cuddy looks a little... whoa. Whoa. Wilson's smile fades, and he stands up straight at the sight.
"Hello," he says, cocking his head to the right slightly.
House stares, without blinking because if he misses one nanosecond of this moment he's going to hang himself. Thirteen's thumbs are in her lab coat's pockets and there's some weird body language going on. He knows. He Tivos the L-Word.
"So much for her 'digging' you," Wilson says. "You owe me 20 bucks."
But House doesn't move, and he knows he couldn't even if he wanted to. He feels his ego bruising and yet... it's hot. Oh, God, it's hot.
"This is the most disappointing yet happiest moment of my life," he finally tells Wilson, his voice deep.
"I hear you on the happiest moment, negative on the disappointment," Wilson says.
House swallows hard. Cuddy is smiling and with a little head movement sways her new bangs out of her eyes, and she's smiling, actually smiling at the younger woman, who is beaming at Cuddy like a little girl with a big crush.
His eyes water.
"It's..." House starts and stops, and starts to turn around but then decides not to, continues watching and then starts to turn around again, finally his legs move and he begins to walk away quickly.
Wilson looks after him. "Where are you going?"
"I have to... start planning something."
Wilson realizes quickly what that means and jumps in place before he follows House. "I have a Polaroid upstairs."
--
Cuddy watches them go and sighs, irritated. "Well, that oughtta do it."
Thirteen smiles slightly (though she understands very little of what's going on between these two but she doesn't care so long as House stops insinuating himself). She turns to leave, but then stops and faces Cuddy again, albeit hesitantly. "Look, I'm still sorry, about what I said yesterday," she says. "He... made a few comments, I thought--I'm sorry, I should've asked first."
Cuddy smiles sympathetically. "No harm done," she says dismissively. "Comes with the territory."
"I know, it's a stereotype, a bad one, I shouldn't have assumed. But House said those things... and my friends have been telling me I need to be more impulsive and you're really kinda gorgeous, I just--" she stops with a frustrated sigh, trying to gather her thoughts. "You're my boss, it was inappropriate, and I apologize for that."
Cuddy smirks and nods, a little amused, watching as the young girl nods nervously and turns to leave.
But then she stops and grimaces at the floor, and turns around quickly. "And for calling you gorgeous, just now. I'm sorry. Again. I'm... really sorry."
Cuddy smiles. "If it makes you feel any better," she calls after her, "I really kinda wish I was."
Thirteen smiles and looks down before she walks away, blushing slightly, hands still in her pockets.
Cuddy looks around, smiling, and feeling some kind of weird satisfaction.
For once, it isn't related to House.
The End
Fandom: House
Rating: PG-13
Prompt #19 - Pink
Characters: House, Cuddy, Wilson, Thirteen
Spoilers: Episode 4x02 - The Right Stuff
Author's notes: I was lurking at TWoP and reading their speculation regarding the character Thirteen (Olivia Wilde), and one of their theories (or wishful thinking) was so cool, I had to write about it. This is answer #8 to the au100 challenge. You can find my complete table here.
He never really paid attention to their names.
It became an easy strategy, really: choose the men based on their hobbies and if he thought said hobbies were cool, choose the women based on their pictures.
And this one has a hell of a picture.
Except now he has no idea what the hell her name is. What's worse, she's started calling herself Thirteen as a way of getting back at him for his "chauvinistic" methods, and everyone else is in on the conspiracy. Cuddy retrieved the files and refuses to show them to him, Wilson swears he can't remember her name from that one time she introduced herself to him, and she refuses to say.
Apparently, he really needs to learn a lesson. On what? He doesn't know. Cuddy and Wilson have a long list they like to pick subjects off of at random, and he wasn't paying attention when they were moving their mouths at him.
But she will crack, he knows. It won't be long now. A few comments about her looks, maybe her breasts or her ass, and she'll do what they all do: pretend they're offended but secretly love it.
Or be legitimately offended and still secretly love it.
It doesn't matter.
--
Week one: Battle of the Brawns.
He's made them wash cars, marathon around the hospital, and go at each other in an intense diagnostic session. The first five were eliminated in an egg spoon race.
(The twins made it to the second round before they were sent home. He was disappointed, but perhaps was being taught a lesson on greediness. Don't bite off more than you can chew.)
The third round is intense. Breaking and entering. Only the masters can break into a lock without chipping the black paint off the bobby pin, and she is one of the good ones.
"Experience," she says proudly, but refuses to give any details.
Figures.
--
Less than ten remain, and the disease of the week is being a pain in the ass. And so is the patient, insisting on going v-fib every six hours or so to make a point: it would really be super fantastic if they could figure out what is wrong with him as soon as possible, thank you.
She gets all righteous and intense when he challenges her, he's found, and he thrives on the anger. She's sitting by the table now with her hand balled into a fist, a little sneer and he narrows his eyes intensely. It's hot. He's hot.
Of course, then the moment gets ruined by an interruption of the worst possible kind: the kind that wears red pumps and tight skirts (and answers to the Dark Lord).
Clinic hours. Apparently 32 and 8 rebelled, found their underground railroad and headed north (to the human resources office on the 10th floor). House rolls his eyes and sighs, signaling the board and the list of symptoms written on it.
"Either let us finish here first, or go down to room 405, put on your strap on and personally screw this guy into the afterlife, because if we don't figure this out right now that's where he's headed. Your choice," p.s. your tits look glorious in that shirt.
Of course, Cuddy doesn't do that. Cuddy takes a deep breath, narrows her eyes, and charges at him, yielding her staff of fury. She gets away with it, but not without hearing his latest Xena related quip, both because of her new bangs and because he's been watching too much lesbian television lately. But it doesn't matter because she ignores him and walks out of the room (one hand on her hip for the kill).
She'll get what she wants, but he's pleased with his joke, and Thirteen has a little smile on her face.
Bingo.
--
But he's weary, and he likes the hunt. Likes the game. He makes sure she knows he's damaged, because chicks really dig that, and that he's a genius, because chicks really dig that, that he's funny, because chicks really dig that, and that he has handicapped tag in his car, because at this point even a pity fuck would be better than lathering his dick with Pantene (night after night).
She's sympathetic (a little), impressed (a lot), amused (slightly), and unyielding (temporarily).
But he likes the game, and he ups the ante.
He gets confirmation a week later, when he's looking for them in radiology and finds her in front of the monitors, talking to 28 (or 9, who knows. The smart ones took their signs off a long time ago.)
"Don't you think this crush is a little ridiculous?"
"I know," Thirteen sighs helplessly. "I don't know, I can't control it. My heart starts beating fast, my hands get a little sweaty and suddenly I'm like a... well, thirteen year old."
28-slash-9 chuckles. "Well, I appreciate the irony, at least."
He fires 28-slash-9 next for not knowing the definition of irony.
--
She's wearing a pink sweater the next day, similar to the shade of one of Cuddy's Victoria's Secret bras (cataloged and archived in his mind for when he's in the mood to jacking off to nostalgia).
And unlike the others, she seems to enjoy doing clinic hours, something about the people (ugh) and giving something back to the community. He's wearing his baby blue shirt and feeling confident, and he moves in for the kill, but she ignores the nurse at the admittance desk and heads straight towards Cuddy, who is working on a chart.
House stops, narrowing his eyes at the sight.
Of course, he should've known. She has that righteous air about her, a goody-two-shoes, running to mommy because big meanie uncle House has been telling the kids in the cancer ward there is no Santa Claus. Again.
He really oughtta switch to blondes already.
He's on fire then, and heads over to stand up for himself, when suddenly Cuddy stops writing, looks up for a moment, and turns around to face Thirteen with a confused expression on her face.
House stops as well, because Thirteen's cheeks are slightly... pink. Pink?
"There's a bar down the street, from here, maybe you've seen it," Thirteen was stammering nervously. "I was wondering if maybe you'd like to... I don't know, maybe some time, just--" she chuckles and blushes even more.
And he has to take a deep breath in order to keep himself from actually whimpering. He takes a few steps back, just in case he still does, and he really doesn't want to interrupt this... this... thing that is happening in front of him.
Cuddy opens her mouth to speak, and he can tell that she's both amused, horrified, and flattered (he knows that emotional cocktail well: it's his bartending specialty and Cuddy his favorite martini glass). She puts the chart down, looks at the floor and smiles, says something but House can't hear them anymore and if he gets any closer he fears his balls will explode. And Cuddy is smiling.
Cuddy.
Is.
Smiling.
"What's going on?"
He nearly whacks Wilson with his cane but he really can't move much, and he doesn't want to, fearing any movement might disrupt the moment and scare them away like butterflies or something (it's kinda hard to come up with a good simile when all his blood is pooling in his groin leaving his brain high and dry). Wilson stares at him for a moment and then follows his gaze, and his eyebrows shoot up with disinterest, not knowing what the hell is going on and what has House so enthralled.
Except Cuddy's hand is on Thirteen's elbow, and they seem to be having an intimate conversation.
Which is normal enough, but then there's that look on House's face and Wilson can practically hear the reel that's playing in his mind right now (in it, Cuddy's a screamer).
House and his stupid, juvenile fantasies. But then, Thirteen is blushing and Cuddy looks a little... whoa. Whoa. Wilson's smile fades, and he stands up straight at the sight.
"Hello," he says, cocking his head to the right slightly.
House stares, without blinking because if he misses one nanosecond of this moment he's going to hang himself. Thirteen's thumbs are in her lab coat's pockets and there's some weird body language going on. He knows. He Tivos the L-Word.
"So much for her 'digging' you," Wilson says. "You owe me 20 bucks."
But House doesn't move, and he knows he couldn't even if he wanted to. He feels his ego bruising and yet... it's hot. Oh, God, it's hot.
"This is the most disappointing yet happiest moment of my life," he finally tells Wilson, his voice deep.
"I hear you on the happiest moment, negative on the disappointment," Wilson says.
House swallows hard. Cuddy is smiling and with a little head movement sways her new bangs out of her eyes, and she's smiling, actually smiling at the younger woman, who is beaming at Cuddy like a little girl with a big crush.
His eyes water.
"It's..." House starts and stops, and starts to turn around but then decides not to, continues watching and then starts to turn around again, finally his legs move and he begins to walk away quickly.
Wilson looks after him. "Where are you going?"
"I have to... start planning something."
Wilson realizes quickly what that means and jumps in place before he follows House. "I have a Polaroid upstairs."
--
Cuddy watches them go and sighs, irritated. "Well, that oughtta do it."
Thirteen smiles slightly (though she understands very little of what's going on between these two but she doesn't care so long as House stops insinuating himself). She turns to leave, but then stops and faces Cuddy again, albeit hesitantly. "Look, I'm still sorry, about what I said yesterday," she says. "He... made a few comments, I thought--I'm sorry, I should've asked first."
Cuddy smiles sympathetically. "No harm done," she says dismissively. "Comes with the territory."
"I know, it's a stereotype, a bad one, I shouldn't have assumed. But House said those things... and my friends have been telling me I need to be more impulsive and you're really kinda gorgeous, I just--" she stops with a frustrated sigh, trying to gather her thoughts. "You're my boss, it was inappropriate, and I apologize for that."
Cuddy smirks and nods, a little amused, watching as the young girl nods nervously and turns to leave.
But then she stops and grimaces at the floor, and turns around quickly. "And for calling you gorgeous, just now. I'm sorry. Again. I'm... really sorry."
Cuddy smiles. "If it makes you feel any better," she calls after her, "I really kinda wish I was."
Thirteen smiles and looks down before she walks away, blushing slightly, hands still in her pockets.
Cuddy looks around, smiling, and feeling some kind of weird satisfaction.
For once, it isn't related to House.
The End