Fic: Appendix Be
Title: Appendix Be
Fandom: House
Characters: House, Cuddy, Wilson, Cameron
Prompt: # 44 - Circle
Word Count: 8,574
Ratings: R for language
Spoilers: Humpty Dumpty
Author's notes: Just playing around with Cuddy's stitch from Humpty Dumpty. I guess the good thing about this challenge is I don't have to follow continuity. Yay for AU! This is an answer to the au100 challenge. You can find my complete table here.
"Let me tell you a little something about ethics in medicine."
"Oh, this is gonna be good. Give me a minute."
Cuddy chuckled, sitting behind her desk and mockingly rolling her eyes up at the man standing in front of her. She began to clear the clutter on her desk and reached for the phone. "Carol, hold my calls. And uh, check the forecast. I think hell is about to freeze over."
She hung up the phone with one final chuckle and rested one elbow on her desk, her chin on her hand, her eyes wide with interest. "Go ahead."
House looked at her, not quite as amused as she, his hand gripping his cane tightly. "I am a doctor. I took an oath."
"And knowing you, you probably had your fingers crossed behind your back," Cuddy replied, re-arranging the things on her desk.
He rolled his eyes. "I let her go home, she dies. How do you think that makes me look with the man upstairs?"
"Oh, like you care," Cuddy said, grabbing a few files. She stood up, and as she did so she twitched slightly, her hand pressing against her abdomen momentarily. House noticed, frowned, but didn't say anything.
"You treat that woman without her consent and you'll go to jail," Cuddy continued, walking around her desk. "You go to jail and I guarantee you'll end up getting stuck by the business end of a four hundred pound black guy named Horse Hung Harry."
House followed her movements with his eyes, wide with resignation. "She's refusing treatment. She's killing herself."
"She has every right to refuse treatment!"
"Why is it that every time some depressed yahoo from suburbia comes in here we dig out a bunch of papers labeling them incompetent and commit them against their will, but when someone needs actual help-"
"House," Cuddy sighed. "I can't do anything about this. I wish I could, trust me, I took the same oath. But we can't force people to stay here when they have every right not to be treated. She poses no threat to others or herself-"
"Refusing treatment is a threat to herself," House said.
"I get that," Cuddy said. "But that's not what the rules say, you know that."
House narrowed his eyes at her. Arm snaked tight around those files, she ran her hand through her forehead, and that's when he noticed the droplets of sweat along her hairline.
"Are you-"
"Don't go near her," she interrupted him again. "She's 78 years old, she wants to die, we have no right to stop that. And trust me, with the amount of work I have right now and this investor coming over, I can't say I'm not entirely envious of her decision."
"That can be arranged," House said crabbily. Again she pressed her hand to her abdomen slightly and he couldn't keep quiet any longer. "Something wrong with your stomach?"
"No," Cuddy said sharply. "It's a stitch, I-went running this morning. Look, this guy is going to be here any minute, please go back to your office, watch some TV, play with your Atari, and leave that poor woman alone."
"Fine," House said begrudgingly. "But this doesn't make you look good with the man upstairs, either."
"Oh, hell couldn't possibly be worse than this," Cuddy replied.
But he didn't move, watching her intently. She turned towards the door but stopped abruptly, her eyes wide as she spotted a handsome man in a business suit, talking to her assistant.
"Aw, shit," she hissed.
House looked out and smiled cunningly. "Oh, this is gonna be fun."
Cuddy turned to him quickly. "Don't you dare-" but it was all she could say before the handsome man walked into the room. She turned to him with a pleasing smile plastered on her face.
"Mr. Connelly," Cuddy practically sang, walking over a few steps to shake his hand, an entirely different (and more pleasing) woman.
House rolled his eyes.
Connelly missed this, his green eyes bright as he looked down at Cuddy, his red hair perfectly combed. "Dr. Cuddy."
"It's so great to see you again," Cuddy said, her teeth somewhat clenched.
"Well, thank you for having me," Connelly said, flashing a bright smile.
House sighed.
Cuddy and Connelly turned towards him, the former with a growl, the latter with an expression of curiosity.
Cuddy hesitated. So many horrible scenes flashing through her mind, of House making a fool of her in front of the investor, House insulting the investor, House setting the investor on fire for his own amusement, but eventually she decided to introduce the man and then hopefully House would satisfy his own curiosity and go away.
"This is the head of our diagnostics department, Dr. Gregory House."
"So nice to meet you," Connelly said, extending his hand.
House looked at it, but didn't move. Tense seconds passed, but an intense glare from Cuddy made him change his mind and he walked over to shake the suit's hand.
"We are so delighted to have you in our fine organization. I think you'll find Dr. Cuddy's administrative skills exemplary and unparalleled. Here at Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital, our goal is to save lives, and hopefully with your assistance, we'll be able to make your world, and our world, and the children's world, a much better place," he said robotically, as if reading from a cue card, and finished with a wink. "Dr. Cuddy is the best dean of medicine this hospital has seen, trust me, I've scared off a few."
Connelly looked at him uncomfortably before Cuddy stepped in between the two men. "Are you, uh, getting acquainted with our staff?"
Connelly finally looked down, periodically looking up at House with an ounce of hesitation and fright. "Uh... yeah. So far, I'm very impressed. I'm looking forward to that tour."
"Well, let's get to it," Cuddy said enthusiastically, extending her hand in front of her. "After you."
Connelly walked out, shooting House one final glance, and when he was out of earshot Cuddy turned to House, her expression hardened. "Get back to your office now."
House smiled and frowned at the same time, looking her over. "You're looking a little pale, Dr. Cuddy; I could take over if you want."
"Don't you dare go near that man, House, I swear I'll kill you if it's the last thing I do," Cuddy growled.
"Famous last words." House looked down at her chest. "Get rid of that top button, maybe he'll throw in an extra mil."
She ignored him and walked out to meet Connelly by the administration desk, where a few of the nurses had been entertaining him. Her beat was a little slow, but eventually she met the tall man and placed the files she'd been carrying on the counter. She pressed her hand to her stomach once more, but Connelly didn't notice, neither did the nurses, and making herself presentable again, Cuddy turned and began to walk away with the man.
House watched intently, his head cocked to the side. "Three... two... one..."
Right on cue. One step and suddenly Cuddy clutched the admin desk, but even that couldn't hold her as she wobbled in place. Quickly she plummeted to the floor, and people instantly began to gather around her unconscious body. House sighed and limped out of her office, and as he got there he began to swat people away with his cane.
"Out of the way, this isn't a show," he said, poking one nurse in the back.
"Oh my God," a young volunteer shrieked. "Is she okay?"
House knelt next to Cuddy and placed his hand to her neck. She was burning up, but there was a pulse there, quick and steady. His examination was interrupted by Connelly, who landed on the floor next to House, grabbing Cuddy's wrist tenderly. House looked over, resisting the urge to slap his hand away.
"Is it something I did?" Connelly asked, concerned.
House looked at him, trying to decide whether the man was really stupid or just concerned and stupid.
"Well, you're a very handsome man," House said, watching as Connelly frowned, his eyes darting down to Cuddy. "I mean it, I almost felt faint myself when I first saw you. Must be the green eyes. They're like dewy leaves after a fresh summer rain."
"What the hell are you talking about?" Connelly said, frustrated. "Do something!"
House looked down at Cuddy. Her body lay on the floor at an odd angle and she looked pained. He assured himself that it was nothing serious as he wiped away the sweat from her face, feeling her burning skin. The fever would come down easily, he knew that, just as soon as he figured out what was causing it. Curiously, he resisted the urge to unbutton her blouse and check her stomach. The last thing he wanted to give Connelly was a free peek, diagnosis be damned.
"I have a gurney," a nurse announced, and with Connelly's help House loaded Cuddy up on the bed. They began to wheel her down to the ER, a trail of nurses following them until House turned around and they recoiled away with a gasp from his scowl.
--
Wilson sat behind his desk.
The woman sitting in front of him was looking confused, clutching her purse tightly, her lips pressed into a thin line. Her brown eyes were wide with anticipation, and though Wilson tried to appear as professional as possible, he couldn't stop noticing the banana clip that tried to hold together her frizzy brown hair. He tried to remember the last time he saw one of those, probably back in 83, but promptly he tried to put it out of his mind.
Wilson looked at her gently, his expression sympathetic. "I'm sorry, I'm afraid it's cancer," he said carefully. Watching her reaction closely, he began to reach for a tissue, but upon handing it to her she shook her head and waved it away.
"No," she said.
Wilson put the tissue away. "I'm sorry, I thought you were crying, most of my pa-"
"No, I mean, no," the woman said defiantly, finally looking up. "It's not cancer."
Wilson blinked. "I'm sorry, I, we-I'm afraid it is."
"No it's not," she said, her expression unflinching.
Wilson's eyebrows began to draw closer together. "You have cancer."
She shook her head. "No."
Wilson nodded. "Yes."
"You must've made a mistake," the woman said, looking down at the test results he held in his hand.
Wilson sighed. Telling people they had cancer had always been a science. He always broke the news gently, and was invariably rewarded with two responses: grief or anger. Grief he could deal with a little reassurance. Anger he could manage with gentle confrontation.
This was unprecedented.
He looked down at the papers he held in his hand, going over them again. "We performed all the tests."
"Do them again," the woman said, her expression hard and challenging. "I am not leaving this hospital until you tell me I don't have cancer."
Wilson looked at her, his face blank.
--
Cuddy opened her eyes slowly, and upon meeting a flat, white surface, she closed them again.
She tried a second time, but still, the flat, white surface was there. And then suddenly, it was not, as it was replaced by the cynic smile of Gregory House.
She woke up with a start, crawling backwards until her body hit a backboard.
"Morning, star shine."
Cuddy looked around and it finally dawned on her: she was in a hospital room. She was sure she hadn't been seeing a patient, though, and the last thing she remembered... she couldn't even remember the last thing she remembered. Everything was hazy and slow.
"What the hell?"
House sat on a chair next to her bed, almost grinning. "You took a little tumble there. Don't worry, you went down with all the grace in the world, very Casablanca-esque. 10 across the board."
Cuddy continued to look around, trying to figure out what the hell was happening. Her head was spinning and she was nauseous. House sat in a chair, his feet propped up on her bed and she looked at his sneakers strangely.
"What happened?"
"You don't remember?" House asked experimentally.
No response.
"Well, there we were, in the throes of our passion, when suddenly-"
"Hooooouuuse."
He smiled, trying to conceal what the sound of her moaning out his name did to his lower hemisphere. It both pleased him and disgusted him. Best to steer clear off that route.
"You fainted in front of your office, we took you down to the ER for a little examination. The bad news is you've got appendicitis," House announced. "The other bad news is someone might have misplaced your thong bikini. Those crazy, crazy med students. Anyway, just, uh, don't question it, it's gone, and you definitely won't find it at the bottom of my backpack, FYI."
Cuddy shook her head, confused.
House waited for her to say something, but she seemed lost. Weird. The panty jokes always got a reaction. "Yeeeeeah. The good news is you're doped up. Good news for me, at least, now I can peek under your gown."
Cuddy continued to shake her head. "I have a what?"
"A... ppen... di... citis," House said. "I could draw you a picture. Not much of a drawer, though. I could do a rendition. Do you like musicals?"
Cuddy shook her head as it finally began to clear. "I don't think so."
"Too fruity? How about Gilbert and Sullivan? Wait, that's even gayer."
Cuddy looked at him, frowning. "I'm not talking... I'm not sick! I don't have appendicitis."
House frowned. "You're challenging the head of the diagnostics department."
"There's just-"
"God has stricken people with lightning for less."
"Stop talking," Cuddy exclaimed, bringing her hands up to cradle her head. She needed to think, get her thoughts in order, and House wasn't making it easy.
She was beginning to think this was a nightmare. A bad nightmare. Medically... it didn't make sense. Or maybe she was dying. She always suspected the part where her life flashed before her eyes would be filled with various clips of House torturing her, at which point she would be escorted directly into heaven by God himself for having to endure so much.
House sat in his little chair now, smiling faintly like something was amusing him and she knew he was thoroughly enjoying the fact that she was confined to a hospital bed while the world continued to spin out there, her office deserted, her job...
Her job.
Her eyes shot wide open and she sat up, ignoring the dull pain. "Oh my God, where's Mr. Connelly?"
House looked around the room discreetly. "He's, uh, admiring the lobby art."
"You left him with Cameron?" Cuddy exclaimed.
"Oh, he'll be fine," House said. "Besides, you're of no use to him now."
"How could you leave him with Cameron?"
"I tried to tie him to a parking meter, but he just wouldn't stay."
Cuddy moaned and began to kick the sheets away. "Ugh. I have to get out of here."
House leaned forward, preventing her from getting out of bed. "No can do."
"House, I don't have appendicitis," she said, swatting his hand away.
Without saying a word, House pushed her back upon the bed and pinned one of her wrists against a pillow, his expression serious.
"What the hell are you doing?" she shrieked, slightly alarmed.
"Relax, I'm a doctor," House said seriously as he peeled the sheet down to her pelvis and sat down on the bed. "They gave me an ID card and everything."
Cuddy sighed, and for the first time noticed the ultrasound machine next to his chair. Still tense, she allowed him to slide her gown up, but stopped him when he came dangerously close to unveiling her chest.
"That's high enough."
House sighed and grumbled. "Party-pooper."
Surprisingly, his humor relaxed her, somewhat, and she leaned back with a smirk, letting him perform his little experiment.
Save for her swollen abdomen, her stomach remained relatively flat, traces of hardened muscle trembling underneath and House couldn't help staring. Where Cuddy found the time to work out, he had no idea, but God bless her for doing so. Again those conflicting feelings resurfaced. The woman was his enemy, bride of Satan, Pazuzu personified, yet still any showing of skin usually left him fighting a hard on. He never considered doing therapy for anything before but this, this... sickness, he would gladly commit himself to find a cure.
"You're staring."
He finally looked up and stammered for a few seconds. "I'm-examining you."
"Well get to the examining part and stop drooling on my navel," Cuddy barked.
Her wanted to tell her there were other things he wanted to do to her navel - lick it, suck it, bite it - but this time he didn't grace her with a response. He found a bottle of gel on the ultrasound cart, opened it, and began to squirt it over her stomach.
"Ow," she complained.
House stopped. "That hurts?"
"It's cold."
"Oh, suck it up."
He grabbed the ultrasound machine and rolled it over, turning it on and waiting for the screen to load. When it did, he grabbed the transducer probe and pressed it to her abdomen.
They waited a few seconds in silence, and House finally cocked his head to the side as he looked at the screen.
"Oh, this is embarrassing," he said teasingly as he glided the apparatus through her stomach. "Dr. Cuddy, is that a grossly enlarged appendix or are you just happy to see me?"
Cuddy sat up to better look at the screen. "What?"
"I can't say I'm not flattered, but maybe we shouldn't complicate things."
Cuddy stared at the screen, her mouth opened. There it was, clear as day. Her appendix, in all its glory, threatening to burst. She could cry. She wanted to cry. This was a total nightmare.
"I can't have appendicitis," she said stubbornly. "It doesn't fit in my schedule."
"Well, you're gonna have to make it fit," House said, turning the machine off. "Maybe move 'shed skin' to Thursday."
Cuddy continued to shake her head as House threw her a couple of paper towels. "It doesn't make sense, I'm 39."
"39, really?" House asked, mockingly whistling and looking disturbed.
"Oh, shut up."
He smiled. The paper towels remained on her lap and he was about to grab them when she swatted his hand away. "I can do it myself."
House looked away as she slowly wiped the gel off, which apparently made her tender stomach hurt, and that required moaning, and all he could think of was the fact that Cuddy lay in bed in front of him, wearing a thin hospital gown up to her chest and if he bent ever so slightly he could make out the bottom those delicious mounds. Cuddy partly naked, slowly wiping gel off her stomach, her movements slow and titillating and... he wondered what his grandmother was up to. It'd been a while since he talked to her. Nana House, with the big goiter in the middle of her neck, her thick mustache, that nasty mole atop her left eye that turned red whenever he made a mistake on the piano...
"Sss, ooohhhhh."
BIG, hairy, red mole, decorating her wrinkly skin, surrounded by liver spots. He tapped his foot on the floor impatiently. What the hell was taking her so long? Big hairy moles, goiters, she mustaches, liver spots, sex with grandma, sex with grandma, sex with grandma...
"House?"
"Sex with grandma."
Cuddy frowned, speechless, looking at him hesitantly before she averted her eyes. "Okay."
House shook his head and looked down. She'd finished wiping her stomach off and was offering him the paper towels. He took them, tossed them in the garbage bin, and looked at her. Her gown covered her body now, and she looked like she was considering taking out a restraining order against him. Well, at least his balls were retuning to their original color now.
"Um..."
Luckily, at that moment a man wearing a white lab coat to match his white hair walked into the room.
"Dr. Cuddy," he said cheerfully, "glad to see you up and about. You gave us a little scare there."
Cuddy narrowed her eyes as she watched him suspiciously. "Why is there a surgeon in my room? Why is there a-" she turned to House. "House, why is there a surgeon in my room."
"Beats me, I ordered a stripper."
The surgeon, meanwhile, studied the chart and looked down at her with a warm smile. "Appendicitis. Luckily, Dr. House caught it right on time."
"My savior," Cuddy said unenthusiastically, looking at House, who was sporting a smug smile.
The surgeon finished reading the chart and put it down. "We scheduled an appendectomy for 12:15."
Cuddy frowned and shook her head. "No."
The surgeon blinked a few times. "Uh... we'll do it laparoscopically, in case you're worried about scars."
"I don't care. I'm not gonna do this today, I have to entertain an investor," Cuddy continued, pushing all the cables around her bed away in an attempt to stand up. Her IV prevented her from getting too far.
"Relax, I can show Red around," House offered.
Cuddy's head snapped around so fast she nearly dislocated a muscle. "That's not funny."
"I can be entertaining," House said. "I just learned a new yo-yo trick."
"You are not to go near that man," Cuddy said definitively, pushing the sheets away, and began to meddle with her IV again. "And I can't have surgery, I can't paralyze this hospital, I have meetings to attend to and the nurses are threatening to strike and I can't lose another investor, I'm sorry."
House looked at her, his eyes narrowed. The surgeon attempted to get her back into bed, but wasn't very successful. She got on her feet, but her body began to fall backwards until she put her hand on the bed to steady herself. He didn't know why he found himself suddenly angry.
"I'll come back at the end of the day, we can do it then. I just-I can't right now."
"Dr. Cuddy, this isn't wise," the surgeon said. "Appendicitis is a medical emergency, your appendix could rupture-"
"I know what appendicitis is," Cuddy said, exasperated. "Look, it's just a few hours, okay? I'll walk myself into the ER this afternoon, just-"
"Oh, would you stop being a pain in the ass and let the man operate you!" House finally snapped, quieting the room. "Do you not get that your appendix is about to burst? It bursts, you get an abscess, you get an abscess you die. Can you fit casket shopping into your schedule, or is cremation more time efficient?"
Cuddy sat back down, slightly shocked. When the shock wore off she tried to give House one of her most reproving looks, but that didn't work. He looked at her, his eyes on fire and so much emotion Cuddy had to look down, feeling for the first time that she couldn't fire anything back. Not that she'd never been at the receiving end of House's ill temper, but this was different. It made her uncomfortable, on display, for reasons she couldn't understand.
"It'll be over before you know it," the surgeon intercepted peacefully.
Cuddy looked up at him reluctantly, feeling House's eyes burning holes on the side of her face, and finally she relented with a sigh.
"Fine."
"Great," the surgeon breathed a sigh of relief. "I'll, uh, get the paperwork ready and send one of the nurses in to prep you."
The surgeon left in a hurry, not that Cuddy couldn't blame him, and she sat there looking at her bare feet, painfully aware of House sitting next to her. Seconds passed, awkward and tense, and when he finally moved she almost flinched.
"I sent a woman home today to die," House said as he stood up and grabbed his cane, his tone bitter and soft at the same time. "She had the right to. You don't."
Cuddy looked at the back of his head as he walked away, and he never turned around before he exited the room. She continued to sit there, examining her toes, her teeth gliding through her bottom lip.
--
He was entertaining a Reuben sandwich in the cafeteria, feeling exhausted and for no reason, when suddenly Wilson sat in the chair opposite his with a sigh.
House looked up. "What's with you?"
Wilson shook his head and began to drizzle dressing all over his salad. "I have a patient, breast cancer. I don't know how to tell her."
House looked around before he looked at Wilson again. "Well, I'm no oncologist, but I'd open with that."
"I did open with that. She didn't believe me."
House frowned. "Is she crazy?"
"No, just... in denial, I guess," Wilson said, licking a droplet of dressing off his thumb. "She wants me to perform all the tests again-"
"And you're going to?" House said incredulously.
Wilson shook his head hesitantly. "The woman has cancer, House, she's not thinking straight. It's a delicate situation. And besides, maybe she's right, maybe we missed something. It's not entirely outside the realm of possibility. Maybe... maybe-"
"Maybe... maybe if my grandma had balls she would be grandpa, but she's not," House commented, and he stopped for a second to consider the second sexual comment about his grandma. Weird day. "Sit her down, start talking, and don't back down. Or am I gonna have to send Cameron in there?"
Wilson looked at him. "Obviously I know how to give bad news. I do it every day of my life."
"Then go for it," House said. "Do it like ripping off a band-aid: hard enough to make those tears come out."
Wilson shook his head and looked down at his salad. "Every day that we work together, I thank God you're not a pediatrician." He bit into a forkful of greens and suddenly his light bulb went off and he looked up again. "Hey, how's Cuddy?"
House looked down at his food and growled. "Being a pain in the ass."
"Yeah, I figured," Wilson said, guiding a forkful of salad into his mouth. "It's weird."
House looked up. "What?"
"I never pictured her getting sick." Wilson chewed contemplatively. "I can't even remember the last time she took a sick day."
House looked down at his sandwich with disinterest. "That pact she signed with the devil probably covered all the major diseases but didn't mention anything about the appendix. See, that's where they get you."
"Well, be nice to her."
House looked up. "I'm always nice."
"Be... nicer. Be civil. Just don't peek under her gown when she's unconscious, House," Wilson sighed.
"Now, why would I do that?"
"Do you have to ask?" Wilson deadpanned.
House looked away. "I can't make any promises." He looked at his watch and suddenly threw his dirty napkin on the tray. "I have to go."
Wilson frowned down at the half eaten sandwich. "Where?"
"I have a lunch date with another oncologist," House said. "Don't worry, I still like you best."
He left Wilson frowning at the table, and ignored the cleaning lady's suggestive cough when he put the tray, full of garbage, on top of the garbage bin.
When he walked into the OR, Cuddy was already prepped and in bed, contemplating the ceiling, the surgical team working around her. He watched her for a while, and she actually looked nervous. In lieu of clutching her pearls, her fingers played with each other rapidly and her breathing was a little shallow. The last time he'd seen her like this was the week before, when Pedro, or Nacho, or whatever the hell his name was, fell off her roof. Before that, the few days after his surgery.
He put that out of his mind and approached her, frowning at the hair cap that covered her head.
"Wow," he whistled. "Have I ever told you about my cafeteria lady fantasy?"
Cuddy craned her head back and rolled her eyes when she spotted him. "What are you doing here?"
"I owe the surgeon 50 bucks," he joked. "He promised he'll stitch my initials into your stomach."
She ignored him, looking away at nothing uncertainly. She seemed pissed and scared and indignant at the same time. "39-year-olds don't get appendicitis," she muttered angrily.
"They don't?" House asked. "Oh, never mind then. Let's remove it anyway and see what happens. Maybe with all that extra space you'll finally grow that heart you always wanted."
Cuddy frowned and looked back at him again. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"
House smiled. "Up until this moment I was sure Santa Claus didn't exist."
"Okay, let's get this show on the road," the surgeon said. "How are you feeling, Dr. Cuddy."
"Fine," Cuddy muttered. "Just get it over with."
"Are you scared?" House asked with a hint of amusement.
"No," Cuddy replied too quickly.
"Good," House said. "I mean, the worst thing that could happen is they'll leave a piece of gauze inside. But these are great doctors, very professional. Then again, even the best doctors make mistakes sometimes... still, I mean, a piece of gauze, you can spot that from the moon, right? Unless it's all covered in blood, I guess. Eh, I'm sure they can tell the difference between an appendix and a bladder. You can, can you?"
The surgeon looked at him seriously and walked away.
House looked down at Cuddy. "See?"
Cuddy sighed, strangely fighting a smile. She looked at him again; he was doing the same.
Suddenly, she frowned. "Where's Mr. Connelly?"
"Viewing area," House said, indicating the room above. "I got him a giant foam finger. Not very good with the wave, but he'll come around."
"He's still here?" Cuddy exclaimed.
"Oh, the whole hospital's watching, very exciting," House joked. "We're waiting for the peanuts guy to make his round, there's a cotton candy machine... scalpers are selling tickets outside, 750 a piece."
"Oh, God," Cuddy moaned.
"Don't worry," House said. "I'll take good care of him."
Cuddy's eyes widened and watered. The anesthesiologist approached them and looked down at her. "Okay, Dr. Cuddy, will you count backwards from 20 for me?"
"No," Cuddy barked at him and turned to House. "You will not go anywhere near that man, do you hear me, House?"
House leaned in closer, his smile cunning. "And if I do?"
Cuddy gaped at him. "Is that a threat? I swear to God, House, I will hunt you down, strap you to a chair, and beat you to death with your own iPod. And if that wasn't... bad... I'm gonna..."
House watched with a smile as her eyes fluttered close and he turned to the doctor next to him. "She's out."
"Thank you," the anesthesiologist said in a sigh of relief.
"Alright, guys, this is the dean of medicine," the surgeon told his team. "Someone makes a boo boo, we're all out on the street. Dr. House, you staying?"
House looked at him, looked at Cuddy, and began to walk away. "Page me when you're done," he said. "And keep track of your gauzes, or being without a job will be the least of your problems."
--
Wilson had been right: this was weird.
Beyond weird, House noticed, but he tried to put it out of his mind. The hospital seemed to be on pause, the influx of patients had diminished, and most of the staff kept their time talking amongst themselves about Cuddy's condition as they did their jobs. His fellows were fulfilling his clinic hours (on the condition that he took care of the woman who signed their paychecks) and Wilson was nowhere to be found.
He found himself doing pretty much what he did every day: not much.
Red was doing the waiting, pacing back and forth in front of him, and House suspected immediately his interest in this hospital extended beyond that of a sound investment. Not that he could blame the guy for being keen on Cuddy, she wasn't... entirely ugly. With the lights off and instant access to a garlic necklace, he suspected she might even be a good fuck, but he also knew this guy was wasting his time. Cuddy didn't like nice guys, polite guys, romantic guys. Cuddy liked sports, and sarcasm, and dry humor, and general cantankerous behavior. On the off chance that she would give Red the green light, which House was sure she wouldn't, she would eat him alive.
He didn't know why this thought made him smile.
House continued to read his magazine. Red continued to pace, his hands inside his pockets. House tried to ignore him, but it was beginning to get on his nerves.
"Shouldn't they be done by now?"
House didn't look up. "If that alien harvesting in her stomach didn't kill them all."
Connelly stopped pacing and looked down at House curiously. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to be... insensitive," he began carefully. "But may I ask, what happened to your leg?"
House stood up and grabbed his cane. "Let's just say Dr. Cuddy is really good in bed."
Connelly looked at him and chuckled reluctantly. "Joke, right?"
House nodded. "Bear attack."
Connelly looked impressed as they began to walk away. "Really?"
"Yup," House said and winked. "Dr. Cuddy has a thing for honey and l'amore al fresco."
--
Wilson exited his office with a heavy sigh, running his hands through his face in an attempt to relax. It didn't work.
He walked a few steps towards House's office, but didn't find him there. He went to the cafeteria, but House wasn't there, either. Coma Guy's room, the lobby, the roof... no House.
He finally found him in room 605, eating out of a box of Cracker Jack and watching his soap opera quietly, his feet up on the bed. Wilson walked into the room slowly and looked around instantly. Cuddy was asleep, he suspected with the help of the dripping IV bag on the pole next to her bed, and looking a little pale. Wilson walked in and put his hands in his pockets hesitantly. He'd never seen Cuddy like this. Hell, he'd never even seen her sneeze. The woman was a rock and this was... weird.
"How is she?"
House continued to look at the television. Two very attractive women were slapping each other around. "On morphine."
Wilson raised a bushy eyebrow. "Jealous?"
"Touché."
Wilson sat on chair on the other side of Cuddy's bed. He watched quietly as the two very attractive women continued to slap each other around, tumbling to the floor, grunting, pulling each other's hairs. He was beginning to understand why House liked soap operas so much.
"What are you doing here?"
House popped a pop corn into his mouth. "She has the good TV."
Wilson looked up. "Looks like all the other TVs."
"What do you want?"
"My patient, Gloria," Wilson sighed. "Short of using shadow puppets, I have no idea how to convince her she has cancer."
House finally tore his eyes away from the television and looked at Wilson. "You're still moping about this?"
"I'm not moping-"
"What are you, scared of her?"
"Of course not."
"Just go in there, slap her a few times, show her who's boss," House exclaimed.
Wilson looked at him. "You're seriously advocating violence against patients."
"Well, sometimes you have to shove 'em around a little," House explained. "They're like dogs. If she's not listening to you, just roll up a newspaper and hit her in the nose."
"Wow. You should write an inspirational book," Wilson said and waved his hands in the air to illustrate his point. "The Path To Love Is The Practice Of Love by Dr. Gregory House."
House merely growled, annoyed, he turned to the television again.
"You're in a good mood," Wilson noted.
House frowned. "I'm tired," he said grumpily. "Between you losing your balls and this one trying to pull a kamikaze I'm ready for a vacation."
"Well, now you know how we feel every single day that we have to deal with you," Wilson said. "Turnabout is fair play."
Point taken, but House said nothing. He dumped a handful of candy into his mouth and continued to watch his soap opera as Wilson looked at Cuddy curiously.
A long time ago, back when he and Julie first got married, he spent a deal of time trying to convince Julie he'd never had, or had currently been having, an affair with Cuddy. Back then he found her insecurities unreasonable, but as he looked at Cuddy now he started to understand why Julie had felt that way. Aside from her physical attributes, Cuddy preferred the company of men to the company of women, and that never set right with Julie, who couldn't quite believe him when he tried to convince her that Cuddy had never been his type.
And she still wasn't, at least not romantically, but he had to admit there was something very pleasing in watching her sleep, something that, strangely, he'd never felt compelled to do with Julie.
"She's beautiful," he commented out loud.
House looked over and frowned slightly, quickly trying to think of something funny to say, or mean to say, or snide to say, but couldn't come up with anything and so he tried not to look at Cuddy (but failed) and quickly turned to the television again, his concentration off now, his box of Cracker Jack forgotten.
This made Wilson feel slightly uncomfortable, for a variety of reasons he didn't care to explore. He didn't know what had caused the change in mood, but he didn't intend to stick around and play therapist for House, or cater to his Cuddy issues. That would be suicide. So he stood up and reached over to caress Cuddy's hand supportively.
His hand was whacked by a cane.
"No touching," House barked, his eyes still glued to the TV.
Wilson shook his head and sighed. "Do me a favor, get some help."
He didn't wait for a reply and walked out of the room promptly, closed the door behind him carefully, and tried to concentrate on his latest conundrum. He thought about House's suggestion reluctantly. Tough love. It was an interesting theory, but one he didn't care to put into practice. House's bedside manners were not the least bit desirable, but if Gloria continued to reject his diagnosis, Wilson guessed he would have to test House's theory, God help him. Anything to get this woman to start treatment and save her life.
"Dr. Wilson?"
Wilson looked up and spotted Cameron walking towards him, carrying a bouquet of flowers in her hands and looking way too innocent and sweet. The sight put a smile on his face. "Allison."
"How's Dr. Cuddy?"
"She's resting," Wilson said. "House is in there with her."
"Oh." She looked around and hesitated a second before she looked down at the flowers. "They're from all of us, Foreman, Chase and I. We flipped a coin to see who would deliver them to her. I lost."
Wilson laughed and extended his hands. "I could-"
"No, I guess I'll just leave them at the desk," Cameron said. "You were looking determined just then."
Wilson sighed reluctantly. "I, uh, have something very difficult to do right now."
"How can I help?"
Wilson smiled and began to walk away with her. "Got a newspaper?"
--
Cuddy could hear voices, very far away.
It must've taken her what seemed like hours to be able to open her eyes, and when she did she saw nothing but a blurry mass in front of her, more voices. She closed her eyes again and probably took a nap, because the next thing she knew, the voices were joined by some kind of rumbling. Only the rumbling was closer to her ear than the voices were.
She tried opening her eyes again.
On the television hanging off the ceiling, the 6 o'clock news aired. She frowned and looked around, suddenly remembering the operation, and groaned. An entire day. She'd lost an entire day of work because she had the slowest deteriorating appendix in recorded history.
The rumbling continued and she looked over curiously. There was House, in bed next to her, nearly crushing her with his weight, snoring loudly, his cane resting atop his stomach.
Cuddy sighed in annoyance and tried to push him off, but she didn't have the energy to do so.
"House," she called to him, and her voice was raspy and too low. She cleared her sore throat and tried again. "House!"
House finally choked on his own snoring and woke up, looking around in a sleepy daze before he looked down at her.
"Oh, hey... you're alive," he said lazily, "... dammit."
"You're on the clock," Cuddy complained. "I’m paying you, and you're sleeping."
"I was just-thinking."
"You often snore when you think?"
He raised his eyebrows at her. "Don't judge me, I saved your life today."
Cuddy sighed. "So it wasn't a nightmare."
"Nope," House said. "And don't think I'm not gonna milk this until one of us dies."
"That can be arranged."
Cuddy sighed again and rested back on the bed, looking at the ceiling hopelessly. She ran her hand through her stomach and felt the thick padding of bandage.
House noticed this and couldn't keep quiet. "Worried about the scars?"
"No," Cuddy said, but a little growl from House made her roll her eyes. "Maybe."
He looked away. "Don't worry. It's not like anyone's gonna see you naked any time soon," he said. "Not by choice, anyway."
Cuddy shook her head. "How did you manage to pass your psych rotation, by the way?"
"I slept with the head of the department," House joked. "She appreciated the Freudian undertones. Plus, she looked like my mother. Therapists love Oedipal complexes. Diagnosed myself, passed with flying colors."
Cuddy shook her head. With House, you never knew where the truth stopped and the lies began. She decided she'd had a bad enough day to add horrible mental images to it, so she let it go. "I don't suppose Mr. Connelly is still around."
House grabbed the TV remote and began to flip through the channels quickly. "Nope."
Cuddy sighed and ran her hands through her face. "You didn't insult him, House, did you?"
"Not to his face."
"Great," Cuddy muttered.
"Don't I get credit for that?"
"Do you know how long it took me-"
"Oh, relax," House said. "Red's not going anywhere."
Cuddy's eyes widened. She tried to sit up, but a slight feeling of pressure in her stomach prevented her from doing so. "Did you threaten him?"
House stopped flipping the channels when he found the Food Network. A petite Italian girl was teaching the viewers how to stuff manicotti with beef and cheese. Her head was huge. Her body was not. This fascinated House, who, with his eyes glued to the television, reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and produced an envelope for Cuddy.
Cuddy looked at the envelope reluctantly. "Great. He took out a restraining against you. Honest to God, Greg, if you had a penny-"
"Just read it."
She cleared her throat and shot House a menacing look before she opened the envelope. Inside, there was a letter from Mr. Connelly. She began to dread its content instantly and read it out loud. "Dear Dr. Cuddy, I hope you're feeling better as you read this. I had the fortune of being escorted around the hospital by Dr. House, oh God," she moaned.
"Keep reading," House said, his mouth watering at the delicious food on the television. His stomach growled.
Cuddy sighed. "I am very impressed with your hospital and operative skills, as well as your doctors' willing attitudes. My secretary will be calling your office this week to make arrangements for another visit, and hopefully Dr. House will make room in his busy schedule to join us." Cuddy read her eyebrows in shock. At this point, she noticed the handwriting changed. "Doctor House is not only an excellent doctor, but a generous lover and-' this is a different handwriting."
"Is it?" House said sarcastically. "Must've been the afterglow. For the record, he is a natural red head."
Cuddy shook her head and smiled. "I can't believe he's still interested in the hospital."
"The hospital's not the only thing he's interested in," House said discreetly.
She frowned. "What is that supposed to mean?"
"Oh, come on, Cuddy," House said. "Don't you women have some sort of vaginal radar that lets you know when a man is interested? Or in your case, olfactory glands in those carnivorous breasts of yours that enable you to sense fear in your victims?"
Cuddy dismissed this and scoffed. "He's interested in the hospital."
"He's interested in burping the worm in the ole mole hole."
"What?" she exclaimed. "How did you even-"
"I did a little interrogating," House said, turning the TV volume up.
Cuddy looked at him. "You're admitting to your boss that instead of doing your clinic hours, or working to save people's lives, or catching up on paperwork, you spent the whole day snooping around-"
"Hey, hey, let's not get cuddly here. Just because we're in bed together-"
Cuddy shook her head and sighed. "And, why do you care, anyway?"
"I don't care," House said too casually. "Don't care if you go out with him, marry him, have a bunch of annoying red kids."
"Because I won't?"
"Just trying to save the guy's life, that's all," House continued. "I can't imagine many men survive a night with you stripping them naked, stealing their essences, and offering their naked carcasses to the devil. Trying to be a good civilian here."
"Right," Cuddy laughed cynically. "I forgot what a great humanitarian you are. Tell me that story about the baby in the well again?"
House ignored her. "And just in case you're thinking about primping yourself down there-"
"House!"
"You can't anyway. 10 days rest, doctor's orders," he said smugly.
Cuddy looked at him belligerently. "You're not my doctor."
"That's not what your bracelet says."
Cuddy looked down at the piece of plastic covering her wrist. There it was, like a dog's collar. 'Dr. House', right under her name. It made her shudder. "You can't be my doctor, I'm your doctor."
"Sorry, doesn't work like that," House said. "Ever seen two dogs trying to sniff each other's butts at the same time?"
"Well, I'm not gonna sniff your butt," Cuddy said. "God knows the things you put up there."
At that moment, Wilson walked into the room.
"Case in point," Cuddy whispered to House, who frowned at her, but couldn't retaliate before Wilson and his saggy shoulders let out a heavy sigh. He looked around the room sadly, but cheered up somewhat when he noticed Cuddy was awake. He frowned, then, when he noticed she and House were sharing a bed... and they were both alive.
"Hey, how are you feeling?" he asked with a mix of happiness and disturbance.
Cuddy smiled up at him. "Considering I'm sharing a room, or, bed, with House, I'm... comparatively okay."
"Good," Wilson said. "Hey, why are you sharing a bed with House?"
"Oh, you know her," House joked. "Can't keep her hands off of me for two minutes. I tried to fight her off, but she could probably squeeze juice out of watermelons with those thighs."
"You wish," Cuddy whispered.
Wilson chose to ignore those comments and sighed, and dropped his heavy body in bed as well, next to Cuddy, who thought the bed might give in at any second but didn't say anything. He intertwined his fingers on top of his stomach and looked at the television dully. "Well, I did it. I told my patient who's boss."
"What patient?" Cuddy asked.
"Jimmy's been learning the ways of the Snide today," House said, sniffed and put his hand over his heart. "Mommy and daddy are so proud."
Wilson ignored him and turned to Cuddy. "Breast cancer lady. Didn't believe she had cancer. I took House's advice, you know, be direct and confrontational and cold, and she… hit me. She hit me with her purse."
House smiled. "Cool."
"Yes, House, assault and battery are so cool," Wilson said, slightly hurt and slightly cynical. "Anyway, Cameron sat down with her and explained the whole thing. They cried, they hugged, they created some sort of Best Friends Forever club and they won't let me in. Apparently, I'm too mean."
"Aw," Cuddy said pitifully, "you're not mean, you're the nicest man I've ever met." She leaned over and placed a kiss on his cheek. Wilson beamed.
House frowned. "Hey, you know what I did today?" he chimed in. "I got up, came to work, saved my boss's life, sucked up to a big investor, and got the hospital millions and millions of dollars."
Cuddy looked at him and smiled. She placed a kiss on his cheek as well. "You're the biggest jackass I've ever met. And thank you."
The three smiled and sighed and settled back to watch the petite Italian lady. Wilson took mental notes on her recipe. Cuddy borrowed decorative ideas from her kitchen. House leered at her cleavage.
"So, when do you get to go home?" Wilson asked, his eyes glued to the television.
"As soon as humanly possible," Cuddy replied.
Wilson suddenly felt hungry as he looked at the food. "Who's gonna take care of you?"
Cuddy smiled. "Are you volunteering?"
Wilson shrugged his shoulders. "I have a spare room."
"As your doctor, I do not recommend this type of treatment," House said. "Not unless Wilson gets the couch and I get his bed. Then it's a party."
Wilson leaned into Cuddy. "I thought you were his doctor."
Cuddy shook her head. "Apparently it doesn't work like that. Two dogs can't bark at each other, or something."
"Oh, yes, the Big Dogs theory," Wilson said dryly. "I hate it when things come full circle."
House looked over and pouted mockingly. "Are you jealous because you can't join our Big Ugly Scars Club?"
Wilson frowned. "I don't care. I'll find Chase and Foreman and we'll make our own club."
"Hmm, the Larry, Curly, and Moe Club," Cuddy mused.
House smiled. "I can't remember, is Chase the mo?"
Cuddy laughed. Wilson nodded indignantly. "Laugh all you want, but when we overtake Cameron's little hearts club our numbers will double and then we'll come after you."
"Good thing I have Cuddy's thighs of thunder on my side," House commented.
"Can we have one conversation that doesn't end up being about my thighs or my breasts?" Cuddy frowned.
"We could try," Wilson said.
"We would not be successful," House added.
Cuddy sighed and looked up at the television.
The petite Italian lady's show suddenly ended and House turned the television off with a sigh. "So," he said experimentally. "Who's up for a threesome?"
"House!"
"Come on."
House shrugged his shoulders and fiddled with the remote. "Just checking."
The End
Fandom: House
Characters: House, Cuddy, Wilson, Cameron
Prompt: # 44 - Circle
Word Count: 8,574
Ratings: R for language
Spoilers: Humpty Dumpty
Author's notes: Just playing around with Cuddy's stitch from Humpty Dumpty. I guess the good thing about this challenge is I don't have to follow continuity. Yay for AU! This is an answer to the au100 challenge. You can find my complete table here.
"Let me tell you a little something about ethics in medicine."
"Oh, this is gonna be good. Give me a minute."
Cuddy chuckled, sitting behind her desk and mockingly rolling her eyes up at the man standing in front of her. She began to clear the clutter on her desk and reached for the phone. "Carol, hold my calls. And uh, check the forecast. I think hell is about to freeze over."
She hung up the phone with one final chuckle and rested one elbow on her desk, her chin on her hand, her eyes wide with interest. "Go ahead."
House looked at her, not quite as amused as she, his hand gripping his cane tightly. "I am a doctor. I took an oath."
"And knowing you, you probably had your fingers crossed behind your back," Cuddy replied, re-arranging the things on her desk.
He rolled his eyes. "I let her go home, she dies. How do you think that makes me look with the man upstairs?"
"Oh, like you care," Cuddy said, grabbing a few files. She stood up, and as she did so she twitched slightly, her hand pressing against her abdomen momentarily. House noticed, frowned, but didn't say anything.
"You treat that woman without her consent and you'll go to jail," Cuddy continued, walking around her desk. "You go to jail and I guarantee you'll end up getting stuck by the business end of a four hundred pound black guy named Horse Hung Harry."
House followed her movements with his eyes, wide with resignation. "She's refusing treatment. She's killing herself."
"She has every right to refuse treatment!"
"Why is it that every time some depressed yahoo from suburbia comes in here we dig out a bunch of papers labeling them incompetent and commit them against their will, but when someone needs actual help-"
"House," Cuddy sighed. "I can't do anything about this. I wish I could, trust me, I took the same oath. But we can't force people to stay here when they have every right not to be treated. She poses no threat to others or herself-"
"Refusing treatment is a threat to herself," House said.
"I get that," Cuddy said. "But that's not what the rules say, you know that."
House narrowed his eyes at her. Arm snaked tight around those files, she ran her hand through her forehead, and that's when he noticed the droplets of sweat along her hairline.
"Are you-"
"Don't go near her," she interrupted him again. "She's 78 years old, she wants to die, we have no right to stop that. And trust me, with the amount of work I have right now and this investor coming over, I can't say I'm not entirely envious of her decision."
"That can be arranged," House said crabbily. Again she pressed her hand to her abdomen slightly and he couldn't keep quiet any longer. "Something wrong with your stomach?"
"No," Cuddy said sharply. "It's a stitch, I-went running this morning. Look, this guy is going to be here any minute, please go back to your office, watch some TV, play with your Atari, and leave that poor woman alone."
"Fine," House said begrudgingly. "But this doesn't make you look good with the man upstairs, either."
"Oh, hell couldn't possibly be worse than this," Cuddy replied.
But he didn't move, watching her intently. She turned towards the door but stopped abruptly, her eyes wide as she spotted a handsome man in a business suit, talking to her assistant.
"Aw, shit," she hissed.
House looked out and smiled cunningly. "Oh, this is gonna be fun."
Cuddy turned to him quickly. "Don't you dare-" but it was all she could say before the handsome man walked into the room. She turned to him with a pleasing smile plastered on her face.
"Mr. Connelly," Cuddy practically sang, walking over a few steps to shake his hand, an entirely different (and more pleasing) woman.
House rolled his eyes.
Connelly missed this, his green eyes bright as he looked down at Cuddy, his red hair perfectly combed. "Dr. Cuddy."
"It's so great to see you again," Cuddy said, her teeth somewhat clenched.
"Well, thank you for having me," Connelly said, flashing a bright smile.
House sighed.
Cuddy and Connelly turned towards him, the former with a growl, the latter with an expression of curiosity.
Cuddy hesitated. So many horrible scenes flashing through her mind, of House making a fool of her in front of the investor, House insulting the investor, House setting the investor on fire for his own amusement, but eventually she decided to introduce the man and then hopefully House would satisfy his own curiosity and go away.
"This is the head of our diagnostics department, Dr. Gregory House."
"So nice to meet you," Connelly said, extending his hand.
House looked at it, but didn't move. Tense seconds passed, but an intense glare from Cuddy made him change his mind and he walked over to shake the suit's hand.
"We are so delighted to have you in our fine organization. I think you'll find Dr. Cuddy's administrative skills exemplary and unparalleled. Here at Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital, our goal is to save lives, and hopefully with your assistance, we'll be able to make your world, and our world, and the children's world, a much better place," he said robotically, as if reading from a cue card, and finished with a wink. "Dr. Cuddy is the best dean of medicine this hospital has seen, trust me, I've scared off a few."
Connelly looked at him uncomfortably before Cuddy stepped in between the two men. "Are you, uh, getting acquainted with our staff?"
Connelly finally looked down, periodically looking up at House with an ounce of hesitation and fright. "Uh... yeah. So far, I'm very impressed. I'm looking forward to that tour."
"Well, let's get to it," Cuddy said enthusiastically, extending her hand in front of her. "After you."
Connelly walked out, shooting House one final glance, and when he was out of earshot Cuddy turned to House, her expression hardened. "Get back to your office now."
House smiled and frowned at the same time, looking her over. "You're looking a little pale, Dr. Cuddy; I could take over if you want."
"Don't you dare go near that man, House, I swear I'll kill you if it's the last thing I do," Cuddy growled.
"Famous last words." House looked down at her chest. "Get rid of that top button, maybe he'll throw in an extra mil."
She ignored him and walked out to meet Connelly by the administration desk, where a few of the nurses had been entertaining him. Her beat was a little slow, but eventually she met the tall man and placed the files she'd been carrying on the counter. She pressed her hand to her stomach once more, but Connelly didn't notice, neither did the nurses, and making herself presentable again, Cuddy turned and began to walk away with the man.
House watched intently, his head cocked to the side. "Three... two... one..."
Right on cue. One step and suddenly Cuddy clutched the admin desk, but even that couldn't hold her as she wobbled in place. Quickly she plummeted to the floor, and people instantly began to gather around her unconscious body. House sighed and limped out of her office, and as he got there he began to swat people away with his cane.
"Out of the way, this isn't a show," he said, poking one nurse in the back.
"Oh my God," a young volunteer shrieked. "Is she okay?"
House knelt next to Cuddy and placed his hand to her neck. She was burning up, but there was a pulse there, quick and steady. His examination was interrupted by Connelly, who landed on the floor next to House, grabbing Cuddy's wrist tenderly. House looked over, resisting the urge to slap his hand away.
"Is it something I did?" Connelly asked, concerned.
House looked at him, trying to decide whether the man was really stupid or just concerned and stupid.
"Well, you're a very handsome man," House said, watching as Connelly frowned, his eyes darting down to Cuddy. "I mean it, I almost felt faint myself when I first saw you. Must be the green eyes. They're like dewy leaves after a fresh summer rain."
"What the hell are you talking about?" Connelly said, frustrated. "Do something!"
House looked down at Cuddy. Her body lay on the floor at an odd angle and she looked pained. He assured himself that it was nothing serious as he wiped away the sweat from her face, feeling her burning skin. The fever would come down easily, he knew that, just as soon as he figured out what was causing it. Curiously, he resisted the urge to unbutton her blouse and check her stomach. The last thing he wanted to give Connelly was a free peek, diagnosis be damned.
"I have a gurney," a nurse announced, and with Connelly's help House loaded Cuddy up on the bed. They began to wheel her down to the ER, a trail of nurses following them until House turned around and they recoiled away with a gasp from his scowl.
--
Wilson sat behind his desk.
The woman sitting in front of him was looking confused, clutching her purse tightly, her lips pressed into a thin line. Her brown eyes were wide with anticipation, and though Wilson tried to appear as professional as possible, he couldn't stop noticing the banana clip that tried to hold together her frizzy brown hair. He tried to remember the last time he saw one of those, probably back in 83, but promptly he tried to put it out of his mind.
Wilson looked at her gently, his expression sympathetic. "I'm sorry, I'm afraid it's cancer," he said carefully. Watching her reaction closely, he began to reach for a tissue, but upon handing it to her she shook her head and waved it away.
"No," she said.
Wilson put the tissue away. "I'm sorry, I thought you were crying, most of my pa-"
"No, I mean, no," the woman said defiantly, finally looking up. "It's not cancer."
Wilson blinked. "I'm sorry, I, we-I'm afraid it is."
"No it's not," she said, her expression unflinching.
Wilson's eyebrows began to draw closer together. "You have cancer."
She shook her head. "No."
Wilson nodded. "Yes."
"You must've made a mistake," the woman said, looking down at the test results he held in his hand.
Wilson sighed. Telling people they had cancer had always been a science. He always broke the news gently, and was invariably rewarded with two responses: grief or anger. Grief he could deal with a little reassurance. Anger he could manage with gentle confrontation.
This was unprecedented.
He looked down at the papers he held in his hand, going over them again. "We performed all the tests."
"Do them again," the woman said, her expression hard and challenging. "I am not leaving this hospital until you tell me I don't have cancer."
Wilson looked at her, his face blank.
--
Cuddy opened her eyes slowly, and upon meeting a flat, white surface, she closed them again.
She tried a second time, but still, the flat, white surface was there. And then suddenly, it was not, as it was replaced by the cynic smile of Gregory House.
She woke up with a start, crawling backwards until her body hit a backboard.
"Morning, star shine."
Cuddy looked around and it finally dawned on her: she was in a hospital room. She was sure she hadn't been seeing a patient, though, and the last thing she remembered... she couldn't even remember the last thing she remembered. Everything was hazy and slow.
"What the hell?"
House sat on a chair next to her bed, almost grinning. "You took a little tumble there. Don't worry, you went down with all the grace in the world, very Casablanca-esque. 10 across the board."
Cuddy continued to look around, trying to figure out what the hell was happening. Her head was spinning and she was nauseous. House sat in a chair, his feet propped up on her bed and she looked at his sneakers strangely.
"What happened?"
"You don't remember?" House asked experimentally.
No response.
"Well, there we were, in the throes of our passion, when suddenly-"
"Hooooouuuse."
He smiled, trying to conceal what the sound of her moaning out his name did to his lower hemisphere. It both pleased him and disgusted him. Best to steer clear off that route.
"You fainted in front of your office, we took you down to the ER for a little examination. The bad news is you've got appendicitis," House announced. "The other bad news is someone might have misplaced your thong bikini. Those crazy, crazy med students. Anyway, just, uh, don't question it, it's gone, and you definitely won't find it at the bottom of my backpack, FYI."
Cuddy shook her head, confused.
House waited for her to say something, but she seemed lost. Weird. The panty jokes always got a reaction. "Yeeeeeah. The good news is you're doped up. Good news for me, at least, now I can peek under your gown."
Cuddy continued to shake her head. "I have a what?"
"A... ppen... di... citis," House said. "I could draw you a picture. Not much of a drawer, though. I could do a rendition. Do you like musicals?"
Cuddy shook her head as it finally began to clear. "I don't think so."
"Too fruity? How about Gilbert and Sullivan? Wait, that's even gayer."
Cuddy looked at him, frowning. "I'm not talking... I'm not sick! I don't have appendicitis."
House frowned. "You're challenging the head of the diagnostics department."
"There's just-"
"God has stricken people with lightning for less."
"Stop talking," Cuddy exclaimed, bringing her hands up to cradle her head. She needed to think, get her thoughts in order, and House wasn't making it easy.
She was beginning to think this was a nightmare. A bad nightmare. Medically... it didn't make sense. Or maybe she was dying. She always suspected the part where her life flashed before her eyes would be filled with various clips of House torturing her, at which point she would be escorted directly into heaven by God himself for having to endure so much.
House sat in his little chair now, smiling faintly like something was amusing him and she knew he was thoroughly enjoying the fact that she was confined to a hospital bed while the world continued to spin out there, her office deserted, her job...
Her job.
Her eyes shot wide open and she sat up, ignoring the dull pain. "Oh my God, where's Mr. Connelly?"
House looked around the room discreetly. "He's, uh, admiring the lobby art."
"You left him with Cameron?" Cuddy exclaimed.
"Oh, he'll be fine," House said. "Besides, you're of no use to him now."
"How could you leave him with Cameron?"
"I tried to tie him to a parking meter, but he just wouldn't stay."
Cuddy moaned and began to kick the sheets away. "Ugh. I have to get out of here."
House leaned forward, preventing her from getting out of bed. "No can do."
"House, I don't have appendicitis," she said, swatting his hand away.
Without saying a word, House pushed her back upon the bed and pinned one of her wrists against a pillow, his expression serious.
"What the hell are you doing?" she shrieked, slightly alarmed.
"Relax, I'm a doctor," House said seriously as he peeled the sheet down to her pelvis and sat down on the bed. "They gave me an ID card and everything."
Cuddy sighed, and for the first time noticed the ultrasound machine next to his chair. Still tense, she allowed him to slide her gown up, but stopped him when he came dangerously close to unveiling her chest.
"That's high enough."
House sighed and grumbled. "Party-pooper."
Surprisingly, his humor relaxed her, somewhat, and she leaned back with a smirk, letting him perform his little experiment.
Save for her swollen abdomen, her stomach remained relatively flat, traces of hardened muscle trembling underneath and House couldn't help staring. Where Cuddy found the time to work out, he had no idea, but God bless her for doing so. Again those conflicting feelings resurfaced. The woman was his enemy, bride of Satan, Pazuzu personified, yet still any showing of skin usually left him fighting a hard on. He never considered doing therapy for anything before but this, this... sickness, he would gladly commit himself to find a cure.
"You're staring."
He finally looked up and stammered for a few seconds. "I'm-examining you."
"Well get to the examining part and stop drooling on my navel," Cuddy barked.
Her wanted to tell her there were other things he wanted to do to her navel - lick it, suck it, bite it - but this time he didn't grace her with a response. He found a bottle of gel on the ultrasound cart, opened it, and began to squirt it over her stomach.
"Ow," she complained.
House stopped. "That hurts?"
"It's cold."
"Oh, suck it up."
He grabbed the ultrasound machine and rolled it over, turning it on and waiting for the screen to load. When it did, he grabbed the transducer probe and pressed it to her abdomen.
They waited a few seconds in silence, and House finally cocked his head to the side as he looked at the screen.
"Oh, this is embarrassing," he said teasingly as he glided the apparatus through her stomach. "Dr. Cuddy, is that a grossly enlarged appendix or are you just happy to see me?"
Cuddy sat up to better look at the screen. "What?"
"I can't say I'm not flattered, but maybe we shouldn't complicate things."
Cuddy stared at the screen, her mouth opened. There it was, clear as day. Her appendix, in all its glory, threatening to burst. She could cry. She wanted to cry. This was a total nightmare.
"I can't have appendicitis," she said stubbornly. "It doesn't fit in my schedule."
"Well, you're gonna have to make it fit," House said, turning the machine off. "Maybe move 'shed skin' to Thursday."
Cuddy continued to shake her head as House threw her a couple of paper towels. "It doesn't make sense, I'm 39."
"39, really?" House asked, mockingly whistling and looking disturbed.
"Oh, shut up."
He smiled. The paper towels remained on her lap and he was about to grab them when she swatted his hand away. "I can do it myself."
House looked away as she slowly wiped the gel off, which apparently made her tender stomach hurt, and that required moaning, and all he could think of was the fact that Cuddy lay in bed in front of him, wearing a thin hospital gown up to her chest and if he bent ever so slightly he could make out the bottom those delicious mounds. Cuddy partly naked, slowly wiping gel off her stomach, her movements slow and titillating and... he wondered what his grandmother was up to. It'd been a while since he talked to her. Nana House, with the big goiter in the middle of her neck, her thick mustache, that nasty mole atop her left eye that turned red whenever he made a mistake on the piano...
"Sss, ooohhhhh."
BIG, hairy, red mole, decorating her wrinkly skin, surrounded by liver spots. He tapped his foot on the floor impatiently. What the hell was taking her so long? Big hairy moles, goiters, she mustaches, liver spots, sex with grandma, sex with grandma, sex with grandma...
"House?"
"Sex with grandma."
Cuddy frowned, speechless, looking at him hesitantly before she averted her eyes. "Okay."
House shook his head and looked down. She'd finished wiping her stomach off and was offering him the paper towels. He took them, tossed them in the garbage bin, and looked at her. Her gown covered her body now, and she looked like she was considering taking out a restraining order against him. Well, at least his balls were retuning to their original color now.
"Um..."
Luckily, at that moment a man wearing a white lab coat to match his white hair walked into the room.
"Dr. Cuddy," he said cheerfully, "glad to see you up and about. You gave us a little scare there."
Cuddy narrowed her eyes as she watched him suspiciously. "Why is there a surgeon in my room? Why is there a-" she turned to House. "House, why is there a surgeon in my room."
"Beats me, I ordered a stripper."
The surgeon, meanwhile, studied the chart and looked down at her with a warm smile. "Appendicitis. Luckily, Dr. House caught it right on time."
"My savior," Cuddy said unenthusiastically, looking at House, who was sporting a smug smile.
The surgeon finished reading the chart and put it down. "We scheduled an appendectomy for 12:15."
Cuddy frowned and shook her head. "No."
The surgeon blinked a few times. "Uh... we'll do it laparoscopically, in case you're worried about scars."
"I don't care. I'm not gonna do this today, I have to entertain an investor," Cuddy continued, pushing all the cables around her bed away in an attempt to stand up. Her IV prevented her from getting too far.
"Relax, I can show Red around," House offered.
Cuddy's head snapped around so fast she nearly dislocated a muscle. "That's not funny."
"I can be entertaining," House said. "I just learned a new yo-yo trick."
"You are not to go near that man," Cuddy said definitively, pushing the sheets away, and began to meddle with her IV again. "And I can't have surgery, I can't paralyze this hospital, I have meetings to attend to and the nurses are threatening to strike and I can't lose another investor, I'm sorry."
House looked at her, his eyes narrowed. The surgeon attempted to get her back into bed, but wasn't very successful. She got on her feet, but her body began to fall backwards until she put her hand on the bed to steady herself. He didn't know why he found himself suddenly angry.
"I'll come back at the end of the day, we can do it then. I just-I can't right now."
"Dr. Cuddy, this isn't wise," the surgeon said. "Appendicitis is a medical emergency, your appendix could rupture-"
"I know what appendicitis is," Cuddy said, exasperated. "Look, it's just a few hours, okay? I'll walk myself into the ER this afternoon, just-"
"Oh, would you stop being a pain in the ass and let the man operate you!" House finally snapped, quieting the room. "Do you not get that your appendix is about to burst? It bursts, you get an abscess, you get an abscess you die. Can you fit casket shopping into your schedule, or is cremation more time efficient?"
Cuddy sat back down, slightly shocked. When the shock wore off she tried to give House one of her most reproving looks, but that didn't work. He looked at her, his eyes on fire and so much emotion Cuddy had to look down, feeling for the first time that she couldn't fire anything back. Not that she'd never been at the receiving end of House's ill temper, but this was different. It made her uncomfortable, on display, for reasons she couldn't understand.
"It'll be over before you know it," the surgeon intercepted peacefully.
Cuddy looked up at him reluctantly, feeling House's eyes burning holes on the side of her face, and finally she relented with a sigh.
"Fine."
"Great," the surgeon breathed a sigh of relief. "I'll, uh, get the paperwork ready and send one of the nurses in to prep you."
The surgeon left in a hurry, not that Cuddy couldn't blame him, and she sat there looking at her bare feet, painfully aware of House sitting next to her. Seconds passed, awkward and tense, and when he finally moved she almost flinched.
"I sent a woman home today to die," House said as he stood up and grabbed his cane, his tone bitter and soft at the same time. "She had the right to. You don't."
Cuddy looked at the back of his head as he walked away, and he never turned around before he exited the room. She continued to sit there, examining her toes, her teeth gliding through her bottom lip.
--
He was entertaining a Reuben sandwich in the cafeteria, feeling exhausted and for no reason, when suddenly Wilson sat in the chair opposite his with a sigh.
House looked up. "What's with you?"
Wilson shook his head and began to drizzle dressing all over his salad. "I have a patient, breast cancer. I don't know how to tell her."
House looked around before he looked at Wilson again. "Well, I'm no oncologist, but I'd open with that."
"I did open with that. She didn't believe me."
House frowned. "Is she crazy?"
"No, just... in denial, I guess," Wilson said, licking a droplet of dressing off his thumb. "She wants me to perform all the tests again-"
"And you're going to?" House said incredulously.
Wilson shook his head hesitantly. "The woman has cancer, House, she's not thinking straight. It's a delicate situation. And besides, maybe she's right, maybe we missed something. It's not entirely outside the realm of possibility. Maybe... maybe-"
"Maybe... maybe if my grandma had balls she would be grandpa, but she's not," House commented, and he stopped for a second to consider the second sexual comment about his grandma. Weird day. "Sit her down, start talking, and don't back down. Or am I gonna have to send Cameron in there?"
Wilson looked at him. "Obviously I know how to give bad news. I do it every day of my life."
"Then go for it," House said. "Do it like ripping off a band-aid: hard enough to make those tears come out."
Wilson shook his head and looked down at his salad. "Every day that we work together, I thank God you're not a pediatrician." He bit into a forkful of greens and suddenly his light bulb went off and he looked up again. "Hey, how's Cuddy?"
House looked down at his food and growled. "Being a pain in the ass."
"Yeah, I figured," Wilson said, guiding a forkful of salad into his mouth. "It's weird."
House looked up. "What?"
"I never pictured her getting sick." Wilson chewed contemplatively. "I can't even remember the last time she took a sick day."
House looked down at his sandwich with disinterest. "That pact she signed with the devil probably covered all the major diseases but didn't mention anything about the appendix. See, that's where they get you."
"Well, be nice to her."
House looked up. "I'm always nice."
"Be... nicer. Be civil. Just don't peek under her gown when she's unconscious, House," Wilson sighed.
"Now, why would I do that?"
"Do you have to ask?" Wilson deadpanned.
House looked away. "I can't make any promises." He looked at his watch and suddenly threw his dirty napkin on the tray. "I have to go."
Wilson frowned down at the half eaten sandwich. "Where?"
"I have a lunch date with another oncologist," House said. "Don't worry, I still like you best."
He left Wilson frowning at the table, and ignored the cleaning lady's suggestive cough when he put the tray, full of garbage, on top of the garbage bin.
When he walked into the OR, Cuddy was already prepped and in bed, contemplating the ceiling, the surgical team working around her. He watched her for a while, and she actually looked nervous. In lieu of clutching her pearls, her fingers played with each other rapidly and her breathing was a little shallow. The last time he'd seen her like this was the week before, when Pedro, or Nacho, or whatever the hell his name was, fell off her roof. Before that, the few days after his surgery.
He put that out of his mind and approached her, frowning at the hair cap that covered her head.
"Wow," he whistled. "Have I ever told you about my cafeteria lady fantasy?"
Cuddy craned her head back and rolled her eyes when she spotted him. "What are you doing here?"
"I owe the surgeon 50 bucks," he joked. "He promised he'll stitch my initials into your stomach."
She ignored him, looking away at nothing uncertainly. She seemed pissed and scared and indignant at the same time. "39-year-olds don't get appendicitis," she muttered angrily.
"They don't?" House asked. "Oh, never mind then. Let's remove it anyway and see what happens. Maybe with all that extra space you'll finally grow that heart you always wanted."
Cuddy frowned and looked back at him again. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"
House smiled. "Up until this moment I was sure Santa Claus didn't exist."
"Okay, let's get this show on the road," the surgeon said. "How are you feeling, Dr. Cuddy."
"Fine," Cuddy muttered. "Just get it over with."
"Are you scared?" House asked with a hint of amusement.
"No," Cuddy replied too quickly.
"Good," House said. "I mean, the worst thing that could happen is they'll leave a piece of gauze inside. But these are great doctors, very professional. Then again, even the best doctors make mistakes sometimes... still, I mean, a piece of gauze, you can spot that from the moon, right? Unless it's all covered in blood, I guess. Eh, I'm sure they can tell the difference between an appendix and a bladder. You can, can you?"
The surgeon looked at him seriously and walked away.
House looked down at Cuddy. "See?"
Cuddy sighed, strangely fighting a smile. She looked at him again; he was doing the same.
Suddenly, she frowned. "Where's Mr. Connelly?"
"Viewing area," House said, indicating the room above. "I got him a giant foam finger. Not very good with the wave, but he'll come around."
"He's still here?" Cuddy exclaimed.
"Oh, the whole hospital's watching, very exciting," House joked. "We're waiting for the peanuts guy to make his round, there's a cotton candy machine... scalpers are selling tickets outside, 750 a piece."
"Oh, God," Cuddy moaned.
"Don't worry," House said. "I'll take good care of him."
Cuddy's eyes widened and watered. The anesthesiologist approached them and looked down at her. "Okay, Dr. Cuddy, will you count backwards from 20 for me?"
"No," Cuddy barked at him and turned to House. "You will not go anywhere near that man, do you hear me, House?"
House leaned in closer, his smile cunning. "And if I do?"
Cuddy gaped at him. "Is that a threat? I swear to God, House, I will hunt you down, strap you to a chair, and beat you to death with your own iPod. And if that wasn't... bad... I'm gonna..."
House watched with a smile as her eyes fluttered close and he turned to the doctor next to him. "She's out."
"Thank you," the anesthesiologist said in a sigh of relief.
"Alright, guys, this is the dean of medicine," the surgeon told his team. "Someone makes a boo boo, we're all out on the street. Dr. House, you staying?"
House looked at him, looked at Cuddy, and began to walk away. "Page me when you're done," he said. "And keep track of your gauzes, or being without a job will be the least of your problems."
--
Wilson had been right: this was weird.
Beyond weird, House noticed, but he tried to put it out of his mind. The hospital seemed to be on pause, the influx of patients had diminished, and most of the staff kept their time talking amongst themselves about Cuddy's condition as they did their jobs. His fellows were fulfilling his clinic hours (on the condition that he took care of the woman who signed their paychecks) and Wilson was nowhere to be found.
He found himself doing pretty much what he did every day: not much.
Red was doing the waiting, pacing back and forth in front of him, and House suspected immediately his interest in this hospital extended beyond that of a sound investment. Not that he could blame the guy for being keen on Cuddy, she wasn't... entirely ugly. With the lights off and instant access to a garlic necklace, he suspected she might even be a good fuck, but he also knew this guy was wasting his time. Cuddy didn't like nice guys, polite guys, romantic guys. Cuddy liked sports, and sarcasm, and dry humor, and general cantankerous behavior. On the off chance that she would give Red the green light, which House was sure she wouldn't, she would eat him alive.
He didn't know why this thought made him smile.
House continued to read his magazine. Red continued to pace, his hands inside his pockets. House tried to ignore him, but it was beginning to get on his nerves.
"Shouldn't they be done by now?"
House didn't look up. "If that alien harvesting in her stomach didn't kill them all."
Connelly stopped pacing and looked down at House curiously. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to be... insensitive," he began carefully. "But may I ask, what happened to your leg?"
House stood up and grabbed his cane. "Let's just say Dr. Cuddy is really good in bed."
Connelly looked at him and chuckled reluctantly. "Joke, right?"
House nodded. "Bear attack."
Connelly looked impressed as they began to walk away. "Really?"
"Yup," House said and winked. "Dr. Cuddy has a thing for honey and l'amore al fresco."
--
Wilson exited his office with a heavy sigh, running his hands through his face in an attempt to relax. It didn't work.
He walked a few steps towards House's office, but didn't find him there. He went to the cafeteria, but House wasn't there, either. Coma Guy's room, the lobby, the roof... no House.
He finally found him in room 605, eating out of a box of Cracker Jack and watching his soap opera quietly, his feet up on the bed. Wilson walked into the room slowly and looked around instantly. Cuddy was asleep, he suspected with the help of the dripping IV bag on the pole next to her bed, and looking a little pale. Wilson walked in and put his hands in his pockets hesitantly. He'd never seen Cuddy like this. Hell, he'd never even seen her sneeze. The woman was a rock and this was... weird.
"How is she?"
House continued to look at the television. Two very attractive women were slapping each other around. "On morphine."
Wilson raised a bushy eyebrow. "Jealous?"
"Touché."
Wilson sat on chair on the other side of Cuddy's bed. He watched quietly as the two very attractive women continued to slap each other around, tumbling to the floor, grunting, pulling each other's hairs. He was beginning to understand why House liked soap operas so much.
"What are you doing here?"
House popped a pop corn into his mouth. "She has the good TV."
Wilson looked up. "Looks like all the other TVs."
"What do you want?"
"My patient, Gloria," Wilson sighed. "Short of using shadow puppets, I have no idea how to convince her she has cancer."
House finally tore his eyes away from the television and looked at Wilson. "You're still moping about this?"
"I'm not moping-"
"What are you, scared of her?"
"Of course not."
"Just go in there, slap her a few times, show her who's boss," House exclaimed.
Wilson looked at him. "You're seriously advocating violence against patients."
"Well, sometimes you have to shove 'em around a little," House explained. "They're like dogs. If she's not listening to you, just roll up a newspaper and hit her in the nose."
"Wow. You should write an inspirational book," Wilson said and waved his hands in the air to illustrate his point. "The Path To Love Is The Practice Of Love by Dr. Gregory House."
House merely growled, annoyed, he turned to the television again.
"You're in a good mood," Wilson noted.
House frowned. "I'm tired," he said grumpily. "Between you losing your balls and this one trying to pull a kamikaze I'm ready for a vacation."
"Well, now you know how we feel every single day that we have to deal with you," Wilson said. "Turnabout is fair play."
Point taken, but House said nothing. He dumped a handful of candy into his mouth and continued to watch his soap opera as Wilson looked at Cuddy curiously.
A long time ago, back when he and Julie first got married, he spent a deal of time trying to convince Julie he'd never had, or had currently been having, an affair with Cuddy. Back then he found her insecurities unreasonable, but as he looked at Cuddy now he started to understand why Julie had felt that way. Aside from her physical attributes, Cuddy preferred the company of men to the company of women, and that never set right with Julie, who couldn't quite believe him when he tried to convince her that Cuddy had never been his type.
And she still wasn't, at least not romantically, but he had to admit there was something very pleasing in watching her sleep, something that, strangely, he'd never felt compelled to do with Julie.
"She's beautiful," he commented out loud.
House looked over and frowned slightly, quickly trying to think of something funny to say, or mean to say, or snide to say, but couldn't come up with anything and so he tried not to look at Cuddy (but failed) and quickly turned to the television again, his concentration off now, his box of Cracker Jack forgotten.
This made Wilson feel slightly uncomfortable, for a variety of reasons he didn't care to explore. He didn't know what had caused the change in mood, but he didn't intend to stick around and play therapist for House, or cater to his Cuddy issues. That would be suicide. So he stood up and reached over to caress Cuddy's hand supportively.
His hand was whacked by a cane.
"No touching," House barked, his eyes still glued to the TV.
Wilson shook his head and sighed. "Do me a favor, get some help."
He didn't wait for a reply and walked out of the room promptly, closed the door behind him carefully, and tried to concentrate on his latest conundrum. He thought about House's suggestion reluctantly. Tough love. It was an interesting theory, but one he didn't care to put into practice. House's bedside manners were not the least bit desirable, but if Gloria continued to reject his diagnosis, Wilson guessed he would have to test House's theory, God help him. Anything to get this woman to start treatment and save her life.
"Dr. Wilson?"
Wilson looked up and spotted Cameron walking towards him, carrying a bouquet of flowers in her hands and looking way too innocent and sweet. The sight put a smile on his face. "Allison."
"How's Dr. Cuddy?"
"She's resting," Wilson said. "House is in there with her."
"Oh." She looked around and hesitated a second before she looked down at the flowers. "They're from all of us, Foreman, Chase and I. We flipped a coin to see who would deliver them to her. I lost."
Wilson laughed and extended his hands. "I could-"
"No, I guess I'll just leave them at the desk," Cameron said. "You were looking determined just then."
Wilson sighed reluctantly. "I, uh, have something very difficult to do right now."
"How can I help?"
Wilson smiled and began to walk away with her. "Got a newspaper?"
--
Cuddy could hear voices, very far away.
It must've taken her what seemed like hours to be able to open her eyes, and when she did she saw nothing but a blurry mass in front of her, more voices. She closed her eyes again and probably took a nap, because the next thing she knew, the voices were joined by some kind of rumbling. Only the rumbling was closer to her ear than the voices were.
She tried opening her eyes again.
On the television hanging off the ceiling, the 6 o'clock news aired. She frowned and looked around, suddenly remembering the operation, and groaned. An entire day. She'd lost an entire day of work because she had the slowest deteriorating appendix in recorded history.
The rumbling continued and she looked over curiously. There was House, in bed next to her, nearly crushing her with his weight, snoring loudly, his cane resting atop his stomach.
Cuddy sighed in annoyance and tried to push him off, but she didn't have the energy to do so.
"House," she called to him, and her voice was raspy and too low. She cleared her sore throat and tried again. "House!"
House finally choked on his own snoring and woke up, looking around in a sleepy daze before he looked down at her.
"Oh, hey... you're alive," he said lazily, "... dammit."
"You're on the clock," Cuddy complained. "I’m paying you, and you're sleeping."
"I was just-thinking."
"You often snore when you think?"
He raised his eyebrows at her. "Don't judge me, I saved your life today."
Cuddy sighed. "So it wasn't a nightmare."
"Nope," House said. "And don't think I'm not gonna milk this until one of us dies."
"That can be arranged."
Cuddy sighed again and rested back on the bed, looking at the ceiling hopelessly. She ran her hand through her stomach and felt the thick padding of bandage.
House noticed this and couldn't keep quiet. "Worried about the scars?"
"No," Cuddy said, but a little growl from House made her roll her eyes. "Maybe."
He looked away. "Don't worry. It's not like anyone's gonna see you naked any time soon," he said. "Not by choice, anyway."
Cuddy shook her head. "How did you manage to pass your psych rotation, by the way?"
"I slept with the head of the department," House joked. "She appreciated the Freudian undertones. Plus, she looked like my mother. Therapists love Oedipal complexes. Diagnosed myself, passed with flying colors."
Cuddy shook her head. With House, you never knew where the truth stopped and the lies began. She decided she'd had a bad enough day to add horrible mental images to it, so she let it go. "I don't suppose Mr. Connelly is still around."
House grabbed the TV remote and began to flip through the channels quickly. "Nope."
Cuddy sighed and ran her hands through her face. "You didn't insult him, House, did you?"
"Not to his face."
"Great," Cuddy muttered.
"Don't I get credit for that?"
"Do you know how long it took me-"
"Oh, relax," House said. "Red's not going anywhere."
Cuddy's eyes widened. She tried to sit up, but a slight feeling of pressure in her stomach prevented her from doing so. "Did you threaten him?"
House stopped flipping the channels when he found the Food Network. A petite Italian girl was teaching the viewers how to stuff manicotti with beef and cheese. Her head was huge. Her body was not. This fascinated House, who, with his eyes glued to the television, reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and produced an envelope for Cuddy.
Cuddy looked at the envelope reluctantly. "Great. He took out a restraining against you. Honest to God, Greg, if you had a penny-"
"Just read it."
She cleared her throat and shot House a menacing look before she opened the envelope. Inside, there was a letter from Mr. Connelly. She began to dread its content instantly and read it out loud. "Dear Dr. Cuddy, I hope you're feeling better as you read this. I had the fortune of being escorted around the hospital by Dr. House, oh God," she moaned.
"Keep reading," House said, his mouth watering at the delicious food on the television. His stomach growled.
Cuddy sighed. "I am very impressed with your hospital and operative skills, as well as your doctors' willing attitudes. My secretary will be calling your office this week to make arrangements for another visit, and hopefully Dr. House will make room in his busy schedule to join us." Cuddy read her eyebrows in shock. At this point, she noticed the handwriting changed. "Doctor House is not only an excellent doctor, but a generous lover and-' this is a different handwriting."
"Is it?" House said sarcastically. "Must've been the afterglow. For the record, he is a natural red head."
Cuddy shook her head and smiled. "I can't believe he's still interested in the hospital."
"The hospital's not the only thing he's interested in," House said discreetly.
She frowned. "What is that supposed to mean?"
"Oh, come on, Cuddy," House said. "Don't you women have some sort of vaginal radar that lets you know when a man is interested? Or in your case, olfactory glands in those carnivorous breasts of yours that enable you to sense fear in your victims?"
Cuddy dismissed this and scoffed. "He's interested in the hospital."
"He's interested in burping the worm in the ole mole hole."
"What?" she exclaimed. "How did you even-"
"I did a little interrogating," House said, turning the TV volume up.
Cuddy looked at him. "You're admitting to your boss that instead of doing your clinic hours, or working to save people's lives, or catching up on paperwork, you spent the whole day snooping around-"
"Hey, hey, let's not get cuddly here. Just because we're in bed together-"
Cuddy shook her head and sighed. "And, why do you care, anyway?"
"I don't care," House said too casually. "Don't care if you go out with him, marry him, have a bunch of annoying red kids."
"Because I won't?"
"Just trying to save the guy's life, that's all," House continued. "I can't imagine many men survive a night with you stripping them naked, stealing their essences, and offering their naked carcasses to the devil. Trying to be a good civilian here."
"Right," Cuddy laughed cynically. "I forgot what a great humanitarian you are. Tell me that story about the baby in the well again?"
House ignored her. "And just in case you're thinking about primping yourself down there-"
"House!"
"You can't anyway. 10 days rest, doctor's orders," he said smugly.
Cuddy looked at him belligerently. "You're not my doctor."
"That's not what your bracelet says."
Cuddy looked down at the piece of plastic covering her wrist. There it was, like a dog's collar. 'Dr. House', right under her name. It made her shudder. "You can't be my doctor, I'm your doctor."
"Sorry, doesn't work like that," House said. "Ever seen two dogs trying to sniff each other's butts at the same time?"
"Well, I'm not gonna sniff your butt," Cuddy said. "God knows the things you put up there."
At that moment, Wilson walked into the room.
"Case in point," Cuddy whispered to House, who frowned at her, but couldn't retaliate before Wilson and his saggy shoulders let out a heavy sigh. He looked around the room sadly, but cheered up somewhat when he noticed Cuddy was awake. He frowned, then, when he noticed she and House were sharing a bed... and they were both alive.
"Hey, how are you feeling?" he asked with a mix of happiness and disturbance.
Cuddy smiled up at him. "Considering I'm sharing a room, or, bed, with House, I'm... comparatively okay."
"Good," Wilson said. "Hey, why are you sharing a bed with House?"
"Oh, you know her," House joked. "Can't keep her hands off of me for two minutes. I tried to fight her off, but she could probably squeeze juice out of watermelons with those thighs."
"You wish," Cuddy whispered.
Wilson chose to ignore those comments and sighed, and dropped his heavy body in bed as well, next to Cuddy, who thought the bed might give in at any second but didn't say anything. He intertwined his fingers on top of his stomach and looked at the television dully. "Well, I did it. I told my patient who's boss."
"What patient?" Cuddy asked.
"Jimmy's been learning the ways of the Snide today," House said, sniffed and put his hand over his heart. "Mommy and daddy are so proud."
Wilson ignored him and turned to Cuddy. "Breast cancer lady. Didn't believe she had cancer. I took House's advice, you know, be direct and confrontational and cold, and she… hit me. She hit me with her purse."
House smiled. "Cool."
"Yes, House, assault and battery are so cool," Wilson said, slightly hurt and slightly cynical. "Anyway, Cameron sat down with her and explained the whole thing. They cried, they hugged, they created some sort of Best Friends Forever club and they won't let me in. Apparently, I'm too mean."
"Aw," Cuddy said pitifully, "you're not mean, you're the nicest man I've ever met." She leaned over and placed a kiss on his cheek. Wilson beamed.
House frowned. "Hey, you know what I did today?" he chimed in. "I got up, came to work, saved my boss's life, sucked up to a big investor, and got the hospital millions and millions of dollars."
Cuddy looked at him and smiled. She placed a kiss on his cheek as well. "You're the biggest jackass I've ever met. And thank you."
The three smiled and sighed and settled back to watch the petite Italian lady. Wilson took mental notes on her recipe. Cuddy borrowed decorative ideas from her kitchen. House leered at her cleavage.
"So, when do you get to go home?" Wilson asked, his eyes glued to the television.
"As soon as humanly possible," Cuddy replied.
Wilson suddenly felt hungry as he looked at the food. "Who's gonna take care of you?"
Cuddy smiled. "Are you volunteering?"
Wilson shrugged his shoulders. "I have a spare room."
"As your doctor, I do not recommend this type of treatment," House said. "Not unless Wilson gets the couch and I get his bed. Then it's a party."
Wilson leaned into Cuddy. "I thought you were his doctor."
Cuddy shook her head. "Apparently it doesn't work like that. Two dogs can't bark at each other, or something."
"Oh, yes, the Big Dogs theory," Wilson said dryly. "I hate it when things come full circle."
House looked over and pouted mockingly. "Are you jealous because you can't join our Big Ugly Scars Club?"
Wilson frowned. "I don't care. I'll find Chase and Foreman and we'll make our own club."
"Hmm, the Larry, Curly, and Moe Club," Cuddy mused.
House smiled. "I can't remember, is Chase the mo?"
Cuddy laughed. Wilson nodded indignantly. "Laugh all you want, but when we overtake Cameron's little hearts club our numbers will double and then we'll come after you."
"Good thing I have Cuddy's thighs of thunder on my side," House commented.
"Can we have one conversation that doesn't end up being about my thighs or my breasts?" Cuddy frowned.
"We could try," Wilson said.
"We would not be successful," House added.
Cuddy sighed and looked up at the television.
The petite Italian lady's show suddenly ended and House turned the television off with a sigh. "So," he said experimentally. "Who's up for a threesome?"
"House!"
"Come on."
House shrugged his shoulders and fiddled with the remote. "Just checking."
The End