Fic: Clinic Room Six
Title: Clinic Room Six
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~1,600
Summary: 7x09 speculation oneshot. House and Cuddy find a surprise waiting for them in the clinic. *SPOILERS*
“Dr. Cuddy, you have a call.”
Cuddy looked up from her papers, pen hovering in the air. “Who is it? Is it important?”
“It’s Dr. House, line four. He says it’s urgent.”
Cuddy rolled her eyes. With House it was always “urgent”. Last week’s “urgent” page had been to his office so he could ask her if it looked like he was getting a bald spot. Which he obviously wasn’t. Which ended with him leering at her breasts, albeit sweetly. Or as sweetly as House was capable of when it came to leering at breasts.
“How urgent?”
Debra shrugged. “He mentioned the clinic?”
Cuddy sighed, but gave Debra a nod and clicked over to line four. “If you’re wasting my time again I’m going to be very angry,” she threatened half-heartedly.
“Need you. Clinic room six.”
Cuddy stared momentarily at the phone, now dead in her hands, before glancing once at her daunting stack of paper work. She really was not in the mood for this-but it did give her a chance to look over a few patient files on the way and check up on things, and at least he wasn’t dragging her up and down the elevator this time with his cryptic messages.
Anyway she needed to stretch.
There was no chart on the door to clinic room six, so naturally Cuddy assumed the worst-that there was no patient-and shoved the door open with her shoulder, nose buried in a file, talking a mile a minute. “House, if you’ve dragged me in here for some insane sexual fantasy of yours, the answer is no, I’m busy, get back to work and quit-“
“Hello Lisa.”
Cuddy actually wobbled on her heels and dropped the patient file almost into the trashcan in surprise. Only one voice could throw her that much out of her game.
“That is not an appealing look on you, dear, shut that mouth and quit looking so astonished that your mother’s dropped by. I haven’t seen you in nearly two years, you should have seen this coming. You're the one in the family with a doctorate, aren't you?”
Arlene Cuddy was seated straight-backed, legs crossed on the middle of the exam table, with House sitting hunched over in the stool against the farthest possible wall from her in the room. He was holding his cane with both hands as if for moral support, studying Cuddy out of the corners of his eyes. His shoe was, apparently, his main focus. “Surprise,” he murmured.
“Mom.” Cuddy was finally able to state. “What are you doing here?”
“Let’s see.” Arlene surveyed the room. “I’m in a hospital so… I must be out shopping. Yes, that’s certainly it.”
House snorted in amusement. Arlene ignored him and threw her arms out for Cuddy. “I’m here to visit you, darling, now come give mommy a hug.”
Cuddy laughed tensely, but did as she was told and gave her mom a tight hug. House clumsily, quietly, stood up. “Well I can see the two of you are having a-“ he waved his cane at them idly, “-moment. So I’ll just go ahead and-“
“Okay,” Cuddy blurted.
“Wait right there, you,” Arlene interrupted, instantaneously freezing both House and Cuddy.
Arlene stood up, slowly, with all the grace and patience of the intimidating mother and rounded on House. “Let me get a look at your kolboynik boyfriend here,” she said to Cuddy, who hovered behind her, biting her lip.
House visibly tensed when Arlene’s hands came to rest on his biceps. Cuddy noticed his usual poker face was looking a little frayed. His eyes were too wide and his lips were too tight. If this were any other situation Cuddy would have found it quite comical. Instead she actually pitied him.
House and Arlene stared at each other for a few seconds longer than made Cuddy comfortable. Challenging each other, almost. “House is-I mean Greg-Greg is-“ she started.
“Ssh,” Arlene hissed.
They were apparently engaged in some sort of perverse staring contest Cuddy was not privy to. “Better than the last one,” Arlene murmured, not breaking eye contact. Cuddy wasn’t sure if this comment was directed to her, House, or some greater universal eavesdropper. “Although I still don’t understand what your fascination is with the scruffy logger types you keep bringing home.” This was for Cuddy. “Why you couldn’t find a nice, cleanshaven young man is beyond me. Whatever happened to that darling friend of yours, James something?”
This caused House to break eye contact. He raised an eyebrow at Cuddy, amusement winking just briefly in his eye.
Finally Arlene let him go with a small “hmph” that was neither entirely derisive nor entirely satisfied. Cuddy let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “No matter. You-“ Arlene poked House in the chest, “-will be coming over for dinner tonight. Eight. We’ll talk then.”
House nodded once.
“And you,” Arlene turned a warm smile back to Cuddy. “Isn’t it about time for your lunch break?”
“Mom, I have to-“
“‘Have to’?” Arlene interrupted. “You always ‘have to’. ‘Have to’, what? ‘Have to’ spend some time with your mother whom you haven’t seen in years, is what you ‘have to’ do.”
Cuddy entertained the idea of putting up a fight, but the notion died before it really had a chance to even take its first breath and she felt her shoulders slumping just slightly at the thought of how complicated her day-no, probably her week-had just gotten, and how little she’d be able to accomplish now that her mother was around, lunch or no. “Okay,” she assented. “But give me 15 minutes, I need to clear a few things first, and then I’ll meet you in the cafeteria.”
Arlene seemed satisfied with this and nodded, then seated herself back on the exam table and looked expectantly at House. “Fine. Your boyfriend here has a few tests to run anyway.”
House looked down at Arlene’s file pessimistically but muttered, “Right,” anyway. He snapped it shut. “Be right back.”
Cuddy wasn’t sure she’d seen him lope so quickly out of a room in her life. She smiled again at her mom, and fought her way through what she thought sounded like a sincere enough, “Great to see you, mom,” before backing out of the room herself.
She almost backed right into House.
“Your mother.” He hissed into the back of her neck with a mixture of question and accusation.
Cuddy squeezed his wrist. “That is not how I intended this meeting to go. She’s-”
“Delightful,” House deadpanned, following Cuddy toward her office. “I can’t come to dinner,” he announced as soon as they were through the threshold.
Cuddy spun around fiercely. “Yes you can,” she barked. “If you force me to eat this dinner alone with my mother, we are done, over, kaput faster than you can roll your eyes at me.”
House rolled his eyes. “I’m busy.”
“Fine. Bye. I’ll be by to pick up my things tomorrow.” Cuddy was back at her desk, shuffling through papers. She could feel House staring at the top of her head in silence. “Wear that blue shirt,” she supplied.
“This is cruel and unusual punishment,” he grumbled. “And I haven’t even screwed anything up recently. Mostly.”
Cuddy grabbed her purse and rounded back over to him. He hadn’t moved. She slid her hands under his blazer to wrap around his sides. “Okay, she’s bad, I know. She’s critical, mean, way too honest, and-frankly-terrifying. But she’s my mother.”
“Delightful,” House repeated with all the conviction of a man realizing his own death sentence.
“And as my mother,” Cuddy continued, “she has the capability to make my life completely and utterly miserable, which will, in turn, make yours Dante’s inferno. And a good way to start down that track would be to skip dinner. So wear your blue shirt and bring a bottle of wine.”
House sighed. Cuddy leaned up and kissed him lightly. His palm traced the cool underside of her forearm and he held onto her lips just a moment longer than was probably work-safe.
“Fine.”
“Thank you,” she said, pecking his cheek.
He grunted, hands dropping back to his sides.
They walked out of her office together. He’d just peeled off toward the elevators when a thought struck her.
“You’re not inviting Wilson!” she shouted after him.
He stamped his cane against the ground and craned back toward her. “But he’s such a good boychik,” House mocked.
“No.”
“Oi, gevald!” House cried melodramatically as he stepped into the elevator. The doors began to close around him. “You’re ruining my life, you know,” he commented.
“Yeah, yeah. Eight sharp!” she managed to shout before the doors shut him completely out of sight. Cuddy had not made any plans on introducing House to her mother anytime soon; she had not prepared him for this. Hell, she hadn't prepared herself for this. That said, she was looking forward to this about as much as he was. In fact, probably less, because any misstep on his part would become a good day’s worth of critical nitpicking and bashing for her to have to endure from her mother.
And that’s why when House showed up at Cuddy’s door at almost 8:30, wearing the same damn crumpled shirt he’d worn all day, toting a sparkly grinning Wilson on his elbow, and what appeared to be a yarmelkeh she was tempted to snatch the bottle of wine from him and promptly slam the door in his face. And that would have been a mild response. Instead she bit the inside of her cheek-hard-and shot him death glares that said 'you have so totally fucked yourself, you asshat' as she opened the door.
As bad as it sounded, a part of her was praying for a heart attack. Or seizure. Or brain annuerism. From her, House, her mother-at this point, it didn’t matter, so long as it hit one of them before they sat down.
Go to the dinner.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~1,600
Summary: 7x09 speculation oneshot. House and Cuddy find a surprise waiting for them in the clinic. *SPOILERS*
“Dr. Cuddy, you have a call.”
Cuddy looked up from her papers, pen hovering in the air. “Who is it? Is it important?”
“It’s Dr. House, line four. He says it’s urgent.”
Cuddy rolled her eyes. With House it was always “urgent”. Last week’s “urgent” page had been to his office so he could ask her if it looked like he was getting a bald spot. Which he obviously wasn’t. Which ended with him leering at her breasts, albeit sweetly. Or as sweetly as House was capable of when it came to leering at breasts.
“How urgent?”
Debra shrugged. “He mentioned the clinic?”
Cuddy sighed, but gave Debra a nod and clicked over to line four. “If you’re wasting my time again I’m going to be very angry,” she threatened half-heartedly.
“Need you. Clinic room six.”
Cuddy stared momentarily at the phone, now dead in her hands, before glancing once at her daunting stack of paper work. She really was not in the mood for this-but it did give her a chance to look over a few patient files on the way and check up on things, and at least he wasn’t dragging her up and down the elevator this time with his cryptic messages.
Anyway she needed to stretch.
There was no chart on the door to clinic room six, so naturally Cuddy assumed the worst-that there was no patient-and shoved the door open with her shoulder, nose buried in a file, talking a mile a minute. “House, if you’ve dragged me in here for some insane sexual fantasy of yours, the answer is no, I’m busy, get back to work and quit-“
“Hello Lisa.”
Cuddy actually wobbled on her heels and dropped the patient file almost into the trashcan in surprise. Only one voice could throw her that much out of her game.
“That is not an appealing look on you, dear, shut that mouth and quit looking so astonished that your mother’s dropped by. I haven’t seen you in nearly two years, you should have seen this coming. You're the one in the family with a doctorate, aren't you?”
Arlene Cuddy was seated straight-backed, legs crossed on the middle of the exam table, with House sitting hunched over in the stool against the farthest possible wall from her in the room. He was holding his cane with both hands as if for moral support, studying Cuddy out of the corners of his eyes. His shoe was, apparently, his main focus. “Surprise,” he murmured.
“Mom.” Cuddy was finally able to state. “What are you doing here?”
“Let’s see.” Arlene surveyed the room. “I’m in a hospital so… I must be out shopping. Yes, that’s certainly it.”
House snorted in amusement. Arlene ignored him and threw her arms out for Cuddy. “I’m here to visit you, darling, now come give mommy a hug.”
Cuddy laughed tensely, but did as she was told and gave her mom a tight hug. House clumsily, quietly, stood up. “Well I can see the two of you are having a-“ he waved his cane at them idly, “-moment. So I’ll just go ahead and-“
“Okay,” Cuddy blurted.
“Wait right there, you,” Arlene interrupted, instantaneously freezing both House and Cuddy.
Arlene stood up, slowly, with all the grace and patience of the intimidating mother and rounded on House. “Let me get a look at your kolboynik boyfriend here,” she said to Cuddy, who hovered behind her, biting her lip.
House visibly tensed when Arlene’s hands came to rest on his biceps. Cuddy noticed his usual poker face was looking a little frayed. His eyes were too wide and his lips were too tight. If this were any other situation Cuddy would have found it quite comical. Instead she actually pitied him.
House and Arlene stared at each other for a few seconds longer than made Cuddy comfortable. Challenging each other, almost. “House is-I mean Greg-Greg is-“ she started.
“Ssh,” Arlene hissed.
They were apparently engaged in some sort of perverse staring contest Cuddy was not privy to. “Better than the last one,” Arlene murmured, not breaking eye contact. Cuddy wasn’t sure if this comment was directed to her, House, or some greater universal eavesdropper. “Although I still don’t understand what your fascination is with the scruffy logger types you keep bringing home.” This was for Cuddy. “Why you couldn’t find a nice, cleanshaven young man is beyond me. Whatever happened to that darling friend of yours, James something?”
This caused House to break eye contact. He raised an eyebrow at Cuddy, amusement winking just briefly in his eye.
Finally Arlene let him go with a small “hmph” that was neither entirely derisive nor entirely satisfied. Cuddy let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “No matter. You-“ Arlene poked House in the chest, “-will be coming over for dinner tonight. Eight. We’ll talk then.”
House nodded once.
“And you,” Arlene turned a warm smile back to Cuddy. “Isn’t it about time for your lunch break?”
“Mom, I have to-“
“‘Have to’?” Arlene interrupted. “You always ‘have to’. ‘Have to’, what? ‘Have to’ spend some time with your mother whom you haven’t seen in years, is what you ‘have to’ do.”
Cuddy entertained the idea of putting up a fight, but the notion died before it really had a chance to even take its first breath and she felt her shoulders slumping just slightly at the thought of how complicated her day-no, probably her week-had just gotten, and how little she’d be able to accomplish now that her mother was around, lunch or no. “Okay,” she assented. “But give me 15 minutes, I need to clear a few things first, and then I’ll meet you in the cafeteria.”
Arlene seemed satisfied with this and nodded, then seated herself back on the exam table and looked expectantly at House. “Fine. Your boyfriend here has a few tests to run anyway.”
House looked down at Arlene’s file pessimistically but muttered, “Right,” anyway. He snapped it shut. “Be right back.”
Cuddy wasn’t sure she’d seen him lope so quickly out of a room in her life. She smiled again at her mom, and fought her way through what she thought sounded like a sincere enough, “Great to see you, mom,” before backing out of the room herself.
She almost backed right into House.
“Your mother.” He hissed into the back of her neck with a mixture of question and accusation.
Cuddy squeezed his wrist. “That is not how I intended this meeting to go. She’s-”
“Delightful,” House deadpanned, following Cuddy toward her office. “I can’t come to dinner,” he announced as soon as they were through the threshold.
Cuddy spun around fiercely. “Yes you can,” she barked. “If you force me to eat this dinner alone with my mother, we are done, over, kaput faster than you can roll your eyes at me.”
House rolled his eyes. “I’m busy.”
“Fine. Bye. I’ll be by to pick up my things tomorrow.” Cuddy was back at her desk, shuffling through papers. She could feel House staring at the top of her head in silence. “Wear that blue shirt,” she supplied.
“This is cruel and unusual punishment,” he grumbled. “And I haven’t even screwed anything up recently. Mostly.”
Cuddy grabbed her purse and rounded back over to him. He hadn’t moved. She slid her hands under his blazer to wrap around his sides. “Okay, she’s bad, I know. She’s critical, mean, way too honest, and-frankly-terrifying. But she’s my mother.”
“Delightful,” House repeated with all the conviction of a man realizing his own death sentence.
“And as my mother,” Cuddy continued, “she has the capability to make my life completely and utterly miserable, which will, in turn, make yours Dante’s inferno. And a good way to start down that track would be to skip dinner. So wear your blue shirt and bring a bottle of wine.”
House sighed. Cuddy leaned up and kissed him lightly. His palm traced the cool underside of her forearm and he held onto her lips just a moment longer than was probably work-safe.
“Fine.”
“Thank you,” she said, pecking his cheek.
He grunted, hands dropping back to his sides.
They walked out of her office together. He’d just peeled off toward the elevators when a thought struck her.
“You’re not inviting Wilson!” she shouted after him.
He stamped his cane against the ground and craned back toward her. “But he’s such a good boychik,” House mocked.
“No.”
“Oi, gevald!” House cried melodramatically as he stepped into the elevator. The doors began to close around him. “You’re ruining my life, you know,” he commented.
“Yeah, yeah. Eight sharp!” she managed to shout before the doors shut him completely out of sight. Cuddy had not made any plans on introducing House to her mother anytime soon; she had not prepared him for this. Hell, she hadn't prepared herself for this. That said, she was looking forward to this about as much as he was. In fact, probably less, because any misstep on his part would become a good day’s worth of critical nitpicking and bashing for her to have to endure from her mother.
And that’s why when House showed up at Cuddy’s door at almost 8:30, wearing the same damn crumpled shirt he’d worn all day, toting a sparkly grinning Wilson on his elbow, and what appeared to be a yarmelkeh she was tempted to snatch the bottle of wine from him and promptly slam the door in his face. And that would have been a mild response. Instead she bit the inside of her cheek-hard-and shot him death glares that said 'you have so totally fucked yourself, you asshat' as she opened the door.
As bad as it sounded, a part of her was praying for a heart attack. Or seizure. Or brain annuerism. From her, House, her mother-at this point, it didn’t matter, so long as it hit one of them before they sat down.
Go to the dinner.