A/N: OK, so this is my first femslash fic. I have to say that I'm a little nervous because I know that femslash isn't as widely read or perhaps accepted as male slash (and of course het fics) but I'm willing to give it a shot…so, enjoy.
While "Pills" had no structure whatsoever and I went with ideas as they came along, I actually have a plan for this one. Should be fun.
LCX13
The first time was a complete and utter accident.
Cuddy had been walking home from the hospital, and randomly decided to stop by the Tea Bar, a trendy, cozy place just around the corner from her house. She walked forward against the chilly April gusts that sent discarded flower petals swirling in soft hurricanes about the gray cement. It was already dark out, the cobalt light broken by the soft ochre glow of the incandescent streetlights. They really should change to LEDs, Cuddy mused as she entered, the automatic doors shutting behind her and effectively cutting off the noise of the street, the rumble of trucks and SUVs and the whining roars of motorcycles. Jazz tinkled throughout the place, emanating from cleverly concealed speakers. The lighting was soft, glowing orange, illuminating the room from a long row of black lamps stuck on a thin bar across the ceiling, like stage lights. There were small square tables with oversized armchairs along the walls, and one long faux oak bar down the middle, with high, cushioned barstools for seats. The clerks were at the front, already servicing a sizable crowd. Cuddy joined the end of the line behind a couple and scanned the menu. Vanilla bean tea sounded a little too sweet, while ginger tea sounded too harsh. Lemon tea seemed too normal; she could make that at home for herself. She didn't much care for Earl Gray or English Breakfast, both being a little too brash for her.
The couple in front of her kissed, long and lingering, and she averted her eyes. Maybe she would try the vanilla bean. She pulled her coat in closer around her body and sighed. It had been too long since she'd had someone. Since there was someone to hold her and tell her it was all going to be okay, a shoulder to cry on, someone to kiss.
Don't be stupid, Lisa. The reason is that there's no time. The couple moved up and ordered easily, and Cuddy followed. "What would you suggest?" he asked the cashier. He was young, honey-brown hair gelled to perfection and a glint of silver in his left ear.
"Well, my favorite is the green-tea-and-blackberry," he told her, as though confiding a great secret.
"All right, then. I'll have that." Cuddy smiled, lips together, edges tilted at a mere twenty degrees upwards, and pulled out a ten-dollar bill, sliding it across the counter.
"It goes great with a pound cake," he attempted, with another winning smile.
"No, thanks," she said coolly.
He took the hint. "To go?"
"No," she decided whimsically. She'd take a little time to soak up the ambience here, bask under the stage lights for twenty minutes than go home.
"That'll be three ninety-nine," he informed her, took the crisp bill and slid it into the register, quickly counting out her change. She took it back, along with the receipt, and then waited on the side for her drink to get ready. The couple had opted for the comfortable armchairs along the wall, leaning forward and smiling at each other as they sipped their drinks. The most common smile smiled by Lisa Cuddy these days was her sarcastic, as-if smile to House, possibly followed up closely by the oh-no-you-didn't.
"Green tea blackberry, for here?" A youth with floppy long blonde hair checked her receipt and handed her the mug. "Thank you ma'am."
She smiled that same professional, twenty-degree smile again and took the mug. It was clear glass, with ever bit of the frothy liquid within showing, and threatening to overflow. Cuddy sat down carefully at a cushioned barstool, cradling the hot cup in her hands. The tea was a thick, opaque green, with a hint of syrupy strands of deep purple-blue at the bottom. A spray of whipped cream bobbed in the surface. She took a careful sip. Exactly what she had been looking for – smooth, creamy, slightly bitter, but with a sweet note at the end. She took another sip. Oh, this was good.
But what was that? Cuddy could've sworn she'd seen someone she knew pass. Long brown hair, arched eyebrows and intense, almost marbles of green-gray. The slim body was wrapped up in a sturdy black jacket. "Hadley," she said out loud.
"Cuddy." Hadley looked startled, but she smiled. "Hi."
Cuddy asked, "Do you live near here?"
Hadley's smile faltered an invisible degree. Perhaps Cuddy had imagined it. "Sort of. Down the road."
"You going home now?" Cuddy pressed, the couple still in her mind's eye. She needed a friend, at the very least.
"Well, I can stay." Hadley's smile quirked again.
"Well, why don't you." It wasn't a question.
"Thanks." Hadley sat next to her, placed her cup on the table. Cuddy noticed it was to go. "The green tea blackberry?"
"Yeah. You?"
"Ginger." Hadley took a sip and grimaced slightly. "A little harsh, but I think I'm catching a cold. Have to ward it off." They sat in a silence that squirmed with a little awkwardness, but was still for the most part. Hadley sighed.
"Tough day?" Cuddy jumped in, too quickly.
"No, actually," Hadley told her. "Not any more so than usual."
"With House, that means you've survived yet another epic battle against insanity," Cuddy said. It sounded rehearsed, well-worn.
"Pretty much. Today's case was pretty straightforward. Strep infection. Kutner thought it was autoimmune, but thankfully House stopped him from getting the patient all immuno-compromised. She's on the recovery now."
Cuddy nodded, weary. "House is always right," she droned, taking a morose sip of her tea. "God. Couldn't he be wrong? Even once?"
Hadley took a careful sip, looking straight ahead. "Well, that's selfish."
Cuddy looked sharply at her. "What do you mean?" she snapped.
Hadley did not look the least bit affronted. It was probably her day-to-day contact with House that made her immune to antagonism. "When House gets it right, someone lives. He gets it wrong, they die. To want him to be wrong is the equivalent of wanting someone to die, don't you think?"
"No," Cuddy disagreed. "I see your point, but House just needs to get it wrong. His team can get it right."
"We're learning from House," Hadley countered. "What are the odds of us getting it right before him?"
"It's happened before," Cuddy said, omitting that Chase had been fired for his pains.
Hadley shrugged. "That's why he took a new team, isn't it? To keep teaching other doctors."
Cuddy smiled bitterly. "I think it's just to keep his ego inflated."
Hadley took another contemplative sip. "Maybe."
Cuddy suddenly felt guilty. Most doctors had at least a grudging respect for House, especially his young, impressionable ducklings. "I'm sorry. It's just…let's put it this way. At least twenty percent of my paperwork comes from the diagnostic department, aside from the fact that they treat as many patients in a year as oncology treats in two weeks. Three-quarters of that paperwork is lawsuits, complaints and the like. All of it has to do with House's…methods."
Hadley grinned fully. "But I enjoy working there. He's insane, but he's good. He's degrading, but it really pushes you."
"Oh, he's the mirror of perfection," Cuddy said, and instantly regretted it. "It's just like, the whole hospital has sort of banded against him. Everyone knows who he is, and mostly everyone hates him. I don't know what we'll do when --" She cut that train of thought off, sent it hurtling off the tracks and into the deep recesses of her mind, let it be swallowed up by the dark pool of other things.
"When what?" Hadley probed softly. The train floated to the surface of the pool.
"When his liver finally turns to stone of alcohol-acetaminophen syndrome, when one of his crazy notions gets him killed, when he retires. When the one constant in my life goes away," Cuddy rambled, letting the fears spill. "I actually don't have anyone else –"
Hadley frowned. "You're not married?"
"I –" Don't justify it, a voice in her mind whispered. Don't mask it, don't try to push it away. "Don't be hurt," Cuddy began slowly. "But I have no idea why I'm telling you this."
"Maybe you just need someone to talk to," Hadley mused.
"Maybe."
"Want to talk to me?"
Cuddy appraised her. The glinting gray-green eyes were settled in the skull, fixed, unmoving. Oh, that gaze was intense. "I never could keep anyone long enough for them to want to marry me. I always just wanted to get ahead, keep moving, dash headlong into…oh, I don't know. Something." Cuddy took a sip. "Always ended up fucked with nowhere to go." The bitterness lingered.
Hadley smiled. "You're not the only one."
"Sometimes it feels like it," Cuddy said softly. The sax blared in a solo, but the moment was quiet.
"You're not." A hand appeared on hers, but as suddenly as it was there it was gone, not even letting the heat seep into her skin.
"Thanks."
Silence. Not quite awkward, but filled with pause and maybe-I-should-say-somethings.
"Well, I should go," Hadley said finally.
"Thanks for listening," Cuddy said, jumping up. "Sorry."
"No problem at all," Hadley reassured, but Cuddy knew she was faking it. "See you tomorrow."
"See you," Cuddy echoed emptily, and drained her mug as Hadley melted into the crowd.