Hello!
This is a little one-shot I wrote a while ago and decided to post after a few edits. It was prompted by a conversation I've had with my two friends ParijanTaiYou and IndyStarkDeanJr back then. It's set in Humpty Dumpty (02x03) and ignores the Stacy arc. Also, there are flashbacks from House and Cuddy's college days, they are written in italics.
Please enjoy it, and leave a review on your way out :)
Michigan
"I'm gonna check the bathroom," Chase said, not waiting for an answer to enter the room.
House was still laying on Cuddy's bed, letting Chase do all the work while he was lost in his daydreams – fantasies. He thought he might just fall asleep right there and right then, feeling surrounded by her just by the fact he was laying exactly where she slept every night. It felt overwhelming. Maybe a little too much. So much he could get used to it.
"You done there?" he shouted, shaking the thought off his head.
"Maybe if you helped me I would've been done long ago."
"You checked the closet?" House asked, already climbing off the bed and limping toward the dresser.
"I don't think it's a good idea, House," he warned him, inspecting the sink.
"It's strictly professional!" he said defensively, opening the door and starting to skim through her clothes. "What if the witch's hiding her sorcery stuff in here? I'm risking my life to save the world!" House added defensively.
"I'm sure she can have anyone under her spell with those nighties."
"How inappropriate of you, Kangaroo!" he quipped. "How inappro –
"I see the spell has started to work on you," Chase mocked him, leaning on the door frame, his arms crossed over his chest and a smirk dancing on his face.
"It has long ago …" he murmured, leaning closer to inspect the piece of clothing.
"I'm not gonna be an accomplice of this," Chase said, heading to the kitchen.
"You already are!" House distractedly shouted, taking the sweater he's found with a nostalgic smile.
"I shouldn't be here," she frowned, watching him pace around his room.
"Yeah. You should be studying," he replied, pulling off his sweater and throwing it across the room.
"That's basically why I'm here," she reminded him. He put on a clean t-shirt and looked at her.
He was, God help her, her tutor. He was good, but it was hard to work with him. And she hated him. As much as she loved him.
"Wrong place, m'lady." He showed her the obvious mess everywhere in the room. "Let's find some other place."
"But you said … I'll be in my room," she informed him, casting him a dark look.
"Motherfucker," she muttered under her breath as she exited the room.
"Motherfucker," she muttered under her breath as she exited the room.
She'd had a long day; all she wanted was to get home and slip into the sweater she wore on bad days, make some tea and run a marathon of Sex and the City. But her sweater disappeared. She knew it was him – it could only be him. Anger slowly left place to panic: all her chances of making him think she got over him were ruined. And she really wanted her sweater back. So she called him.
"Hi!" he joyfully said after three rings.
"You sick idiot! How do you break into my house?"
"Oh. So you figured."
"I wh … House! You stole my clothes!"
"Actually, I just got back what you've stolen."
"That sweater is mine," she insisted. She could hear him smile. "I'm gonna kill you."
"So you purposely stain all your sweaters with red nail polish?" he countered, inspecting the cloth. He smirked when he found the little stain. "I think we need to talk," he said, this time seriously.
"There's nothing to negotiate, House. Bring the sweater back. Goodnight."
And she hung up.
10 pm. She heard a knock on her door.
"Seriously?"
"Chill out, I'm just … three hours late," he said, grinning. He made his way through the room without invitation and sat down on her bed.
"I'm busy."
He's put his sweater back on, she noticed when she looked up at him.
"I see that," he commented, watching the nail polishing kit on her bed.
"Whatever. It's late; you're late," she said, pointing at him with the nail polish brush she had in hand. Two drops fell on his sweater.
"Are you insane?"
"What do you mean? You deserve worse."
He pulled it off and threw it in her face.
"What the fuck?"
"I want it clean tomorrow."
"Stupid piece of shit," she mumbled as he stormed out of the room before she could answer. She smelled the sweater and threw it into a corner when she realized what she was doing.
10 pm. She heard a knock on her door.
Cuddy put down her cup of tea and paused the episode she was watching, swearing all the way to the door.
"I didn't mean now," she said when she opened the door.
He walked past her to the living room as he spoke, "You seemed so desperate to have my sweater back –
"House, it's really not a big deal …"
"Now it's not a big deal?"
"No. I just wanted it because it's comfy."
"You can have it if –
"You can keep it."
"It's too small anyway." He shrugged.
"Not an athlete anymore, huh?" she teased.
"You tell me."
She sized him; he was indeed still well-shaped. Cuddy looked at his muscular shoulders, his strong arms and his long toned legs; she didn't realize she was biting her lip.
"Don't look at me like that."
"Like what?" she asked, awakening from her daze.
"Like I'm a piece of meat!" he exclaimed exaggeratedly.
She smiled at him knowingly. The atmosphere became suddenly intimate.
"Gimme," she gently said, taking the bag from his hand. He didn't protest, just watched her.
''Try it on," he requested.
"You make it sound like it's lingerie," she chuckled, taking the bag he's chosen to put the sweater into.
"No, but it has the same effect," he murmured, taking a step toward her.
She scoffed from surprise when she found a grey sweater inside the bag. She unfolded it, only to discover the hospital's acronym on the front: definitely not her sweater.
''Thought you'd want to renew your wardrobe,'' he said as she was unable to say a word.
''H-how do you even own this?''
"I borrowed it from Wilson.''
"Borrowed it?" she repeated, hands on her hips.
"Don't worry, I've wore it a couple of times. I could make it smell like me again from time to time,'' he quipped, winking at her. He was amused to see her uncomfortable.
She rolled her eyes, wearing it nonchalantly over her tank top.
House looked at her, scrutinizing her. The sweater covered her hips and a part of her thighs and the sleeves were too long for her, covering her palms; she was floating inside it. He never thought that he could find her more desirable. He leaned over her to inspect it more closely and he was so close Cuddy thought he'd kiss her. Instead, he backed off and, with a smirk, stated, ''It fits you well. You can keep it.''
He had to restrain himself from smiling fondly as she slightly blushed. Cuddy mentally slapped herself, she was losing control over the situation.
"Thanks," she said with a roll of her eyes, walking him to the door. "Can I have the old one too, though?"
He had made a few steps to his car when she spoke. "No."
"I could make it smell like me from time to time for you too,'' she retorted with a smirk, leaning on the door frame.
She could sense his little smile, like a guilty kid caught red-handed.
The End