Happy Birthday Jesus
It had been creeping up for weeks, slowly but surely there was an atmosphere of depression masked with jolly-ness looming over the hospital – and he was welcoming it like a plague, then before you know it you wake up one day and it is apparently okay to cover every surface with lights and tinsel so gaudy it would make mardi gras look tame, "urgh". This year's addition to the vile circus was a 6ft Santa Clause, fat, overbearing, smug, and ultimately evil – since when did a giant beacon of consumer-driven, corporate, madness have a place in the entrance to his hospital? Never. She would be hearing about this...
Denied – the demonic figure was staying for exactly one month "urgh"
The days slid slowly past, case after case, whinge after whinge, the constant reminder that unless you had 3 smiling children, beautiful wife, roaring log fire and happy family dog you were a miserably failure in life and didn't deserve feeding. The sad fact is that the people who do fit into that tiny box of society as so few and far between it seems ludicrous that we should even consider that lifestyle some sort of benchmark for which to aim, as usual his sentiments didn't exactly earn him many supporters at this time of year.
Nearly over, Christmas Eve, another night of drinking until the small hours, whether it be in the office or apartments seems irrelevant, the only benefit of going home being the music. Screw it, a ride on the bike and a night with his beloved seemed a better option. Walking past reception he noticed a small light, dim but there, coming from Cuddy's office – strange, she seems the big family Holiday at home type.
"Merry Christmas Doctor House!" Beamed the latest receptionist – donning a flashing Santa hat and baubles for earrings.
"Urgh"
Curiosity got him to the door, what could only be described as relief got him into the office. There sat Lisa Cuddy, reading from a thick report with a steaming mug held close to her stomach, legs swung casually up onto the desk, lazily scanning the pages without really taking anything in.
"I would have seen you as the Eggnog and carol singing type" Gruff, almost with a air or surprise mixed with something else...relief?
"I would have seen you as the drunken depressive type" She replied, knowingly
"Believe me, I'm planning on it very soon" Tapping his jacket, indicating a good supply to see him through. As she downed the end of her hot drink she realised this was the first time in a long time they were together for any other reason rather than medicine or legalities.
"Well, I'll see you in a few days then" She seemed very neutral tonight, not happy, but anything other than rage was a nice change for him.
"No Merry Christmas?"
"Merriness isn't exactly your style, Christmas is hardly about to break the habit of a lifetime" She hadn't meant to have a dig but realised a long time ago that there was no point in mincing your words with him.
"Ouch. I can be merry – chemically induced merriness is still merriness"
She gave a small chuckle, it was the deadpan way he said these things, no irony, no jokes, no nonsense. "Well, enjoy your soon-to-be merry festive period" She went back to the pages in front of her, expecting him to leave
"How PC of you, setting a good example for the minions. Although lounging around like it's a spa might send out the wrong signals"There was something almost pleasant about seeing Cuddy relaxed for a change, they were hardly bestest buds but they did go back a long time and he had gotten used to her so starched and power-suited every day.
"Well if you can't take a load off on Christmas Eve when can you?"
"Never"
Again she could only smile, even a single word from him could have so many meanings
"Go home House, it's not often I will say it so take full advantage"
House glanced at his watch, it was later than he thought, "Happy Birthday Jesus" he said almost sincerely "and Cuddy"
The first part had caused her to look up at him, the second caused her eyebrow to shoot up – how did he know?
"Uh, thank you, and on behalf of Jesus, thank you. Do I even want to know how you found out?"
"Nope!"
"I guess the sentiment was there"
As House turned to leave he felt the weight pulling his heavy coat to oneside and had a thought, he could put it down to wanting to avoid the tinsel later.
"Drink?"
"What, coffee?"
"For wimps – a real birthday drink" He reached into his coat and produced his one and only Christmas gift, from Wilson of course, holding it up for Cuddy to analyse
"I'll hope that was a gift today and you don't just walk around with bottles of scotch in your jackets, I would need to enrol you on a 12 step program"
"I'm no quitter, and I'll take the lack of 'no' as a yes" He walked over to the desk with his usual lean and put the bottle down on her desk to remove his coat and toss it on the small sofa to the left.
Truth be told, he was quite surprised at himself for being so spontaneous. Everything he done was always calculated, always for a reason, with reason, and has never to this day involved spending longer with his boss than he had to before she stopped yelling at him.
She swung her long, lean legs back to the ground, and collected some glasses from a small cabinet – safely locked away from prying eyes and usually, House. Setting down the two glasses and lifting the bottle of MacAllan she took enough time opining the bottle that he could have a quick look at the glasses, Edinburgh Crystal – very nice.
She was surprised at his offer, and although at first suspected ulterior motive, was really quite happy to have the company. A birthday on Christmas Day when you Jewish is a bad combination, and usually resulted in her being alone while friends spent time with their families, of course it's not as if she could really leave the hospital without fear of it imploding so she had learned to dismiss the occasion. Yet here she was this year, in the hospital as usual, exhausted as usual, but with a reassuringly heavy glass in her hand and not the worst company in the world in her office.
The first taste was always the strongest, the dark, peaty whiskey slowly burned in the back of her throat, leaving a bittersweet taste on her tongue, but of course the second goes down much easier, then you're on a roll. They sat in silence for some time, but rather than the usual confrontational tension between them it was comfortable, there was no reason to bitch or yell or snark, she could simply enjoy the quietness and secure feeling of another person, safe in the knowledge that maybe she wouldn't be alone this year.
He loved the first taste, the smooth texture making it's way down his throat, a relieving tinge in the back of his tongue, it was second only to the magic V. Hating to break the silence but feeling a little more talkative after two halves of whiskey she turned to him, "Can I ask you a personal question?"
The sound of her voice in the beautiful quiet made his eyes snap open "Of course you can, whether I answer or not is another matter"
She decided to chance her luck, they were on their third glass after all, "what would be your ideal day tomorrow?"
"Being fed chocolate Santas by either Selma Hayek or Angelina Jolie while the other one..." "Fine, I wasn't expecting an answer!" she interrupted, giggling, her face much brighter than before.
There was another brief quiet before his curiousity got the better of him, "same question?"
"well not that you deserve an answer but...this actually...whiskey, company, only maybe with a few more people, some music and a fire"
He mused on this for a second and wasn't overly horrified – this was definitely Cuddy, same smile, same boobs but more...something else, he liked it. They spent another hour or so firing random questions at each other and consequentially trying to decipher the cryptic responses. Maybe it was the whiskey she'd drunk, or he'd drunk for that matter, but watching her now, a good half bottle between them, legs stretched out on the small couch (he didn't even remember her moving from her desk), clutching the heavy glass with that warm smile, she seemed less hot, more attractive.
H was as rough as ever but if the alcohol done anything at all it was loosen him up, now as he sat in the chair just a few feet away from the sofa in her office he seemed at ease and confident, without the bite. Looking beaten and broken, but his face had softened and his answers were more honest and less sarcastic with every glass. It was strange that after so many years working together they had never actually 'chatted' every conversation had an agenda, one of them always had an angle but sitting in the dim-lit office with numerous shots of whiskey to the good the conversation flowed easily, without the battle
They had ended up in a quick-fire favourites list – or as quick-fire as you can get after almost half a bottle of scotch and it was Cuddy's turn.
"Favourite band?
"Pink Floyd - you?"
"Queen"
"Interesting...Favourite movie?"
She chuckled, but always a sport decided to be honest "Miss Congeniality"
This got a very rare laugh from him "Too easy, 'Vertigo'"
"I thought that was Wilson's favourite movie?"
"It is, but if I'd said 'Lesbian Lunches 3' you would have choked"
She playfully rolled her eyes before continuing with the game, "Favourite...possession?"
"Piano" This caught her completely off-guard, House playing piano? The initially ludicrous idea however conjured up an image that was perfect for his brooding melancholy
"And you? Let me guess...it was mail-order?"
"Shut up, actually it's my bed"
"I can see why, not too hard, not too soft" Reminding her of his intrusion of her home she let out a growl.
As the clock ticked on it was almost 1.30 when Cuddy began to feel her eyes droop and her brain finally relax into a pleasant state of numbness, the game of favourites had eventually ran it's course and they were back to contented silence. The strangest thing about this whole situation was that it didn't feel strange at all, it actually felt nice. She and House had always had a strong relationship, although their circumstances meant the strength was usual in the argument, tonight they had somehow managed to pull off 'socialising' unforced, unplanned, simple, conversation. Only with House would this be a foreign concept.
The pain woke her up, the heavy pounding that felt as though her brain was trying to expand inside her skull, the taste almost made her sick. There is nothing quite like it in this world, and it had been a long time since she had woken up with the taste of last night's alcohol burning in the back of her mouth, it was actually revolting. However the movement upwards made the room around her spin uncontrollably so she decided it was perhaps best to remain still until she could figure out exactly where she was and why she was in such chronic pain.
Half opening one eye, forcing the mascara encrusted lashed apart she could see the high mahogany bookcase at the other side of the room, indicating she was still in her office, and obviously comatose on the couch, moving her gaze round to her desk the empty bottle of scotch confirmed why. As the night started to come back to her in small chunks she began to question if she was dreaming, she was sure she had been here, with House of all people talking but the notion seemed mad. She was sure he had started drinking with her but surely he would have left at some point before the passing out stage, of course if she was herself then she wouldn't have kept drinking to that stage. Tiny fragments were returning, the 20 questions, the trivia, the lists of favourites and everything else they had managed to cover the previous night.
After about 15 minutes of trying not to move she decided that although it was so appealing to stay there for the day she was hungover, un-showered, and still wearing yesterdays clothes in her own office – hardly screaming professional! When she moved to peel herself off the small couch she felt the weight of something on her, heavy, woollen. His coat? She had probably pulled it over herself in the middle of the night, probably.
"God, Lisa, what were you thinking?"... "And now you're talking to yourself, wonderful"
She slowly made small steps across to the small bathroom attached to her office and with the flick of a switch caught sight of herself in the mirror – oh dear. Her eyeliner had travelled south, her lipstick was faded and patchy, her eyes were bloodshot and her hair, oh dear oh dear...what she wouldn't give for a shower in this bathroom – she was going to have to stealth it to the locker-rooms without being seen...by anyone! She switched the light off and headed for her desk, at least she had a spare set of clothes to put on, not exactly her best suit but it was Christmas day, she could call it dress-down day. It was then she caught sight of the note...
Morning Cuddles, or aftrennon,
When you drag yor ass up lunch will be
in the cafi cafo lunchroom at 1, seen as
it's jesus'ss birthday i'll pay.
H
p.z. That was the best I ever had
Cuddy gasped – no way, there was no way, she wouldn't have, not...oh shit. As she put both hands to her head to somehow stop the pain, and now panic the small note fluttered to her desk and fell face down, and she caught sight of more scrawled handwriting..
Jus kiddin – too easy :)