I just got my braces off this morning (EEE!), so that can only mean three things:
1. Eat caramel, laffy taffys, toffee, popcorn, and tootsie rolls until you are sick. Check.
2. Show off your pearly whites to everyone you meet. Check.
3. Write tons and tons of Huddy fic. Check.
WOO.
So in my original thing, this was set up so that Cuddy's point of view was one color and House's was another, but obviously, colored text doesn't show up on here, so instead I have the labels when it switches from one to another. It doesn't flow as well, but I have to other choice. So for the full effect, you have to copy this into a word document and color it yourself. But that's not totally essential. Don't bother, it's just fine without.
I've never done a fic from a character's point of view, so this should be good, haha. Forgive me for it not being very banter-y, and thus not quite in character. It's not my best, but I tried, what can I say?
Disclaimer: Not mine, all of it, not mine! House's characters do not belong to me, nor does the song "Golden Slumbers". The storyline, however, is mine (thank goodness, I've got something!).
Cleaning Up
Cuddy
I woke as though it were any other day. The bright spring sunlight was streaming through my window. Reluctantly, I pulled myself out of the safe haven of my bed. I wandered into the bathroom, stripping off the oversized tee shirt. Suddenly, a song popped into my head. I couldn't remember the words to the song, but I hummed the tune as I switched on the shower, wondering why I had thought of that song.
And as I was running my fingers through my hair to wash out the shampoo, I recognized the song. It was that little melody that Greg had played that night far too long ago. He had probably long forgotten the details of that night, but I stood in the shower with it all running through my head once again.
It was a Monday night, one week, exactly, before House started working at the hospital. I was sitting at home, alone, like I always was. It was probably around eight thirty, and I heard the softest knock on the door, as though the person didn't actually want me to hear it. I picked myself off the couch and opened the door to find an old friend leaning innocently on his cane, as he always seemed to do. I hadn't seen him since, well, the day that he had to start using that cane.
Greg House.
"I haven't seen you in quite a while," I said with a laugh. Only an ever so slight curve of the lips acknowledged me. I could tell something was wrong, I had known him that well. "What's up?"
He looked deep in thought for a minute, as though the question puzzled him. As if he had no idea what he was doing standing on my doorstep.
"I," he still looked confused, "I missed you," he finally concluded.
"Oh," I replied simply. We stood in awkward silence for a moment. "Um, would you like to come in?"
He did. He came in, and looked around through the kitchen, through the dining room, in the living room, and finally peered into the one guest room I had. His eyes lit, and I knew exactly why. My grandmother's old piano sat in the corner. I barely ever played, even though I could, only because it reminded me of her.
"You play?" he looked at me in wide-eyed surprise.
"No," I smiled sarcastically, "I just happen to have a piano," he laughed. That was a good sign.
"Mind if I play something?"
"Go ahead."
He wandered over to the corner and sat down, lying that cane on the floor. He played that song. He said it was The Beatles, but I didn't recognize it. That didn't really surprise me though; I had never been able to keep up with all their stuff. It was soft and flowing. Not a sound came from his mouth, but I could see him saying the words. His eyes closed and as he played, I sat on the bench next to him. When he finished, he opened his eyes and looked at me, taking his hands off the keys and allowing them to fall into his lap.
"I like that song," I stated blankly.
"Me too," he whispered, and then a tear fell from his cheek. I had never seen Greg cry before. Never. I wasn't sure what to do, so I sat next to him, looking down at his cracked hands, and the three quiet tears that wet them.
"Come back into the living room. Let's have some wine," I picked up his cane and handed it to him. He followed me out of the room.
And so we sat in the living room, on the couch. I pulled out the red wine I had sitting in the kitchen. Then he told me why he was really there. How Stacy had kicked him out of the apartment that they now shared. How he had lost his job because of an illegal procedure. How his leg hurt all the time. And I knew each and every one of those things was my fault. I had let them go ahead and take away his mobility, and with that, they took away his heart. He blamed Stacy, but really it was entirely my fault. After an hour, he had drunk at least five glasses of wine, and you could really tell, because his words slurred together and no longer made sense.
"Greg, you can stay here tonight," I said when his words ran out. I took the wine glass out of his hand and led him to guest room where he had played the piano. He took off his shoes and leaned his cane on the piano bench. He turned back to me.
"Thank you Lisa," his head was bowed, and I was about to cry, because I knew it was all my fault. I couldn't let him see me cry, so I swung around towards the door. I didn't get very far, because he held my shoulder and I turned back, with his nose nearly touching mine. He pecked my lips and looked back up at me before leaning to do it again. I wanted to let him, but I knew that wouldn't be right. He was drunk, I couldn't let him make this mistake.
"No," I put my hand over his mouth and stepped away, "you need to get some sleep."
So with that I left the room, and when I woke up in the morning, I made coffee and stuck some cinnamon rolls I happened to have in the oven. I walked into the guest room and he wasn't there. The bed was made, his cane and shoes gone. It was like he had never been there at all. I spent my breakfast alone, hoping he hadn't gotten into any trouble and wishing that I could say I was sorry.
For the next few days, all I could think about was how it was my fault. I wanted to help, to fix what I had broken. There was at least one of his problems that I could solve. So I called him on Thursday afternoon and told him to come to the hospital tomorrow, due to that my diagnostics head had quit recently. That was a lie.
Out of the blue, the water falling on my face turned cold. Damn, I thought, out of hot water. So I turned off the shower and I remembered that the day before I had told my secretary that I would be out today. I looked at my watch. Today was spring cleaning day. My mom had always done it. She dedicated the first day of April to just cleaning. So even though I didn't want to, it was embedded in my biological calendar. I had to.
House
When I wandered to Cuddy's office that morning, her secretary said she was taking the day off. I peered around her into the office, and she wasn't lying. No Cuddy. I should have been happy. I should have left it at that, gone back to my office, and slouched around, but this time I didn't. I kept asking about it.
"Is she sick?" the secretary was simply reading a magazine.
"I don't know," she didn't even look up. Why should she care? More importantly, why should I care? But I did. I wanted to know where she was.
So I went out and got on the bike and drove away. I thought I saw Cameron out looking out the window at me, but I didn't really care. They could fend for themselves. While I rode along, with the wind blowing at the thin shirt I had worn this morning, due to that springtime had arrived, I thought about how annoyed Cuddy would be. I probably shouldn't be going, I thought to myself, but I wanted to make sure she was okay. I had to.
Cuddy
I tore through the box full of various CDs for twenty minutes before I found a burned CD that had illegible writing in Sharpie on the front. I laughed. This was definitely it. I stuck it in the stereo and turned it up before slouching off to the closet in the hallway and pulling out cleaning supplies to start on the bathroom. I cleaned the sink, the tub, the toilet, the mirrors, and I was cleaning the bathroom floor when he came in.
House
She was cleaning the bathroom floor when I came in. She had on black shorts and a big white tee shirt. Her hair was up in a messy bun atop her head. A song I recognized was playing from her bedroom. I knew this song; I used to be able to play it on the piano. The Beatles' Golden Slumbers, it was a very good song. Then I remembered the song from another time I'd been in this house. The night over ten years ago, that for Lisa was probably just another time helping another friend, but for me it was the nicest thing anyone had ever done.
Stacy was mad at me again. She said I always used my pain as an excuse for whatever I did. She said it was all in my head. I told her she was heartless. So she pushed me out the door, locked it, and said "this is being heartless."
I couldn't go to Jimmy's place again. That would be the second time this week, and his wife would get mad at him for letting me stay so often. I didn't know of anyone else that would let me just stay for a little while. I didn't have to stay the night, only until Stacy cooled off. I did the only thing I could think to do. I pulled out my cell phone, opened it, and looked through my contacts list. Someone, anyone. Anyone nearby that wouldn't shove me into the gutter.
I came upon her name. Lisa Cuddy. I could go to her house; she wouldn't mind, or so I hoped. So before I knew it, I was standing on her front step, and she was looking out at me with surprised eyes.
"I haven't seen you in a while," a soft spurt of half laughter fell from her mouth. I tried as hard as I could to smile. "What's up?" she said, concerned, after a moment of silence.
I didn't want to tell her what had been happening. I knew I'd have to, but I just had wanted to put it off. Just for the time being, I had wanted to seem strong. So I thought for a moment.
"I missed you," I thought was a more innocent excuse, for now.
"Oh," she said with curiosity. She knew it was more than that. "Would you like to come in?"
I nodded, and entered the inviting warmth of her home. I wandered through the rooms, and she simply followed silently, trying to read my thoughts. Then I came upon a room that was cool and silent. A piano sat in the corner, untouched. I looked at it for a long moment and then looked at her.
"You play?" I already knew the answer. I had seen her play before. She was better than I was. Her fingers were longer and leaner, she moved smoother. It was beautiful when she played. I hoped she would offer to play something.
"No, I just happen to have a piano," I laughed. However, she showed no interest in playing. I decided to offer instead.
So I played for her, or maybe it was more for me. I played that song. Golden Slumbers, the first song that came out when I put my hands down on the keys. Soon I had forgotten anything else was there, and I just played. When I came to the end, she had come to sit next to me.
"I like that song," she said quietly.
"Me too."
She looked so concerned, so loving, that it became so hard to still seem strong. Then I felt it, a tear falling from my face, for me, and for her, because she had to deal with me. I looked down at my hands, and so did she. She let me cry for a minute or two, and then she took me back to the living room, away from the piano, and gave me some wine.
And since she had already seen me cry, I figured I might as well tell her. I told her about my whole life. About Stacy, about my job lost, and about my leg and how I knew it couldn't be in my head. Lisa just listened and poured more wine. By the time I had told her just about everything, my vision was blurring and my thoughts didn't make sense anymore.
"Greg, you can stay here tonight," she seemed to purr.
She led me back to the piano room, where there was a bed. I looked at her, I looked at the bed, and I looked at the piano. I took off my shoes and set down my cane. And then I thanked her. She turned to leave, but I caught her. I kissed her, because she was the only one who seemed to care. I wanted to some way to show I cared about her too.
"No," she gently pushed my face away from hers, "you need to get some sleep," and then she left.
I didn't want to bother her anymore, so I just lay down, and after only about four hours of restless sleep, I left as quickly as I could. It was obvious she didn't want me there, and I didn't want her to have to be bothered with me when she got up. I knew in my mind that I shouldn't have come in the first place, so I just left.
Only three days later she called and wanted to hire me. I don't know why, because she could have found anyone, and there were tons of diagnosticians better than me. When I came to the hospital to talk to her the next day, I brought her a CD with that song as the last track, just because she said she liked it. I was sure she had just thrown it in a pile and forgotten it, but I wanted to thank her somehow.
I listened to the song for a few seconds. She was listening to my CD. I was amazed that she still had it. I continued into the bathroom and stood in the doorway.
"Hi there," I said in cheerful greeting.
"Hello House. Could you hand me the-" she stopped scrubbing the floor, whipping her head around to look at me, "how did you get in here?"
"Key was under the mat," I held up the key to her front door and smiled guiltily. She sighed.
Cuddy
I abruptly stood and snatched the key from his hand. He smiled at me slyly.
"What are you doing here?" I inquired, less politely than I had intended.
"I was making sure that you weren't sick," he laughed. I was sure he was up to more than that.
"Not sick, just cleaning."
"Spring cleaning?"
"Yes," I looked around the bathroom.
"I see," he stretched out the words as his eyes also went over the room.
House
"You've still got that CD I gave to you ten years ago."
"Oh," her eyes leaped from the key in her hands up to my eyes, "yeah, I thought of this song just this morning."
"Good song."
She nodded matter-of-factly.
"It's better on the piano," I mumbled.
Cuddy
There it was. He obviously remembered that night, playing the song, leaving before morning, and bringing me the CD. The music from my bedroom ended right then, and we were left in utter silence. I thought out what might be the best thing to do or say.
"Do you still know how to play it?" I said with small talk like interest.
"I haven't tried since," he paused, "well, over ten years ago."
"Try. I'd like to hear it on the piano again," I said, pretending as though this was just my musical taste speaking. I walked with him down to the guest room. He remembered exactly where it was. He sat down at that piano that reminded my of my beloved grandmother and he played that song that reminded me of how much I wished he hadn't been gone when I woke that one morning. He could still play it with his eyes closed, and I tried to smile while watching him from my perch on the edge of the bench.
House
I finished the song, holding the last note as long as it would play. When my stray eye wandered to her, she was crying, hushed. I shouldn't have come here, I thought. I've just reminded her of when she tried to care for me, and I took advantage of her care. I was suddenly very flustered.
"I'm sorry," I said quickly, "I'll just go."
"No, I'm fine. Don't go."
"What?" I stood, looking down at her, her salty tears wetting her tee shirt. She didn't want me to leave? My imagination couldn't produce a reason for her wanting me to stay. So I just stood and stared at her ruefully.
"Why didn't you say good bye to me?" I knew exactly what she was talking about. That night. When I left in a hurry, running back to Stacy.
"I had already caused you too much trouble. I didn't want to be a burden again in the morning," I said flatly. She was silent, simply looking me in the eye.
Cuddy
I tried as hard as I could to think of the best way to tell him that he wasn't a burden, and that if he was, it was a burden I wanted to bear. A way to tell him that I felt something odd in my chest the moment I saw him at the door that lonely night. A way, any way, to say that it was my mistake that caused all his pain. My fault.
"I loved you."
House
There they were. The words that set my mind's confusion at an all-time high. No one could ever love me. Lisa didn't love me, she pitied me. Her love was something I could never deserve. But I wanted to know what she meant.
"Then why didn't you kiss me back?"
"Stacy was my friend. You were my friend. I couldn't be something between you." There were those honest eyes, piercing me, forcing me to say what was on my mind.
"I loved you too," the words bursted from my mouth without my consent.
"I'm sorry," I wondered what exactly she was sorry for. She had no reason to be sorry for trying to protect her friends.
"It's not your fault," I said carefully and I sat down on the piano bench with her. I hesitated, but then carefully wiped away the tears on her cheeks. "You always do the right thing."
"No," her head hung as she stared at her bare feet, "no I don't. I let them do the surgery. I should have listened to you." She pointed shakily at my leg.
"This? No, no, no," I tried to speak calmly, softly, comfortingly. I tried to sound caring, "you did the right thing. You saved my life." I dabbed away the two other tears that had escaped while I spoke. Then I looked into those beautiful eyes and willed myself to take another risk. I held her shaking hands and kissed her again.
Cuddy
He was kissing me. I commanded myself to stop him, to keep him from making this mistake, to make him realize that I wasn't someone to want or love, to make him see that I had made him miserable and that I didn't deserve him. My body just wouldn't go through with my command.
But then I though of how for the past ten years, I had wanted to fix everything that I had broken. Maybe this was it. If he wanted my love, maybe fufilling his request would make him happy. I could finally repair this. He wouldn't have to be miserable anymore. I could clean up my mess, once and for all.
See? It wasn't too that bad, horrible clichés and out of character professions of love and all!