Disclaimer: I neither own, nor claim to own, House M.D. or any of its characters.
Cuddy
Did I imagine what had happened? I was suffering from Mass Hysteria after all. The mind can convince the body that it feels sensations that just aren't real. It could not have been real. The way he touched me. The way he looked at me. He was sincere. Greg House was genuinely concerned about me. He took care of me. And I melted when he leaned so close to me that I could feel his breath on my neck. I felt that certain feeling in the pit of my stomach, a very real, very specific feeling in the pit of my stomach. When he looked at me, it was in a way I can't describe. It gave me goose bumps. I could actually feel myself being drawn to him. Wanting desperately to reach out to him. Touch him. If he hadn't turned away at the exact moment that he did, I am afraid of what may have happened. He felt it too. I know he did. I could see it in him. I could feel it in him. Was he afraid? Is that why he turned away? Could that be the reason he flirted with the flight attendant? Ooh that bothered me. I was actually jealous. What is wrong with me? This is Gregory House we are talking about. Gregory House.
Dr. Lisa Cuddy had settled into bed for the night, but the thoughts of the day's events taunted her. It was almost eleven and her room was dark, lit only by a streetlight somewhere outside. She stared at the ceiling unable to chase the thoughts from her mind. Greg House's face relentlessly tormented her thoughts and…after hours of tossing and turning…invaded her dreams.
Cuddy resisted as wakefulness slowly set upon her. She buried her head under her pillow, desperately seeking another hour's sleep. It had been a rough night, filled with tossing and turning and dreams she thought impossible to create with one's imagination. She dreamt of Him. Him touching her. Him wanting her. Him loving her in a way she thought he was incapable of. And, to her surprise, she enjoyed every highly inappropriate image her mind created throughout the night.
He is her employee; she is his boss. Damn him. It was wrong to entertain such fantasies.
She was alone in her empty bed contemplating the events of the previous day. She was confused. She could not be remembering it correctly. She tried to rationalize what she was feeling. It was possible…highly probable in fact…that her condition on that long flight home had caused her to seriously misinterpret House's actions. He was a doctor after all. He did his job…and he did it well.
Cuddy's mind was racing, and sleep never returned to her. It was only eight o'clock, way too early to be awake on a rare day off. She was supposed to be relaxing, catching up on sleep, and avoiding the effects of jetlag. But she was awake now.
She stepped into her master bath and turned on the water. She only hoped that the steaming shower would help clear her mind. She needed to really think, not fantasize, about everything that had happened during the flight home last night.
She was so grateful for her day off. It couldn't have come at a more convenient time. She needed to figure this out before she saw or spoke to House again. She was bothered. She was annoyed.
Puzzles. Why was House so fond of puzzles?
House
Greg House limped to the door of his apartment and watched the cab drive away. He unlocked the door and put his bags on the floor. He went first to the kitchen and poured himself a glass of scotch. He took a long welcome drink, the taste soothing him. He hadn't had that much excitement in a long time.
He made his way to the living room, ignoring the red light flashing wildly on his answering machine. The messages were inevitably going to be from Wilson, and House didn't care to fill him in on the details of the conference or the flight just yet. He wanted to relax, unwind before dealing with his friend's nonsense. It was late. Everything could wait until tomorrow.
He set his half-empty glass on the coffee table, ignoring the coaster just inches away. Whose going to see the ring it leaves anyway? He collapsed onto the couch, swallowed a Vicodin, and buried his face in his hands.
What happened today between us? The trip started normally enough, with all the usual wit and sarcasm. What changed? I was an ass…as is the norm. I surprised her with a seat in coach. And of all the reactions she could have had, she went. Quietly. When I relieved her of the seat, she didn't yell, she wasn't angry. She thanked me. Her voice, her body language, everything about her lacked the vigor I love about her. Love? No. The vigor that I have come to expect from her. She was calm, and sincere in her thanks, and she stood so close to me I could smell her perfume. She smelled so sweet, like a flower garden after a rainfall in the spring…
The ringing of the phone broke his train of thought. He hesitated before answering it, knowing if he didn't, Wilson would call him all night, or worse, he would come over to make sure he made it home alright.
"Hello?" House said into the receiver. He tried his best to sound groggy, as if he had been woken from his sleep.
"House! Where have you been? I thought the plane landed hours ago." Wilson's voice came through the speaker louder than House expected.
"Oh, hi Mom. I'm so sorry I didn't check in, but I'm home now, all snug in my bed." House said sarcastically.
"Oh. Did I wake you."
"Yeaaah. What do you want?"
"I wanted to make sure you got home. You didn't call me back."
"Didn't check the machine. Can it wait?"
"Are you coming in to work tomorrow?"
"I sort of planned on it, but now that you mention it, maybe I'll stay home. Long flight, you know?" If they weren't expecting him to be at the hospital, he would stay home. No sense in seeing sick people if he could avoid it.
"Speaking of which, how was your flight?"
"Any chance this can wait?" House avoided the question with ease.
"Oh. Right. You were sleeping. 'Night House."
"'Night Wilson." House hung up the phone and sunk deeper into his couch. He laid back, reached for a tennis ball and began bouncing it off the ceiling.
Cuddy fell into the same hysterics as the rest of the passengers on the plane. I was convinced. Convinced she was sick. Convinced she might die. Convinced that those may be our last moments together on this earth. She scared me to death. I almost forgot about the man lying on the floor, legitimately in pain, when I finally knew she was all right. I was so relieved. I sat in the seat next to her and all I wanted was to hold her. To comfort her. But she didn't need comforting. She is a strong woman. But, still I wanted to stroke her hair, let my hand linger a little too long on her cheek, and pull her close to me. Maybe I needed the comforting. I was afraid. I just turned away. I'm such an idiot…No, that was the right thing to do. These feelings had to stem from the thought of losing her for good. We have known each other for so long. We've been friends and nothing has ever happened between us. These feelings aren't real. No. I do not have feelings for Lisa Cuddy.
House stood up and limped to his bedroom. His eyes were getting heavy. Between the Scotch and the Vicodin, he should sleep well.
The pain in House's leg woke him bright and early, as was usual. He reached for the little orange bottle that almost always sits on the bedside table. Disappointed in not finding it there, he realized he had left it in the living room the night before. He stumbled out of bed, wincing at the pain. Without his cane, he limped to the living room, collapsed again into his place on the couch, and dry swallowed two Vicodin.
He turned on the TV and flipped through the channels, but there is never anything good on in the mornings. He was bored, and for a brief moment, he considered going to work. But how would that look? He had an excuse to stay home. That would be like doing clinic duty without Cuddy making him do it.
Cuddy…
He wondered how she was doing. He let his thoughts slip back to her. An empty apartment, and nothing on TV, was bound to make for a long day. Maybe he would call her. No. Maybe he would show up unexpectedly at her house with some lame excuse for having to see her. That was more his style.