The Tail of Lucy Addis
The rain annoyed him. It meant many things, all of them irritating to a man who walked with a cane. No riding the bike to work for one—aside from the added risk that wet pavement and puddles created there was the hassle of wet seats and poor visibility.
So no bike tomorrow.
Rain also meant more accidents, which in turn meant more stupid cases in the clinic. More falls, more head colds, more general whining on every level, from patients to nurses and staff. Rain meant everyone would be cooped up in the hospital, cranky and getting on each other's nerves. Very frustrating.
Rain also left him feeling . . . melancholy. Rain was just depressing. It had ruined perfectly good days back when he could walk normally; ended Lacrosse games, cut into runs, given him chills. Now rain made his damaged leg ache more, adding an underlying grind to the ongoing throb, a shadow of extra hurt that the Vicodin never could touch.
Rain reminded him of the day Stacy left.
And the day she left again.
Rain was just in general, a pisser. The only good thing about it at the moment was that he wasn't out IN it. Instead he was home warm and dry, about to suck down some chowder from a can of soup and scope out the naughtier Pay per View offerings while sprawled out on the couch. His kind of night.
Someone rang the bell; House looked at his front door suspiciously. If it was Wilson or any of the Brady Bunch they would have knocked—House had trained them well. No, a ringing bell meant someone else. Someone untrained in the secret signals. House yelled. "Who is it?"
No answer. After a few seconds, the bell rang again, an insistent chime demanding a reply. House hated the sound of his own doorbell, fighting the Pavlovian response welling up in him. He scowled more deeply now, reluctantly leaving his microwaved soup on the kitchen counter and limping forward.
"If you're a Jehovah's Witness I'm a devout Pagan, and if you're a Girl Scout I'm a cannibal—" he shouted more loudly now.
No reply. Feeling his annoyance rise, House made it to the door and checked the spy hole, seeing no one. Unfortunately, the door to the hallway was open, and rain was gusting into the building foyer. House gritted his teeth, his ire increasing exponentially. Clearly the asshole had left the outer door open, and now House would have to go close it. Normally he wouldn't care, but the cold seeping in was annoying, and the danger posed by the water on the foyer hall was bad enough for folks with two good working legs, never mind a man with liabilities in that department.
House unlocked his door and cautiously stepped out, a low ongoing string of profanity leaking out of him as he did so. The chill gusting in did nothing to improve his temper, and he hastily reached for the knob of the door. Just as he began to pull it shut, a small streak of wet grey fur shot in and through his feet, startling the hell out of him. He wobbled a little, catching himself on the doorjamb and peered back in time to see the thing dart through the gap he'd left in the door to his place.
House growled.
He slammed the building door and turned, stalking back to his apartment and carefully looking around, but the little thing had scooted out of sight, and in any case the room was dim. House flicked the switches next to the wall, filling the living room with light. He winced a little at the brightness.
"Okay, home invader, let's dance—" he groused. Carefully he began a systematic search, moving left around the bookcases. Nothing. Under the writing table. Nothing. Over and under the piano and bench. Nothing. Feeling frustrated, House glanced along the sofa and towards the kitchen—
He froze. The kitten was on the table, front paws on the edge of his soup mug, daintily lapping at his chowder.
"Hey! Get away from my FOOD!" he yelled. The kitten shot him a wary look and turned back to the chowder. She managed three more quick licks before prudently skittering off the table as House wrathfully lumbered towards her. When he'd reached the kitchen and his defiled soup, he gritted his teeth and picked it up.
"Don't make the mistake of thinking I'm some kind-hearted SOB, cat. This is MY soup and MY house. When I catch you, I'm going to throw your fuzzy little butt back out into the rain," he announced loudly before slurping a mouthful of soup.
No answer.
He didn't really expect one, but part of him was amused at the kitten's sheer audacity. Carrying the mug out to the living room, House dropped himself onto the sofa and picked up the remote. He was determined to ignore the kitten; lull her into a sense of false security. It had worked with every other female he'd ever known, and he had no reason to doubt it would work now. Carefully House clicked the television on and looked over the selections available for his viewing pleasure.
He passed up Bareback Mountain and V for Vagina for the more promising 18 Blondes. As the action began to build on the screen, House surreptitiously checked out of the corner of his eye to see if his little squatter would make an appearance.
It took a while; nearly three orgies before she wandered into view, circling around one of the piano bench legs. House let his attention flick back and forth between the screen and the kitten for a while, trying not to alert her to the fact he was studying her. After several minutes she moved towards the fireplace and sat down, giving her front paw a wash.
Her fur had dried out now, and House noted she was a short-haired grey striped tabby. Since she was roughly the size of two peanut butter sandwiches laid end to end, House assumed she couldn't be very old—maybe seven or eight weeks at most. Just over weaning and still small enough to have some rough textured kitten fur on her. As for her sex---House managed a sardonic smirk, knowing he had an instinct about such things. Any animal brazen enough to scoot into HIS home and eat HIS food could only BE female.
The kitten looked up at him in a coolly appraising way, all big ears and eyes; unafraid, but wary. House snorted at her.
"Don't give ME the eye, Mooch. Looking for a handout, are you? Well too bad. I had the entire can of soup and I feel JUST fine about it."
The kitten returned to washing her paw, supremely unimpressed, and House overlaid a memory of Cuddy just that morning, returning to writing a report, equally bland. He glared at the little cat.
"Just like . . . never mind. You'll be hungry soon enough, and then I'll have you. So go ahead and work on your tongue bath while I get back to the blondes—" But looking up he noticed the movie was over, the credits rolling. Annoyed afresh, House clicked the TV off and tossed the remote down. The kitten looked up at him and ventured a little bit closer, padding over until she was only a foot or so from his left sneaker. House eyed her again.
"So. Somebody dumped you out in the rain. Somebody who thought I'd be sucker enough to take you in. But it didn't quite work out, did it? I'm not interested in a pet. I have no TIME for a pet—Steve's been released to the wild, you know. And I hate cats—" House bent down slowly and untied his shoelace, tugging it through the eyelets until it was free of the sneaker. Temptingly he dangled it; the kitten watched the white cotton string sway with big, interested eyes. House gave it a twitch and the little cat dropped into a wiggly crouch, eyes locked on the shoelace.
"That's right, go with your scatterbrained instincts. Chase a stupid piece of string you can't eat—" he taunted her, and she pounced, little needle claws pinning the shoelace onto the hardwood floor. House slowly reeled it in, tugging it free of her grip only to toss the end out again. The kitten pounced once more, her entire concentration on the moving dancing elusive shoelace. House toyed with her for several minutes, noting how quick she was, how nimble despite some clutzy moves.
The kitten was closer now, and the gray of her fur reminded him of the slate blue of Cuddy's eyes. Carefully House reached out a finger and the kitten batted it, her paw soft, claws retracted.
Against his will he smiled, and realizing it, House scowled once more. He sat up again and leaned back against his couch, thinking hard about what exactly to do.
He couldn't leave his door open in hopes she'd wander out; it would take too long and the cold would leak in. He wouldn't call anyone to help; not even Wilson. Especially not Wilson, who would try and talk him into keeping the annoying little furball. No, the best bet was to lure her into a small space, like the bathroom, and trap her there. Once caught, he could drop her off at the SPCA or give her away to someone. Cameron maybe, or Cuddy—
The thought of handing a kitten to Cuddy left House feeling a pang deep in his stomach. He could picture Cuddy's graceful hands cradling the kitten, her fingers stroking the little head, could easily visualize her cooing into the tiny face.
The damned kitten reminded him of Cuddy. Independent. Focused. Feminine---Sudden sharp pain made House yelp; the kitten had leaped to hang on the shin of his jeans and was industriously clawing her way up his good leg. House tensed, moving to bat the cat away.
"Bitch! Yeah thanks! Like the other one's not shredded enough as it IS!" he yelled at her. The kitten blinked at him, and twisted away to land next to him on the sofa. Her tail twitched and she glared at him with bland resentment for his tone of voice. House sneered back at her, feeling the sting of her claw holes along his shin.
"You are definitely OUT of here, " he snapped, "Cattus non gratus. Shoo—" He waved his hand at the kitten. She promptly lay down on the sofa cushion, tail flicking once more, her small side rising with each breath. House picked up the shoelace and threw it at her; she snagged it and jumped down, carrying it away proudly, her back end swaying a little.
Just like Cuddy's ass---although fuzzier and smaller, House amended. He rose up and headed for the kitchen, looking for bait.
The first victory was hers, House sourly conceded as he hung up his phone; the conversation with his grocery delivery service had NOT gone well.
"Okay, so you want three cans of cat food, a litter box and cat litter delivered tonight. Get a cat, Doctor House?"
"No, I'm trying to get rid of one."
"Uh, okay. You're ditching a cat, but you still need food and a litter box?"
"I don't want her to crap under my bed or on my bathroom rug while I'm getting rid of her okay? And I need the food for bait so the sooner you get it here the happier we'll all be, Roy. Can we get with the program?"
"Yeah, okay. Do you need any cat toys?"
"What would I need cat toys for? I'm getting RID of her!"
"Maybe they could be going away presents?"
At that point House had been tempted to throw the phone at the kitten and let HER finish the call, but he'd fought the urge and managed to get through the rest of the order, which now included a few six packs, just for the extra aggravation.
He headed for the bathroom with the last beer in the fridge, figuring he had just enough time for a soak before Roy showed up.
For the first time in a long time, House was acutely self-conscious of his every action; aware that he was being watched. He reached the bathroom and dropped the plug into the tub then ran the water, adjusting it to a nice level of heat. He looked around, and spotted the kitten peering around the doorsill, her ears flicking forward in curiosity. House took a step towards her and she retreated. He began unbuttoning his shirt.
"Hence the name 'fraidy', eh?" came his mocking tone. "Fear me, I am the alpha male of this domain."
The kitten plonked her little butt down to watch, and suddenly House fought the urge to smile once again; she had chutzpah, he'd give her that. With exaggeratedly blatant maneuvers, he stripped down, dropping his clothes on the bathroom rug. "Normally I get a few twenties for these sorts of moves, but I can see you've left your wallet at home—" he told her.
She yawned.
"Lesbian." House accused, and grabbed the safety bar along the wall, stepping into the scalding water with a wince. He settled himself in, popped open the beer and gave a gusty sigh, resting his arms along the sides of the tub. The heat felt blissfully good, countering the strain in his thigh. He sipped his beer and scratched under his chin, wondering if it was time to shave yet. The steam rose up, and he closed his eyes for a moment.
House liked baths. Showers were fine, but there was something far more primitive about a bath. The combination of weightlessness and heat did a lot to take the stress out of a day, and lazily he wondered if Cuddy took long bubble baths. The imagery intrigued him and House indulged his libido-driven imagination for a moment, picturing her sliding her naked self into a foam-filled tub.
Oh yeah. His grin widened a bit in appreciation.
Cuddy would be sleek and curvy, most assuredly lickable---
Something rasped against his wrist.
House opened one eye; the kitten was on the edge of the tub, her tongue scraping across the edge of his hand. He glared at her. She turned to present her minute ass to him and licked again. Sorely tempted as he was to sweep her into the water, House thought better of it and instead slowly withdrew his hand, still clutching his beer. The kitten followed his move with big golden eyes, keeping perfect balance on the narrow ledge of the tub edge.
"You are getting on my nerves."
The kitten paced forward, and stared down at the water. House sighed, draping a washcloth over himself. "You HAD your chance to see the python. Too late now."
But the kitten was far more interested in dabbing a paw at a patch of beaded water on the tub edge, poking it playfully. House sipped more beer, fascinated by her concentration. She circled the water carefully, jabbing, finally sticking her nose into it and wetting her whiskers. Annoyed, she shook her face, trying to clean the drops off, and House finally brushed her off the tub edge and down onto the fluffy bath rug. She stalked off in a huff and he laughed.
God she was so like Cuddy.
House sloshed back into the bath and thought for a while. By the time he got out and had climbed into a teeshirt and drawstring pants, he'd decided.
"Lucy Addis," he called out, moving cheerfully into the living room. "A perfectly recombined name for a stuck-up, pushy, self-centered bit of pussy. What do you think?"
She wasn't anywhere in sight. House glanced around his living room, gaze moving from low to high, and finally he spotted her on the very top of the bookcase, tail flicking in agitation.
"Lucy, Lucy, Lucy—" he chided, not moving any closer. "Brilliant maneuver, fuzzball. Now what are you going to do?"
Lucy glanced down at him, then paced along the top of the case, carefully eyeing the picture frames on the other side. House wondered for a moment how she'd managed to get up in the first place, then realized she'd climbed the coat rack and he was impressed against his will. As he reached for her, the doorbell rang; House left her and went to open it.
Roy stood in a poncho, holding two huge plastic bags, knotted against the rain. "Doctor House?"
"You ask that every time, and the answer is still the same," House snapped, but absently. He shuffled to let the boy in. Roy set the wet bags on the carpet and waited as House counted out the money. He spotted the kitten and grinned.
"That's the one you're trying to get rid of?"
"Yes, so far she's avoided all the more obvious deathtraps. I'm hoping to goad her into jumping."
"I heard cats always land on their feet," Roy murmured, taking the money and tucking it away in a zippered bag. House glanced up at Lucy and shook his head.
"They might land on their feet, but they still end up bloody little coasters if the drop is high enough."
After Roy left, House ignored the kitten and began unpacking the bags, zeroing in on the six packs first.
"Ah, my aggravation medicine—" he announced, setting it down before getting to the job of the litter box. It took only a few minutes, and as he poured the last trickles in, he heard a rustling and thudding behind him. House grinned knowingly.
"When all else fails, the call of nature succeeds—"
He carried the box into the bathroom, setting it off to the side of the toilet, and Lucy darted to it, definitely interested. She dug, squatted and buried in dainty little actions that House watched with no shame whatsoever. Finished, she sauntered up to him and circled one leg, brushing against his sweats. House arched an eyebrow.
"Aha. Ignoring me hasn't worked, so now you're resorting to feline feminine wiles in hopes that I'll spring for dinner." He limped out towards the kitchen. "Let's see what Roy has delivered."
House fished through the remaining bag, pulling out the three cans, and examining them closely. His expression soured. "Good GOD what sort of slop are they dredging up for pets these days? Liver Lumps? Sounds like a biopsy, not a dinner—" House checked another can. "Tuna Toes? Okay, that's just wrong—any tuna that has toes has been swimming too close to Bikini Atoll, if you get my drift. What monstrosity of alliteration is on this last one—Chicken Chunks. Okay, some semblance of normality. Chicken Chunks it is—
"
He opened the can and found a bowl to dump the contents into, then moved to set it on the floor. Lucy skittered over to it, sniffed, looked at him and then settled into eating. House stepped around her and went back to his sofa, thinking hard again.
He couldn't keep her; he knew that. It simply wasn't practical for him to keep a pet. House had enough trouble remembering to do his laundry and fill his gas tank; the added nuisance of cleaning a littler box and opening cans left him wary. At the same time, he barely wanted to admit it, but she'd made the evening interesting—more so than the movie had—and he was curious as to what she would choose to do next.
House stretched out, reached for the latest copy of the CDC bulletin and opened it. He was halfway through a report on Lyme disease when he felt small feet walking across his chest. He lifted the report to see Lucy standing on his sternum. She seemed to be over her wariness, and stared down at him. House noted the delicacy of her long white whiskers; the pinkness of the insides of her big ears. She circled around and settled down onto his chest.
"Just like you own the place—" he grumbled, but softly. House lowered his journal went back to reading, very aware of a small patch of warmth that hadn't been there before.
He woke up at three, brought to consciousness not by his old nemesis, pain, but by an odd sound and sensation. House blearily opened one eye, aware of a squeaky thrumming sound and some wetness on the end of his nose. He tried to focus and became aware of the gray blob of Lucy Addis lying up close to his left cheek.
She was nursing on the end of his nose. House felt her little mouth sucking wetly there, her eyes closed in bliss, and the total absurdity of his situation had him fighting not to snort out loud. Lucy's paws kneaded along his stubbly cheek, the tiniest hint of claw scratching with no more effect than the toes of a wasp.
House reached over and disengaged her; she gave a sleepy squeak of protest until he carefully licked his pinky and rubbed it against her mouth. Lucy nuzzled it a moment, then began to nurse on that instead, raspy tongue scraping the pad. He let her suckle for a while, watching her boneless little body drift back to sleep.
"Stop it," he whispered grumpily. "I forbid you to be cute. If word of this gets out my entire reputation as a man who kicks kids and dogs will be ruined."
Lucy heard him not, blissfully lost in slumber. House gave a sigh, wondering how long she would nurse on his pinky. It tickled. To distract himself he tried to imagine Cuddy doing the same and a sudden surge of lust immediately hit his stomach, rolling downwards.
Ohhhh yeah.
House decided Cuddy could suck on anything of his she wanted, and while his pinky was a good start, there were definitely better parts to finish with. The fantasy was a good one, but he was too sleepy to follow through on it, and a little while later, House drifted back to sleep himself, finger still in the kitten's mouth.
Breakfast with Lucy was . . . interesting. While House shoveled down his Sugar Pops, the kitten was more interested in the milk, and sat on the other side, lapping steadily at it. House waved his spoon at her.
"You'll get the runs," came his annoyed warning. "Scooting off to your sandbox every twenty minutes or so once the lactose and sucrose hit, baby."
Lucy looked up at the waving spoon, momentarily distracted. House took the opportunity to pick up the saucepan away from her and finish up the last of his soggy cereal. She eyed the pot as she paced on the kitchen table, little tail perking a bit. House shook his head. "Forget it. So, while I'm out would you do the dishes, the laundry, change the sheets and take out the garbage?"
Lucy leaped off the table, making a thump as she landed on the floor, sauntering away towards the living room. House watched her go. "I take it that's a no?" he yelled after her.
House set out a dish of water next to the food bowl, checked to make sure all the windows were locked, and closed the door to his bedroom before heading out.
The morning was mundane, with only one patient on the caseload, and House let Foreman take the credit for the diagnosis, even though he himself had suspected the tumor from the first three listed symptoms. After dismissing everyone to carry out the necessary tests, House debated going home and seeing what disasters would await him. It was while he was in the middle of his ruminations that Cuddy stopped by his office.
She paused at the doorway, looking in at him and the feminine grace of her move was so much like Lucy's that House blinked a little. Cuddy strode in, her voice grimly amused. "Your clinic hours have been rescheduled," she announced, and crossed her arms.
He gave an exaggerated look of innocence. "Have they?"
"Yes. Brenda tells me she watched them disappear right before her very eyes while she was getting ready to post the rotation this morning," Cuddy snarled, leaning down over House's desk and planting her palms on it, her expression fierce. House fought a grin.
Perfect. If only he could keep her there---
"And since timetables aren't supposed to go 'poof!' I naturally thought of you."
"Oh you can't blame ME—computers screw up all the time," he countered in an absent voice. The view was perfect; sweet creamy cleavage squeezed up along her V neck top, the tiniest hint of black scalloping along the edge of the shoulder. Interesting--Cuddy wore black lace bras—House filed that fact away for later erotic review.
"House, yours was the only set of clinic hours altered! It doesn't take Encyclopedia Brown to figure out who hacked into the schedule!" Cuddy growled. He leaned back a little.
"Encyclopedia Brown? No comparison to Holmes or Poirot? I get judged against a ten year old suburban homeboy?"
"Consider the pettiness of the crime—" Cuddy replied. She finally noticed his gaze and glanced down. "Oh for God's sake!" swiftly she straightened up again, crossing her arms defensively. House's grin widened; her move only enhanced the view. Cuddy was flushed now, aware that she'd lost the battle before it had even begun. Her nostrils flared.
"I bet Encyclopedia Brown never looked at Sally Kimball this way—" House drawled, arching an eyebrow suggestively.
Cuddy gave a sigh of exasperation. "She'd have pounded him flat then gone home to read through her latest issue of On Our Backs. House, you have clinic duty this afternoon. Should you miss it, the correlating percentage of your paycheck will be docked for the next three months."
That was new. And unpleasant. House gave a shudder.
"Jawohl, mein Führette! Cud-dy, Cud-dy über alles---" he sang softly. She spun and stormed out; House watched the sassy swing of her ass and sighed happily at the sight of it. Annoyed Cuddy had the best saunter. Slightly sloshed Cuddy was cute too, because that sexy sway came with throaty giggles as well, but it had been a long time since he'd see SSC and never at the office.
With a sigh, House turned back to his laptop and prepared to stick his hours back in.
With trepidation, House opened his door and reached up to flick on the light. He liked the anticipation of the moment; not knowing if disaster or order lay behind the door. Carefully he looked in.
Newspaper lay strewn off the end of the sofa. The high intensity lamp near his recliner was toppled. House sighed. Moderate and fixable. He stepped in.
"Cat?" he called, carefully closing the door behind him, and eyeing the room. He'd promised himself he would NOT call out 'Lucy, I'm home.' She wasn't anywhere in view, so he lurched towards the kitchen, looking over the shelves. A single broken mug glittered up at him from the floor; House nudged it with his sneaker, only slightly miffed. A quick trip out to Hooters and he'd get a replacement.
House heard a strange chord. Turning, he took a few steps and looked towards his piano out in the living room. He couldn't see the keyboard, but he heard the odd tinkle and knew precisely where Lucy was. Carefully he limped out towards her.
"Your name is Addis, not atonal—" he grumbled. The kitten looked up at him from the keyboard, and permitted him to pet her, arching into his big palm as he sat down to the instrument. House lightly tapped a few keys as he looked at her. "In the mood for something prophetic maybe?"
Gently he played out the introduction, letting his hands move over the keys with ease as the slightly mournful melody of 'Someone To Watch Over Me' rose out of the piano. Lucy wandered away, finding a balled up post-it note more interesting. House kept playing, adding richer chord combinations to the melody, and humming it under his breath. It was a melancholy tune at best, but he enjoyed the despondent theme more than he wanted to admit.
And then there was the thought of Cuddy singing it. She had the sort of voice that could make this particular song a real come-on. House lingered on that imagery, and as the music came to an end, he sighed, knowing his decision had been reached.
House picked up his cell phone and dialed. It rang, was answered and he cleared his throat before speaking.
"I need you to come over and help me get rid of a body," he announced.
Some squawking came over the line; House winced a little, holding the phone away from his ear for a few seconds. "Well if it was a prank call I would have disguised my voice, like last time. No, I mean it. I have a small body here and I need your help in getting rid of it." There was another series of growls; House broke in impatiently. "Because you're my boss, and the one who handles bad PR involving your doctors and the scandals that happen with them. Get over here."
He hung up, and turned the phone off, then rose off the piano bench, smirking a little at the thought of Cuddy at home, pacing back and forth, trying to decide if he was serious or not. Lucy came skittering around the corner of the sofa and nearly ran into his cane. He poked it at her and she batted the end of it.
"Your days are numbered, fuzzy butt. The man with the cane wins again," House told her as he made his way to the sofa and sat down.
Halfway through watching SpongeBob Squarepants, House heard his doorbell ring. He clicked the remote and muted the show, then yelled, "Come in!"
"Okay House, I don't know what weird little game you're playing, but given your track record I don't want to take a ch---ooooh God, what a cutie!"
House sighed, filing THAT comment away alongside the black lace bra factoid. He turned to peer over the back of the couch, just in time to see Cuddy pick up Lucy Addis and pat the kitten gently. Instantly a little purr filled the air and House rolled his eyes.
"Great—I feed you, give you shelter from the rain, a nice big sandbox and do you purr for me? No. Ungrateful brat."
Cuddy gave a knowing laugh. "There's a concept I'm sure you know well. So—this is the body in question?" She held Lucy out a bit and examined her. The kitten blinked and allowed herself to be held up. Cuddy smiled, walking slowly around to the front of the sofa. House looked up the long length of her and fought to keep his expression neutral.
"That's the one. Want her?"
"No."
House sighed. Cuddy continued. "But, I have two nieces who would adore her. You're serious about giving her away?"
"Yes." His forced his voice to stay light. It came out almost glibly, but Cuddy cocked her head. Very gently she set the kitten down on the sofa cushion beside House, and the little cat climbed into his lap. Cuddy watched, her expression soft. House twisted his face into a scowl. "Oh come on, Cuddy—do I LOOK like someone who needs a kitten? I have to be able to come and go as I want, without worrying about refilling bowls or changing litterboxes."
"Or playing with string, or petting?" she countered, lightly dropping herself onto the edge of the sofa. House shot her a smutty look.
"Oh I could get into petting, but I like my pussy a little more experienced."
"THAT'S the leer I knew was coming," Cuddy countered serenely, shifting to face him. "But I notice you ARE petting her—"
House pulled his hand away guiltily and Cuddy took a breath, leaning back on the sofa. She sighed. "—Give up, Greg. You're a sucker for anything small and determined. Patients. Rats. Kittens. Inside that black hairy heart of yours is a weak spot, an emotional aneurysm for the underdogs of this world. It's something I've always liked about you."
House pondered Cuddy's words even as he luxuriated in the closeness of her on the sofa. Part of him was irritated at her insight, and another was fascinated by the slide of her short skirt up her thighs. He managed a half-smile.
"There is a price for Lucy—" he muttered. Cuddy arched an eyebrow at him. An elegant eyebrow, House noted.
"Lucy? You named her, too?"
"Lucy Addis," House rolled out. "And if your nieces take her, they have to keep the name."
"Is that the price?"
"No. That's a rider. The price is . . . " he hesitated, feeling a rare pang of indecision. Making sexist and suggestive remarks at work was one thing, but a pass here, after hours and at home---
"Greg? The price?" Cuddy prompted, leaning closer. House locked gazes with her.
"Some petting."
Cuddy blinked. She stared at him for a long tense moment, and House held her gaze, feeling foolish and reckless and achingly horny all in the same compressed minute.
"Why am I aware that for once you're not kidding?" she finally croaked. House sighed harshly, and leaned forward a tiny bit. Cuddy did the same, both of their faces only inches apart now.
"Because for all the crap we dish about and to each other, there has always been something here between us, Lisa. You know it. I know it."
"Yes. But—" That was as far as Cuddy got; House leaned in and very gently kissed her, brushing his mouth against hers as if to erase her doubtful words. Cuddy moaned sweetly, a sound that sent a hot charge knifing through his lap.
House held back. He wanted to press his advantage, but intuition held him back, and he waited, torn and hungry. After a second, Cuddy pushed forward, her lips lingering on his, and he felt the velvet tip of her tongue sliding along the seam of his mouth.
He groaned pleasurably, and tipped his head slightly, the better to kiss her, to welcome in her questing tongue. Cuddy mirrored his action and teased him, tasting like lipstick and mints and herself, warm and oh so sexy—
House let her kiss him, lost himself in the slow sensuality of Cuddy's seductive tongue. She teased and toyed, kissing with a playful flair that was heating him up quickly. He turned to face her, and in doing so, accidentally disturbed Lucy, who had been curled up in his lap. She gave an indignant squeak, and the sound of her tiny outrage broke the spell. Cuddy pulled away from the kiss and laughed softly, reaching a hand to Lucy.
"Don't squeeze the kitty, House," she teased, her cheeks still red, her eyes bright.
"Forget the kitten, focus on the big tomcat here—"
Cuddy planted her free hand on his chest. "Whoa, big fellah. You got your positive strokes. Don't make the mistake of thinking I was doing anything more than paying your price."
House shot her a knowing look, his glance sharp, his dimples deep. Very slowly he licked his lips, still tasting her on them, and seeing that, Cuddy gave a little shiver.
"House---"
"Oh call me Greg, what with your tongue practically moving into my mouth and all. Come on Lisa, that's not petting. That's kissing, and while it's a fantastic start, it's by no means the end."
Cuddy attempted to laugh him off. "It's as much petting as you're going to get."
"But not nearly as much as you want to give me—" he pointed out to her in a flare of insight so keen it almost hurt. Cuddy lifted her chin and looked away. Lucy hopped off the sofa and wandered away. Neither of them spoke for a moment, then House sighed. "Lisa?"
"Call it a lapse in common sense," she told him softly. "You're stubborn and brilliant and sexy, Greg. You're a lot of dangerous things for a woman like me, and I've known that from the day I met you. But I put aside all that and hired you because you were what the hospital needed, and every patient you've ever saved rejustifies that choice. So I'm not about to fuck that up by letting you put your hands under my bra."
He sighed. "Sorry then. No kitten. I'll just drop her off at the pound and let them gas her in a week."
Cuddy's eyes blazed; she glared at him. "You wouldn't dare."
He shrugged, keeping his expression bland. "Hey, you broke our agreement, and tried to reconcile it with some noble speech about our positions at the hospital while at the same time you were clearly scoping out my package. Mixed signals; I get confused easily."
"Oh so it now a matter of letting you grope me to save a kitten's life—is that it?" Cuddy demanded. House noted she was having trouble keeping a straight face. He kept his gaze level. Cuddy gritted her teeth. She climbed onto the sofa forcing him to shift back, and loomed over House, her hands planted on either side of his shoulders. Her long hair dangled over her shoulders. "So you're not above using blackmail to get you way on this?"
"You're scaring me. But in a really good way—" House told her, sliding his hands around her slender waist and pulling her on top of him.
Cuddy growled. "Shut up and let me save Lucy's life—"
House said nothing, and simply buried his nose in her cleavage.
A week later, House plucked an envelope out of his mailbox, not recognizing the handwriting. He opened it, and pulled out a card with smiley faces on the front. When he opened it, out fell a Polaroid of two little girls, beaming at the camera. One was holding Lucy Addis, who was squirming to get away.
House carried the card into the bedroom and climbed into bed, nudging the sleeping figure already there. He curled around her and purred softly in her ear. "Hey."
"Hmmm?"
"It seems your noble sacrifice worked." He handed her the card. She rolled over and took it, glancing at the photo with a little grin.
"Ummmm." Carefully Cuddy molded herself against House and pressed her lips to his chest. "Selflessly saving lives . . . all part of being a doctor."
"Or playing doctor," he sighed happily, stroking her bare bottom.
"Does this mean you have to go find another kitten?"
"Nah, I like the pussy I've got right here," he told her, and proceeded to prove his point several times before morning.
END