Good evening, fandom! I've been gone a long time... I wrote a little fic (that I sadly never finished) called "Baby Daddy" around '09-'10, back when my name on here was HouseCuddyDynamite, that some of you may have read if you've been around for awhile. I took a pretty long writing hiatus after my daughter was born, and when I got back into it, I was really into "Megamind." Still am, but needless to say, I went back on a major Huddy binge recently and got inspired. It may sound dumb, but I was in maaaajor denial once I found out the fate of my favorite TV couple in season 7, and I haven't seen any post-breakup episodes or ANY of season 8. I do know what happens, though, so no one will be spoiling anything for me if you would honor me with some lovely reviews. I'm just not in a place yet where I can bring myself to watch. (I know. I'm a sappy Huddy nerd.) Also, I'd love to know what message boards or communities our continually obsessive types are haunting these days... I've been out of the game way too long to know what's going on with that. Anywho... I hope you enjoy, and if the spirit so moves you, I would love some feedback :-)
On a pleasantly warm spring morning, surprisingly enough before 10:00 AM, House sat alone with his sneaker-clad feet crossed on the top of Cuddy's desk in her perfectly decorated office at Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. Instead doing something constructive, though, like booby trapping the desk of his pretend enemy and boss or finding yet another new and satisfying way to embarrass her, House was reading an actual medical journal. With a spanking new copy of the New England Journal of Medicine in one hand and his other adeptly spinning his cane in absent circles, a red lollipop stuck out of the side of the tiny smirk playing at the corner of the genius doctor's lips.
While it wasn't unusual for House to casually peruse the Journal's contents while he was trying to solve a medical puzzle through distraction or waiting on a patient's test results, he almost never gave the philanthropy section of the periodical a second glance. He left all that touchy/feely crap to his overly caring best friend, Wilson. The grumpier doctor was glad in this one instance, though, that one of those headlines had in fact caught his attention.
House realized while sitting there that he was actually smiling as he re-read the article for what must have been the fifth or sixth time since the previous day. He had spent a sufficient amount of time plotting his next move ever since he had first read about his longtime professional rival, Dr. Phillip Webber, putting together an AIDS fundraiser. Normally, the diagnostician would have just sneered in his Housian way and continued on to the next page. But not for the first time in their lives, Webber was stepping on his toes; encroaching on his turf. Webber was putting together the New England area medical community's version of Battle of the Bands, with all of the profits set to fund AIDS-related charities in New England's more impoverished urban areas.
Webber's nauseatingly, beady-eyed smile covered the entire top half of one page of the magazine as he faux-casually wrapped his arm around an unremarkable acoustic guitar. The article described how Webber had a so-called "life-changing experience" when he started working with troubled kids in his area, doing tutoring and teaching guitar to youngsters in his spare time at a local youth center. So many of the center's young charges had been affected by the disease, he had said that he wanted to do something to help. I'm sure that was a pure motive, House scoffed internally. Probably "helped" a bunch of kids from drug-ridden neighborhoods and broken homes about as effectively as he "helped" me right out of Johns Hopkins.
On one hand, that precipitating event could be painted as the catalyst for many of the hardships that House had endured since his early days in medical school. He knew on some subconscious level, however, that he would not trade his time in Michigan for finishing his tenure at Hopkins if he were given the choice. And the person who incurred at least a portion of those sentiments was the one whose office he had currently seized. Not so subconsciously, the invading doctor was hoping that his epic plan to scalpel Webber back down to size would have the possible added bonus of upping his chances to continue to pull Cuddy a bit closer. Of course, while House attempted that, the two stubborn doctors would continue to engage in the familiar psychological foxtrot where they pretended to push the other away.
The sound of the office door opening snapped House out of his introspection, and in the second before he looked up he quickly hoped that he had staved off Cuddy's entrance long enough for the majority of his minions to arrive.
"What are you doing in here? We both just got a 911 page from Cuddy," Cameron explained as she eyed her former department head skeptically.
"Actually, you got a 911 page to Cuddy's office. Which doesn't necessarily mean that Cuddy was the one who paged you. Duh!" House answered condescendingly, pointing to himself with his cane.
"Okay then… if you wanted us for a consult or something, why wouldn't you just have us come up to your office or the DDX room?" Chase wondered, annoyed at the interruption of a rare meal he and Cameron had common free time to share in the cafeteria.
"Good question," Wilson piped in as he entered the office during Chase's speculative comment, immediately looking around the office. "Where's Cuddy?"
"Geez, why is everyone so concerned with Cuddy's whereabouts all of a sudden? She's a busy woman… with huge responsibilities all over the hospital," House responded dryly. "And… a huge ass. But that's beside the point." Cameron and Chase just shook their heads and decided to have a seat on the couch; obviously they would be there long enough to warrant sitting down.
"Whatever it is you're doing, make it quick. I was with a patient," Wilson added, annoyed.
"Anyone that's going to die in the next fifteen minutes?"
"Well, no, but…"
"Then it can wait. This won't take long," House interrupted as he pulled a familiar orange bottle from his bottle and dry-swallowed a couple of Vicodin.
"What won't take long?" Thirteen asked casually, walking into the office with Kutner and Taub trailing behind her.
"Is the Diagnostics Department invading Cuddy's territory?" Taub inquired suspiciously, observing both Cuddy's absence and the collection of House's fellows, past and present.
House scoffed, "Trust me, if I were planning any kind invasion of Cuddy's territory, I wouldn't have invited an audience," he thought a second and added, "But I might film it for educational purposes." Wilson rolled his eyes at his friend's latest innuendo regarding their boss, but he was interrupted by even more visitors before he could open his mouth to respond.
"What are we filming?" Forman wondered aloud as he entered. He was followed into the room by a very confused looking Amber Volakis.
"And why the hell am I getting paged? I don't even work here." Upon noticing Wilson standing near Cuddy's desk and House's presence, the conniving red-head made a point to flirtatiously saunter over to him. "Hey, baby," she said too sweetly, giving him a fairly chaste peck on the lips. "Are you the one that paged me?"
Eying House with a devious smile after greeting her boyfriend, he returned his own challenging glare at Amber. Wilson glanced ceiling-ward at the exchange between the two which they assumed he hadn't noticed. Evidently the pair's recent foray into changing bedpans as Cuddy's punishment for not adhering to the terms set forth for them to "share" Wilson had failed to alter their behavior much.
"Nope, that would be this one," he answered, indicating House. "He's being all… cryptic and House-ish.
"Yeah, none of us have any idea why we're here," Kutner supplied. "Why are we here, exactly?"
"I realize it may come as a shock to you, but we are doctors, and this is a hospital," Foreman stated condescendingly. "And we all have more important things to do than stand around waiting for…"
"Oh, hold that thought… I think I hear the mating call of our fearless leader!" House declared facetiously, dramatically cupping his non-cane hand around his ear.
Most of the room's occupants listened briefly and then displayed an assortment of furrowed eyebrows and puzzled visages. But soon enough, they heard it unmistakably.
"HOUSE!" Cuddy bellowed furiously through the waiting room of the clinic. When her loudly clacking stilettos finally reached her own office, she flung open the doors unapologetically and started into exactly the kind of tirade that her star employee expected. He smiled.
"House, what the HELL?!" she angrily yelled. "You page me to your office. I stand around there waiting for almost ten minutes and then I get another page from my OWN office, and now I come down here and it's full of people, none of whom I called or paged. This…" she indicated with a broad gesture, "… is NOT a conference room. This is MY private office, and I do the paging."
"But Cuddy-buns, if I had paged everyone while you were in here, you never would have let me use it for my meeting," he whined.
"First of all, you have your own office…"
"Not big enough for all these people."
"The DDX room…"
"Clearly isn't as comfortable as these posh, administrative surroundings."
"And get your damn feet off of my desk."
"Yes, mistress," House grumbled in the familiar timbre of Lurch from the Addams Family, but he did acquiesce and slowly moved his legs back onto solid ground.
All of the other doctors in the room had been temporarily stunned into silence by the rapid-fire argument between the unruly head of diagnostics and the Dean of Medicine. As usual, cutting the tension between the two, sexual or otherwise, would necessitate the likes of a machete.
"What?" House and Cuddy stopped to ask the others in unison, turning their attention to the group when they realized that they were being regarded like a zoo exhibit.
Wilson cleared his throat in such a way to represent the whole group and said, "I don't know who else we could possibly be waiting for, so can you make us privy to your latest bout of insanity so we can all get back to work?"
"Of course, Wilson. You know how much I value time management in the workplace…"
"Exactly... not at all," Cuddy quipped, moving to sit on the arm of the couch near Cameron and crossing her arms. Everyone else looked at House to get on with it.
"Like I was trying to say before I was so very rudely interrupted…" the ill-tempered doctor began, casting a pointed look at his boss, "… I have come across a philanthropic and PR goldmine for our fine institution of medicine."
"Since when do you give a rat's ass for anything that could be categorized as charity?" Thirteen asked brazenly.
"Or public relations," interjected Cuddy, "Unless you're forging bad ones to make me look ridiculous."
"Only when it's really, really cool. And a competition. And you get a free weekend in Atlantic City," House explained, holding up the article. "Andyou get to hold really embarrassing auditions with hospital staff."
"Auditions?" Wilson inquired curiously. House held up the magazine as if to say "duh," and the oncologist reached for it since he was standing the closest. Studying the headline on the cover, he asked "Battle of the Band-AIDS?"
"Yup. Bands made up of doctors playing mostly mediocre covers of 'Sweet Home Alabama' to raise money for AIDS and making their hospitals look awesome with their benevolent spirits. And in a few rare cases, seriously rock."
"And how exactly does this involve all of us?" Thirteen asked warily, indicating the group with her hand.
"Well, a chunk of you were just put through a trying and humiliating competition for employment… by some guy who I hear can be a real asshole… with stellar results," House explained to Thirteen, with acknowledging glances at Kutner and Taub. "One of you not so much…" he directed at Amber, to which she responded with narrowed eyes, "… but not for lack of trying to go all 'Grand Theft Auto' and run your competition off the road," the doctor finished in a rare concession.
"Um… thanks?" Amber responded incredulously.
"Don't get used to it," he muttered. "And I happen to know that you three…" the diagnostician began, indicating his former three fellows, "…all have backgrounds in music. And collectively, you annoy me far less than a lot of other people I know."
"And me?" asked Wilson, though he already had an idea of how his best friend would respond.
"The rest of the room may not have heard about your escapades in Community Theater and summer stock… a long time ago, in a land far away… but then again, they don't have the advantage of going far enough back with you to know all of that seriously embarrassing crap," the oncologist's infuriating friend shared enthusiastically.
Wilson covered his face with his hand, but at the same time realizing that some of the room's occupants, the women particularly, seemed to be quickly reevaluating their opinions of him. Amber had raised an eyebrow and taken on a smirk that spelled ridicule for him later in the evening. Cuddy had also covered her mouth, but it was because she was trying very hard not to laugh, and Cameron's reaction was similar.
"I'm sure it must have helped with the ladies… being one of the few straight guys in musical theater productions…" Taub offered patronizingly.
"House… you are in so much trouble…" Wilson began with an accusing finger.
"Trouble…. right here in River City?" he responded quickly.
"House…"
"Trouble with a capital 'T'…" Kutner uttered with a snicker.
"… that rhymes with P…" supplied Cuddy giddily before she realized what she was saying.
"…and that stands for 'Pool'!" finished Cameron and Chase simultaneously, half laughing and half singing.
"I've seen the VHS of him as Harold Hill…it isn't half bad…"
"You must have gone through my stuff and just stolen it! I never showed it…"
"How does this even remotely surprise you, Wilson? He pulls stuff like this all the time," reminded Forman.
"It also isn't half good," House continued, completely ignoring the two doctors' exchange, "But you were one of the only people in it who didn't completely suck. And I think I've embarrassed you sufficiently… and since I've already heard you sing, you can forgo the audition. You're in," stated House with a point in Wilson's direction that was meant to mirror his previous gesture. "And four more of you also just outed yourselves as theater nerds through spontaneous quotation," he added, pointing fleetingly at Cameron, Chase, Kutner and Cuddy.
"And yet, strangely, none of us have agreed to anything," Wilson reminded him.
"But you'll do it. Since when do you ever say 'no' to me about anything?"
"I'll do it," Kutner piped up with feigned nonchalance.
"You sing?" asked House, allowing Wilson a temporary reprieve in order to assess some fresh meat.
"Eh, I mean, a little. I'm more of an instrumental guy."
"Playing…"
"I can fool around on the drums, but mostly saxophone."
"Barry?"
"How'd you know?" the eager fellow mused.
"Lucky guess. You any good?"
"Jazz band in high school. We made it to state my senior year…"
"Fascinating. You've earned yourself an audition. Moving on to the rest of my newest victims… Taub and Thirteen… go."
"Go with what? I don't play anything and I can't carry a tune to save my life," Thirteen responded, almost a little too quickly for House's liking.
"Shame… we could have used a smokin' hot girl singer. I wonder where we'll ever find one of those?" he asked somewhat rhetorically, but the subtle sidelong glimpse he sent Cuddy wasn't lost on her in the slightest. Her eyes widened enough that he knew she had noticed, but he simply smirked and decided to save his best cards for the last proverbial hand.
Cameron, mistakenly but not surprisingly thinking the look was directed at her, stuttered in response, "I mean, I'm a decent enough singer… I was in choir… but I'm definitely not 'front woman' material. Background vocals, sure."
"And clarinet," House added.
"You remembered that?"
"I remember a lot of things. Don't read too much into it," he dismissed, and then continued with a more sincere air, "Think you could handle some sax? They aren't that different."
"Maybe… if Kutner can help me out a little…"
"I can sing," Amber asserted coolly. "I also wouldn't belong out front… but you can put me down for some background vocals as long as my boyfriend is going to be in this thing anyway."
"I still didn't say I would be…" said boyfriend tried to interject, but House didn't allow him to complete his thoughts.
"You're readily admitting to not being the best of the best at something? Maybe we need to check you for head trauma. Haven't walked in front of any busses lately, have you?"
Amber rolled her eyes. "I'm fully aware of my abilities, or lack thereof, in different areas. If I tried to sell myself as some kind of singing prodigy, which I'm not, I would be setting myself up for complete humiliation."
"Right… because trying to earn a spot on my team means that you're vehemently opposed to complete humiliation," retorted House. Amber opened her mouth, then closed it, and finally just scowled at the man that could have been her boss. Finally rising from Cuddy's chair to round the desk and take a seat on the front of it, he aimed the tip of his cane at Taub and proceeded to point it like a spotlight. "I never did hear from you. Any mad skills?"
"Not unless you count the two years of torture I put my parents through with the oboe in junior high."
The diagnostician tried to stifle a genuine laugh. "Wow. I suppose I should have seen that one coming mile away. Well… you're pretty good at arguing and pretending to be important. You might make an adequate band manager… along with the tone deaf one over there," he nodded towards Thirteen. "And both of you do have a way about you, although it's inexplicable for you, Taub, that seems to attract really hot nurses that could probably double as roadies and groupies."
"Um. I guess?" his shortest fellow answered tentatively. Thirteen shrugged her indifference but gave a cursory return nod.
"Cool. I'll let you the rest of you more musically inclined folks know when I devise a sufficiently entertaining and demeaning means of auditioning for a coveted space in my medically musical super-group. Or musically medical?" he thought to himself, looking up and tapping his chin more for effect than actual pondering.
"You haven't asked me or Chase for a run-down of our musical abilities yet…"
"Because I already know them," House answered easily. He cane-spotlighted his most arrogant fellow and started, "Attended the prestigious High School of the Performing Arts in New York City for a full two years… songwriting and rapping. Which probably means you're at least adequate on the piano and/or drums. And as for the Aussie…" he continued, "Good violinist, above average singer, competent guitarist and some piano. You're the only other one besides Wilson I'm confident enough to spare from the pain of auditions."
"And what about my humiliation?" Chase asked knowingly, realizing that his skill set didn't guarantee a bypass from House's special brand of torture.
"Oh, I'm sure I'll find other ways to debase you along the way. Why waste my time and yours when musically we both know you're qualified to perform?" Chase gave his assent with a small smile. He wondered when his ex-boss would decide to pounce.
Cuddy had watched the entire exchange carefully, not without a healthy amount of curiosity and carefully guarded amusement. While still having a minute chance of escaping House's game with her dignity somewhat intact, she decided to usher the motley hospital crew out of her office.
"Ok House, playtime is over. Go ahead and set up your auditions and do whatever you're going to do for this benefit… you have my blessing to put the hospital's name on it as long as whatever publicity you're putting out there is actually good publicity. And it will be on your time, not on my time…" Cuddy paused momentarily when she noticed him "blah, blah blah"-ing silently into the air, but he stopped and gave her a tightlipped attempt at an innocent smile when he recognized that he was caught. "I appreciate that it will probably be a huge stretch for you. But unless you want me to pull the plug on your little band… literally and figuratively… for once in your life, behave." she lectured typically. "Everyone else, back to work."
A/N: I promise no specific timeline for updates, but I'll shoot for every week or two. Part time stay-at-home mom of an extremely precocious 3 year old girl and part-time private music instructor here... my daily writing time is limited and never guaranteed! Also, you can assume basic cannon until "Living the Dream," but it will get pretty AU from there. I may include some elements from future seasons if/when it gets to that part of the timeline. Also, I'm not killing anyone off in this one. Not Amber, not Kutner, not Wilson. I like all three of them... well, I may sort of love to hate Amber... but I want this to be somewhat of an ensemble piece, so I'm keeping everyone around :-D