Disclaimer: I unfortunately own nothing but my deranged mind and my exquisite taste. House MD belongs to David Shore and FOX.
Hail Huddy people! Happy days, huh? Yeah, I know! :D I guess that's what Jesus meant by the "Ask and thou shall receive" thingy, idk… Anyway, this hiatus is killing me so I can only imagine how you guys must feel with so much time on your hands, so little new Fanfiction to read and absolutely nothing new to watch, so I humbly bring you a piece I have written for a while now, properly adapted to our show's recent happenings. I hope you like it.
Aw, and a small warning: this is unbeta-d. Yeah, bummer. Thing is, since Brazil was not colonized by the British – thank you so much, Portugal! – English is not my first language, so severe Grammar injuries are expected to reduce the pleasure of your reading. I'm sorry about this collateral damage, but this is also a late Christmas present to my beloved beta who really deserves to enjoy her time off and I didn't think you guys would be interested in waiting, so deal with my foreign nonsense like big boys and girls already! LOL
Dedicatory time now… This is to B, my number one friend and reader. Just like no crazy procedures can be done in PPTH without Cuddy's consent, nothing written by Andressa Matos can be published without being previously read by Bridgette Windham. Your input is a sine qua non condition for me honey. Lobe Ya Tonz.
Andie.
"These wounds won't seem to heal
This pain is just too real
There's just too much that time cannot erase."
"My Immortal" By Evanescence
Complicity – Part I
The cold wind penetrated easily through the thick Brazilian leather of his motorcycle jacket, spiking the hair that covered his arms and making him shiver. The throbbing on his right leg immediately turned into sharp daggers mercilessly slashing his quadriceps as the unusually chilly autumn breeze surpassed the protective warmness of his scruffy Levi's denim. A brilliant red light shone above reflecting itself on his helmet, and it took his recently prudent brain a couple of seconds to refrain his hand from pressing on the accelerator and speeding up along the wet desert avenue.
Instead, he slowed down the two-wheel vehicle smoothly until it stopped before the traffic light. His subconscious had been doing a great job blocking House from taking stupid and unnecessary risks since the same hand that had signed those adoption papers a few weeks earlier got to feel an almost imperceptible yet miraculous flutter on Lisa's belly, the fruit of the previously unknown noble and pure portion of his being that patiently grew in the womb of the one woman he ever loved.
The work day had been extenuating as the two previous ones but, as awkward as it might sound, solving the puzzle and diagnosing the four-year-old had not had the usual healing effect on House, providing the Sherlock Holmes kind of high capable of dissolving the fatigue that had been consuming his body after over sixty hours of hard work. It was passed 3 a.m. when the lab results confirmed his differential and the ducklings hopelessly started Katie on the palliative treatment, unable as they were to revoke her premature death sentence.
As much as he loved Cuddy, House definitely did not share her obsession with guilt. It had not been his fault and he knew it. The patient's lethal condition was already too advanced when she was admitted in PPTH and the time spent on diagnosing her had been very reasonable regarding the illness' complexity. His work had been successfully done as usual; there was no doubt about it. Surprisingly, this time he had been the one politely thanked after giving the bad news to the devastated parents, which granted him the chance to experience how Wilson felt on a daily basis dealing with his cancer patients. A hypocrite son of a bitch, that is how he felt, a punch right in the face way more appealing than reading the sincere gratitude in the young couple's faces.
The whole team had already left for the night, except for Foreman. Greg House's eternal apprentice had sent a smokin' hot girlfriend home alone just to start scribbling a brand new article about what would probably be called "the brand new achievement of PPTH's diagnostic team". The young neurologist seemed oddly enthusiastic about wasting a big part of his free time on struggling to desiccate House's train of thought into a well-versed dummies version only to prove his mentor once more as the best diagnostician in the country. And he claims he doesn't want to become me, House thought to himself as he watched his pupil typing in genuine amazement, clearly numbed by the diagnostic high he had learned to wholeheartedly enjoy.
The world must have been screwed up for good this time, but House could not help but envy Foreman's lack of care as himself felt incapable of erasing from his mind the hazel sparkle of the little brunette's eyes and how rapidly it had vanished since the first time he met her and she introduced him to her imaginary friend. The golden member of Oprah's official fan club in New Jersey, James Wilson would surely come up with a series of mushy theories to explain why this kid had tumbled down Greg House's assiness wall as a bunch of Latin immigrants invading US, but the truth was that Mrs. Winfrey would not be interested on producing a show with such predictable outcome. Katie Wilder was just a painful reminder of what life can generously give to somebody when they do not even know if they are interested and then take it away once living without it has become no longer possible.
House would not bear losing either of his children. Not the genetically unrelated four-year-old that filled his life with joy and effortlessly won him over just when he thought her to be an insurmountable obstacle between him and her mother, and surely not her baby brother that was on the way and moved against his palm every single night preparing daddy for his arrival. Rachel was also his now; he was not giving her up. Not after being vomited all over or staying awake countless nights fighting an unbreakable fever or a recurring nightmare. Not after being obliged to attend tea parties with a bunch of uptight Barbies and come up with fifteen different voices to do justice to some of Brother Grimms tales. Not after being adopted as a father when her innocent lips pronounced that overwhelming three-letter word with an equally petrifying naturalness and captivated his damaged heart for good, melting whatever ice stubbornly remained inside. From that day on, Cuddy had promised him never to take the kid away, even if they eventually split, and he sure as hell was not allowing death to pitch in either. Rachel Natalie Cuddy House was fated to be nauseatingly happy and die at the age of 80.
A little girl condemned to a premature agonizing death was no reason to celebrate whatsoever, so there was no point on calling out the night comfortably laid on his ergonomic chair listening to jazz, sipping cheap bourbon and feeling good about himself. For the first time in years, Greg House golden rules of self-preservation had been royally broken as he could not help but truly care for a patient, and now he found himself irrevocably trapped in another desolating memory. Life had just presented itself as it actually was, cruel, meaningless and unfair, and there was nothing left for him but closing himself on his safe healing shell to lick his wounds. For the first time in over a decade he had something precious to come home to; his leg hurt, his heart ached, he needed her.
His empty and nauseated stomach had already started to churn, a pleasant side effect of the excruciating pain that afflicted his damaged muscle and he struggled to focus on the road and not on the cool rain that soaked him to the bone as his motorcycle entered her street, breaking the sacred silence of the night. Five minutes later, House limped into Cuddy's place, as quietly as possible not to wake her up, and dragged himself down the hall and into her bathroom, wincing in pain while clumsily taking of each damp piece of garment, which proceeded on forming a water trail on the dark wooden floor.
After forty something years sleeping by herself on empty spacious beds, Cuddy had become spoiled way too quickly in the last few months by the delightful presence of an Hugo Boss smelling body warming up the flannel blankets and lulling her to sleep every night with his steady breathing. Her head had not taken too long to get used to resting on House's brawny yet tender chest, and her scalp yearned to be soothingly massaged by his slender fingers that entangled themselves in her ebony curls. Despite his considerate effort on quietly tiptoeing around the house, she was immediately awakened by the time his wet pair of navy blue Nike Air trespassed the front door's threshold. Yawning and peeking at the clock over the nightstand, she switched the lampshade on and listened closely as he got in the bathroom and the water started to run on the bathtub.
The pain was still pungent and he unconsciously rubbed his thigh with violence, desperate to relieve the lacerating sensation as the hot steamy water filled the bathtub and involved his shuddering body. And it was this sorrowful scenario, Gregory House nearly crying in agony which instantaneously broke Cuddy's heart as she entered the bathroom and saw the love of her life abandoned in his misery. Pregnancy hormones kicking in, her eyes filled themselves with tears and her always regretful mind blamed herself for all the dozens of torturous moments like that one he had gone through alone in his apartment, contorting himself in pain with nobody around to care for him.
Her soul was about to immerse itself in guilt when a sudden and soft movement inside of her womb pulled back to reality. She could not help but wonder how her little boy had sensed his daddy needed assistance, but the impatience of his fluttering probably indicated Gabriel House did not see any use on his mommy reflecting about a ten-year-old culpability and causing him unnecessary distress instead of actually doing something useful to help.
Shoving the dark thoughts and memories to the back of her head, Cuddy took a deep breath and swallowed the recently formed lump inside of her throat before approaching the bathtub and kneeling beside it to touch his sweaty face, saying softly "Greg, it's ok, I'm here."
His eyelids lifted in surprise. After so many years of loneliness, his mind still had some trouble getting used to the fact he had finally found someone both stupid and brave enough to share his disgrace. Baby blue locked with smoky blue, and he wondered how was possible that such a huge amount of hope could fit in those tiny pair of irises. He did not have any intention to actually find the answer to that question though, for there was no point on trying to explain the unexplainable or measure the immeasurable. An amazing pair of jades sparkled full of genuine love for him, and somehow he knew everything would be fine as long as it kept infusing strength in his shattered spirit. "I didn't mean to wake you up" he indirectly apologized, struggling to regain composure not to freak her out.
"I was not sleeping…" she lied, trying her best not to look excessively worried. The last thing she needed was him misinterpreting her solidarity and preoccupation as pity. She knew better. "Pain's gotten worse?" Cuddy inquired in fake casualty, praying to God he would not notice she was about to break apart.
"It's wearing off, I just need more Ibuprofen." Greg replied with unintentional asperity and defensiveness, regret immediately kicking in and reminding him why he had always put a lot of effort into pushing people away; he was physically incapable of being nice "Can you bring me my pills? I have a bottle of it in…" he started and paused to inhale deeply, closing his eyes as another sharp stab impaled his quadriceps and a grimace deformed his features "… my jacket's pocket."
With a silent nod, Cuddy hurried out the bathroom and went for the half-full tiny white bottle of non-narcotics. Her eyes scanned the colorful label and part of her felt angry at the medicine ineffectiveness. It was essentially naïve and hypocritical to expect a patient in severe chronic pain to have a good quality of life without potent painkillers. It was like prescribing herbal tea to gastroenteritis or meditation for migraines. It was preposterous. Still, in the lack of a good emergency physical therapy session, Ibuprofen was all she could count on in the moment. The forbidden V word was never an option.
Back to House's side, Cuddy handed him the childproof medication case and waited for him to open it up and shove half a dozen pills inside of his mouth. She was surprised, though, by the cracking sound of plastic slamming against tile three seconds later, as the object was thrown against the wall by an infuriated House. "Useless! This shit is useless!" House shouted; desperation invincibly turning into anger as his clenched fists punched the water with violence, splashing it out of the bathtub.
Cuddy did not know if Rachel's absence had been one of the reasons behind House's abnormally unrepressed reaction, but she was surely thankful that her little girl had been picked up that afternoon to spend the weekend with her aunt Lucinda and her cousins at the Hamptons. House had never as much as elevated his tone in the presence of their daughter, let go loudly shrieking in rage in awareness she was asleep in the other room.
Cuddy herself had no idea how she had just been able to cheat her own reflexes and stay confidently in place despite his intimidating outburst; the normal reaction would have been to flinch in response to his suddenly aggressive behavior. Maybe the certainty that House would never physically hurt her was strong enough to beat her own instincts of self-preservation. Her hand, however, disobeyed her brain's bravery determination and rested protectively on her bulge belly, maternal instinct too powerful to be shut down by any sense of trust.
Her gesture did not go unnoticed by his lynx eyes, and his face automatically softened in repent as he asked concernedly "Oh my God Lise, I'm… I'm sorry… Are you okay?"
His wet hand joined hers on her womb, and his frightened stare silently begged her for an affirmative answer. Her free hand moved up to caress his face and he exhaled in relief. "Greg, you know I can't give you anything else for the pain…" she reasoned, feeling a little disappointed as he automatically withdrew his hand from hers in frustration.
"But it hurts too much, Lise, I…" House whimpered in pain, hand back to the frenetic useless scrubbing "Morphine, give me a shot of morphine…" he cried out, his urgent plea sadly echoing on the bathroom walls and bringing her to tears of hopelessness.
There was nothing left for her to do but cradle him in her arms, and that is what she did, without any hesitation, getting in the bathtub all dressed up and holding him against her chest for several minutes. Getting herself together and wiping away her weep, she gently touched his face "Honey, Greg, look at me!" she called pleadingly "Let me help you, love, please, let me do this…"
He would gladly let her do that; abandoning himself in her care and love was everything he had ever dreamed of. Nodding slightly, he felt her velvet lips brushing a feather kiss on his forehead before she stood up and got out of her bathtub to reach for the sponge and soap above the sink. She looked lovely on that wet baby pink nightgown that hugged her now more sinuous curves, the five-month belly showing off beautifully, against all odds, majestically proving science wrong. Watching Cuddy's pregnancy progressing had been way more fascinating than any of the impossible medical puzzles he had ever faced with in his successful career.
She ran the sponge through his robust body with deliberation, the sweet chamomile scent of her soap lingering in the air. His eyelids dropped and his head fell back, the tenderness of her movements washing away the tension that had been enslaving his body. The discomfort on his leg had already started to subside when she finished rinsing his hair. "Can you stand up?" she inquired, offering her small hand to help him rise.
Her tiny shoulders gave him the support and balance he needed to get to the bedroom, each torturous step bringing him closer to the coziness of their bed. His mind traveled back in time, flashbacking the innumerous occasions in the last decade when he had dragged himself through a similar pathway with nothing else to lean on but a cold piece of wood. A few feet left to their goal, he heard her whispering in reassurance "We're almost there, honey, just a bit more…" the jades ever so bright, the flashy smile lightening the room; that alone was worth a whole life of waiting.
House could not wait for Cuddy to hand him a pair of boxers before ripping out the soaking robe and throwing himself in bed, completely naked. The pain was back in full force thanks to the brief walking, and all he wished was to fall into oblivion as soon as possible. She quickly changed into a dry pair of pajamas and went back for him, pulling the covers from underneath his body and tucking him in, adding an extra blanket just to be safe.
In normal conditions he would have surely mocked her for using some camphor oil on his leg but House seemed to truly enjoy the refreshing sensation once she spilled a generous amount of the liquid on the skin around his scar and started rubbing the damaged muscle vigorously. Cuddy proceeded on sticking her fingers into his thigh and pressing hard, working on the tension knots while watching him closely. His severe expression gradually relaxed into a laid-back one and that familiar charming half-grin adorned his lips when he expressed his approval jokingly "Well, I guess I can finally fire that unattractive physical therapist you recommended…"
Giggling at his flattering compliment, she did not quite believed it at first, well aware of the amateurish of her performance which could obviously not compete with a professional's. However, a physical evidence of his approval gave her an incontestable proof of how much he had been appreciating her effort.
Distracted by Cuddy's relaxing massage, House failed to notice his erection until he felt her hand suddenly abandon his leg and move left to his turgid organ, grabbing it gently and sliding up and down, a moan of pleasure instantaneously leaving his lips. The blessed and belated relief brought by her rubbing after so much agony had caused him to harden, and it was not necessary to be a doctor to know there is no more efficient way to reduce a male's tension. "Geez, Lise, aw", he mumbled in excitement, opening his eyes slightly just to let them shut again, his hand meeting hers and fixing her pace.
The lust printed on House's features and the sensual groaning his mouth failed on retaining were turning Cuddy on, her juices longer built up between her legs. She wanted nothing but to make sweet love to her man, giving him the pleasure he needed and satisfying herself altogether, but the doctor in her could never be silenced. She knew an intercourse then was not advisable, she would end up hurting him in the process. It was not the time for getting caught up in lust; that night was about him, his needs.
Pressing her thumb over the head of his fully erect cock, Cuddy felt thick pre cum abandon its canal. He was very close. She could feel his member throbbing under her touch, his body squirming with the sweet torture brought by every wave of pleasure that struck his senses. House was completely at her mercy, surrendered to her caresses, totally oblivious to the world, and that was the sexiest view that her eyes had ever caught.
Without messing up her rhythm, she admired his complexion contorting in sexual bliss. The desire now throbbing in her core was hard to control, attracting her to merge with him as strong and powerful magnet. Riding him was definitely not an option in these fragile circumstances, but kissing him was not something she needed to resist, or had ever been able to. Covering his half-parted lips with hers, Cuddy ran her tongue over his lower lip tentatively, and felt him granting her all the access she demanded. House always praised her kissing skills, failing to conceal that subtle and unconscious moan of approval that reverberated in his throat every time she tasted him hungrily, exploring every corner of his mouth with her expert tongue.
That tingling sensation built on his balls and spidered on a tormented slow speed from the root to the extremity of his manhood. Bucking his hips up on a reflex, House let his hands slip into Cuddy's pajama top to cup her swollen breasts a little bit too forcefully, causing her to groan in response, the slight pain turning her on even more. Lying across his chest and moving right to assault his neck, Cuddy rubbed herself against his good leg for her own benefit and increased her hand movements to drive him wilder.
Sucking and nipping on the tender skin to leave her possessive mark, she boosted him by licking and biting on his earlobe "Cum for me, love, let it go…" House's body shuddered violently at the command, his eyes rolling on the back of his head as his heart missed a couple of beats. His view blanked as a powerful orgasm washed over him and he milked intensely in her hands, male snarl and profanity breaking the silence in the room. Little by little, Cuddy observed House ride and descend from his high and immediately surrender to sleep, amazement and female proud soothing her ego and diverting her attention from her own un-sated desire.
Kissing his sweaty forehead, she fondled his grey thin hair and inhaled his delicious male scent. "Good night, my love" she whispered in his ear, feeling good about herself like never before for succeeding on the most important mission of her life, at least for that night. The war against his pain was far from ending but she had just won that battle and he was asleep now, free from the merciless throes, in peace.
Eventually her hand reached for the lampshade and switched it off, her conditioned head finding its usual spot on his chest. Cuddy closed his eyes and started to silently pray for the day about to start to be better when the sweetest good night of all came in the form of a soft yet non-ignorable kick, making her melt like butter on a hot toast. "Good night, my angel…" she responded in her most loving tone, stroking her growing miracle and drifting off to sleep.
"When you cried I'd wipe away all of your tears
When you screamed I'd fight away all of your fears
And I held your hand through all of these years
And you still have all of me."
End of Part I
Reviews are love, especially the long, thoughtful, positive ones... LOL! Just kidding. Speak your mind if you feel like it and make us both happy. :D