Epic Fail.
Disclaimer: C'mon? Seriously? David, Katie, and all the rest own what I pine for. Sorry.
Pairing: House/Cuddy, Huddy.
Genre: Romance/Humor/Friendship.
Rating: K+
Spoilers: Season 6, Episode 1. Season 6, Episode 2. Season 6, Episode 3.
Summary: She cut her bangs. She cut her bangs. She cut her bangs. Spoilers for season 6.
Author's Note: Essentially my reaction once I finished watching 2 complete hours of House M.D. filimg gold. Seriously. I watched the promo for next week and all I could say for like five minutes was "she cut her bangs. She cut her bangs. Beuatiful Cuddy cut her bangs." And then came the spasms and flailing once the shock wore off, of course XD. Enjoy 333.
She cut her bangs. She cut her bangs. She cut her bangs.
Her hair… it was different now. Come to think of it a lot of things were.
Now this may have been a really obvious, if not stupid observation on House's part but when he had last seen Cuddy it had been those long brown bangs that had tried to hide away her worried, frantic, beautiful eyes. When he had last spoken to Cuddy it was those bouncy, brunette bangs that had kept him from staring into her sorrowful blue-gray eyes, or noticing the twist of her lips in bitterness, the sudden paleness of her features reflected in his own crystal blue eyes. But now, now he could see those wide, expressive eyes and those soft, pouty lips, and the surreal glow of her goregous skin in the sunlight.
He wondered when she had gotten them cut. Yesterday? Last week? A month ago? The day after he left? Stupid line of questioning but he couldn't seem to get past it. She cut her bangs and now she looked completely different. Rationally—logically—he was certain that this was based on a more profound inquiry about how everything has changed since he left, especially Cuddy. House remembered his eyes darting over her body, making sure everything was in place and nothing had gone missing since he had departed before he found her face once more and searched it for clues. And from all of that he deduced something he had totally missed at first glance.
Her hair is shorter too.
Alright, okay. So he already established that, but this time he meant that it was shorter in general, as in not just her bangs, but instead her whole head of hair was shorter. It was still a dark raven brown, almost black. It still held a wave of curl that she seemed to be Hell-bent on straightening out even though he secretly found her locks to be rather lovely when they tumbled over her shoulders, bounding up and down each time she took a step. Never before had he seen it this short, not naturally that is. Once—during Michigan—she had found herself a wig shaped to cut like a bob but it didn't last long, back then her big, frizzy, mane had been adorable and suited her just fine. Now, however, she was more prone to crop it short and leave a few waves in, try bangs maybe, part it one way or the other and he wasn't sure if he liked it as much.
Cuddy still smiled right and smelled nice. Sunshine over the horizon and cinnamon and hazelnut wafting around her. Her choice in well tailored and more than decently cut blouses and suit-jackets hadn't changed—God bless—and her shoes were still ridiculously impratical and spiky, the way he come to prefer them. Fingernails were still cut neatly, sprouting out from that well manicured hand that attached to one slender arm, which connected to the smooth clean shoulder that held the world up while at the same time shrugging back ever-so care free, what with the way they reached up that column of her neck leading to a mess of short brown hair. It was amazing how much he had missed during his time at Mayfield.
It was amazing how long he could go on about the woman's damn hair.
And then she lent forward, as if she were offering herself to him, completely at his mercy. Shorter, even in her heels, Cuddy stood with arms limp at both sides instead of set firmly on her hips as per usual. She looked less intimidating, well less to anyone who hadn't made a reputation of being the bane of her exsistance, that is. He didn't step forward and neither did she, instead they stared into one another eyes and asked and answered and challenged a million unspoken questions. Eventually she got bored and sighed, the action of which made a few stray strands brush over her left eye. Swatting at it lightly, she attempted to bat them back into place but the damn things proved themselves stubborn pain in the asses and stayed their, not budging at all and whenever they did they simply dropped back into place. They, like the woman whose head they were growing from, were incredibly resilient. So, as always, House grudgingly brought his paw for a hand up to her forehead and took them between his fingers, shifting them away from her bright, blue-gray eyes that held every wonder of the world in them, and froze.
When had he last done this? That night. That day. No. That day she touched him.
Her lips were just as pink and soft and firm and fierce as they were the night they had spent together tangled up in one another, embraced by a drug induced fantasy. She tasted like sugar and wine and fear and despair. Together, all blended together and poured into a kiss it kind of tasted like hope, of relief. Cuddy had never felt more bizarre than in this very moment. Lydia tasted like ginger and freedom, foreign and morning dew. Then her tongue slid around his and he was slipping around her's too, exploring the caverns and columns that burnt the flavour of plums and peaches and promise on to his tastebuds. God, had she always tasted, felt, smelt so good?
Yes, his own mind answers. But now it's better, because you are. At this he smiles.
He hadn't kissed Cuddy in ages. Eons maybe. So he focuses with all his energy and all his will and all his fragile, delicate, and battered at trust. His heart skips a beat when her arms slip under his and she tugs him closer and because he wasn't expecting it he nearly trips over her tiny frame and when she does he's peering down at the exact moment she glancing up. Awkward and in the same breath so familiar, they find themselves at a crossroads and because they know better than to trust themselves like to each other for help on what to do. Their smiles are twins, dancing in one another's eyes, poking holes in their cheeks where warmth and gratefulness flood. Laughter follows suit, falling from their lips like the rain on Spring afternoon, dominos tumbling one after another, making up the world that was otherwise vanishing from around them. Embracing still, House drops his head over top of Cuddy's effectively ruining the her new-do that she had been working so hard at maintaining.
She groans and he grins.
If she had bangs right now she'd be puffing them away from her face; unimpressed.
Oh well, he reasons. They'll grow back.
"Hey, House." He hears a voice murmur, husky and delightful. "You cut your hair."