Disclaimer: Damn it I really wish these characters were mine and I was making money out of this. But I'm not. Sadly. There might also be references to songs or other TV shows disseminated along the way. They all belong to whoever owns them. If you guys find one hidden in the text, tell me and you might get a reward ;).
Warnings: The fic is rated T mainly for language. I will not write smut in this fic but there will be some highly T-rated scenes so if you don't like that, I suggest you stop reading here ;).
A/N: Hi guys, I hope you'll enjoy this little collection of Huddy oneshots. I've recently become addicted to the show and can't seem to get enough of them. There will be 26 shots, all of them will be themed with a letter in the alphabet and the second person POV swtiches from Cuddy to House in each chapter. I promise to try and make the updates as regular as I can.
Also, the fist chapters are un-betaed so I appologize for the mistakes ;). Please review, know that your words are like delicious candies for any writer out there.
Arrival.
"Damn it Cuddy! Don't you want to make Rachel proud by doing what's right?"
"House don't go there, don't use her to - "
"Oh, so what? You can show off in your little low-cut tops and tight skirts to get extra money for the hospital but I can't even use your daughter to convince you of doing what I -"
You catch a glimpse of him waiting at the arrivals gate as soon as your feet hit the ground, his chin rested awkwardly against his wooden cane as his deep blue eyes keep staring into the emptiness. You think about going the other way but his glare freezes you first, forcing you to remain motionless until he limps towards you and ends up with his torso just inches away from your breasts. You're at a loss of words since that last argument you had before you headed for the airport a week ago and you know he hasn't even tried to call you once since. You just had to cry your heart out in an expensive hotel room, your bath filled with pink bubbles as you listened to Mariah Carey on your BlackBerry thinking it had all come to an end when you heard the sound of your hand slapping his stubbled cheek.
"I thought about calling the 'help for battered men' number, you know? But I just couldn't bring myself to file the complaint." He tells you bluntly and lets the one dream you've had about him apologizing crash on the white linoleum floor next to the old remains of some spilled Starbucks coffee. "I couldn't help it. I just love the way you lie."
Right, you sigh, Eminem reference. He's always been like that, walking out on you during the biggest fights with a juicy comeback and a shrug of his broad shoulders.
"I'm sorry," he mutters under his breath after a moment and you stare at him inquisitively, scrutinizing his gaze for an answer you'll probably never get. Is he lying to your face? Is he pretending this never happened? You can't trust anything he says but maybe if you try, one day you'll be able to believe in what his actions tell you. Tonight he's here, standing before you, and even though there's a split second when you think you should just move on and forget all about him, you realize that this - this very moment you share here and now - It's all that matters. So your tears end up melting in his mouth once again right before any other thoughts dare to reach your brain. Somehow, you manage to give him an umpteenth second chance.
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