House Vs. Tears
Disclaimer: I don't own House. If I did, we'd have so much HUDDY they'd have to rename it HUDDY MD.
House has always avoided emotion. But what happens when he has to stare it in the face? HUDDY
-X-
The thing Gregory House loved most in the world –other than his solitude- was annoying Lisa Cuddy. Sure he annoyed a lot of people. But that was usually his abrasive personality. There were only a few people he went out of his way to annoy. There were only a few people he went out of his way to cause pain to. James Wilson was one of them. But he wasn't as much fun as Cuddy. His blue eyes didn't reflect the fire within him as he opposed House. Rather, he complimented House. And he had brown eyes. Also, he wasn't a woman. Though it could be argued he had slight man breasts. But that was something House was not ready to obsess about. Actually, he didn't want to obsess about it, period.
Speaking –actually thinking- about breasts, reminded him of the pair he loved the most. He teased her about them, he spoke to them, he even made references to them every once in a while. But even they weren't the reason he liked her. He would never admit that to himself; or Wilson. But any passer-by could see the amount of chemistry the two of them generated. Not him and Wilson. House and Cuddy. Despite how much he ridiculed her skills as a doctor, he respected her. It was his thing. He mocked those he cared about most. Those that knew the real him, took it. And that was a very small number. Others like Cameron withstood it because they either believed they could fix him, or they wanted to learn his ways. In that way he was rather like Yoda. Use the force to lift the fun-bags. He smirked to himself.
House was sitting in his office, playing with his tennis ball. It had been a slow week and he'd (well, Cuddy'd) given the team a week off. That was only till they had a case. Personally, he didn't miss them. Kutner was still a frat boy, but he liked his style. He was unorthodox. Like House, but not that good yet. Thirteen . . . she needed a name already. Thirteen had become old. Taub was probably off somewhere with his wife. And that left Foreman. Unbeknownst to Cuddy, he enjoyed having him back. Despite the verbal abuse he constantly hurled at him. He hadn't wanted him to leave in the first place. Maybe that's why she let him have Foreman. He'd considered that before, but she wouldn't . . . would she? That would mean she had a deeper understanding of the game. That would mean she let him win.
They'd always had a thing. They'd always had the game; ever since the first time they'd met. They'd traded verbal jabs and competed for the last laugh. That had decreased considerably during the 'Great Infarction' as he'd labelled it. But it was starting to return. They'd begun to hang out recently. Well if making his underlings attempt to steal her underwear was considered hanging out. They'd lost touch after he'd left for Med school. But when they'd reunited it was like not a day had passed. He'd almost –dare he say it- missed her. He'd missed the game. Stacey had never understood it. Not that he cared about Stacey anymore. It was Cuddy now.
He sighed, frustrated. He kept thinking about her. She was always in his head. He didn't want her there. He jumped to his feet. Time for Cuddy-time. He'd come to work especially for this.
House limped out of his office, judging but the time, she'd be free now. That would be a good ten minutes of annoying her, with an additional ten minutes of bugging her just long enough for her to remember her next appointment and set off in a hurry cursing him for making him late. He liked the click of her heels. They had a certain rhythm.
He exited the elevator as fast as his one and a half legs would carry him. Nurse Brenda shot him a glare as he hobbled past the nurse's station on his way to Cuddy's office. He could feel it as he went by. He'd have to talk to her about hiring demons in a hospital. It just wasn't good for the patients. He paused at her door. It was slightly ajar. There was noise coming from inside. By the looks of it, the blinds were half down, allowing a little sunlight to illuminate the room.
He inched closer. He could faintly hear the sounds of sobbing coming from the inside. He looked around to see if it could come from the outside. No. No children bawling their eyes out. Nobody crying because Wilson had told them they had a week to live. Nothing; just the usual illnesses that plagued the hospital.
House pushed the door open further with his cane. He inched further a little more.
Cuddy was sitting on her chair at her desk. Her tiny frame wracked with sobs. She was crying bitterly. House frowned. What'd he done this time?
His frown worsened. He'd never done anything this bad. Actually, no matter what he'd done, she'd never cried about it. He'd never made her cry. This couldn't just be a PMS thing, because Cuddy didn't do 'PMS things'. So, she was crying for a reason he didn't know. That wasn't good. That meant no attention for him. He wondered if he should call Wilson. Wilson was good at stuff like this. He didn't move. It was almost like this sight paralyzed him. He was intruding on something intimate; something personal. Yet his feet had frozen.
Suddenly, he felt the urge to go in and wrap his arms around her. He wanted to let her cry and make a mess of his jacket. The sudden surge of emotion almost knocked him off his feet. He'd never once felt like this. He'd never wanted to comfort anyone. Not Stacey. Not even his mother. He shuddered, suddenly cold. With a deep breath, he walked in, pretending not to notice her condition.
"Well Cuddy-cat, it's that time of the day again!!" The door banged shut behind him. He took the opportunity to lock it. For a moment there, the sobs seemed stifled.
"Go away House." Her voice was a dead give away. She'd been crying her eyes out. He felt something tug in his chest. He felt scared for a moment. The feeling passed. He ventured forward bravely.
"Now Cuddles, you know that never works." He had slowly begun approaching her chair.
"House. I mean it."
Okay, that meant business. But somehow, his feet had severed all connection with his brain. He couldn't stop the pull she was exerting on them. He pulled to a stop a step away from her chair. She swivelled around to find him leaning on his cane, looking down at her. She blew her nose and dabbed at her eyes. Her make up was probably a mess. Her face had probably become blotchy and red. Her eyes must have been puffy. Why was House here?
Yet, as she looked up into his eyes she saw what could be mistaken for concern. He seemed to be studying her. She gave up trying to make the source of her troubles leave. She continued trying to stop her tears as well. She didn't have any control over them. She just couldn't stop crying. It was like her tears had learnt from House. She braced herself for an insult or smart comment. She was stunned when none came. He just stood there in silence.
Her momentary disbelief stopped her sobs. She made eye contact with him. Silently willing him to say something snide. Anything that was a sign that House was his normal self. The fact that nothing came only served to make her worried. Where was his usual brash self? Where was the rude comment about her breasts? She was swimming in his blue eyes now. The startling blue not surprising her. They were cool and full of depth. They didn't freeze her like she'd expected them to. She hadn't done this since college. They hadn't made eye contact like this in a long time. She'd missed him. So much had changed over time. His eyes showed it.
There was a slight hint of pain that had never been there before. No doubt it was caused by his leg. There was a glint of humour. A sign of his sharp tongue and sharper wit. There was a look of intelligence. It told you that you would never be half as smart as he was. Over all, there was the intensity. That intensity held you down. It searched every crevice you had to offer. It fell on you like sunlight and studied you; every last part of you. Most people couldn't hold up to his gaze. His full blown gaze. Most received his toned down version. What he'd unleashed now was the unabridged version. It was harsh and uncensored. It dared you to tell him what you were thinking. It dared you to lie because it had probably guessed where your thoughts lay. She almost smirked at the thought. That sounded like House.
House gazed at her blue orbs. They'd made eye contact before. But that had been fleeting and brief. There were only a few times when they'd held each others gazes like they were now. Most people couldn't withstand his scrutiny. He knew it was harsh. He knew it was penetrating. And he knew it was one of his secret weapons. Cuddy was the only one who didn't shy away. It was almost as if she revelled in it. Wilson could never keep up. Stacy had avoided it. Cuddy . . . Never. Not once. She'd held her own. Let him see what she'd wanted him to see.
Right now, he saw raw emotion. Grief, sadness, and traces of anger. But that had changed. He'd seen worry. He'd seen concern. He'd seen amazement. And he knew it was about him. No doubt this had all been about him. He hated to be self-centred right now. He knew he was an egoistic jackass. But right now, he'd give anything to have Wilson's skill. Cuddy would die if she knew he was wishing he had better bedside manner. Goodness knows he needed it. Well he himself had never found any use for it. But right now, he just wanted to stop her tears.
The sight of her crying had some kind of effect on him. He felt something stir in him. Odd feelings he'd never really dealt with. He hoped he just needed to burp . . . worst case scenario: fart. But that didn't seem to be that kind of gastronomic sensation. He just stood there, unsure of how he was to react. Unsure of what proper protocol was. One part of him wanted to hobble out of here as fast as he could. A smaller, but more dominant part wanted to hold her and have her tell him what was wrong. He hated being confused. He hated being powerless. So he did the one thing he knew might make the whole situation right again.
"Sorry."
That one word pierced through the shock she was feeling. It reminded her that the moment was real. The tears started. Damn him. House fidgeted; uncomfortable with the situation.
"You don't know if it was your fault." She stated swivelling so that she could look at him as she spoke. She wanted to make him feel uncomfortable.
"I know." He found the corner of her table interesting.
"So why?" Her shoes held his fascination now. He stared at her heels.
"It must be my fault." He said. "It should be my fault." He added silently. Silent tears started now. The sobs had stopped.
More silence.
"Tell me what's wrong." House said. He didn't like this situation. Yet he was powerless. The mighty Gregory House tamed by a crying woman. He'd kill anyone who spread the word. But judging from the situation, he'd be lucky to get a word out of her. Cuddy didn't respond. She wasn't making eye contact.
"Tell me so I can fix it . . . It's what I do. And from what I hear, it earns this hospital a million dollars or so from donors." She could tell he was trying hard. She decided to throw him a bone. Or in this case, a life preserver in the sea that was her tears.
"It got to me. It all just got to me."
"What do you mean?" He had some idea but not entirely. He was a man after all. Not meant for things like this.
"Everything. The hospital, the patients, the cases, you, the baby . . . Lot's of things."
It was as he had feared. It had been him who had made her cry. Him - and a lot of reasons. But him nonetheless.
"See. I was right. It is always about me." He smiled – or attempted to smile – gently at her. He had a feeling it came out looking like he was in pain.
She smiled back. She'd understood the gesture.
"I know. But . . ."
He was propelled forward now. He put his arm around her shoulders and got her to stand up. They walked towards the couch. She was sniffling. He placed her down gently and sat next to her. He didn't hold her hand. He didn't wrap his arms around her. House just sat there. She leaned on him gently. He didn't mind. He held a box of tissues for her. She took two and blew her nose.
He didn't ask her if she wanted to talk about it. That made her want to tell him.
"My neighbour died." That didn't seem like much of a reason. But he kept his trap shut. She has unconsciously paused. Silence. So she continued. "He wasn't much older than us. I attended the funeral. So many people came to see him. He'd helped so many people. He was a social worker. All his cases came. Every single one of them. He'd done so much in his life. He was fifty-eight. But he'd touched so many lives. He had a legacy. He'd put sixty-five kids in foster care. They remembered him like an older brother. A father figure. He had people to remember him. What will I have? The hospital? My reputation? None of that will matter. Sure the donors may remember my name, but who else? A few nurses and some of the staff here? But I'll fade away. I'll become a memory. At best I'll be remembered as a second rate doctor. A pain in the ass." House winced. She'd been quoting him unconsciously. "You and Wilson might be the only ones there feeling sad. Okay, Wilson maybe. You: no. I could never hope. You might just show up there and mock my dead body. Make one last parting shot at my breasts."
She had said all that in a bitter tone. She didn't sound happy in the least. He frowned. He had never given death much thought. Okay. So he'd never given anyone else's death much thought. He'd thought about the after life. He'd thought about how he might die. But never once did he consider that his death might affect people. They just sat there in silence. Until he felt his mouth move . . .
"When I was a little kid, I had a tarantula. I'd caught it myself. I named her Annie. My grandfather helped me take out her venom. She died soon after that. We never spoke about it. A month later he asked me if I remembered Annie. I didn't. He then told me that he was going to die. Liver cancer. He asked me if I'd remember him. I said yes." He paused. She was still listening.
"Do you want me to remember you?"
The words hung there. It was what seemed like a long while till she went.
"As what?"
"As a woman." He said curtly.
She snorted in disbelief. So he continued, "A woman who was a pain in the ass, but an accomplished pain in the ass who was the top of her class in med school but then decided to take on the administrative side of hospital life rather than continue being a doctor. She would have been a good doctor too. She cares about the patient. She just needs someone to tell her to stop caring. And she needs to get laid."
Cuddy's jaw dropped. She stared at him in disbelief.
"By what?"
He continued, staring down at her coffee table rather than make eye contact.
"By that brilliant diagnostician she's been in love with since forever. She's begun stalking him you know." She snorted. And then burst out laughing. It felt good to laugh. He stared at her in shock. He'd never in a million years expected this. But then, that was Cuddy for you. Ten years and they still managed to surprise each other. He felt his mouth smile. What was this woman doing to him?
She laughed. It felt so good to laugh. To just let it all out. It had started out as giggling. It then matured into laughter. Soon, they dealt with a guffaw epidemic. And it seemed to be contagious because the smart ass diagnostician she was supposed to be in love with was smiling. It was funny. It caused her to stop and just smile as she stared at his face. It looked younger now. Ten years younger. The moment reminded her of when they had been back in college. They'd been carefree and happy. And they'd laughed and smiled. She'd made him laugh and smile. None of that had happened lately. Not since . . .
He smiled down at her. Her previously happy smile had become sad. It looked like she was lost in memory lane.
"What happened to us?"
"Us?"
"Yeah. We used to be friends. We used to laugh and hang out."
"That's easy. You became a tight ass bitch." Gregory House, candid as ever.
"You didn't make it very easy yourself you egoistical maniac."
"Maniac trumps bitch any day." He stared at her like it was the most matter-of-fact thing he'd ever heard. How could she not know?
"Who says?" She wasn't going to let him go down without a fight.
"I do." He had reserves of smugness. Others stored fat. He stored ego.
"And what makes you qualified?"
"Board. Certified. Diagnostician."
"You diagnose illnesses. In what way does that make you authority on things like this?"
"I went through all that schooling."
"I did too. What's the difference?"
"I use whatever I've learned so far."
"So do I. I'm the leading expert in Endocrinology."
"Not for long. You have waaaay too much administrative duty. Not to mention your love of unmentionably tight-fitting clothing that emphasizes your breasts. But that's just me."
She ignored the last bit; having become immune to it by now. "Wonder why? Oh yeah. I have this pain in the ass doctor who makes things worse for me. Can you do something about him?"
"Who? The roguishly handsome Gregory House? Why he's so awesome I don't want to mess with him."
"He is not 'awesome'."
"So you agree that he is roguishly handsome."
"No. I didn't say that." She was just indignant now. But not mad at him. This was the exact kind of trivial argument they used to have.
"Didn't have to. I can read between the lines." With that he stood up. "Been nice talking to you Lisa. But General Hospital's going to be on soon."
He made his way towards the door.
"Greg?" Somehow this had gotten them back to a first name basis they had shared all those years ago. Her voice sounded small.
"Yes?"
"Don't forget me." Lisa Cuddy sounded like a poor defenceless girl.
"With a rack and a trunk like that? I don't think any of your clients will ever forget you. Me included." He took one more step. He was closer to the door. And closer to leaving this moment behind.
"Greg?" She made him pause again.
"Yes?"
"Why would you put up with this? You could have left." She sounded curious and grateful. Some people didn't know when to stop did they?
"You don't abuse a guitar you've had for a long time because you don't want anything to happen to it. It's your guitar. It's been with you for all that time. If it was gone, you'd miss it. You'd realise that you liked that guitar. Even if it doesn't play the way it used to. You realise that maybe you've grown attached to that guitar." Despite the fact that he was speaking in metaphors, she'd gotten him to give up another secret; that she had some power over him. He started towards the door again.
"Greg." She kept doing this to him!
"Yes?" He stopped yet again. He was never going to catch General Hospital.
"Why would you use that as an analogy?" She knew what he'd meant. By now she was in tune to his wavelength. She knew what he'd been talking about.
"Because . . ." He appeared to consider a response. "I know how to play you to make you sing."
He smirked. He'd SO won. He turned towards the door once more.
"Oh Greg . . ." It sounded like confident Lisa was back.
He sighed, loud and annoyed. But he turned around once more.
She smiled the smile of the devil. He knew that he should probably worry. But she drew him like this each time.
"Yes Lisa?"
She turned her back on him as she headed back to her desk. She needed to get back to work.
He didn't have to see her face to know that she was smirking.
"I don't think you'd hit the right note."
Gregory House stood in the doorway of Lisa Cuddy's office, looking absolutely gob smacked. Did she just challenge him?
"Lisa?" She looked up.
"You're forgetting. I have a new stick now." He smirked as he turned and left the office.
He bumped into Wilson, who seemed to be on his way to visit Cuddy. Better give her some recovery time. He went out of his way to stand in Wilson's. Not that he needed much reason to bug his 'best friend'.
"What are you so smug about?" Wilson asked after giving House a once over. He noticed where House had been coming from. "What did you do to her?"
"Nothing." House said it like a little child who's trying to hide something.
"House?" Wilson took on the role of the father.
"I told you: NOTHING."
"Then why are you so smug?" Apparently this was beyond Wilson's understanding.
He turned his back on his friend as he shuffled off to start his scheming.
"Because, James my man, the games are on!!"
-X-
A/N: This has been in the works for a while, but I finally gave birth to my brainchild. I think this may be the most favourite of all my work because of the word play. You may not share the opinion (but feel free to have and mention an opinion) but that's what I think. Please R/R. – you know the drill.