I know I haven't posted anything for "Ours" recently, but that's because I've been working on three fics for "cuddyfest" over at lj. This is the first story. Five parts total. I was also on vacation and couldn't get the internet to work properly from the hotel.

The prompt for this was: "Five nights Cuddy Called House"

Phone Call #1

"Pick up, dammit," Cuddy strummed her fingers on the kitchen counter. The phone rang again, and yet again, "I know you're home. Don't make me come over there," she thought out loud.

She hated to admit it, but she was worried about him; angry, but equally as worried. She knew he was struggling; she knew he missed his old team, though he would absolutely never admit it. She knew he was miserable. She knew he was playing mind games not only with his new batch of potential fellows, but with himself as well. He had created a new puzzle; perhaps the puzzle was simply to keep him busy, perhaps to occupy his thoughts with anything other than his true feelings or perhaps it was merely to piss her off. Children like puzzles. House had become even more childish than ever before and what worried her most was that this child was now playing stupid, stupid games with his own life, ludicrous, almost frivolous, thoughtless, asinine brushes and blatant near misses with his own mortality.

The machine picked up, "House," she paused, hoping he'd pick up, "House I know you're home. Pick up now or I'm coming over. Wilson gave me the key."

"I'm going to kill Wilson," a groggy voice on the other end of the line answered.

Cuddy sighed in relief, never so glad to hear him grouch, "You're alive."

"I was sleeping just fine until I was so rudely awakened. What do you want?"

She sighed, "House."

"You're going to ask, aren't you?"

"I have to."

"No, you don't," he said warningly.

"Yes, I do," she mimicked his tone.

"Don't."

"How are you?"

"Oh, you asked," he sighed.

"And you didn't answer."

"I don't need my attending calling me in the middle of the night."

"It's only ten o'clock and I'm not calling as your attending."

"So you're working for the hooker hotline now? I didn't know they made personalized collection calls."

"I'm calling as your friend, House." He sighed, but otherwise remained silent.

"Did you eat anything?"

"Some oncologist made sure to deliver a container of soup."

"Did you eat it?"

No reply on his end of the line.

"You didn't eat, did you?"

"It had vegetables in it,"

Cuddy rolled her eyes, "You checked out A.M.A. and left without so much as saying boo to me or Wilson, or anyone else for that matter. Your heart stopped for nearly a minute," she paused to catch her breath, "Stick a knife in a wall socket and check out of the hospital against my advice means I'm coming over this evening."

She waited for some kind of response. She didn't get one, "I'm coming over."

"Cuddy, no."

"Shut up. I'll be there in ten minutes."


He rolled his eyes when he heard her knock, "Use your key."

"Don't have one."

He muttered something under his breath as he achingly made his way to the front door, "You said Wilson gave you the key."

"I lied."

House raised his eyebrows, impressed, "You've seen me. I'm alive, now go home."

"Not so fast, sit," she commanded, guiding him towards the couch by his elbow.

House again rolled his eyes, "I'm fine. Did you bring any food?" he asked, trying to peek into the canvas bag still hanging from her shoulder.

She slapped his hand away, "Not until I check your vitals."

"You're worse than Wilson."

"When was he here?"

"About two hours ago. Do I smell sauerkraut?"

She placed her stethoscope into her ears, "Shhh."

Knowing she had food, House sat quietly for the exam, allowing her to check his pupil reflex, pulse, blood pressure and temperature without fighting her. Satisfied he would live, she placed her stethoscope back into the bag and pulled out a familiar looking paper sack from his favorite all night deli, the dive two blocks from PPTH.

"You didn't?" he asked with a genuine smile.

She noted his not oft seen grin and smiled inwardly, "I did."

"Mmph," was the only sound she heard as he bit down into the ruben sandwich, "Should, mmm, fank oo, mmm fur vis."

"Yes, you should thank me for this."

House continued to devour the sandwich, struggling a bit as he ate one handedly. He mumbled incoherently, apparently in complete and utter bliss, and Cuddy took that as thanks enough.

She shook her head noting his jeans and t-shirt, "You're not sleeping in that are you?" House shrugged his shoulders. She held out her hand, palm side up and motioned for him to show her his burned hand. He rolled his eyes and held out his arm.

"And you weren't actually going to spend the night on the couch?" Again, he shrugged.

Waiting for him to finish eating, Cuddy walked to his bedroom, pulled a pair of pajama pants and a worn t-shirt from one of the dresser drawers and made her way back out to the living room, placing both on the coffee table.

"I'm not leaving until you change and get into bed. Understood?"

Too tired to argue, he yawned and nodded, "Yes, mommy dearest."

Minutes later, Cuddy watched as House crawled into bed and she sat beside him, "Give me your hand."

"It's fine."

"GIVE me your hand," she said, more insistently. House finally gave in and Cuddy gently cleaned the burn with a cloth, applied ointment and wrapped his hand in gauze.

She lowered her voice, hoping he would allow her say what was on her mind, without demeaning it with a sarcastic retort or a sharp snark, "House," she held her breath, knowing he detected the oncoming sentiments, "Don't ever pull a stupid stunt like that again."

He looked at her quizzically, not quite understanding where this was coming from. Here was his boss, perched on the edge of his bed, mere hours after he nearly killed himself, all appearances of anger seemingly absent. She was…sad. House wasn't sure where this emotion was coming from or why she felt this way; she should be angry, not sad. Not for him. He fully expected the Cuddy who confronted him earlier that day; the Cuddy who was angered with his lack of concern for his own patient, the Cuddy who essentially told him off that very day. He watched her, searching her eyes for meaning and then he saw it. He saw the sincerity. She was worried not about the stunt, not about the hows or the whys, but rather the fact that he would be truly gone; not just gone from his job, but gone from her life.

He tried to brush off her sincerity, "Metal object in a light socket; I don't recommend it."

"I mean it, House," she inhaled deeply, holding her breath momentarily before releasing it, "I don't want to lose you."

And there it was, the concern he tried so hard to avoid, "I'm fine. I'm here to stare at the twins for years to come."

She shook her head, hopeless in wishing he could act human for once, "I told you I'm not here as your attending. I meant it," she struggled with the tears she had up until now, managed to keep at bay, "I can't watch you kill yourself."

He rolled his eyes, "You didn't watch me kill myself, Amber did." House knew instantly his snark was too much. He had pushed too far, and there, sitting on the edge of his bed, Cuddy could no longer hold it in; tears fell from her eyes. He sighed, not knowing what to do. He knew how far he could push Wilson, even when Wilson was at his wits end. He underestimated how much Cuddy could take.

Frustrated and exhausted, she stood, "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Cuddy…"

"House, don't," she shook her head, unable to take anymore. She headed towards the bedroom door.

"Wait," he called out. She turned to look at him and he nodded solemnly.

"Promise me," she swiped at the tears on her face, "Promise me that I won't have to watch you die."

Again, he nodded.

"No, I want to hear you say it." She walked back over to his bedside, peering down at him, with her right hand on her hip.

Neither moved for a prolonged minute, each staring down the other, each refusing to look away. Just when she thought he wouldn't answer, she heard a whispered, "Promise."

She leaned down so that they were nearly nose to nose, "Don't you ever do that again. Do you hear me? How many times do I have to sit by your bedside, waiting for you to regain consciousness? You take days off my life each time, do you know that? We've known each other for how long now? Twenty odd years? Do you think I can just walk away unaffected?"

He said nothing, did nothing, not a blink, nor a sigh, he just stared back, somewhat confused by her sadness and the lack of true anger.

"I will not watch you kill yourself." Cuddy straightened up and walked swiftly towards the hallway.

He couldn't help himself, he had to throw one last retort, "But you'll always be there for your poor, beloved House."

"Don't count on it," she said as she closed the apartment door behind her.