Hello everyone! It is I, the Queen of Denial.
Today I invite you to deny with me that House and Cuddy ever broke up and that Wilson died. This is set in May 2017. I promise that everyone is happy and I'm not killing anyone off. :D
First off, I would like to thank my friend House-less for our little brainstorming session, which led to this one-shot. This story wouldn't exist without you. I would also like to thank my friend IndyStarkJr for letting me borrow her idea of Cuddy giving House a watch (If you're curious, it's in her story "Shelter From The Storm", which is only in French... For now? Get to work, woman. :P) This story wouldn't be quite the same without you.
I also don't own the show or the characters, etc etc.
As to the anniversary themes (as you'll soon find out), that's the result of a quick search on Google, so I don't know how accurate they are.
I'll stop boring you now. I hope you'll enjoy this story. Please let me know what you think before you go!
Woolgathering
A few times, House had seen Cuddy hurriedly shove her hands beneath her desk whenever he walked into her office. He also didn't hear her deep breathing in the living room during her early morning yoga sessions anymore.
He hadn't thought much of it, but then another incident had allowed him to connect the dots : when he'd called to let her know he'd be home late the other day, she'd answered a cheerful "okay", before she caught herself and told him that he could heat up the leftover spaghetti when he came home.
Something was up.
So when she told him she'd be right back, got up from the couch and headed towards the bathroom, and he heard her ask herself "Where did I put that damn ball of wool again?" he just had to ask.
"What wool?" he called out.
"Never mind, House," she replied, a little too hurriedly not to sound suspicious.
He thought it over for a second – maybe this was some kind of female secret code he didn't know about, like when she was on her period and her aunt Flo was visiting and the Commies were coming. Or whatever.
"Do you need a roll of toilet paper?" he tried. "A magazine? You always take magazines. Don't think I don't see you."
Cuddy had a slight scoff.
"No."
She went on looking for her ball of wool, eventually wondering aloud if maybe she'd left her knitting needles in her purse – she tended to talk to herself when she was tired and didn't always realise it.
…Huh.
He decided to ask Rachel later that day.
"Rach," he said as he sat next to her while she did her homework sitting at the dining-room table. "Did your Mommy ever talk to you about 'balls of wool' and 'knitting needles'?"
Rachel looked up at him. "I'm not supposed to tell."
"It's okay. She'll never know."
"No, I mean I'm not supposed to tell you," she said, with the same hand gesture that Cuddy would have made. "And you never keep secrets."
He loved how she sounded like her mom sometimes.
"I'll give you this lollipop," he said, pulling a red lolly from the pocket of his jacket. "If you tell me what it's all about."
She scoffed.
Rachel also had the integrity of her mother.
He didn't sleep much that night. She couldn't possibly want to wipe herself with wool, right?
Something was definitely up.
The next morning, after arguing with his employees over what would be the best course of action to follow regarding their current patient, he asked Thirteen to follow him into his office.
He plumped down in his chair, and carefully examined her face. "What if I told you 'ball of wool'? Or 'knitting needles'? What does that make you think of?"
She knitted her brow the slightest way – knitted her brow, ha – and answered after a few seconds, "Long evenings spent knitting a scarf in front of the fireplace."
Huh.
"You can go," he finally said.
As it was too early for lunch break, he decided to try his luck with a larger sample. For one of the few times in his life, he willingly walked into the clinic.
"You're a woman, right?" he asked his first female patient. She just stared back at him. "What do the words 'ball of wool' and 'knitting needles' mean to you?"
"…Huh?"
Right. He'd forgotten that clinic patients were morons.
Better luck next time, he thought.
But then he'd spent over an hour and a half in the clinic, and no one had been able to answer his question.
His last hope resided in his best friend.
"You're a woman, right?" he asked Wilson as he plopped down across from him in the cafeteria.
"I am not," he answered without missing a beat.
"But you know women," House continued as he stole a fry from his plate. Wilson shrugged. "What's a ball of wool and what are knitting needles?"
"Well," Wilson started. He thought that House had never looked so focused while listening to him. "It's usually what people use when they, what's the word, knit something."
House stared. "What?"
"House, what are we talking about?"
"It's Cuddy," he explained. "Yesterday she looked for 'a ball of wool' and 'knitting needles' before she went to the bathroom. I thought it was a female metaphor for toilet paper or God knows what, so I asked you."
"Well, I'm touched that you thought of me," Wilson quipped.
"I asked Rachel, and she said she's not supposed to tell, so it's definitely a thing."
"And she didn't say anything else?"
He sighed. "I tried to bribe her, but she's not Cuddy's kid for nothing."
"Well, it probably just means she's knitting something for you."
"She is?"
"Yup."
"Why would she knit in the bathroom?"
"Maybe she wants to surprise you. Your anniversary is coming up, right? It's 2017, so it's going to be your seventh. Means the theme is copper, or wool."
House frowned. "What theme?"
Hearing those words, Wilson froze mid-chew, and stared at his friend for a few seconds, before letting his head fall into his palms.
"You've been together seven years," he whined, apparently on the brink of tears. "How did you not know anniversaries have themes?"
House shrugged. "Cuddy never told me. Maybe she doesn't know."
"Of course she knows, House, she's a woman!"
He didn't reply.
"The first year," Wilson asked as he moved his hands away from his face. "What did she get you?"
"A watch," he answered, distractedly eating his friend's fries. "She didn't like mine, so she got me a new one."
"The theme for the first anniversary is paper, or clocks."
House chewed.
"What about the second year?"
"She got me a tee shirt."
"The second year is cotton. Or china. Third year?"
"A belt."
"That's leather and crystal."
House squinted his eyes at him, wondering if his friend was fucking with him. "How do you know all this?"
"Uh, I was married."
House kept silent while the realisation dawned on him. "You cheated on your wives and still bought them anniversary gifts?"
"What did Cuddy get you for your fourth anniversary?"
"Nuh-uh. You're telling me the theme first. Otherwise I can't prove you're not fucking with me."
"Or you can just look it up."
"What's the theme?"
"Silk, or fruits and flowers."
House stopped eating for a second, actually impressed. "She got me a bouquet of these strawberries dipped in chocolate. What's the fifth year's theme?"
"Wood and silverware. She got you that rosewood cane."
"Wow."
"House," Wilson asked him, a sudden feeling of dread overwhelming him. "What did you get her all those years?"
"Lingerie. Or oral sex."
He sighed. "She never said anything to you? She never said that your gifts didn't match the theme?"
"It was really great oral sex." Wilson winced faintly. "What was last year's?"
"Candy, or iron."
House had a slight smile. "She gave me candy in a metal box. We ate the whole thing in bed."
They kept silent for a moment, contemplating Cuddy's gift ideas – especially House, who suddenly got to see his girlfriend under a whole new light. If he were honest with himself, he'd admit he felt a little bad that he didn't plan out and thought about anniversary gifts as much as she did.
"You should get her a themed gift, this year," Wilson advised him eventually.
"Well, obviously, I can't do that."
"Why not?"
"She knows I don't know about these themes. If I suddenly buy her a sweater or some shit, she'll know that I figured out she was knitting me something and that I talked to you about it, and suddenly the surprise isn't a surprise anymore."
"Right. Just give her oral sex yet again. What could possibly go wrong?"
"Nothing can go wrong, Wilson, I told you. It's great oral sex."
"Oh, so she'll never get tired of it then."
House stared at him.
"Gotta go," Wilson told him as he picked up his tray and left.
…Maybe he did feel a little bad.
"Happy anniversary," Cuddy said in a sing-song voice as she handed him her gift, just like every May 17th. Per usual, they were sitting on the couch and Rachel had just gone to bed.
He used to be nervous about opening gifts – what if he didn't like it? He'd have to pretend and lie to her and that could never end well. But during all those years, Cuddy had proven to be a thoughtful gift-giver, somehow finding something he didn't know he needed, and actually liked, whether it was a fancy watch or a box of candies. So he was confident when he tore the wrapping paper open, and found a pair of matching navy blue gloves, as well as a terrifyingly long scarf.
He smiled when he remembered that she'd knitted that herself.
"Do you like them?"
"Yes."
"Try them on." House picked up the gloves and slipped them on his hands. "I wanted something to keep your hands warm while you ride your bike during wintertime."
"Well, they're warm, alright." He showed her his hands, swimming in the oversized gloves.
She laughed, but a faint blush spread across her cheeks. "I can't knit. It was my first time. The scarf was easy enough, but…"
He pulled her to him and kissed her on the temple. "I like them. Thank you." She grinned. He removed his gloves and moved on to the scarf. "Now why is that scarf so long?" he asked as he wrapped it around his neck until it was physically impossible to add any more fabric.
Her blush deepened. "I thought we could wear it together."
"Why, Doctor Cuddy," he said as he loosely wrapped the other end of the scarf around her neck. "You're a romantic. How did you find time to knit all this?"
"Well, I found time at my desk, when I used the bathroom, during my yoga sessions, and when you stayed late at night at the hospital. I think that's it."
He was actually impressed.
"Thank you," he told her as he kissed her mouth. Then, he pulled away and grabbed a box from behind him. She tried to hide it, but he could see surprise cross her features. "Open it."
"Thank you."
"Don't thank me if you don't know what it is yet."
Cuddy opened the cardboard box, and found inside a white mug, around which was wrapped a piece of wool.
"Oh," she smiled. "I've seen those around. They're really fashionable these days." She moved the mug from one hand to another, testing it out, playing with the piece of wool. "It's cute. Thank you."
He let her kiss him before he told her, "I know what you're thinking. Am I supposed to pop the mug in the dishwasher and the piece of wool in the washing machine? Why would a mug want to keep warm? I don't have time for this. This is ridiculous. Et cetera, et cetera." She listened to him quietly – not denying what he'd said. "So I actually got you this," he said as he pulled a shapeless ball of wrapping paper from under the cushions.
She laughed heartily – it was music to his ears. "Is it your sweater?" she asked once she'd ripped the package open and found the grey woollen garment. "Did you wash it?"
"It's not technically mine. I went and bought the same one. I know how much you like stealing mine when it gets cold out, so…"
She grinned. "Now we can wear matching sweaters in front of the fireplace."
The idea moved him more than he expected. Maybe he was just getting old, he thought.
As he imagined them sitting on the couch – not talking, nor watching TV, just sitting together – in front of the fireplace with the snow falling outside, he didn't see her climb onto his lap until she was face to face with him. They shared a smile, and she kissed him tenderly while she wrapped her arms around his neck and he held her close to him.
"Shame our anniversary is in May, though," he said when she pulled away, and he unravelled the scarf from his neck. She'd already removed her own end of the scarf.
"You're right, I should have waited an extra six months after Trenton to confess my love to you," Cuddy quipped.
He smirked, looking into her eyes. "You can never be too sure."
"Well, I am," she said with a sincerity that made her eyes water and his heart burst.
"Seven years."
"Seven years."
They contemplated each other for a moment.
"Is this all you got me?" she asked him softly, biting her lip, her gaze darkening.
"You know it isn't," he replied with the same tone. "Let's go to the bedroom."
"It's chilly out today, isn't?" House asked as he slipped his leather jacket on the next morning.
"I don't know." Cuddy watched him get ready, washing their breakfast dishes. Much to her surprise, he slipped on the gloves she'd made him and showed it to her. She smiled. "You're sweet, but you don't have to humor me."
"I'll see you at work." He kissed her on the mouth and headed outside.
Her determination lasted three seconds, before she caved and watched him from the window. House limped to his motorcycle parked in her driveway, sat astride it and slipped his helmet on. As he revved up the engine, she saw that he was still wearing his gloves.
He didn't turn around to check if she were watching him before he left.
"Look what Cuddy got me," House called out as he caught a glimpse of Wilson in the parking lot. He showed him his hands as he made his way towards him.
"That's… not that bad," Wilson commented upon close inspection of the gloves.
"Made me a scarf, too. They're super warm."
"It's sixty-three degrees outside," the oncologist reminded him as they stepped into the elevator. "What did you get her?"
"A sweater. And great oral sex."
"Did she like them?"
"Duh." Wilson rolled his eyes. "So I'm really enjoying those anniversary themes. What's next year's?"
"Lace."
House's eyes lit up.