A/N. For the iridescent Penelope S. Cartwright, here is your House/Cuddy Livejournal Secret Santa story. I apologize for the delay. I hope you like it anyway. Merry Christmas…ish!
The title is a lyric from Weezer's "December". It's a good song. It kind of works with this story, if you squint.
Also, thanks to Akemi1582 and oldstone for the lightning fast beta. You girls rock.
Burning Flames in December
Day One
At promptly eight o'clock, the door to the Dean of Medicine's office opens and in strides Lisa Cuddy, briefcase in one hand and coffee cup in the other. She kicks the door shut with a black Prada heel, setting her items down to shrug off her red, snow covered coat. Rubbing her hands together, she shakes off the cold from the blustery December weather outside before retrieving her beverage and taking a long, soothing sip.
It is only then that she notices the odd… contraption (there is no other word for it, really) sitting on her desk. She circles the desk, taking a seat and pulling it towards her. She recognizes the urinal jug as being one of their own by the small PPTH logo molded into the plastic. The contents, however…
Test tube brushes are sticking out of the open lid, tied together by what appears to be a catheter tube. On top of each brush is a pinwheel flower made out of silver duct tape.
Her brow knits in curiosity. It's imaginative, sure; clever, even. There is no note, though, no indication of who it's from. Her mind races: misappropriation of hospital equipment… too much time on their hands… House. It has to be from House.
She rolls her eyes, then, pushing it aside and booting up her computer. The makeshift bouquet is… interesting. Verging on sweet, she can admit to herself, but she has work to do. She'll punish House later.
Day Two
"Can you get me the numbers on last quarter, the budget for the clinic, and the notes from the last board meeting before you leave?"
Cuddy looks up from the chart she's reviewing to see her new assistant, Ann, with her coat halfway on and her scarf in her teeth. Ann spits the scarf out onto the desk in embarrassment.
"I'm so sorry, Doctor Cuddy. I've already shut my computer -"
"That's ok. I can wait a few minutes," Cuddy smiles distractedly and heads into her office, not noticing Ann's sigh of frustration as she removes her coat and brings her tired laptop back to life.
Her nose already back in the file, Cuddy sits down on the office sofa, which is covered, along with the nearby coffee table, in file folders and x-rays in a rainbow of colors. She takes a deep breath before putting the folder aside and picking up another one.
Ann enters, spreadsheets in hand, "Here you are, Doctor Cuddy."
"Ah, thank you," Cuddy takes the pages from Ann gratefully, setting them aside for later review before going back to the folder on her lap.
Ann stands in front of her boss for a moment, contemplative, "Was there anything else you needed before I head out?"
Cuddy looks up, "I'm so sorry to have kept you late after I told you to go home, Ann. Could you run and get me a cup of tea before you leave?"
"Of course," Ann replies.
"I'm sorry to ask, but -"
"No, Doctor Cuddy. It's totally okay," Ann holds up her hands, well aware of how difficult the internal audit has been on her boss these past few days.
Cuddy smiles gratefully, "Thank you."
Ann backs out of the office to get the tea and Cuddy takes the moment to squeeze her eyes shut, her vision blurring. She rubs her eyes gently, then looks at her watch: 8:30. Dammit. She rests her head briefly on the back of the sofa before resigning herself to a few more hours of chart reviews before she gets started on the departmental budgets for the quarter. She lifts her head, her gaze flitting over the shelves opposite her and the snow flurries outside of her darkened window before landing on her desk.
Not again.
She squints her eyes, not sure after reading hours of fine print if what she is seeing is really there. It appears to be a martini glass, filled with a dark red liquid. Inside the glass is a long syringe, sans needle, filled with an amber liquid, and a miniature post-it note stuck to the plunger.
Cuddy stands up, kicking aside her discarded heels, and pads over to the glass. The post-it, she notices, says simply, PUSH ME, all in caps. She leans over, sniffing the liquid in the glass - cranberry juice, she realizes, then looks curiously around her office. Walking to the door, she nearly collides with Ann, who has her coat on and is balancing a full mug of hot Chamomile tea.
"Doctor Cuddy, I was just coming -"
"Was someone in my office?" Cuddy asks.
"You mean, besides you?"
Cuddy suppresses the urge to roll her eyes. Not the brightest bulb in the drawer, this one.
"Yes, besides me."
"Not since your meeting with Doctor Cameron earlier today," Ann replies, slightly flustered.
"Do you know what this is, then?" Cuddy turns around and points to the martini glass on her desk.
"Um...," Ann looks confused, "A Cosmo, maybe? I mean, that looks like cranberry juice. Of course, if it's pomegranate, it's probably a..."
Cuddy is staring at her, a tired and obviously frustrated look on her face.
"That's, " Ann gulps, "Not what you meant, was it?"
"No," Cuddy replies, forcing herself to remain calm, "I meant, do you know how that got there?"
"I'm sorry, Doctor Cuddy, I don't know. I haven't been away from my desk, except to get you this tea - here, by the way," she hands it to Cuddy, her hand shaking nervously, "since like six."
Cuddy takes the tea, eyeing her assistant suspiciously, "Okay. Ann, it's late, we're both tired. Why don't you head home before the roads get too snowed over? I'll take care of it."
Ann looks visibly relieved, "Thank you, Doctor Cuddy." She picks up her purse and scarf and scurries out the door before Cuddy can change her mind.
"Oh, thanks for the tea!" Cuddy calls after her, finally focusing on the cooling beverage in her hand.
Heading back into her office, she sets the tea down next to the martini glass and focuses her attention on the plunger. She removes it from the cranberry juice, sniffing the end. She can smell a sour apple flavor, along with a spicy, cinnamony scent and the strong burn of vodka.
In a moment of spontaneity, she shrugs her shoulders. What the hell, she decides. She's going to be there for another few hours. It's probably another weird gift from House, so what harm is a drink? She squirts the contents of the syringe into the glass, watching the liquid fill up just to the rim. Lifting the glass to her lips, she takes a small sip. Whatever it is, it's delicious. She hopes absentmindedly that it's not laced with something, because now she has every intention of finishing it.
She can feel the deep red liquid warming her inside as she sips from the glass while she sits back on the sofa and continues to read. The tea sits forgotten, still on her desk, as she pores over her work. The alcohol is making her feel a little light-headed - after all, it's nearly 9:30 and she has yet to eat dinner - but beyond that, she doesn't seem to have been drugged. She laughs lightly at this realization before going back to her work.
It is after one o'clock when Cuddy wakes up. She looks around, finding herself lying on the sofa in her office, papers strewn haphazardly around the area. It appears as though she kicked some of the files onto the floor in her slumber, and she quickly leans down to gather them and put them back on the coffee table. She places the files next to the martini glass, and only then does it hit her: She drank something that was sitting on her desk, with no idea who it was from or what was in it. She curses, leaning back onto the sofa in frustration. "Idiot."
She stands quickly, blood rushing to her head, and runs to the bathroom to check her reflection. Her hair is a little mussed but otherwise untouched, as are her clothes. Nothing is written on her forehead or stuck to her back. Her underwear are firmly in place and undamaged. She is flooded, then, with an odd mixture of relief and disappointment. In her haste to consume the delicious beverage, she had assumed that House had had something to do with it and would perhaps try to trick her in some way. But here she is, hours later, ignored and unmolested. That means it might not have been from House after all, which, if she is honest, scares her even more.
Leaving the bathroom, she gathers the paperwork and stuffs it into her briefcase before putting on her shoes. As she pulls on her coat, she eyes the empty martini glass and syringe once more before snatching it up and yanking open her office door, leaving the rest of her things inside.
She pauses outside House's office, noticing a dim light emanating from behind the closed blinds. A shadow moves inside, and only then does she realize that House might actually still be in his office. She doesn't know what she had planned, bringing the glass up here, but she didn't expect him to still be here. She absentmindedly spins the glass's stem between her fingers as she contemplates whether or not to confront him with her suspicions about the martini and the odd flower arrangement from the day before.
"Doctor Cuddy, to what do I owe the pleasure at this late hour?" She hears from inside, and hangs her head in mild embarrassment. She opens the glass door, pushing the blinds aside.
"How did you know I was -"
"I can hear the click of your fuck me pumps from the elevator," House snarks tiredly. "Are you here to bring me a pick-me-up?" He points to the glass in her hand.
Cuddy's eyes rake over him briefly, noting his more-wrinkled-than-normal shirt, the desk full of charts and x-rays, and the glasses hanging from between two long fingers as he rubs his forehead. He looks exhausted.
"What are you still doing here?"
"I could ask you the same question, except I know you're working on the audit. I have to say, Cuddy, it's a little disconcerting that you don't know what your own employee is doing in your hospital."
She rolls her eyes, hiding the fact that she had momentarily forgotten why he was here, "You have a patient."
"And you have a martini glass. And... a syringe."
"Ah," she remembers, walking in and placing the items on his desk, "I am returning these to you."
House looks at her curiously, "Thanks?"
"Don't even play that game, House, " she wags a finger in front of him and smiles, "I know this was you."
House's brow knits in confusion, "What was me?"
"The cocktail."
"Cuddy, you know the only cock I'd ever give you would be -"
"Don't finish that sentence if you want to keep your job," she warns.
"It wasn't me."
She eyes him warily. Against her better judgment, his declaration does seem genuine. Which worries her.
"You didn't leave this drink on my desk a few hours ago?" She asks.
"Cuddy, I've been up to my ass in unexplained hearing loss, two myocardial infarctions, and a weird case of skin sloughing all evening. I don't have time to concoct strange beverages with office supplies for your enjoyment," House answers wearily.
"And the... flower arrangement?"
"What flower arrangement?"
"That wasn't you either," she guesses.
"Seeing as how I have no idea what the hell you're talking about..."
"Okay, okay," she holds her hands up in surrender. A moment later, she asks, "How's the patient?"
"Still dying," he says, a trace of anger in his voice, "Was there anything else you wanted to accuse me of? Doing your taxes, perhaps?"
She can tell that he's frustrated by the lack of progress with his patient, and his normally surly behavior is heightened by that frustration. She looks at him gently, "Go home and get some sleep, House. You're no good to your patient this tired."
He sighs, "No, I'm fine. I still need to look over some of these test results."
"Okay. If you do go home, House, be careful. It's coming down hard out there."
He nods, a silent acknowledgement, as she leaves his office. His eyes fall on the martini glass and syringe that she left on his desk, and his lip curls up into a small smile.
Day Three
"... would be a generous contribution to our prestigious Cardiology department." Cuddy finishes her spiel, eyeing the smartly dressed couple seated in front of her desk.
Darren Radford, of the Massachusetts Radfords, stands up to shake her hand, his deep voice kind, "I think that will be just fine, Doctor Cuddy. You can expect a check from the Radford Foundation after the holidays," he says.
"Yes," Gretchen Radford chimes in, "We think the addition to your facility will be an excellent memorial for our son, may he rest in peace."
"Of course," Cuddy stands with the couple, shaking each hand in turn, "Thank you so much. My assistant will..."
Cuddy looks up to see Ann enter the office and motions for her to come over, "Ann, will you see Mr. and Mrs. Radford out, please?"
"Of course, Doctor Cuddy," Ann nods, motioning to the couple towards the office door. Ann lags behind for a second, whispering to Cuddy, "There was a delivery while you were in your meeting. It's sitting on my desk."
"What kind of delivery?"
Before Ann can reply, Cuddy hears Mrs. Radford's voice from the anteroom: "Well, isn't that sweet."
She rushes out of her office, Ann following closely behind. Sitting on Ann's desk is a balloon bouquet, but each balloon is actually a latex glove, in various shapes and colors, blown up with helium and tied off with what look like black surgical suture string. The strings are gathered and tied around the handle of a cream colored mug that reads TRUST ME I'M A DOCTOR.
"Oh, my. Ann, what...?"
"That was delivered for you, Doctor Cuddy." Ann says, looking uncomfortably at the Radfords.
Cuddy clears her throat awkwardly, "By whom?" She looks around the odd arrangement for a card, "There doesn't appear to be a note anywhere."
"No, Doctor Cuddy. A messenger brought it by. He didn't, um," She pauses, hesitant to continue this discussion in front of the new donors, "say who it was from."
Cuddy looks helplessly from her assistant to the Radfords before turning her attention to them, "Why don't I see you out?"
Mrs. Radford nods, and adds, "Whoever it's from, it's an awfully creative gift. A Christmas present from one of your patients, perhaps?"
Cuddy ushers the couple out of her anteroom and into the main lobby, responding, "Oh, I'm not -. I mean, I'm Jewish. I don't celebrate…"
"Ah. A Hanukkah present, then."
"Perhaps." Cuddy remembers absentmindedly that this is, in fact, the third day of Hanukkah.
As they reach the outer doors, Mrs. Radford turns and grasps one of Cuddy's hand in both of her own, "Either way, it's a very sweet gift for a remarkable Dean of Medicine. It's been a pleasure doing business with you."
Mr. Radford nods in agreement, and Cuddy thanks them both as the couple head out into the blustery December snow.
Cuddy heads back to her office in a fog. She can't believe that it has taken her three days to realize that these surprise gifts had been arriving since the first day of Hanukkah. She has five more days of random, creepy (if slightly sweet) presents to look forward to, and now that she knows they are not from House, she is worried.
When she sits down at her desk, she realizes that Ann has moved the bouquet onto the coffee table in her office.
"Ann?" she calls.
Ann appears almost instantaneously in the doorway.
"If any more deliveries like this one, or the one from Monday –"
"That weird flower arrangement?"
"Yes, if anything else comes like that, can you let me speak to the delivery man before he leaves? And…" She hesitates.
"Yes, Doctor Cuddy?"
Cuddy points to the latex glove balloons, "Just throw it away. Okay? It's creeping me out."
Ann nods, a slightly worried expression on her face, "Of course, Doctor Cuddy."
Day Four
"God dammit, Ann!"
Ann rushes into Cuddy's office to find her standing in front of her desk, lab coat on, staring into a bright blue box. The lid is in her left hand, and she's holding it like some kind of weapon.
"What is it, Doctor Cuddy?"
Cuddy's voice is tight, "I told you to let me speak to the delivery man before he left."
Ann stared at the box helplessly, "I'm sorry Doctor Cuddy. I didn't even see a delivery man. I've been busy dealing with the setup for the blizzard, and the state police. I swear, I – "
Cuddy sees the panic on her assistant's face and softens, "Okay, Ann. Okay. I know, things are crazy around here with the impending storm, but…" she looks down at the contents of the box.
"What is it today?"
She reaches hesitantly into the box, pulling out what looks like an anatomically correct stuffed heart. She shakes it, and it makes a thump-thump, thump-thump sound for a moment before shutting off.
Ann lets out a small burst of laughter before quickly covering her mouth with her hand, and Cuddy can't help but smile.
"It's a stuffed heart," she replies mirthfully.
"Do you want me to get rid of this one, too, Doctor Cuddy?" Ann asks.
Cuddy stares down at the heart for a moment, "No, I think I'll keep this one." She places it on the edge of her desk, then turns back to Ann.
"Now, can you fill me in on the blizzard situation? What kind of casualty/injury count are we looking at?"
Ann runs back to her desk to grab her notebook, then sits at Cuddy's desk and begins to read, "Channel seven is reporting that the storm is going to hit the Trenton area around nine o'clock tonight, and it will continue to snow throughout tomorrow and possibly into Saturday. We've brought in as much emergency personnel as we can – with Doctor Wilson at the conference in London and with Doctors Harris, Rokaw, Panjibi, House, and Curtis already snowed in, it looks like they won't be available to come in tonight, but –"
"Did Doctor House tell you that personally?" Cuddy interrupts.
"Well, no. Doctor Kutner told me," Ann replies sheepishly.
Cuddy rolls her eyes, picking up the phone, "I know for a fact that he is not snowed in. He lives ten minutes away. Lazy bastard, " she mutters. She dials the phone, punching at the numbers like each one has his tiny, smug face on it.
"House, pick up the phone," she speaks angrily to his answering machine, dismissing Ann with a wave, "House, pick up. This isn't funny. There is a blizzard warning and we need all hands on deck. I don't care if you have a patient or not, get your ass –"
She hears a click as he picks up the phone, then, "I don't know if you've noticed, Doctor Cuddy, but my patient was cured, it's my day off, and – oh, yeah – it's snowing. Wild horses with eighteen year old hookers riding bareback couldn't drag me in today. Well, maybe –"
"You know it's not your day off. You just don't come in the day after you diagnose someone. And normally that wouldn't matter, but today – "
"Oh, really? It wouldn't matter? So all those lectures about me not coming in and how you'll add extra clinic duty next time – that was, what, for fun?"
"You know what I mean, House. If you don't get your ass back into this hospital by five o'clock, not only am I doubling your monthly clinic hours, I'm cutting your MRI and CT privileges until January," she barks.
"I guess all my new patients between now and then will just have to die, then," House replies tauntingly.
Cuddy sighs, "I'll write you a prescription of Vicodin. One hundred and twenty day supply, and I'll have it waiting in my office when you arrive. Deal?"
She can practically hear the gears turning in his brain, counting how many pills he has left since Tritter took his stash last year and Wilson started getting stingy with his prescription pad.
"Fine. But make it one hundred and eighty, and I'll be in by six."
"Fine."
She slams the phone down, a look of triumph on her face, "Ann?" she calls, "Cross House's name off the list. He's coming in."
Cuddy's office door bursts open at precisely 6:46. She looks up to see House, his leather jacket and shoes covered in melting snow. He leans heavily on his cane, and she wonders whether the storm is causing his leg to hurt more than normal. Her concern, however, only lasts for as long as it takes him to open his mouth.
"Where's your nubile young assistant, Amy?"
"You mean Ann? She's coordinating the sleeping arrangements for any doctors who might get waylaid by the –"
"Whatever. Ann. A little chubby for my taste, but smoking hot. Do you think her red hair is natural?"
Cuddy ignores him. "House, you're late."
"I love natural redheads. They're… spicy," he waves his hand in a flourish.
"I said be here at six."
"It's in the ballpark." He hobbles over to her desk and she hands him the large bottle of Vicodin, as promised. He shakes it.
"It's missing some," he comments angrily.
"Oh, I took out one pill for every minute past six you were late. So, that's about," she checks her watch, "One hundred and thirty four pills, now. Not one hundred and eighty." She smiles.
"That wasn't the arrangement."
"Neither was you being forty six minutes late. Take it or leave it." His cobalt blue eyes stare stubbornly into hers for a moment before he backs down and huffs.
"Fine. I'm going to my office. Don't page me if you need me."
She rushes around the desk, catching him before he leaves the room, "No no no no no, House. No deal. You're here to help patients that come in from the storm. That's what we're all here for and you are not the exception."
"So if I didn't come in, I'd get clinic duty. By coming in, I get… twenty four hours of clinic duty? I'm going home," He says dismissively and side steps her.
She spins around, grabbing his arm, "House," she pleads, her voice low, "Fine. Go upstairs. I'll let you know if we need you."
He glances over her shoulder, then back to her, "Thank you," he replies sarcastically, yanking his arm out of her grip, "It appears you do have a heart after all." He points to the stuffed heart on her desk, then storms grumpily out of her office as Cuddy stares disbelievingly after him.
Day Five
Seven hours later, the storm rages outside. Cuddy had sent Ann home before the brunt of the storm hit, and the ER has been flooded with frostbite, car injuries, carbon monoxide poisonings, and sniffling noses since about eight o'clock this evening. Only now, with the roads blocked and the city going to bed, has it finally begun to die down. Cuddy, having changed into a pair of green scrubs and tennis shoes, had spent hours manning the ER. Now her feet hurt, there is a splotch of blood on her shirt from an errant IV, and vomit on her shoe. Her hair is in a mussed ponytail. She is sure she looks like hell.
The hospital's administration department had set up a temporary dormitory in the cafeteria for staff who were staying in the hospital overnight. Several doctors had sofas in their offices, but most of the nursing staff, technicians, and fellows were out of luck. Now, with people finally able to take a break, the cafeteria is filling up and Cuddy has found herself playing Residential Administrator to a bunch of tired colleagues and employees.
"Thanks, Mark. Yeah, that cot over there next to Doctor Taub is free," she points to an empty cot and hands the uncomfortably young-looking resident a blanket, pillow, and sealed bag of toiletries.
"Thanks, Doctor Cuddy," he replies, taking the items and heading over.
Cuddy finally has a moment to sit down, and grabs an apple from the basket near the register, taking a bite. Her stomach rumbles. Her mind drifts absentmindedly to the heart she received earlier today, and House's asinine comment. Is that what the gift-giver meant? She worries. That she doesn't have a heart? Or that his (or her) heart belongs to Cuddy? Or was it just something fun and related to her field? With her track record, it's probably a stalker in the making. These thoughts race through her mind as she grabs a banana and heads out of the room. She looks at her watch, noticing that it's past midnight. It's time. She needs to check on House.
Shoving his door open, Cuddy enters House's darkened office. It's empty. Where is he? She notes with a scowl that a cot has been placed along one wall in the office, because heaven forbid he sleep downstairs with the regular employees. She throws the banana down onto the cot for House. The lights are off in the adjacent conference room, too, she notices, but unlike in his office, the blinds surrounding the conference room are shut.
"House?" She knocks on the door, then tries the handle only to find it locked. There is no answer from inside, though she is startled when she hears what may be a whispered curse word, followed by rummaging.
"House, what are you doing in there?" She knocks again.
"Cuddy?"
"House. Open the door."
"Go away."
"I'm not leaving. House, what are you doing in there? I paged you three times tonight, we've got a building full of patients, a snowed in staff, and you're, what, hiding in the conference room?" Her voice is rising in frustration, "Do you really not care at all about the people in this hospital?"
The door unlocks and House's smug face sticks out of the narrow gap between the door and the frame, "I told you I would come in. I did not say I would do any work, nor do I care about anyone else who does. Why does that surprise you?"
Cuddy's fist clenches tightly and she actively resists punching him, "Then what the hell are you doing here?"
He holds up two fingers and says, "Vicodin, and snow. I came for the Vicodin. Couldn't leave because of the snow."
"No, what are you doing in there?" She breathes, her nostrils flaring in frustration.
"None of your -"
Cuddy launches forward, throwing her weight against the door and forcing it open. Caught off guard, House stumbles backwards, nearly falling before he catches himself on the glass top of the conference table.
"What are you-" he says, a surprised, slightly proud expression on his face.
She lifts her hand, jabbing her finger into the air in front of his face, "My hospital, my rules."
House moves directly in front of her, still trying to block her view of the room. She moves left, he moves left. She counters right, but he moves too fast for her to get around him. Finally she stops, glaring up at him.
"House, get out of my way."
"No," he replies, a small smile on his face as he watches her temper flare.
She takes this second to fake left and slip past him on the right, finally seeing what House was up to. In the center of the room, lying on the conference table, is a full-sized female CPR dummy, stripped down to its anatomically incorrect nudity.
"What the…" Cuddy stares in slightly disgusted surprise at this before her eyes continue their journey to the far end of the table, where four boxes, two large and two small, are piled up.
She looks back at the naked dummy, then up at him, noticing the sheepish look on his face. She rolls her eyes, "Why can't you just watch porn like everyone else?"
He doesn't respond.
Cuddy walks around the table, past the CPR dummy, toward the boxes. It is only then that House moves, following close behind her. Internally, he curses the fact that he has left his cane leaning against the window on the opposite side of the room.
As she starts to open the top most box, a long skinny silver container, he seems to panic, stopping her with his hand.
"No," he pleads, and the fear in his voice is enough to cause her to pull her hand back.
She looks up at him, her anger starting to dissipate, and asks gently, "What is all this, House?"
"You weren't supposed to see this," is his reply, his voice quiet.
She lifts the top off the silver box, and his eyes squeeze shut in a wince of embarrassment.
Inside the box is a rubber arm, complete with blood pressure cuff. She eyes the arm curiously, pulling the heavy teaching tool out of the box.
"Why do you have an S410 Blood Pressure System in a box on your desk?"
"It's, um," House refuses to meet her eyes, "It's a gift."
"You're giving away an eight hundred dollar fake arm that belongs to my medical school? To whom?"
House doesn't answer. She looks over the arm, from the blood pressure cuff at the top, down the elbow and over the diamond tennis bracelet on the wrist. Wait. What? Her eyes move back to the bracelet, then grow wide.
"What?" she says aloud, noticing for the first time that the box bears a striking similarity to the one she was wielding as a weapon earlier that day, the one with the stuffed heart inside.
"Is this… for me?"
House leans heavily against the glass table, "Well, not anymore."
She walks over to him, their height differences less pronounced with his ass halfway onto the tabletop, "The gifts, the past week? You said it wasn't you. You had a patient. You were so… preoccupied."
"I lied," he sighs.
"But… why?"
"It was supposed to be a Hanukkah present. Eight days. Eight presents."
"But… you're an atheist," she says, confused. Her brain cannot comprehend House doing something nice, clearly, as this is causing her such consternation.
"Yeah, well, you're not," he says, almost accusatorily.
Her brow furrows as she stares down at the beautiful bracelet on the fake arm, still clutched in one hand. She lifts it up, and House looks pleased that she is admiring the jewelry he had meant to give her.
THWAP.
"Ow!" House exclaims. Cuddy had smacked him in the shoulder, hard, with the fake arm.
"Those presents? They've been creeping me out, you asshole!"
"What?"
"I thought it was you – I was sure it was you! But then you said it wasn't and I thought, I don't know, that I had a stalker or something. I mean, who sends balloon hands? Or a stuffed beating heart? It's creepy!" Cuddy hits him with the arm again, not as hard this time.
"Would you stop hitting me?" House exclaims, standing back up to his full height and grabbing the arm from her, "If you don't want the bracelet –"
Cuddy stops, "No, I want it."
"You just said it creeped you out."
"Yeah, when I thought it wasn't you. Give that back," she reaches for the arm, but House holds it out of her reach.
She rolls her eyes, "I'm not jumping for it, if that's what you're thinking."
"Damn. I thought I was going to get a free show," he snarks, and she smirks as he looks down at her breasts which, even covered in baggy scrubs, are still pretty impressive to him. He puts the arm onto the table next to the naked dummy.
"So what's with the Ambu Cardiac dummy?" she asks, nodding in its direction.
"That's for day six. I wanted to get it all ready tonight in case-"
"You do realize that if I walked into my office and found that thing on my couch looking like that, I would have killed you," she looks up at him warily.
He smiles, then, which surprises her, "Not if you saw what she was wearing."
She raises an eyebrow, surprised by his… kindness. There is no other word for it, really, and it is so out of character for him that when she realizes this she takes a step back, "Why are you doing all this, House? You don't care about… people."
He leans forward, favoring his right leg, "You're right. I don't."
"Then why –"
"I care about you."
"But –" Cuddy is at a loss for words. Her eyes search his for a long moment. She just doesn't understand. This is not who he is. She doesn't expect, well, anything from him. Let alone something as thoughtful as this.
House can see the confusion on her face, and it dawns on him that she doesn't even think this is something he's capable of, let alone willing to do for her. Disappointment burns in his chest as he turns away from her gaze.
"Never mind. This was stupid."
He removes the bracelet from the mechanical arm, before placing the arm back in the box.
"I'm sorry, Cuddy. This was a mistake. Don't worry about it."
She stares at him in disbelief, "What?" she asks. She is tired and sore and House told her he cares about her and she is processing all this when he just backs away and gives up?
"No, wait," she grabs his arm, halting his haphazard packing, and tugs him toward her, catching his lips in a kiss. His mouth opens beneath hers for a moment and she savors the contact before he pulls away.
"Cuddy, what -" his eyes search hers.
She smiles, "I like it. I really do," she brings up her hand, stroking his rough, stubbled cheek gently before guiding him down to her for another kiss. This kiss is nowhere near as gentle as the first, and fire shoots through her veins as his tongue makes contact with her own. She backs up against the table, their mouths still fused together, and hops up, narrowing their considerable height difference. He moves between her spread legs, and the kiss deepens. His hands move to cup her cheeks gently, and Cuddy can feel his passion, his yearning, and his fear, all in the pulsing heat of his mouth on hers.
Cuddy shivers when she feels the warmth of his hands curl around her waist, gently pushing the fabric of her scrub top up. She breaks the kiss on a gasp, and House's lips blindly search for hers once more when he hears, "House, wait. We can't -"
"The blinds are closed, the door is..."
"Open, remember?" She looks up into his eyes, and the intensity in his gaze, the moisture of his lips, are incredibly arousing.
"Well, we have a bed right on the other side of that wall, and a lock on the door..." he suggests, his voice low and gravelly and hitting her in all the right places.
She takes a moment. House's eyes stare pleadingly into hers as all the reasons why they shouldn't – they're in the hospital, it's late, he's House – and why they should – everyone's asleep five levels down in the cafeteria, she has caught him in a rare moment of honesty, she really wants him, and, well, he's House - flit through her brain.
She smiles flirtatiously, "Sounds good."
House grabs her hand, limping towards the conference room door with Cuddy in tow. Once they've passed the threshold, he locks the conference room door, and the door to his office, closing the blinds. When he turns around, Cuddy is sitting on the cot, her legs crossed demurely.
"What's with the banana?" he asks, looking at the yellow fruit to her left.
"I thought you could use the potassium," she jokes as he launches toward her, capturing her lips with his own. There is no gentleness to this kiss, no pretext. His tongue duels with hers as she struggles to unbutton his jeans. She gets the last button undone, pushing them down over his boxers just as he slides his hands under the top of her scrubs, lifting it up. She pulls back briefly to remove the top, and House takes the opportunity to admire her breasts, clad in a dark red lacy bra.
"Wow," he breathes, "Come to papa." She laughs, a low chuckle, inviting his hands up to caress them, her nipples tightening in anticipation. His hands roam to her back, undoing the bra and, letting it fall to the floor, he presses his palms against her. Cuddy moans in appreciation, pulling at his neck and kissing him hard as he kicks off his pants, shoes, and socks. Her hand travels down the front of his shirt before cupping his growing erection through his boxers. House gasps into her mouth, and she grins triumphantly.
He tears off his button down and t-shirt as Cuddy's hands immediately move to his chest, her fingers gliding through the sparse hair there before she leans in to kiss his jugular. House moans then, his hands tugging at her pants. She lifts up her ass to pull them off, along with her shoes, socks, and now soaked underwear, and practically yanks him on top of her onto the small cot.
The kiss burns between them as lips, tongues and teeth clash together. House's left hand runs gently down her shoulder to her breast as his right presses against the thin coiled mattress of the cot, holding himself above her. He squeezes the flesh of her breast before he breaks the kiss on a gasp, his lips trailing down her neck to latch greedily onto one turgid nipple. The whiskers of his 2 a.m. stubble tickle the underside of her breast and she arches her back gracefully, moaning in appreciation. Her hands stroke his arms, shoulders, anywhere she can reach before resting on the soft cotton of his boxers. She squeezes his ass cheek through the fabric, which prompts House to push the offending material down and off. She reaches greedily for his erection as his hand moves over her stomach and down to gently part the folds of her dripping sex. Her breath catches at the contact, and she hears his catch, too, as she gently strokes his penis. He dips one finger into her center, then two, and feels her grip on his cock tighten almost painfully. He stares up at her, his blue eyes flashing, before his lips continue their journey south. He shifts his body slightly, scooting as far down as the small cot allows while pressing his lips to the soft skin of her abdomen.
"House," Cuddy moans.
"Hmm?" he asks, his lips still moving along her skin, his fingers still pumping slowly in and out of her.
"This isn't going to work."
His fingers halt their movements as he looks up at her, fear in his eyes. She smiles, caressing his cheek for a moment before continuing.
"The cot," she points to his legs practically dangling off the bottom of the short cot before curling her finger, beckoning him back up her body.
"Yeah, I guess not," he agrees mirthfully before he presses himself against her fully, his cock pressing tantalizingly against her wet core.
"One," she whispers, grasping him tightly, her thighs squeezing his, "Two, three."
Without warning, she pushes him over, and he follows willingly as they flip over so that she is now straddling him. His hands caress her thighs as she leans down for a quick but thorough kiss.
"Much better," she sighs, and House smiles at her for the first time, his eyes warm. She smiles back, his hand moving to her face, his thumb softly tracing the lines of her smile. Her eyes close for a moment, overcome as she is by the gentleness of the small gesture. She leans down for another kiss, positioning herself above him and, breaking the kiss, sinks slowly down onto him. House's head shoots back at the intensity of the contact, his hands gripping the sheets of the cot as she settles on top of him, adjusting to the welcome invasion.
As she begins to move, her hands slap onto his chest and his move to grip the warm globes of her ass. Her curls, now loose from her ponytail, bounce slightly with each rise and fall of her hips and as she leans down for another searing kiss, they tickle House's face. Their tongues twine together as the delicious friction causes the curl of arousal to tighten low in her belly. She can taste the salty tang of her sweat on his lips and moans as he begins to move his hips in counterpoint to hers. She breaks the kiss on a gasp, panting into his mouth as her orgasm approaches.
House drags his right hand over her hips, finding her clit with his middle finger and presses hard. Cuddy bites her lip to keep from screaming as her orgasm blooms in her belly and House's pace quickens, her ass slapping against his thighs as his orgasm follows hers seconds later.
"Oh god," he cries out, thrusting his head back as Cuddy collapses onto his chest, spent.
As their breathing returns to normal, she looks up into his eyes, a clear blue, and smiles.
"Happy Hanukkah, Cuddy," he whispers, and she squeezes her eyes together as laughter erupts from her. House can only stare at her, this strong, lithe, exhausted, beautiful woman lying on top of him, as she laughs contently for a full minute.
Day Five, 4 a.m.
"So, what's in the rest of those boxes?" she asks, her eyes glancing in the direction of the closed door of the conference room. Cuddy lies curled up along House's side, her head on his chest and a tangled mess of sheets covering them.
He looks down at her mischievously, "There are still three days of Hanukkah left, Cuddy. You'll just have to wait and see."
She slaps his chest in playful outrage.
"Of course," he adds teasingly, "We could just count each orgasm I give you as a Hanukkah present and I don't have to worry about giving you anything else."
"Okay," she agrees, to his surprise. He stares down at her, his eyes squinting with suspicion, "But that means we're going to have to have sex for, oh, at least another three days," she continues, her tone light, "Do you think you can handle that?"
"I don't know, Cuddy. All that desperate administrative need. I don't know if I can –"
"Shut up, House."
"I'm just saying, it's an awfully big responsibility, keeping you sated for three whole days. I don't know if I'm up for it."
"Somehow, I don't think that will be a problem. Especially if we're stuck here for a while," she tilts her head up to look out the window at the blinding snowfall outside.
"And after that?" he asks quietly.
"Well, I guess," her eyes search his for a moment, "I owe you a Christmas present."
Six Months Later
"Sarah?" Cuddy calls from her office as her new assistant comes rushing in, "Could you get me those requisition reports for the last year for Nephrology, Oncology, and Diagnostics, please?"
"Right away, Doctor Cuddy," Sarah answers, backing out quickly.
Moments later, the papers are on her desk, and Cuddy grabs the first one on the stack. Diagnostics. Her grin turns into a scowl as she sees the mess of reports, once again cursing Cameron's desire to transfer to the ER. At the top, completely out of order, is the requisition request from the previous August. A mess of office supplies, she notes absentmindedly. House rarely, if ever, needs those. He usually just steals them from Wilson.
Duct tape, test tube brushes, a ridiculous variety of latex gloves, a helium tank, and something labeled "miscellaneous beverages". Her brow furrows in curiosity before realizing why House had needed all of these seemingly random supplies. She glanced again at the date. August, 2007. Four months before he started giving her gifts made from the very office supplies he had requisitioned.
She doesn't know whether to be outraged or flattered, and is still debating whether or not to pick up the phone and scold him when her Blackberry beeps. She groans, shutting the requisitions folder and pulling her phone out of her briefcase.
"Dinner or sex? 8pm, my place." The text reads.
She glowers at the phone, still not sure if he deserves punishment or praise for using hospital funds to woo her nearly four months in advance. Before she can make up her mind, however, her phone beeps again.
"Trick question. It's both. –H"
She rolls her eyes, smiling absurdly at the piece of technology in her hand. There's her answer.
The End
It's totally cheeseball, but I hope you enjoyed it. I know you wanted angst, Penelope, but other than a beat or two, I really wanted to keep it light. Sorry. Hope you like it anyway. :P
For those who are curious, the drink House made for her is called an Apple Cin (cocktails[dot]about[dot]com/od/vodkadrinkrecipes/r/apple_cin[dot]htm) and the beating heart plush toy looks like this: amazon[dot]com/Plush-Beating-Heart-With-Movement/dp/B003DO5PGO