As promised, here's the flip-the-script version of The Confession.
A few things: This is a pretty silly and, okay, slightly unbelievable little story. I tried to keep the characters in character even as they were doing uncharacteristic things. (If that makes any sense.)
And yeah, any time the events culminate in a dramatic gala, I feel like I'm writing an episode of Gossip Girl or somethin. Anyway, hope you enjoy. Warning: Cameron Bashing ahead.
Cameron heard Cuddy before she saw her—those expensive Jimmy Choo heels of hers, clicking loudly on the linoleum floor
She was wearing an unbuttoned coat, holding a briefcase, and she had an anxious, brusque air about her, as though she had brought the outside cold in with her.
Cameron was standing in the doorway to House's hospital room, with Kutner and Taub and Chase. But instead of approaching them, Cuddy went straight to Wilson, who was sitting in a nearby waiting chair, drinking coffee out of a Styrofoam cup.
"I got your text," she said to him, slightly out of breath. "I was all the way across town at a board meeting. Is he okay?"
It annoyed Cameron in some strange, hard-to-articulate way that Cuddy had approached Wilson instead of her. She was obviously the one who had just been in House's room, not Wilson. Sometimes Wilson and Cuddy acted like they were the only ones in House's inner sanctum.
"He's going to be fine," Wilson said. "He got lucky. Mild concussion, a few superficial cuts and bruises, a serious sprain of his wrist. He'll be up and back to annoying you in a couple of days."
"That idiot!" Cuddy said. Then she added, almost to herself: "I knew he was going to crash that bike of his one day. I just knew it."
"It's not like he was popping wheelies or something," Wilson said. "A deer ran in front of him."
Cuddy ignored him.
"Is he awake? Can I see him?"
"Yeah, he apparently just woke up," Wilson said. "When I was in there, he was unconscious."
"Are you going back in?" Cuddy said, biting her lip.
"I will in an hour or so. I have a patient." Wilson tossed his empty coffee cup in the garbage but it sailed a few inches from its target. Slightly chagrined, he walked over to pick it up. "But talk to them," he said, gesturing toward Cameron and her cohorts. "They were just in his room."
Finally acknowledging their presence, Cuddy strode over.
"How is he?" she said.
"He crashed his motorcycle. How do you think he is?" Cameron replied, testily.
Everyone looked at her.
"He's pretty out of it," Kutner said. "Not making a whole lot of sense."
"And yet you still couldn't beat him in a battle of wits," Taub said, with a smirk. Kutner flicked him on the back of the head.
"Ow," Taub said, still looking proud of his joke.
"He's going to be fine," Chase said, reassuringly.
"I'm going to go check on him," Cuddy said, parting them, as she entered House's room.
They all started to head back to work, but Cameron lingered.
"You coming?" Chase said, cocking in his head toward the doctor's lounge.
"I'll catch up," Cameron said. "I have to . . . check in with the ER first."
She waited for them to all disperse, then she lingered in the doorway. She couldn't shake the feeling that she wanted to witness this intimate moment between Cuddy and House.
#####
He had a bandage over his right eye and a pretty nasty scrape on his chin. Otherwise, he looked remarkably good. His eyes were closed.
"Hey," Cuddy whispered, not wanting to wake him if he'd fallen back asleep. (Contrary to popular myth, sleep was the best thing for a concussion.)
His eyes fluttered open.
"Hi," he said. His voice sounded funny. Husky and drained of its usual archness.
"You could've killed yourself, you know that?" she said. She took an errant lock of his hair and smoothed it back on his forehead.
From the doorway, Cameron rolled her eyes.
"Sorry," he said.
"How do you feel?"
"My head hurts."
"Yeah, that'll happen when you bang it really hard against the pavement."
He didn't say anything but he smiled at her. It was strange how much could be communicated in a smile. House had many different smiles: A cocky smile, a lascivious smile, a smile of triumph when he was about to win an argument, even a turned-on little smile he gave when she had won an argument (that was, needless to say, her favorite smile of all).
But this smile was different, unrecognizable. It was devoid of subtext. It was . . . sweet.
"What?" she said, not able to resist smiling back.
"You're so pretty," he said, dreamily.
"Thanks," she said, chuckling a bit. Man, he was out of it.
"We're in love, right?" he said.
From the doorway, Cameron's mouth dropped open.
"In love?" Cuddy said, taken aback. "No, we're . . . we're just colleagues and friends." That somehow seemed inadequate. "Good friends."
"You're wrong," House said, closing his eyes, with the blissed out version of his smile of triumph playing at his lips. "I love you. And you love me. You'll see."
She looked down at him, flabbergasted. She was about to say something in response but then noticed the pronounced rise and fall of his chest. He was asleep.
"That was unexpected," she said to herself, as she left. And she was so distracted by House's surprising declaration, she didn't notice the pretty blonde in a lab coat quickly heading away from his room, down the hallway.
######
Four days later, Cuddy lurked awkwardly in House's office.
He was looking at some papers, wearing his glasses, low on his nose. He still had a bandage over his eye, although the scrapes on his chin were almost unnoticeable. His wrist was in a cast.
"Here to sign my cast?" he said. "Thirteen drew tits on it. Not hers, obviously. She doesn't have—"
"Can we talk?" Cuddy said, closing the door behind her.
"She was a licensed massage therapist," House said hastily. "Not a hooker."
"What?" Cuddy said.
He squinted at her.
"Wait, what? Uh, nevermind then. . . So what do you want to talk about?"
Cuddy sat down in the chair across from his desk.
She folded her hands, then unfolded them.
House regarded her warily.
"It's dumb," she said, sheepishly.
"Spit it out Cuddy," he said.
"It's just that when you woke up from your accident, you said something. . ."
"What did I say? If I insulted you, please know that I can not be held accountable for anything—"
"You said I was pretty."
"My grasp of the obvious was apparently intact," he said, still squinting at her.
"And then you said that we were in love. You specifically said that you . . . loved me."
For a second, his neck turned bright red, then he recovered. He gave a knowing smile.
"You're fucking with me, right? Did Wilson put you up to this? Where are the hidden cameras?" He looked under his desk.
"No cameras, it's . . . just me," Cuddy said.
House folded his arms.
"Seriously? I said that I loved you?"
"I told you it was dumb," Cuddy said, already regretting her decision to come clean.
"And you're telling me this now because. . ."
"I just didn't want it hanging over us, you know? I thought it might get awkward."
"Cuddy, I assure you, I'm not in love with you."
"Of course not," Cuddy said.
"There are things I'd love to do to you, but that's not quite the same thing."
"Charming."
"Look, I'm sorry if I freaked you out. I'd probably be freaked out too, under the circumstances. But I promise you, I'm not secretly pining away for you. I probably would've said the same thing to Taub, had he come to see me."
"Of course. Right," Cuddy said.
Sensing that she was unsatisfied with his response, he gave her a tiny, coaxing smile.
"Will you still sign my cast?" he said.
She shrugged. He handed her a Sharpie and thrust out his arm.
"Bambi 1; House 0" she wrote. And then she drew a little picture of a happy deer.
He grinned.
"Cute. But why is that dog smiling?"
"It's a deer!"
He laughed.
"I know," he said.
They exchanged a lingering look. Then she looked down.
"I guess I'll get back to work," she said.
"Okay," House said. "Thanks for, uh, stopping by."
When she left, he sighed and put his head in his hands.
"Fuck me," he said under his breath.
He was so lost in thought, he didn't even feel the presence of another woman standing in front of his desk.
Finally, Cameron cleared her throat.
He looked up, surprised.
"Everything okay?" she said.
"Yeah," he said quickly. "Tip top."
"What did Dr. Cuddy want?"
"She wanted to fire you because you spend too much time in my office. I talked her out of it."
"I'm serious," Cameron said. "She looked upset."
"She did?" House said.
"Yeah. Was this about what you said to her after the accident?"
House looked up, momentarily thrown off.
"What do you know about that? Did she say something to you?"
"No. Of course not. I, uh, overheard."
"You were eavesdropping."
"No, I was . . . waiting. I didn't want to interrupt."
"Tell me what you think you heard."
"You told Dr. Cuddy you loved her."
House put his head in his hands again.
"Christ," he said. "Was it on the hospital PA system? Did anyone else hear? Taub? Kutner? Nurse Jeffrey?"
"Just me. And Dr. Cuddy of course."
"I'm not in love with her. I would've told Taub I loved him if he had been there."
"But you didn't," Cameron said.
"Didn't what?"
"You didn't tell Taub or Kutner or me, or Chase. We were all there first. It was Dr. Cuddy you declared your undying love to."
House's eyes flashed.
"So what's the point of this little convo? Are you blackmailing me? You want back on the team?"
"No, of course not!" Cameron stammered. "I want to know what you're going to do about it."
"Nothing. There's no 'it' to do anything about."
Cameron gave a smile that was meant to project feminine wiles.
"If you like her, you should ask her out."
Now House narrowed his eyes.
"What's this all about? Suddenly you're playing matchmaker with me and Dr. Cuddy? What happened to the giant blowtorch you still hold for me?"
"I'm with Chase now!" Cameron said, defensively.
"Right. And it's impossible to be with one man while still, um, craving another."
"I just want you to be happy."
"No," House said slowly. "That's not it."
He had that thoughtful look in his eyes, like the one he got when he was about to make a diagnosis.
"You don't want it to be true," he said finally. "And you want me prove that it's not, to give you peace of mind."
"I just want the truth," Cameron said. "Getting to the bottom of things can be …addictive, as you well know."
"Well, put your mind at ease, Dr. Cameron. I'm not in love with Cuddy. I want to fuck her. There's a big difference."
She ignored his crudeness and plowed forward.
"Then prove it."
"How can I prove a negative?"
"Come to the Winter Gala on Friday night."
"Why on earth would I do that?"
"Dr. Cuddy will be there."
"Yes I figured so much. It's a fundraiser for her hospital."
"So come to the Winter Gala and let me observe you and Dr. Cuddy at a party, with alcohol and tight dresses and the attendant inhibition."
"Is this just some elaborate ploy to get me to dance with you at the Gala, because there are easier ways to. . ."
"I don't want to dance with you. I want to dance with Chase."
"He already promised the first dance to me," House quipped.
"So you'll go?"
"I never said that."
"I'll give you a hundred bucks," Cameron said evenly.
"You're paying me to go the gala? I'm not Deuce Bigalow, diagnostic gigolo, you know."
"My hundred bucks says you are in love with her. Yours says you're not."
"I'll say it again: There's no way to prove it. That's not science. It's a Jane Austen novel."
"By the end of the night, I'll know. We both will." She stared at him defiantly.
"You're pissing a hundred bucks into the wind," House said.
"We'll see about that," she replied.
"I'll be there," he said.
"Good."
Then she gave him a girlish smile.
"So…can I sign your cast?"
House shrugged, thrust out his wrist.
"Knock yourself out."
"Get well soon!" she wrote. And she put a little heart around it.
#####
The next day, House and Wilson were having lunch, when Cuddy approached their table.
"Gotta go," House said, grabbing half of Wilson's BLT and bolting.
Cuddy sat down in the seat he had just abandoned. They both watched him curiously.
"What was that all about?" Wilson said.
"He's apparently avoiding me," Cuddy said.
"Yeah, kinda picked up that. But why?"
"I'd rather not say," Cuddy said.
"Okay," Wilson said, with a shrug.
Cuddy looked at him, for a long time.
"Well, if you must know, he said something …surprising to me."
Wilson smiled. He sometimes felt like his entire life was one big matchmaking session between House and Cuddy.
"What did he say?"
"That he loved me."
Wilson had just taken a swig of his root beer. He practically spit it out all over the table.
"He what?"
"Well, I mean. . .context is important here. He said it after his bike accident. So technically, he was still concussed."
"No wonder he's avoiding you."
"Yeah."
"So what do you think? You think House really loves you?"
"He says no."
"Naturally."
"What do you think, Wilson?"
"I think I shouldn't get in the middle of this."
"Come on," she said, egging him on. "You're already in the middle. You are the middle."
Wilson sighed.
"I think you're one of the only human beings alive that House actually respects. And he thinks you're the hottest piece of ass in New Jersey. That combination together feels like something resembling. . .love."
Cuddy nodded.
"Very insightful," she said.
"The real question is, do you love him back?"
"It's …complicated," Cuddy said.
"It's complicated because your feelings for him are so mixed up? Or it's complicated because if he loves you and you love him back there's no reason why you two shouldn't be together?"
Cuddy thought about that for a second.
"Yes," she said.
####
"I'm looking forward to my Glenfiddich 12 year-old scotch," House said, sliding into a seat next to Cameron at the Winter Gala. "Guess how much it costs?"
"Um, a hundred dollars?" Cameron said.
"Yes, plus tax."
"You're on your own with the tax," Cameron said.
"Cheapskate!"
She looked him over and smiled approvingly.
"You clean up real nice, House."
"And you are a vision in blue."
"It's purple."
"Close enough."
He leaned back and scanned the room.
"So where is the woman of the hour?" he said, stretching a bit, feigning indifference.
"She's already on the dance floor," Cameron said. And she gestured to the center of the floor, where Cuddy was dancing with a strapping blond man in a tuxedo. Cuddy was wearing a black dress that was so tight she seemed to have been poured into it.
House frowned.
"Huh," Cameron said knowingly.
"Huh what?"
"You are visibly displeased by the fact that Cuddy is dancing with that guy. Point for me."
"I'm just displeased by her choice of dance partner. She can do much better."
"Really? Because that's Bob Campbell. Former all-pro quarterback at Rutgers, current partner at Jacoby-Barnes, the biggest law firm in—"
"I've heard of Jacoby-Barnes," House said, testily.
"Point is, he's a catch."
"Cuddy doesn't like that ex-jock type," House said.
"No, of course not. She likes rebel doctors who ride motorcycles much better."
"I never said. . .."
"If you disapprove of Cuddy's dance partner so much, why not ask her to dance yourself?" Cameron teased.
He raised an eyebrow.
"Please. You're not getting a hundred bucks out of me that easily," he said.
"Au contraire. If you were really in love with her, you might be reluctant to dance with her—for fear that it would reveal too much."
"Like I'm going to be so overcome with emotion, I'll get down on one knee and propose in the middle of the dance floor?" House scoffed.
"Scientific experiments are rarely quite that conclusive," Cameron said, with a knowing smirk.
"There's also the somewhat inconvenient fact of me being a cripple."
"Bob Campbell is barely moving his legs."
House gave a shrug.
"It's true—he looks like an oak tree in a tuxedo."
He continued to gaze in their direction. Campbell was keeping a respectable distance as they danced. His hands were resting politely on her waist.
"At least I would know where to put my hands," House muttered.
Then he turned to Cameron.
"I'm going in," he said, rubbing his hands together. "And just to be perfectly clear, Bridget Jones, men get laid without being in love all the time. So don't get things twisted."
Cameron rolled her eyes.
She watched as he approached Cuddy on the dance floor and asked to cut in. Then she watched as House whispered something in Cuddy's ear and she laughed. Cameron took note of House's hands, which kept migrating lower and lower on Cuddy's back, until he was practically fondling her ass. Cuddy didn't seem to mind. He was holding her so close, it looked like they might kiss.
She sighed.
"Who stole your lunch money?" Chase said, sitting down next to her. He looked dashing in his tux, of course, but not like House. He still looked a bit like a boy playing dress up.
"Hi," she said, giving him a distracted kiss on the lips.
"What are we looking at?" Chase said, craning his neck.
Cameron said nothing, but Chase spotted House and Cuddy on the dance floor together.
"Wow," he said. "That looks. . . intimate. Have you ever heard my theory that they've been secretly fucking for years?"
Cameron shot him a look. And then it suddenly dawned on him.
"That's why you're upset? Because House is dancing with Cuddy—and not you? Jesus, it's like 2005 all over again."
"Don't be ridiculous," Cameron said. "I was the one who encouraged him to dance with her."
"Then why so glum?"
"I'm not glum. I'm just . . . focused. House and I have a bet."
"If House bet he could put his hands on Dr. Cuddy's ass in less than 10 minutes, he already won."
"I say he's in love with her. He says he isn't. There's 100 bucks riding on the outcome."
"I'd say he owes you a hundred bucks then," Chase said.
"That's not love," Cameron scoffed. "That's lust."
"Huh," Chase said.
Just then, there was a bit of commotion on the floor as Cuddy yelled at House and he snapped something back. Neither Chase nor Cameron could make out what they were saying.
Then House let go of Cuddy angrily—almost dropping her to the floor in the process—and stormed past Chase and Cameron on his way out.
"Looks like you might owe him the money after all," Chase said, cheerfully.
"Don't be naive," Cameron said, biting a nail.
#####
Ten minutes earlier, House asked Cuddy to dance.
"Does this mean we're past the awkward stage where you ignore me in the cafeteria?" Cuddy teased.
"I wasn't ignoring you. I had work to do at my desk!"
"You haven't had lunch at your desk in 10 years," she said.
He was about to respond, then thought better of it. "You look stunning tonight," he said.
"Thank you, House," she said. "You look shockingly handsome yourself."
"So who's the jack-off you were dancing with?"
"His names Bob Campbell and he's. . ."
"I know. Former Big Man on Campus, current silk stocking shyster."
"If you already knew, then why'd you ask?"
"Just trying to figure out why you were dancing with that Neanderthal."
"Because he asked."
"And you like him?"
"Inconclusive."
He pulled her a little bit closer.
"He's all wrong for you," he whispered in her ear. His hands were on her back and migrating slowly to her hips.
"And who's right?" Cuddy said.
"I don't know," House said tersely. "Not him."
She tensed for a second and then relaxed, as he held her even closer. They allowed the music to work its magic, both getting lost in its trance-like rhythm. He was breathing her in; their faces close enough to kiss. His hands were grazing down the small of her back, to the top of her ass.
"I'm glad my wrist cast doesn't cover my fingers," he said with a tiny leer.
"How bout keeping those fingers above the border, Magellan?" she said, chuckling a bit.
"Sorry, so hard not to explore these particular. . .continents."
"People might get the wrong idea," she joked. "They might think you actually have. . . feelings for me."
"Oh, I have feelings alright," he said, and he gently cupped her ass. "In fact, there are many things I'd like to feel."
Cuddy's disappointment was evident.
"So that's all this is," she said, jutting out her chin. "Just lust?"
"What else?"
"I don't know, House. Maybe I'm better off dancing with Bob Campbell. At least he's man enough to tell a girl when he likes her."
"Oh, I'm twice the man he is," House said, and he gave her ass a firm squeeze.
"That's enough!" Cuddy said sharply.
He recoiled a bit.
"Geez, sensitive much?"
"In denial much?"
"I'm never going to live down this love confession, am I?" he said annoyed.
"I just think we should talk about it more, that's all," she sniffed.
"We already talked, remember? In your office."
"Then what's all this?" she said. "The dance, the compliments, holding me close."
"This is a guy hoping to get laid tonight."
She looked up at him angrily.
"You're an asshole, you know that?"
"And you've deluded yourself into thinking I'm in love with you," he said.
There was a long pause.
"You're right," she admitted. "And I'm not even sure you realize it yourself."
"Would a guy in love with you do this?" he said. And he let go of her so abruptly, she had to steady herself not to literally fall on the floor. He limped hastily away.
She was standing in the center of the floor now, feeling humiliated, self-conscious, and abandoned. But not for long.
"Whatever you said to piss him off, thank you," Bob Campbell said, swooping her up in his arms.
#####
He went so far as to get into bed. He stripped down to boxers and a tee and lay in bed, replaying the events of the night. He thought about Cameron and her annoying little bet. He thought about Cuddy and how gorgeous she looked in that dress and how insanely good she felt in his arms. But mostly he thought about Bob Campbell. Bob Campbell slowly unzipping that dress. Bob Campbell touching her. Bob Campbell fucking her.
He bolted upright in bed. He couldn't take another minute of this torture.
He slipped on his jeans and Nikes, grabbed his motorcycle jacket, and drove to her place.
It was past midnight. He knocked loudly. No answer. He knocked again.
A tiny part of him feared that Bob Campbell would answer the door. But instead, Cuddy finally came, wearing a somewhat flimsy robe and nightgown, rubbing her eyes.
"What on earth?" she said, when she saw him.
"I. . .uh. . .was in the neighborhood," he said, lamely.
He tried to peer over her shoulder.
"It's almost 12:30!" she said.
"Oh, is it really that late?" he said. He craned his neck again. No crackling fire. No sign of Campbell. Come to think of it, she didn't look like a woman who had just been fucked. She looked like a woman who had just been, well, asleep.
"You're looking for him!" she said, finally getting it.
"I was just . . ."
"What is your problem?" she said, angrily.
"I told you. I just didn't think that guy was good enough for you."
"So you don't want me for yourself, but you don't think anybody else is good enough for me."
"I do want you," he said, stepping toward her.
"I'm not talking about sex," she said.
He gulped a bit.
"Me neither," he said.
Her face softened a bit.
"Then what are you talking about?" she said.
"I don't know, Cuddy. All I know is. . .I can't stop thinking about you."
He took another step toward her. Once again, they were close enough to kiss.
"Wilson said that you respect me," she said softly.
"I do," he replied.
"He said you think I'm the hottest piece of ass in New Jersey," she said, with a slightly embarrassed smile.
"By far," he breathed.
"And you like my company?"
"Always," he said, his eyes burning with lust.
She laughed.
"Now I know you're just trying to get laid. You don't always enjoy my company."
He gave her that smile—that "you've just won the argument" smile.
"So what do you think it all means, House?" she said.
"I think it means my concussion-addled brain knows me better than I know myself," he said.
And he grabbed her and kissed her, hard, on the mouth.
She kissed back, giving in completely, pulling his heavy jacket onto his shoulders—he shook it off onto the floor—allowing her hands to reach under his tee and down the back of his pants.
Her nightie was so flimsy and loose, when she leaned forward, she spilled out of it. His hands were all over her now—above the fabric and under it. His tongue was moving from her throat to her clavicle, then curling around her breasts. His hands were kneading her ass. She felt his erection, hard and huge, against her leg.
"I really do love you, Cuddy," he said, in that hoarse voice again, the concussion voice.
She knew it was just the lust talking—again. But she also knew that it was a little bit true.
"I know," she said. "I think maybe I love you, too."
#####
On Monday, House and Cuddy were sitting in the cafeteria together. They had spent the weekend more or less holed up in her house having sex. They were still in that phase where they couldn't keep their hands off each other. Under the table, Cuddy had kicked off one of her Jimmy Choo's and was letting her foot slide seductively up his pants leg.
"Play fair," he said, twitching a bit, as her foot reached his inner thigh.
"Sorry," she said, biting on her coffee stirrer, a dirty smile playing at her lips.
"Holy fuck, I said play fair, woman. Either that, or let me pull the fire alarm so we can go home early."
"Who says we need to go home to have fun?" she whispered.
"Oh. My. God," he said, his eyes widening.
Then he noticed Cameron buying lunch, out of the corner of his eye.
"Hold that thought," he said.
He popped up from the table and limped over to her.
Then he reached in his wallet, pulled out $100 bill.
"Best hundred dollars I ever spent," he said—and he slipped the bill into her lab coat pocket.
THE END