Easy

by thisisironic

Impossible, huh? I didn't think it was supposed to be easy.

Title: Easy
Rating: PG-13, to be safe.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything, and my empty pockets are proof of no profit.
Fandom & Pairing: House - House/Cuddy
Summary: "Impossible, huh? I didn't think it was supposed to be easy."
Word Count: 4,310
Notes: First ever House fic. Concrit is more than welcome, as I'd like to continue writing in this fandom. Big thanks to CJ who looked through all ten thousand versions of this fic without killing me for being so annoying. ;)

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Cuddy sat at her desk, her index finger sneaking under the corner of the funding proposition she was looking over, absently moving it along the texture of the paper as she weighed the pros and cons of approving the funding for a new MRI. It was the end of the day and stress had built up from the base of her spine all the way up to behind her eyes; tension flaring up in her vision from absolute overload. The mind numbing drone of her computer and the heat radiating off of it onto her calves didn't help as she tried to will away the potential headache. And neither did the sudden thud! that caused her to jump in her seat.

Cuddy tore her eyes away from her work to see House using his cane to open the door as he limped inside. He waited for it to close behind him before he let out an exaggerated exhale. "People are idiots."

She was back to her work without a word, refraining from arching her neck to the side to get a certain pop out of it. House was going to have fun analyzing every thing she did in the span of the next few minutes anyways but the last thing she wanted was to give him more fodder than he already had.

When she finally brought the tip of her pen to the document--ready to sign and approve the funding and be done with the day so she could go home and relax with a nice glass of red wine--House slammed his cane down in quick succession to get her attention. "Did you hear me?"

"Yes, I did." She quickly signed her name before he could disturb her again, putting the cap on her pen and dropping it to her desk. Filing the document into a folder for her PA to pick up in the morning, she leaned back into her seat. As she folded her arm across her chest, she met House's eyes and did her best to look like she actually wanted to hear what new reason he had to justify his misanthropic beliefs. He stared right back, narrowing his piercing blues; a staring contest, to see who would blink first. Not in the mood, Cuddy chose to be the one. "Who's the idiot this time?"

The corner of his mouth twitched up into a phantom of a victorious smirk as he relaxed his posture, leaning back and glancing around her office. When he spoke, his tone was colloquial, like he had all the time in the world. "I didn't interrupt any important decision-making, did I? Don't stop your no doubt beneficial drudgery for little old me. Unless you'd like poor, old Doctor Riviera to continue crying over his arthritis-ridden back instead of signing whatever proposition he's snuck into your To-Do file about funding for a new Liberty chair--"

"Just tell me what or who is pissing you off, House." She tried her hard, to-the-point tone but he was off on a tangent and didn't quite register that her words required a response.

"If that sap gets one, I'm getting one. Take the money out of Chase's salary, he won't mind. My ass will be less tense and more relaxed when he kisses it." House raised his eyebrows enthusiastically. "And that's always good news."

"Please, House." Her tone was still firm and direct, but that didn't stop House from giving her a look.

"Please? Are we really already to the begging part? Because last time I checked there was supposed to be a whip involved. And a safe word, for that matter. Me, I've always preferred mammothrept."

"Tell me what happened and I'll act like I care until something else catches your attention and--" She stopped and firmed her jaw when she noticed House's eyes glazing over and looking in the direction of her... "Stop staring at my breasts!"

"What?" He made a show of shaking himself out of a daze. "You said until something caught my attention." He could hardly contain a smug smile, holding two fingers up. "It just happened to be two somethings this time."

"Tell me who the idiot is," she demanded. "It's been a long day and I'd like to get out of here before midnight, so please--"

"Again with the please!" He brought a hand to his chest, shaking his head. "You're trying to kill me."

"I wouldn't be the first," Cuddy reminded him dryly.

"Ooh, good one." He hobbled closer, lifting his cane and unceremoniously putting it down on her desk. "Like my new cane?"

She snorted at the sight of brightly painted flames. "Most middle-aged men get a Ferrari or a motorcycle, but I suppose since you already have the latter, the next step was this. It's--"

"Bitchin', isn't it?" He held it out into the warm light. "I'm thinking about installing a compartment to put my secret stash in." He brought a finger to his lips and whispered: "Shh, don't tell my boss, she's a real tight ass."

All Cuddy could do was roll her eyes.

"You know, if you keep doing that they'll get stuck. And I don't think that'll be very attractive to all those old, prissy women and men from the Victorian era you get funding from. I hear some of them have hearts bigger than walnuts, though, so maybe a few will put out in sympathy."

"I suppose I should just give up on finding out what happened?"

House's brow furrowed and he looked at her, playing dumb. "What happened?"

"People are idiots," Cuddy repeated for him. "I assumed you were talking about specific people."

"Why would I do that? All people are idiots." He let his head fall back, staring at the ceiling for a few minutes of silence.

Cuddy broke away from looking at him as well, making sure she signed the other papers she was supposed to and filing them way. After a while, she could feel House's eyes back on her; watching her, observing her. It wasn't long before she allowed a smile to touch her lips. "You're staring."

"I wasn't staring." He immediately shot back in a petulant voice, giving away his hand. She didn't look up, eyes scanning over her computer screen as she closed windows and turned it off, but the smile remained on her face as House continued: "I was leering."

She laughed quietly under her breath, allowing herself to enjoy the amicable silence that followed. It was funny, it didn't matter how long she'd known him, it was still baffling how he could piss her off, annoy her and then make her laugh and smile, all in the span of six minutes.

It became obvious after a moment, especially as House started to whistle the melody of that one Rolling Stones song, that he was waiting for her to say something. Offhandedly, she asked: "Where's Wilson, you usually walk out with him?

He stopped whistling with a smack of his lips, the new topic unfortunately lighting a blaze beneath him to fire off more remarks. "He's getting a bikini wax." His answer was brisk, pushing aside her question for the more important one on his mind. "I never got to ask you about your second date. Married yet?"

Cuddy sighed, looking at him with exasperation. "Can't you find another toy to play with?"

"I bet it was real romantic. Made a wrong turn and suddenly you're at City Hall becoming Mrs. Wilson the fourth. Oldest story in the book."

"And what book would that be?" The sun was setting along the horizon of trees and buildings behind her, so when she turned off her lamp and the soft light went away, the melted orange of the sky cast House in a warm glow. For a moment where no disparaging words were flying out of his mouth he actually looked quite striking, his eyes standing out more than ever as they no doubt adjusted to the dimness of the room.

"I would've thought you were smart enough to not fall into that trap. I'm guessing it was your ovaries, ticking away and taunting you into marrying Wilson." He pursed his lips together. "Did you know his ex-wife compared him to a tampon? That can never mean anything good."

"You're a child."

"Yes, I am. And if I recall a previous encounter of ours--same amount of cleavage, less clothing blocking the view--then me being a child would make you one dirty, dirty pedophile. I'm not sure how I feel about someone who would take advantage of such a poor, helpless child being my boss. Seems...wrong, somehow."

Standing up, Cuddy paused behind her desk, if only for a quick second. A smile slowly curled her lips and she spoke in a deliberately suggestive voice. "You were hardly helpless that night, House."

She saw even in the low light that his grip on his cane tightened at the way her lips wrapped around the words, and she used all of her willpower to keep her grin from reaching ear to ear in momentary victory. Feigning boredom, she walked around her desk and towards him--or, rather, towards the coat rack. It provided a fleeting spark of excitement in the pit of her stomach to think of moving closer to him for the simple reason of less space between their bodies. The thought, however short it was, made it more than a little difficult to continue on with her unaffected voice. "I guess I should take it as a compliment that you still think about that night. I suppose I'm a good faker."

House lifted her jacket off of the coat rack with his cane, holding it out for her. "You weren't faking."

"How are you so sure about that?"

"Last year or so with Stacy? Trust me, I know fake. And face it, you're just not that good of an actress." Once she took the coat, he pointed his cane at her chest. "Your cleavage can tell a better lie than you. And won't feel guilty afterwards either."

"Isn't there anything else we could talk about?"

"Sure." House looked up in deep concentration--or pretended to be in deep concentration--to find a new subject in the few seconds it took for him and Cuddy to exit her office. "Foreman gave me his two weeks notice."

Cuddy stopped briefly at that, "What? Why?"

"He's afraid of turning into me." House merely shrugged. "Or some other load of crap."

"Imagine that." Cuddy sighed, saying a quick goodnight to the Nurse Station as she and House made their way to the elevators. The click-clack of her heels on the tile send sharp pains to just behind her eyes. The only thing keeping her from bringing a hand to her face to block the florescent lights that seemed to be determined to cause her eyes to water from the brightness was knowing that House would have yet another thing to pester her about. "Well, we'll handle Foreman tomorrow, I suppose."

"Why? He saved me the effort of firing him."

"Are you really not all that bothered by it?" When they eventually reached the set of elevators, Cuddy started to put her coat on. Once an arm got into a sleeve, she reached out to press the down button but House beat her to it. When she looked at him, she could see a smile teasing the corners of his mouth. "Did you take an extra three Vicodin or something?"

"Foreman can be dealt with tomorrow, like you said." House rested both hands on his cane, looking forward and for the most part completely untroubled. "I've decided it'd be best to focus on the positive."

"I didn't think that was possible for you." There was an emphasis on the for the most part in Cuddy's mind as she looked at him curiously. There were only three reasons for why House wouldn't keep eye contact with her. One, there was something more interesting to be looked at (a new case file or a woman who wouldn't bitch at him for ogling her breasts); two, he was being deliberate, taunting her with his supposed indifference; and three, the unwonted moment where he actually couldn't meet her eyes, lest she actually figure out what he's keeping from her. "What positive thing are you focusing on?"

At that, he finally looked at her, hiding behind a smirk. "Hector slobbering all over Wilson's stethoscope."

"Hector?"

"The pool boy," he answered, matter-of-fact.

"Excuse me?"

"Don't worry, he's going back to the ex-wife, so you'll get to do your own slobbering soon enough."

A moment went by before Cuddy finally figured out what he was talking about. She nearly rolled her eyes but House's previous statement about them getting stuck like that actually echoed at the back of her mind, along with a distinct throb of pain that warned her against any unnecessary exertion. "Oh, so she found a place that accepted dogs?"

"No, she gave a blow job to the landlord--" House paused, fixing her with a peculiar look. Cuddy almost laughed--she pressed a button without even intending to. "Wilson told you?"

She nodded lightly as if it were the most normal thing for Wilson to tell her during one of their conversations. And it was normal; to healthy, well-adjusted people. But to House? "It came up while we were--"

"On your date?" House finished, his voice tight--probably something he hadn't intended based on the way he looked down to the floor and then to his right, away from Cuddy. Only three reasons, Cuddy told herself. A second later he was back to looking at the elevator doors expectantly but that didn't stop him from seeing her smirk from the corner of his eye. "What are you smiling for?"

He snapped it out, which made Cuddy smile even more. She shook her head, chuckling under her breath. "No reason."

"No reason?" House scoffed. "Smiling requires more effort than not smiling. There's a reason, you just don't want to tell me."

"You won't let this date thing go, you're honestly threatened. And I'm honestly amused by it."

"Really? Because I was aiming for annoyed more than amusement. Guess I'll have to work harder."

"You really don't know what the concept of friendship is, do you? I keep waiting for you to figure out that Wilson and I are just friends but then again, you're no expert in that category, are you?"

House gasped dramatically. "I have friends!"

Cuddy wasn't fazed. "Wilson is your only friend, House. You have a friend. No plural."

"We're not friends?" He leaned in as he asked, dropping his voice to a whisper and staying close. He was watching her face to see it register any emotions, any thoughts. Of all the years they'd known each other, Cuddy was a little disappointed to think he'd assumed that, in this moment, she was the vulnerable one. Maybe, perhaps, he knew she wasn't and was simply trying to force her into that position, to slip out of it himself and get back to making her as uncomfortable as possible. That certainly sounded more like him.

Despite seeming calm and impassive on the outside, Cuddy struggled inwardly to figure out what to say next. Talking with House about anything was akin to playing a game of chess. It wasn't about just thinking over your next move, it was about anticipating his reaction after your move and your move after his and so on. It twisted her already stressed mind, trying to squeeze out the very last drop of effort she could put into this game. The one they never seemed to stop playing.

When she finally spoke, her weariness allowed annoyance to lace her tone. "Last time I checked friends don't constantly harass friends about their cleavage."

"Well, it's always right there," House gestured to her chest. "You can't really blame me. Would you rather me not notice? Last time I checked you enjoyed when lavish attention was paid on your breasts."

Just as he spoke, the elevator doors finally opened, revealing a woman standing with her young son. The boy giggled as his mother quickly guided him out of the lift and away from the man talking about woman parts.

Cuddy brought a hand to her face as she stepped inside, sighing for what felt like the umpteenth time. She was done, checked out--she could bicker with House some other time, but not anymore. "You're taking the next one."

"Nope," House was already inside and standing next to her, hitting the button for the garage. The doors closed before Cuddy could escape. "Didn't your mother ever teach you to share?"

"I'm the Dean of Medicine, you're my subordinate." She shot him a look that could kill. "We should show some decorum instead of talking about my breasts in front of patients."

"Now you're lecturing me on decorum? Seems a bit belated, don't you think?" Even as Cuddy applied pressure to her forehead and temples, she could see the smile of triumph on House's face. "Have I annoyed you yet?"

"If I say yes will you leave me alone?"

He didn't have his motorcycle jacket on, or his bag; he was quite literally going out of his way, riding the elevator down all the way to the garage even if he wasn't on his way home, just to do this to her. She shouldn't have been surprised, but that didn't make it any less--Cuddy took in a deep breath, not even daring to try to sum it up into one word. All she knew was that if he didn't stop this soon she'd have to either punch him or kiss him; if only to shut him up.

"Probably not. Admit it, you enjoy the attention."

She looked at him at that and something in her eyes or expression made House's chest swell with pride. He was wearing her down, just as he'd intended.

Tiredly, she shot back: "People enjoy positive attention. Not...not this."

He fixed her with a look, narrowing his eyes and acting as if he could actually read her thoughts. Which, to be honest, sometimes she thought he could. "Your eyes are bloodshot."

"I'm tired."

"Well, better make use of eye-drops before you stop by Wilson's. I know I wouldn't want to look down into those red, puffy eyes while you're no doubt servicing m--"

"In your dreams."

"Exactly," he grinned mischievously.

"You don't have a romantic bone in your body."

"And Wilson does, I suppose?" House tapped his cane, eyes still piercing into the side of her face as she avoided meeting them. "If you want a bouquet of garish Gardenias' delivered to you with a cutesy little teddy bear that has a shirt reading 'I love you beary much' then I guess he is the better choice."

Cuddy looked at him then, deliberate in her fierce stare. "Exactly."

House was caught off guard by that, something in her anger she hadn't intended but it did sweeten the moment. It was fun to get the upper hand every once in a while. "Did Wilson get you flowers?"

Cuddy didn't answer, knowing a single wrongly worded reply--a crack in her voice, the way her eyes would visibly shift away from his gaze--could lose her the edge like that. The ding of them arriving at the parking lot and the doors opening signaled her escape. She left House standing with his mouth agape. She could picture him working it out in his head. Either she was a cruel, cruel woman or the man actually got her--

"He bought you flowers?!" The sound of his cane hitting the cement tore through the covered parking lot as he started to limp after her, calling out to her departing back.

The incredulity in his voice was incentive. Cuddy wasn't walking so fast that he couldn't catch up with her eventually--she had to keep up the pretense that she just didn't care what his reaction was by not running away as fast as she could--yet her stomach started to ache at the thought of him stopping her and seeing her eyes and knowing that she was deliberately teasing him. Knowing that no, Wilson hadn't gotten her flowers. That maybe he'd mentioned the word date, but she in no way thought it was a date and that they really were just friends. She was afraid that he'd see there really was nothing to be worried about and he'd go back to doing whatever he did before he thought he was losing her to Wilson.

It was such a sorry moment filled with a rush of emotions that she should've still had a handle on and Cuddy felt like slapping herself. This was why House was bugging her at the end of the day, the bastard. Only now the trump card didn't seem to exist anymore; he was limping after her and showing his hand, showing that he cared whether Wilson got her flowers, and she...she wanted him to keep following her, to keep yelling at her until they collided at her car and the frustration and stress would simply explode and there wouldn't be a game anymore, it would be just them.

Just them.

She forced herself to dig around the deep pocket of her jacket just so when she hurt herself on the jagged edges of her key she could convince herself that's why tears suddenly sprung to her eyes.

"Just friends, right? Friends don't go on dates with each other and buy flowers." His voice was loud and coarse, and a shiver ran up her spine. "Next thing you'll tell me is that your friend invited you back to his hotel and you had some friendly sex."

Cuddy turned around, suddenly and powerfully, a storm gathering in her eyes and voice. A part of her wanted him to keep walking--why wait until her car?--until there was no space left between them, but when she whipped around, he and his bitchin' cane skidded to a halt. "Why do you care so much?"

He looked as chagrined as he'd ever allow himself to look, glancing down at his stationary cane. There might've been an answer forming somewhere in his closed mouth, but Cuddy didn't have the patience to wait.

"Do you want to have sex with me, House? Do you want to buy me flowers? What, do you want to be safe like Wilson? What do you want? How am I supposed to--?"

She threw her hands in the air, "You're making this impossible."

House stood just a few feet away, frozen as if he'd been slapped, at a loss for words. When no response came, Cuddy turned away, desperately trying to blink away tears from her frustration. There was a part of her that hated House in that moment, hated him for turning her into a puddle of pathetic emotions that couldn't be kept reigned in. She convinced herself that he was a manipulative, bitter man who would tear down anyone, no matter how close they were to him, for his own perverse pleasure. He didn't deserve her attention, he didn't deserve to know anything of her personal life or what was going on through her mind. None of it.

She unlocked the door but just as she opened the it, House's flaming cane pushed it closed. Her breath hitched. Slowly, she turned around and found that he was standing close, closer than than usual. So close, his body mere centimeters from pressing against hers. He could pin her against the car if he wanted to, but he stood still, his piercing blue eyes looking into hers, unyielding.

"Impossible, huh? I didn't think it was supposed to be easy."

Cuddy should've melted in that moment, a positive turn of emotions; feeling out of control but in a good way. She should've given him a taste of his own medicine and cruelly kicked away his cane; then grabbed him and kissed him and made him forget about the eyesore flames painted at the end of it, forget about Wilson and flowers and the pretense of not caring whether he'd gotten her into bed.

She should've.

Later, it would reverberate in her mind--numbed by a glass of '86 Rosé--as she sat alone. I should've. But in the moment, a breath away from him, she felt herself shaking her head. Her hand touched his chest, pushing until he had to take a step back. At first he was unyielding, but he must've seen it in her eyes, giving in and taking a step back, heat replaced by cool night air between them.

It would never be easy with House; he wouldn't allow it. A part of her wanted to lean in at that, to feel the rough texture of his stubble against her skin as he maybe allowed himself to kiss her forehead. But she repeated to herself: it would never be easy with House.

So, she reached her hand behind her to open the door to her car. Moving to get in, she looked at him directly and resolutely and said, before she found that she couldn't: "I want it to be easy."

fin