A/N-

Well, my muse is at it again. I think this one'll be pretty short. Anyway, it's totally A/U after Wilson. I hope you like it.

As usual, DS owns House; I own nothing but some battered notebooks and empty mechanical pencils, but I than him for sharing his toys!

Enjoy!

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The Mourning After
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~ Chapter One ~

Tainted Love

Mourning - –noun - 1. the act of a person who mourns; sorrowing or lamentation.

Hangover - 1 - the disagreeable physical aftereffects of drunkenness, such as a headache or stomach disorder, usually felt several hours after cessation of drinking.

2. - something remaining behind from a former period or state of affairs.

Taint - –noun 1. - a trace of something bad, offensive, or harmful.

2. - a trace of infection, contamination, or the like.

3. - a trace of dishonor or discredit.


Lisa Cuddy picked up the coffee cup sitting on the table in front of her, sipping the bitter brew. She sat it back down, wincing at the sharp taste.

It was over. She had moved on, or so she told him.

But now, she was regretting those words.

She had her family, her new boyfriend. All she needed was the white picket fence and the dog in the front yard to complete the picture. And she had been looking at finding the place with the white picket fence. She was achieving the American Dream, now that she'd achieved all she wanted in her career.

She should have been happy, but she was miserable.

She sipped the coffee again, the bitter brew washing over the tongue, and she thought back to a conversation she had once had with him.

He'd told her, "as the philosopher Jagger once said, 'you can't always get what you want.'"

It was a discourse over clinic duty, and she smiled, remember the smug way he had smirked at her, thinking that he had won.

But the next day, she had surprised him by playing his game of one-upsmanship, and she had retorted, "'But if you try, sometimes, you get what you need.'"

Her smile faded at the memory. She had everything she could have ever wanted.

But she still felt empty.

She was surprised when Lucas came into the kitchen. He stood behind her, and he leaned down, kissing her softly along her jaw. "Hey babe." He gathered her thick curls, and he moved the swath of hair aside, giving him better access to the soft, smooth skin along her neck. "You weren't in bed," he murmured against the sensitive skin.

She assumed she was supposed to become turned on by his actions.

But she wasn't.

"Sorry," she answered, tilting her head, leaning back into him, because that's what she was supposed to do, ignoring the emptiness. "I'm an early riser.

"So am I," he nuzzled her, wrapping his arms around her. "I thought I'd left you exhausted, last night," he teased. He nibbled her ear. "You need the extra stress relief."

Rachel's cheerful gurgle came over the baby monitor, giving her an excuse to break free from his embrace. "Aw," he whined. "She'll be fin for a few more moments."

She glanced over her shoulder, and she gave him what she thought was a teasing smile. She wiggled her hips in what she hoped was a suggestive way, trying to keep up the facade.

She hoped she had him fooled, but the man was too damn smart.

She walked into Rachel's room, and she picked up the cheerful girl. She moved her to the changing table, and she went through their morning diaper change ritual, loving the few moments they spent together.

She cooed to the little girl, and she didn't hear Lucas come down the hall.

"Where do I fit into your life?"

He was standing in the doorway, studying her. His blue eyes didn't have the intensity of his laser stare, but he still saw more than she wanted him to see.

She laughed, nervously. "What are you talking about?"

He shrugged. "Am I what you want? Or what you need?"

A sense of deja vu swept over her. "Lucas," she began. He walked over to her, and he ran a finger along her cheek, silencing her.

"You're going through the motions." He sighed, sadly. "I know it. You know it. Everybody knows it. And I kind of find it insulting, ya know.

"I..." He softly kissed her, cutting her off.

"I really liked you, you know," he told her. "I thought we could be something, but I guess I was wrong. I'm packing up my stuff today. I'll be gone by the time you get home from work.

He left the room, leaving her with tears streaming down her face, holding on to Rachel.

** ** **

Greg House's alarm beeped loudly in his ear. Its buzzing dragging him back to the waking world.

He wasn't sure if he wanted to be there.

His head was throbbing, and his mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton balls. It was a result of him attempting to drink her out of his system, but she was too ingrained.

Now, he had to go to work.

He rolled over on his back, staring at the ceiling, and he calculated the number of sick days he had, contemplating calling in for a personal day. He wouldn't. Despite feeling like crap, he'd show up to work. Maybe he'd be able to hide in the Clinic for a few hours and take a nap.

He groaned at the prospect of Clinic, and he sat up, a wave of nausea washing over him. He wondered at how much he had drank the previous night. He frowned. Not nearly enough. He was still able to feel.

He stood up, his body protesting the movement, and he ran a hand through his close cropped hair. He plotted his day, and he hoped that he'd be able to follow through with his plans.

A few hours later, he was able to wander down to the Clinic, his fellows shocked that he was voluntarily doing his hours. They didn't realize that after he had seen a few patients, he was planning on napping in one of the exam rooms.

He managed to see two patients before his hangover got to him, and he slipped into an empty room. He had bribed the Head Nurse to leave him alone for an hour or so, and he was looking forward to some alone time.

The exam room was dark, and he locked the door behind him. He jumped, not expecting the startled gasp coming from somewhere in the room. He flipped on the light, and he was shocked to see Lisa Cuddy sitting on the exam room table. Her face had been buried in her hands, but now, she was looking at him, her mascara streaking down her face with her tears.

She looked utterly miserable.