Disclaimer: I don't own the wonderful characters of House or Cuddy.
Which Way is Up?
Middle Ground
It was 3:30 in the morning and House couldn't sleep. He'd come to PPTH to mull over his latest case, but on the way to his office, he'd noticed that the door to Cuddy's office had been left unlocked, slightly cracked open.
He couldn't deduce why Cuddy would ever leave it unlocked, unless she intended for someone to enter and possibly view her confidential case files. But that wasn't likely.
His natural instinct to snoop overcame him and he wandered in. Using his pointer finger, he sifted through the papers on her desk in search of information about a new case or, as House preferred, clues to her personal life.
He heard the sniffling within seconds of entering the room. He opened his mouth to speak out, tilted his head in confusion, and then decided against it. The nose was obviously coming from the wooden door by her desk.
He opened it, intrigued.
Cuddy faced forward, her knees curled to her chest, her face partially hidden by a hanging coat. When she saw him, she took a strangled breath in and looked away immediately.
He couldn't see very well in the dark and flipped on the nearest switch, which illuminated the closet. The circles under her bloodshot eyes became more apparent as he examined her. She didn't seem physically hurt.
He raised his eyebrows. "Peek-a-boo."
Her slender fingers wrapped more tightly around her knees. "Go away, House." She wiped the mascara-stained tears from under her eyes.
"You're crying in a closet in the middle of the night," he smirked, "You know I can't let this go." He shifted his weight off of his cane and onto her desk. "So," he widened his eyes in mock interest, "what's his name?"
"I mean it." She stretched her long legs out in front of her, and he heard the bones crack softly, making him wonder how long she'd been in there.
"Are you scared of something? 'Cause I got news for you, Cuddy: The monsters are usually on the inside of the closet." He offered her a hand, although his thigh rendered him useless in situations like these.
She took it anyway, and managed to get up without pulling on him. "What time is it?"
"Eleven AM," he joked. "You missed our daily bickering appointment. I was worried."
"It's still dark out," she observed, rubbing her arms. Dazed, she walked over to her desk and stared at her purse. "What are you doing here?"
"I told you. I was concerned about your date." Truthfully, he hadn't realized she was seeing someone, or else he'd been at her house to playfully interrupt. He figured he would make up for it by mocking her right now.
She slammed her hand down on her desk and he almost flinched in surprise. Cuddy wasn't a violent woman, and their clever banter wouldn't flow properly if she was too angry. Especially at something that wasn't his fault for once.
Her stone-cold stare faltered for only a moment. "What gave me away?" she snapped bitterly. "Was it my perfume? Or better yet, the scent of his cologne lingering in my clothes? Maybe I wear only a certain color on dates, which no one else in the entire world would notice except you."
House shrugged. Cuddy did this a lot. She would pretend that he was the absolutely worst person ever and try to make him feel some sort of human emotion- usually guilt. But every time he was apathetic and she'd get just as pissed off the next time she had a bad day. All he had to do was remain careless and wait for her to calm down. "I'm observant. It makes me good at my job."
She looked up to the ceiling. "Why me?" She clasped her hands together and returned her gaze to him. "Please. Go pick on someone else. Ruin their life."
"Well, that's dramatic." He wrapped a hand around the desk for balance and poked her with his cane. "Stop pretending that you're special. I annoy everyone. It's part of my sparkling personality." He batted his eyes.
"Yeah." She pulled the clip out of her hair and it fell flat and frizzed over her shoulders. "I'm sure that you barge in on all of Foreman's dates."
His fingers twitched instinctively to brush through her matted hair and make it smooth again. "Not Foreman as much as Wilson."
"Racist," she accused, her eyes lighting up a bit.
"Foreman keeps a gun by his nightstand and he wouldn't hesitate if he had a good reason to shoot me." He played with the pens on her desk. "So are we still not talking about your date?"
"It's none of your business," Cuddy shot a longing glance at the closet as she shut the door and sat down in her chair. Her back straightened and her eyes focused on him as she returned to her administrative persona.
"Where's Chad? Or Mark? Or Bryan spelled with a 'y'?"
She rolled her eyes.
"Now Andrew- he was clean cut." He continued as she seemed to be feeling better. Her face was a little less pale, but her eyes remained puffy, even in the dim light of the moon.
She shook her head at him, disapprovingly. "Don't you have something to do? Anything?"
"Nope," he lied, sitting down in one of the chairs across from her desk. He lifted his good leg and rested his foot on top of her papers. "What did he do?"
"Nothing! It was me. I was just a little off tonight, all right?" She lifted her head, showing him her shiny eyes.
She really should know better. Whenever the answer is "Nothing", it's always something. And hers was an angry, defensive "nothing" which meant it was a big something. Never before has he ignored something, especially when she specifically asked him to. And he wasn't going to start now. He enjoyed the begging look too much. "I'm not going anywhere. You might as well tell me what happened, so we can analyze where you went wrong."
"No." She blinked furiously, scribbling something on the paper in front of her.
"Don't make me guess." He knew he could push her buttons enough to make her confess. He hoped it wasn't too horrible because then he'd have to comfort her. And House didn't enjoy doing things in which he wasn't perfectly skilled.
She ignored him and continued to flip through the pages.
"Did he pull your hair?" He figured he should start with juvenile, so he could ease into the serious stuff. "Call you names? Oh wait-" he held his finger to his chin, "-that can't be it. I do that every day."
She didn't smile or look up at him. "Shut up House." Her voice remained unwavering, her resolute strong.
But he knew better. He kept pushing. "Did he steal your lollipop? Push you around a little?" He watched carefully for changes in her facial expression.
She broke, more easily than he thought. "Fine." She threw her pen down and it ricocheted off the desk. "It wasn't nothing. It's just that somehow I managed to screw up a date without you being there. All right?"
He stared at her, gritting his teeth. He couldn't act like he cared, but she was being purposely vague, perhaps just to draw him in. "Okay. I'll leave." He supported himself with his cane, leaning off the desk. "You don't mind if I let myself into your house, do you?"
"No!" She jumped up with an urgency he'd never seen before. Sure, she'd been tense out of her mind, but not like this. Not with her eyes bugged out and her arms flailing about.
Wow. He fed off of these kinds of reactions. Nothing excited him more. He gasped, smiling. "Why?" His mouth dropped open. "Did you kill him?"
She relaxed at his joke, straightening her wrinkled blouse.
He hobbled over to her. "It's not a problem. I'll even help you bury the body."
"I didn't kill him," she insisted although they both already knew that.
"The why..." he hooked his cane over her desk and sat on it directly in front of her. "...are you here? You can just as easily obsess over your incompetence at home."
"I'm not tired." She swiveled in her chair, attempting to work beside him.
Although that was the reason that he came to the hospital, he didn't believe her excuse. "Your eyes are practically closed and you've been doodling for the past ten minutes." He kicked her shin to get her attention. "You should go home. And face the empty bed that you're afraid of."
"Only four more hours." Her voice lowered, her breaths coming slowly.
"You get here at eight?" He squeaked. "Way to be an overachiever."
She leaned back in the chair, finally looking at him. "Everyone else is here at eight. Except you. When do you get in? Ten?"
"So..." he tried to switch the topic back to something that was more beneficial for him. "Are you going back to your place?"
"No." She looked away again, trying to busy her hands with something, but she couldn't find anything. They waved around in the air, twitching.
House watched her chest rise and fall rapidly, admiring her chest in the process. He barely noticed her hands. "Well don't freak out." He caught her wrists and bent over to press them to her thighs until she stopped resisting him. "Don't you wanna hear what I have to offer?"
She took a deep breath and met his gaze.
"We go back to your place..." he wiggled his eyebrows and tossed his head arrogantly. "And you get me...for one whole night. Or four hours. But it'll be worth it. I promise."
"Really?" She faked interest and yawned. "As intriguing as that offer is..."
"Don't make me offer you clinic hours."
She groaned, crossing her arms. "Why do you care? You never care."
It shocked House, the degree to which she actually believed this. He could never understand how she could care so much for him without getting anything in return. Of course, he did care about her- to the extent that he wished nothing bad on her. She put up with more crap than anyone else, except maybe Wilson, and everyone knew he wouldn't have a job without her. But the moment he let her know how thankful he was, she would take advantage and mock him for having real feelings.
So he used sarcasm. "I'm hurt!" He placed a hand over his chest. "How can you think that?"
She raised her hand up to graze her hairline. "Just leave."
"I can't." He dug his palms into the desk, hoping she would understand.
She knew, like always. "Because it's officially one of your puzzles. Fantastic. No turning back now, right? Not until you solve it or I die."
He noticed her resolve wearing and let her continue.
"You're not going to give this up," she realized, the pain evident in her winced expression. "So...let's go."
"Good." He used his cane and hoisted himself off the desk.
By the time he'd made his way to the door, she'd put on her coat and gathered her belongings.
She hesitated as he waited for her, a dazed look in her eyes.
"You okay?" He gripped his cane, observing her carefully.
She shook her head. "Yeah."
"Should I be scared?" He smirked.
She exited the room and locked the door when he followed. "I don't know."
A bit of apprehension bubbled in his stomach, but he wasn't afraid, despite her warning. He could be courageous, for Cuddy. It was just natural that he felt stronger in her presence.
Still, he found it hard to keep up as she moved briskly through the dimly lit hallway. She was running away from him.
"Hey!" He yelled. "Wait."
She moaned loudly and stopped as he limped to catch up.
"Geez!" She wouldn't look at him, so he stomped his cane on the tile floor. "What happened?!" It wasn't like her to be inconsiderate enough to pick on him. Something was wrong. "What did you do?"
"Nothing!" She sped off again.
He took a deep breath, winced, and tore off after her. "Cuddy! Slow down!"
She complied, waiting for him again. "Sorry." She seemed embarrassed.
"For what?" He asked as he clutched on to her, out of breath.
"It's not your fault." She pressed a hand on his shoulder.
Typical Cuddy. She was feeling guilty again. He could see it in her eyes, the way they casted down more often than they watched him. She shut herself off, when she was usually so open with him.
Usually, he was the one who turned away. Weird. He took a second to think and catch his breath. "Why are you feeling guilty?"
"I-" She stuttered, unsure and exhausted.
House sauntered over to her until he could smell the musty closet in her hair. "Because you only cry when you feel guilty." And that was all the time.
She tensed, pulling away from him and grabbing the ends of her skirt. "You don't know everything, House. Sometimes people are more complex than that."
He doubted it. People were simple- they followed exact patterns. But he wasn't about to argue over habits at four in the morning. "Whatever you say, Cuddy. You're the boss."
She moved towards the elevator, more slowly this time so he could keep up. They took her car and didn't speak for the ride. House turned on the radio and started whistling to a popular rap song, but Cuddy didn't crack a smile.
When she turned the corner to her street, he noticed a car already parked in front of her house. The lights were on. House reached into his pocket and swallowed a couple Vicodin. This could be an ugly confrontation, one that he wouldn't enjoy nearly as much with his leg aching.
"Surprise guest?" He asked as she pulled into the driveway.
"Damn it." Her hands moved across her face, checking for smeared makeup and fluffing her hair a little. She examined himself in the mirror. "His name is Brandon. I was hoping that he wouldn't still be here." Her fingers tapped the steering wheel nervously. "He was a little angry when I left."
"What?!" This was out of character for her. Completely irrational behavior was his thing. "You left your house to an angry stranger?!"
"I didn't know what to do." She watched a nearby window cautiously. "And he's not a stranger." For some reason, she relaxed and got out of the car.
He could only sit there for a minute, analyzing his options. He'd dealt with many angry people before, but no one that scared Cuddy out of her home. But if he didn't go with her, he'd be a coward.
So he followed her to her front door. "Got a plan?"
"Nope. We're winging it."
He braced himself for what was to come.
Cuddy jiggled the doorknob, but it was locked. She bent over to retrieve the spare key under the flowerpot. As she moved it over, the door opened.
House assumed that the tall, strongly built man in front of them was Brandon. He was blonde and beach-y, like some tween-age model. Waaaay too young for Cuddy.
The man's face fell as Cuddy straightened up. "Lisa. I'm so sorry."
So he knew how to apologize. What an accomplishment. The kid appeared to be dumber than rocks.
Cuddy let him bring her into the house. Brandon spent a few seconds whispering to her and then he noticed House. "Who the hell are you?"
"I'm her husband."It was the first thing that he thought of that would get Brandon's hands off of her.
"He's kidding." Cuddy reassured softly, moving towards House to help him in. She stopped abruptly and House saw that Brandon had hooked his finger into the elastic at the back of her skirt.
Brandon forced a laugh. "No. Seriously. Who are you?"
Before House could reply, Cuddy interrupted with a half-truth. "He's my colleague."
Actually, they were much more than that, but House didn't think Brandon would be too happy with that information. So, for once, he kept his mouth shut.
"A colleage who's awake at four thirty?" Brandon wrapped his arms around Cuddy's waist.
Cuddy struggled away from him. "I told you. I can't see you anymore."
House took a step forward into the room, shutting the door behind him. "Yeah, and that makes you a big creeper." Seriously? What kind of person stayed in his ex-girlfriend's house when she wasn't there?
Brandon's face flushed. "I was just trying to make sure you were okay."
"You should go," Cuddy removed his hands from her.
Brandon stared at her wistfully. "I want to talk to you in private."
"That's so not going to happen." House drawled, shifting his weight a little. This whole situation was becoming too close and personal for him.
Brandon held back a snarl. "I wasn't asking you." His eyes never left Cuddy.
Cuddy looked down, her eyelashes casting shadows over her cheeks. "Maybe later. But's it's really late and I need-"
"I love you." Brandon scooped her gently into his arms.
House's view of Cuddy was temporarily obstructed by Brandon's shoulder, but then she shifted onto her tippy-toes and he could see her teary eyes. She mouthed, "I'm sorry."
He couldn't figure out what she meant. Sorry because she loved Brandon? Not possible. Or sorry for Brandon's behavior? Which wasn't her fault. But it was like Cuddy to apologize for something she didn't do.
He tapped his cane on the wooden floor, reminding them of his presence.
Cuddy broke away from Brandon. "You have to leave."
House watched Brandon straighten up and squeeze Cuddy's shoulder. He didn't like the way Brandon's knuckles curved tightly around her bone. "Are you deaf?" he asked.
Brandon swung his palm around, nearly missing House's nose.
"Whoa!" House backed away. "Didn't your mommy teach you not to pick on the disabled?"
Cuddy wrapped her long fingers around Brandon's bicep. "Brandon?" The pitch of her voice turned shrill and House frowned as she cowered under Brandon's height. "Let's talk now. In the kitchen."
Brandon glared at House before following her.
House stood by the doorway, hidden behind the wall. All he could hear was hushed whispering.
"Speak louder!" he demanded.
Brandon stormed out of the kitchen, more flustered then before. He pointed at House. "You touch her and I'll kill you."
House didn't want to deal with this annoying jackass anymore, so he bit his tongue on another sarcastic remark.
Brandon left and House sat on the couch, placing his cane on the end table. He waited for Cuddy to come to him as he listened to the labored breathing coming from her kitchen.
It was a few minutes before she appeared, leaning against the doorway. She bit her lip and swiped tears from her eyes as she attempted to explain, "I told him that I couldn't see him anymore, because he was too young and I didn't need that kind of relationship. He freaked out...and he had a knife."
House's head snapped up.
"I thought he was going to hurt himself," she told him, painfully.
"What about you?" This guy was crazier than he'd originally thought. House came to the conclusion that Cuddy shouldn't date at all. It was in her best interest.
"He wouldn't hurt me."
Trusting, naive Cuddy. It was no wonder that this psycho picked her up. House groaned as he stood up.
She crossed the room so he could lean up against her without using his cane. It wasn't particularly comfortable for either of them, his leg aching as his bony hip dug into her side. But it was better than being apart.
He could only take a few seconds of it. She was too close and he didn't do hugs. "You should go to bed." He separated from her.
She folded her arms over her stomach. "You should stay here."
He snorted, "Yeah, that would be a good idea." He didn't move again though, hoping she'd give him a logical reason to spend the night.
Her cheeks reddened in embarrassment. "I just thought- we've slept in the same bed before. And we have to go to work in a few hours anyway."
In the same bed? He'd assumed he'd be resting on a narrow, scratchy couch getting a crick in his neck. But being inches away from Cuddy's nearly naked body? That was worth a little intimacy. He supposed he couldn't touch her or anything, but it would be easier to fantasize with her right there- soft and scented.
Just the way she looked then. "Sounds good. You sleep naked, right?" It was a long shot, but the thought of possibly rubbing against her skin sent shivers through his spine. He nearly hummed in delight. Smooth curves. It reminded him of when he'd being giving her the fertility injections and her skirt hitched up over her thigh.
He must have been giving her one hell of a steamy look because she stepped back, startled. "Are you serious?"
He knew when to shut up; he really did. But usually he just ignored the social signals to stop joking until it was awkward. Which had happened about five minutes ago. "I didn't think you would let me sleep in your bed because that other guy was such an asshole-"
He stopped when he saw her lips approach his. She didn't hesitate. She just kissed him thoroughly, her hands gripping his stubble. He groaned, sucking her lip and thinking about other parts of her body that he wanted to suck too. For some reason, it wasn't quite as surprising as it should have been. It felt right, like they'd been kissing for years. Their tongues pressed forcefully against each other twice, just the way he liked it, before she pulled away. Another bad idea, he thought. This couldn't end well. Nevertheless, after taking a breath in unison they slammed back together, her arms twisted around his neck tightly, holding his head to her face. He clung to her as much as he could, his hands resting lightly on her back.
"Hmmm. Cuddy." He liked to say her name, and did so as frequently as possible. Short and sweet with lots of explosive syllables: it was perfect.
His lips pressed against hers one more time and he decided he was officially addicted.
"What?" She moved her lips over his chin and jaw.
"You should go to bed." He kissed her again. Delicious pink lips. He bit down on them lightly and she leaned into him, hungry for more pain. Maybe she was as screwed up as he was.
"Not tired," she lied.
He knew she was. "Okay. Let's have mind-blowing, life-altering sex for the rest of the night and take a sick day tomorrow."
"Fine." She pulled away, but not too far so he could lean against her as they trudged to her bedroom.
"Seriously?" That was a little too easy.
"I meant I'll go to sleep for the last two hours we have left."
Tease, he wanted to call her. But she wasn't. He'd just gotten excited because of his overactive imagination.
"I'll let you spoon me," She offered, grinning.
"Yes!" He pumped his free fist in the air.
In the bedroom, she let go of him temporarily to pull the sheet away from the bed.
He watched her bend over to push the pillow off, and almost reached out to cup her ass. Was it still sexual harassment if they'd just made out?
He heard a creak behind him and moved to turn around.
He was too slow.
A loud crack sounded as something thin and smooth smashed into the back of his neck. He fell over, dizzy from the pain.
"No!" He heard Cuddy shriek immediately. "Don't hurt him!"
Between all the black spots, House watched Cuddy fight him. Brandon, the big burly guy. He pushed her down with ease and House wished with everything he had that he could protect her. But he couldn't feel anything.
At least not until the hook of his own cane buried into his stomach. "Ugghhh." He coughed and sputtered and clutched the side where he'd been hit.
All of a sudden he was covered by something soft and warm. And familiar.
Cuddy. "Stop!" She yelled. "You're angry at me! Don't hurt him!"
He needed her off of him. It was too much weight and she needn't be sacrificing herself like a self-righteous saint. Every part of him burned, but at least his vision was coming back.
And then it went black. Cuddy had heaved her whole body onto his head.
It wasn't enough. The force of the cane broke through her arms and came down on the top of his head. The pain shook through his body as Cuddy screamed. House faintly heard the cane clutter beside him.
Brandon had dropped it. "Oh, shit."
"House!" Cuddy fumbled for his pulse.
He couldn't see anything. Were his eyes shut?
"Oh fuck," Brandon's surprisingly deep voice swore. "Is he dead? Fuck- I didn't mean to...."
House felt Cuddy's hands move off of his neck and she jumped off of him. "Don't you dare come near me!" She paused, "But stay away from him too. Stay where I can see you." Her voice traveled around the room, disappearing. "I have to call an ambulance."
House heard her leave the room and cracked his eyes open one last time to catch a glimpse of Brandon's back, following her. He almost thought he saw a glint of steel peeking out of Brandon's back pocket when he fell unconscious.
A/N: So there you have it. I know there's A LOT of storylines similar to this in the Huddy fandom, but I love them all. And mine will be just a bit different, I think.
The layout is inspired by a short story I read in English. I can't remember exactly what it's called, but it was some sort of a play on reality vs. illusion. It should be fun. You'll figure it out by the next chapter.
Also, I might be increasing the rating to M sometime. Because I'm just descriptive like that.
It would be really helpful if you reviewed. So I could see if people are interested or not. If not, I might actually update my Grey's Anatomy stories. :-)
Thanks for reading!