A few notes on this story:
This prompt—it's Cuddy who's trapped with House in Last Resort, not Thirteen—was the winner of my Twitter "which prompt should ATD write?" poll, and by a landslide. Then I was like, "Oh shit, I have to write it now."
Any time you rewrite an episode it's pesky, especially one like this, with so many moving parts.
So as not to do a dramatic recreation of the entire episode, I jumped around quite a bit and changed a few details. It might seem a bit more disjointed than some of my other fics—I'd equate it to fast-forwarding the show just to get to all the Huddy parts (which is how I tend to watch anyway. Heh.)
A working knowledge of the episode is a prerequisite to reading this, but I assume you've all seen it or you wouldn't be reading this fic to begin with.
A few bits of dialogue are taken directly from the brilliant script, by Matthew V. Lewis & Eli Attie. No copyright infringement intended. Also special thanks to Jess C for the prompt and to crack transcribers Jane and Tammy from LJ, wherever they may be today. - ATD
House was booby-trapping Cuddy's desk when he looked up from his handiwork and saw that the somewhat agitated guy who had been there a few minutes ago was back in the room. This time he was with Cuddy herself, and, curiously, a bunch of shell-shocked looking clinic patients.
"There's a perfectly good explanation for why I'm sitting behind your desk with a screwdriver in my hand," House said. "And I'm sure I'll think of it in. . ."—that was when he noticed Cuddy's eye's widening, as though trying to convey something to him telepathically. Finally, he saw the gun.
Shit.
"She meant to call you," he said quickly to the crazy guy.
"What?" the crazy guy said, irritably.
"I assume you went on a date with Dr. Cuddy and she never called you back. Or maybe the problem is, she did call you back. Either way, no reason to resort to violence."
"I need a doctor!" the man said.
"Preferably with the letters p-s-y-c-h in front of his specialty," House replied.
"Jason claims he's sick," Cuddy said. She was trying to keep her voice steady, and was doing a mightily impressive job of it. House was the only person in the room who could possibly see she was scared. "He says he's been to several doctors and no one can diagnose what's wrong with him."
"Luckily for you, you're trapped in a room with the foremost diagnostic mind in the country. So Dr. Cuddy, you've got this, right?" he gestured toward the door. "The rest of us can leave?"
Cuddy gave him a look that said: How can you possibly joke at a time like this?
"Just kidding," House said. "I'm your guy. Everyone else can go."
"No one's going anywhere," Jason snapped. "You're all my hostages and I'm not leaving until I get a diagnosis."
"Completely unnecessary," House said. "One of two things is going to be true: I'm going to figure out what's wrong with you in 3 minutes flat and the mystery, such as it was, will be solved. Or you actually have a challenging case and I'll be so intrigued you won't need to hold a gun to me." Then he turned to Cuddy. "Tell him," he said.
"It's true," Cuddy said. "Dr. House loves a challenge. You'd need a weapon to keep him from diagnosing you."
"It's too late," Jason said. "I just took 9 hostages from a hospital clinic. The SWAT team will be here soon. We're all in this together. Now start telling me what's wrong with me or I start shooting!"
House and Cuddy exchanged a look.
"You create a very nurturing atmosphere for diagnosing," House said. "Let's start on a positive note: You let two hostages go and I'll check your symptoms."
"Stop fucking with me, and start diagnosing now!" Jason said, and—to emphasize his seriousness—he shot at the ceiling.
Two of the hostages screamed, one began to cry, the rest cowered, and Cuddy, who was closest to Jason, jumped half a foot in the air.
House gulped.
"Tell me where it hurts," he said.
#####
Half an hour later, House had already established contact with the SWAT team and was making his second request for medicine—this time for 200 micrograms of Capsaicin.
Since Jason wanted a "lay person" delivering the meds, they had sent one of the nurses: Nurse Jeffrey.
"The thought that yours might be the last free face I ever see is depressing the hell out of me," House said.
"The most surprising thing is that someone hadn't pulled a gun on you sooner," Nurse Jeffrey replied.
"I was shot, you moron!" House hissed.
"Oh, I thought that was just a really great dream I had once."
House yanked the medicine away from him and re-entered the office.
"Who ordered the Capsaicin!" he said brightly.
He filled the syringe and approached Jason.
"Give it to her first," Jason said, indicating Cuddy.
"I told you. This medicine hurts like hell if you don't have post-herpetic neuralgia. You do. She doesn't."
"The last meds you tried to give me knocked that guy out," Jason said, indicating the large patient who was still passed out on the floor.
"He's just sleepy," House said.
"I'm not taking anything she doesn't take first."
"Why pick on Dr. Cuddy?" House said. "In case you hadn't noticed, she's a girl. Let me take it."
"I need you conscious and not on drugs when you diagnose me!"
House chuckled.
"You clearly don't know me that well," he said.
"Tell her to bend over," Jason said.
"She's not that kind of girl!" House said. "Well, okay, she is, but only when it's just the two of us."
"It's comforting to know that, even when our lives are on the line, you still find a way to sexually harass me," Cuddy said.
"You're welcome," House said. Then he scanned the room for a better candidate to take the first dose of medicine. He pointed to a professional looking guy in a suit. "How about him? He's about your build."
"Why me?" the professional guy said. "He clearly said he wants Dr. Cuddy!"
"You would've been a real hero on the Titanic, pal," House said, scornfully. "Screw the women and children, that life boat is MINE."
"It's not your choice," Jason said. "Give Dr. Cuddy the drugs or I start shooting."
"House, let's just get this over with," Cuddy said, taking off her jacket and lifting her blouse.
House nodded grimly. He couldn't even take any pleasure in injecting her in her upper glutes right now.
"You're just going to feel a little pinch," he said. "Uh, followed by excruciating pain."
Cuddy gave a weak laugh.
He injected her with the drug. She gasped as the pain set in.
"Squeeze my hand," House said, looking her straight in the eye. Then, with a smile, he quipped: "Pretend it's my neck."
She looked back at him, beginning to feel faint with pain. Her knees buckled.
"Stay with me," he said calmly. "Just breathe. Look me in the eyes. Just keep breathing, Cuddy."
"Are you two done with this tender moment yet?" Jason interjected snidely.
Cuddy gulped.
"I'm okay," she said to House.
"Well, Dr. Cuddy doesn't have post-herpetic neuralgia!" House said. "Next!"
He injected the drug into Jason, who immediately shrieked in pain.
"You took that like a man," House said. "Soooo. . .. no post-herpetic neuralgia for you, either. Hmmm."
"Hmmm what?"
"Hmmm, I'm thinking. I need to bounce some ideas off my team. That's how this process works."
"Then let's bring them in here," Jason said.
"Pretty sure a phone will do the trick," House said, dialing the DDx room.
######
House was still brainstorming with his team over the phone, when Cuddy said to him, "House. His neck."
Sure enough, Jason had a distended jugular.
"Gotta go," he said, hanging up the phone quickly.
He walked up to Jason.
"What are you doing?" Jason said, his fingers tensing around the gun.
"I was going to ask you to dance. Either that, or I need to massage your carotid artery."
He put his fingers on Jason's neck.
"Your heart is racing. You're about to lose consciousness."
"We need paddles," Cuddy said.
"Or you could just let him die," one of the hostages suggested.
"If I start to pass out, you're all going with me," Jason said.
"Can't use paddles, unless he gives up the gun," House said. "And, this is just a guess, but I'm pretty sure he's not keen on doing that."
"We could cardiovert medically," Cuddy suggested.
"Because that's not risky at all," House replied.
"It's better than letting him die in a blaze of gunfire, Tony Montana-style."
House eyed her, amused.
He picked up the phone.
"I need 60 mgs of Adenosine," he said. "Ideally delivered by somebody more comely than Nurse Jeffrey. Dr. Chase will do in a pinch."
"Same guy delivering the meds," Jason said weakly. "Everything the same."
"Scratch that. Nurse Ratched it is."
Three minutes later, Nurse Jeffrey came to the door with the meds.
"At this rate, your patient is going to die of natural causes before you diagnose him," he said, handing House the drugs.
"You're such a delight," House said, yanking the drugs out of his hands and limping back into the room.
"Okay, Cardiac Boy! Bend over."
"Her first," Jason said, gesturing to Cuddy.
"Not this time, champ. These drugs could actually kill her."
"She takes everything I take. I don't want anything that cross-reacts," Jason said.
"And what if I refuse to inject her?" House said.
"Then I start to shoot this place up!"
"Will you just inject your fucking girlfriend already?" one of the hostages said, angrily.
But before House could protest, Cuddy had managed to wrap a tourniquet around her arm and began injecting herself.
"Noooo!" House said..
She immediately began to pass out.
House limped over quickly and caught her before she fell to the floor.
"Someone give me a coat," he said. One of the hostages pulled off his puffy coat and handed it House, who used his own jacket as a blanket and the puffy coat as a pillow. He gently lay Cuddy down, then put his head to her chest.
"She's breathing," he said, relieved. "No thanks to you."
"My turn," Jason said. House angrily and artlessly rammed the meds into Jason's glutes.
"Ouch!" he protested.
"Sorry. My hand slipped," House said.
Then he squinted at him.
"Feeling better?"
Jason took a deep breath.
"A bit."
"Dodged a bullet," House said. "Pun intended."
He walked over to Cuddy, who was just waking up. He knelt beside her.
"Morning Sleeping Beauty. Just a reminder: There's a scary man with a gun threatening to kill us all."
Then, to explain himself, he addressed the room: "Nothing gets the heart rate up quite like a little adrenalin rush."
"Thanks House," Cuddy said, with a knowing smile.
"You're going to be okay," he said. Then he leaned down and whispered in her ear: "But you pull a stunt like that again and I swear to God, I'm going to shoot you."
#####
Half an hour later, House was down in radiology staring at Jason's scan.
It was just him and Jason now. Some nosy kid named Oliver had wanted to stay, but Cuddy ordered him to leave.
House had the gun. (He explained to Jason that the MRI was ineffective if he had metal in his pocket. When Jason turned over the gun, the rest of the hostages had scrambled.)
Now, House squinted at the scan and frowned.
"Where's the tumor?" Jason said.
"It's…it's…"
"House, where's the tumor?"
House sighed.
"There isn't one," he admitted.
"Then it's over," Jason said, wearily. "I have no gun. The SWAT team is going to burst in here any second now and arrest me."
House scratched his head.
"Here," he said, handing the gun back to Jason. "Now I'm your hostage again."
"You idiot!"
The voice that came from the other end of radiology belonged to Cuddy.
House turned.
"I thought you left!" he said, shocked. "What are you doing here?"
"I stuck around to make sure you didn't do anything stupid. Like WHAT YOU JUST DID!"
"Get out of here," House said. "I've got this covered."
Cuddy shook her head angrily and started to leave, when Jason said: "She's not going anywhere."
"Why not?" House said. "I've proven that I care about the puzzle as much as you do. What do we need her for?"
"Dr. Cuddy is a very valuable commodity to me," Jason said.
"How so?"
"She's the only person I've encountered today that you actually care about," Jason said. "It's clear that you're in love with her. And that means, if I say to you: Diagnose me in 3 minutes or I'll shoot her, you'll start thinking faster."
And he pointed the gun directly at Cuddy.
"You're bluffing," House said.
"Possibly," Jason said. "Possibly not. Why not call my bluff and find out?"
"You bastard. I'm trying to help you."
"Try faster."
"Put the gun down and I will."
Jason looked at his watch.
"2 minutes, 30 seconds."
"Fuck you," House said.
"2 minutes, 15 seconds. Start diagnosing."
"House…" Cuddy said, nervously.
"I can't… I can't think," House said. "How I am I supposed to think with you pointing your gun at her like that?"
"1 minute, 40 seconds."
House closed his eyes.
"Ummm. Ummm," he began speaking quickly, as if scanning the enormous database that was his brain. "We ruled out the pancoast tumor. We ruled out post-herpetic neuralgia. You said you'd never been Florida, so it can't be melioidosis. I. . .I. . .. Have you been around any goats lately?"
"No goats. 30 seconds. . ."
House began to sweat.
"Have you been to Cameroon or on the Ogowe River?"
"No. 15 seconds."
"I need more time! I need more time!"
"10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3 . . ."
"Noooooo!"
In a flash, House dove in front of Cuddy, pulling her against his back, so as to shield her from any incoming bullets.
Jason looked at them for a second, almost wistfully, then put his gun down in defeat.
"I was never going to shoot her," he said. "I just knew time was of the essence. The SWAT team is going to blow these doors down any second now." Then he looked up.
"When did I say I'd never been to Florida?" he said.
"Earlier," House said. "When you said you'd never been to the tropics."
"I thought you meant, like the Caribbean or something," Jason said. "I go to Florida all the time, for work."
"You idiot!" House said. "It's melioidosis. It fits perfectly. You just need three grams of ceftazidime and you'll be. . ."
But before he could finish his sentence, there was an explosion in the doorway and several men in SWAT uniforms burst in and pinned Jason to the floor.
"Everyone in here okay?" the head SWAT guy asked.
The force of the explosion had knocked both House and Cuddy to the floor. They were both currently inspecting themselves for broken bones or contusions.
"I think so," Cuddy said.
"Blowing the doors down. Sound move," House said, brushing some dust off his shirt. Then he limped over to where Jason was pressed to the floor.
"He needs three grams of ceftazidime," House said.
"You've got to be joking," the SWAT guy said.
"I need to confirm melioidosis! Three grams of ceftazidime and he should be fine," House yelled, as they dragged Jason, in handcuffs, out the door.
#####
Ten minutes later, House was standing in the lobby drinking coffee—someone had attempted to drape a blanket over his shoulders but he shook it off ("I was a hostage, I don't have frostbite," he said) and talking to the head of the SWAT team.
"Explain to me again how Jason got the gun back from you," SWAT guy said.
"I told you. He overpowered me."
"You have 50 pounds on him," SWAT guy said, skeptically.
"And I'm a cripple, in case you hadn't noticed."
"Or maybe you gave him the gun back because you're so crazy you actually wanted to finish the diagnosis."
"That would be crazy," House agreed.
"It would also make you an accessory to a crime."
"He overpowered me. Just ask Dr. Cuddy!"
At that moment, Cuddy, who had accepted her blanket and was sipping herbal tea, walked over to them.
"House says Jason overpowered him and took the gun back. Is that how you remember it?"
House looked at Cuddy, somewhat anxiously.
"I. . .I. . ."—she looked back at House. "Yes," she said finally. "He grabbed the gun back when House wasn't looking. It all happened so fast, it was kind of a blur."
The SWAT guy folded his arms, not completely convinced.
"If you say so." Then he turned to House: "Don't leave town."
"So much for that Disney Cruise I was planning on taking."
Both House and Cuddy watched him walk away.
"Thanks," House said, gently. Then he added: "Did they give Jason the ceftazidime?"
"You're impossible," she said. She quickly began to head back to her office to assess the damage.
She was halfway to her office when House remembered something.
"Don't open your desk drawer!" he yelled after her. But she was already out of earshot.
####
That night, at about 11 pm, Cuddy's phone rang.
She picked up.
"Whatchya doin'?" House said.
"Trying to get some sleep? You?"
"Uh, the same," House said.
Cuddy wrinkled her nose. "Then why do I hear wind? And an idling engine?"
She got out of bed, peered through the window.
House was sitting on his motorcycle on the curb in front of her house. He waved to her.
"I was in the neighborhood," he said.
Cuddy shook her head.
"I'll meet you at the front door," she said.
She let him in. She was wearing an open robe over a nearly see-through nightgown.
He ogled her.
She looked down, blushed a bit, and closed her robe more tightly.
"Quite a day, huh?" he said, refocusing.
"Not your typical Tuesday, I admit," she agreed, leading him into her living room.
"Yeah," he said. Then he cocked his head: "You okay?"
"I'm fine. You?"
"I could use a drink to be honest," he admitted.
"Good idea."
She got some ice, poured two glasses of scotch, handed him one.
They sat on the couch.
"I'm sorry about your desk," he said, taking a sip.
"That's what you're apologizing for?" she said, incredulously. "After everything that transpired today, you think I care about a silly prank?"
House gave a half-shrug.
"Why not apologize for giving the gun back to the crazy man?" Cuddy said.
"Yeah. Sorry about that, too. By the way, they confirmed the diagnosis. It was melioidosis. He's going to have a long, miserable—but healthy—jail stay."
"You're something else, you know that?" she said.
"So they say."
She took a thoughtful sip of her drink.
"You were reckless, rude, and could have gotten us both killed. But you were also kind of brave," she admitted. Then she squinted at him. "You weren't scared at all, were you?"
"A few times," House said. "A few times I was scared." And he looked at her meaningfully.
She nodded, getting it.
"I guess today did answer a nagging a question for me: Would Gregory House take a bullet for me?" And she gave a proud smile.
"Always," House said.
"The next question I suppose is, would I take a bullet for you?" she mused.
"No chance," House said.
"Hey! I lied to that SWAT guy. I'll just throw it on the pile with the rest of the times I've perjured myself in the eyes of the law for you."
"Meant to thank you for that again," he said.
"You're welcome," she said. She took another sip of her drink and closed her eyes. "Jason thinks you love me," she said, mischievously.
"Psychopaths are known to be the best judge of true love," House said. He leaned his own head against the couch and eyed her.
"I think you do," she teased. "I think you do love me."
"You do, huh?"
They were flirting—but it was somewhere between their normal teasing banter and something more. . .real.
"Yeah."
"That's so conceited of you," he said.
"Hey mister, I'm not the one who hurled myself in front of a possible speeding bullet for you."
"But you are the compulsive good girl who lied to a police officer for me," he countered.
"True," she said. Then she giggled. "Our love is so fucked up."
Now they faced each other, their heads still pressed against the back of the couch. The room was quiet, except for the gentle hum of the heater and the ice cubes slightly crackling in their glasses.
"I like fucked up," House said.
"Me too," Cuddy said.
He leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on her lips.
She closed her eyes, kissed back, lightly at first, then with more urgency.
Then House moved toward her, taking her face in his hands. In an instant, it had moved from something tender to something carnal.
Cuddy felt herself begin to melt into him. His mouth had migrated from her lips to her neck and he was now kissing the hollow of her throat.
"Shit," she said, wrapping her legs around him.
"We're in trouble," House said. He had reached under her nightie and the feel of his hands against her bare skin was nearly orgasmic.
She moaned a bit.
"Big trouble," she said.
"But if we can handle a hostage crisis, this should be a piece of cake," he said, breathing somewhat heavily, kissing her chest—his hands beginning to caress her breasts.
"I guess we're about to find out," she said.
THE END