Title: Such Was This (As It Should Be)
Pairing: College!House/Cuddy
Rating: PG
Synopsis: Loosely based on canon, House and Cuddy meet at a Laundromat after their initial encounter at the campus bookstore.
Disclaimer: These characters are not mine.
Part I: It Was Not Conquest
Summer afternoons are simply preludes for Things to Come and Things That Will Be. Days are longer. School's out or rather, school rests from force and punishment, from teaching and transactions. The cold is nowhere to be found. The heat is palpable. The sky seems unusually bluer and brighter somehow.
That is because summer is not real. It is desire unbridled and daydream sought. That is why summer is the season for lovers and children. Flings and campfires are short-lived, like summer, which never lasts. Once it begins, it has the propensity to end quickly without any warning.
Yet summer is also transition. Things will come and things will be.
Greg House spent his entire summer on campus to look for a decent apartment he could possibly rent for his entire stay at Michigan. The apartment was clean enough with reasonable rent and more importantly, without the presence of a roommate. He spent a lot of time surveying the area for the quickest routes and the best places for chicken, booze, and late nights. He even got a job at the campus bookshop, secretly grateful for the weekly pay. Which was great, mind you, considering how little he actually did as a clerk.
He was getting ready for a night out at the nearest blues club when he decided that it was high time for him to do his laundry. It was a balmy summer afternoon, great for walks around the quad and scoffing at freshmen. They were usually clueless and accompanied by doting parents. Technically, he was a freshman himself for med school, but chose to ignore that detail.
He settled for walking to the Laundromat blocks away from his apartment. His clothes were inside the hamper and he had his change ready. Two months ago, he befriended Ray, the greasy-haired clerk at the Laundromat. Judging by his appearance, Ray would probably his go-to guy for some pot and a guaranteed spot from the rows of old washing machines and dryers.
The bell at the glass door rang shrilly as he entered.
"Nice to see you again, Greg." Ray was reading something that looked like a cheap romance novel and had his legs propped up on the counter. Greg found himself a bit taken aback at the sight of the Laundromat clerk reading a book. Or just reading in general. As always, Ray had his vomit-yellow uniform on and a trucker cap, which oddly enough, matched the interiors of the Laundromat.
Greg nodded at Ray in greeting. The ceiling fans buzzed and the lights hummed inside the store. They would be witnesses at what was about to happen. Things will come and things will be.
Greg took a few steps around the store, checking to see if there was an available washing machine for him to use. He sighed in frustration when he found none, as he should have expected. Of course. Afternoons brought in the most customers.
"Hey, Ray!" He yelled at the counter. Ray was still engrossed with his book. "Everything's taken? Some poker buddy you are."
"C'mon, Greg. Whaddya expect me to do? I can't wait for you to—"
"Yeah, but you have to have a system." Could he help it if he whined like a ten year-old? This was simply inconvenient for him. "You know I always come here during the weekends. Afternoons. Preferably from 3 to 5." He carried his clothes hamper and unceremoniously dropped it on the counter.
"I'll be at Mickey's at 7:30. I need you to wash these for me." He got his wallet from the back pocket of his jeans and checked how much cash he had. Maybe seven dollars would do. And chicken chops along with a chocolate milkshake. God, could he use that meal right now.
"Hey, hey, hey! You wash your stuff yourself, got it?" Ray didn't take any shit from anyone. Except maybe from pretty undergrads. Or some pot. Whatever works. Still, Ray had some principles. "It's called self-service. I ain't takin' no money from you, Greg. Only in poker."
Greg rolled his eyes and placed his wallet back in his pocket. Tough. This was going to be tough. "The next time we play, I definitely won't fake it. You have the most obvious tells anyway: you sit up straight, you bite your lip—"
Ray was unfazed. "Don't care, don't have time. Just wait like every normal person does, Greg." Ray got back to Lovers in the Garden of Olenska and turned the radio's volume up. Countess Sonja and the gardener were really getting it on, he thought.
"Fine. If you're going to be that way." He took his clothes hamper off the counter and started walking to Aisle 1. He hated Aisles 2 and 3 because of the malfunctioning washing machines and dryers. Aisle 1 machines were comparatively new and gave him some privacy.
With his arms wrapped around his hamper, he surveyed Aisle 1 and spotted An Opening. Near the end of the line of machines were two clothes hampers, one full and one empty. He could only surmise that at least one washing machine was ready for use, unspoken Laundromat rules be damned. He placed his lot beside what looked like female garb and examined the washing machines facing him. One was definitely running and the other was… Not. He grinned impishly, gears turning in his head.
Really, the only solution would be taking some of the girl's clothes off the washing machine. And that was precisely what he did. He found himself throwing tank tops, shirts, and blouses-both colored and white, oh dear Lord. He finally got to the fun part: lingerie. Bras of every color and shape imaginable were in his hands. C cups or D cups? Panties were also in abundance. Thank god for these thongs and boy shorts. Now, he actually looked forward to meeting the owner.
"Hey!" Someone yelled. He found out that when you thought of the devil, the devil doth appear. The devil turned out to be a brunette with a great rack and great legs. And she was clearly furious at him. "Hey! Those are my clothes!" She walked briskly at his direction and seized a handful of shirts and tank tops from him.
She was now in front of him, hands on her hips (which she was capable of, despite the clothes she held in her grip) and chin tilted upward. She was wearing a loose shirt that said, 'I Slept With Campbell' and a pair of denim shorts that showed off her tanned legs. Huh, he thought. Bio undergrad?
"I said," she folded her arms and got his attention. "those are my clothes you're taking out of the machine."
And that was when he really got a good look on her. And she was gorgeous. Her hair was up in a ponytail and her cheeks were flushed in a color between pink and a bright red. He was a bit shocked that he had never even seen her around campus before.
"The washing machine's not even on. And you have one already running." He moved closer to 'Campbell' and invaded her personal space. He was undoubtedly emphasizing the height difference between the two of them—which was a lot. "Learn to share."
But she didn't back down.
"I left my clothes inside for a reason. I just got back from the 7 Eleven to get some change," she pointed out as reasonably as she can. So much for a relaxing Sunday afternoon.
"Then you should've thought of that first before leaving." He threw one of his shirts inside the washing machine and looked at her again. He smirked. "I win."
To his surprise, 'Campbell' suddenly tossed the clothes she had in her hand inside the machine along with his own. At first, he was caught off guard by the trajectory of her shots until he realized what the implications of her actions would be to his clothes. She still didn't separate the whites from the coloreds, which would be unfortunate for him.
"Stop that!" He moved to block the pile of clothes she was flinging into the wash and was hit a couple of times with ladies' underwear and an assortment of tops. "Hey! I said stop it!"
She didn't stop. "Well, you're not polite enough or considerate enough to give way. So I simply decided to compromise," she told him glibly. He didn't know if he was supposed to be turned on or irritated at her. Clearly, that was a problem. For him, that is. "Ladies first, right? But that's okay. We can both handle it." She smiled sweetly at him, content with herself and the predicament she put them both through.
He couldn't help but answer back. "Okay," he was cautious, calculating. "Get your coloreds out of the wash, then, Sweet Cheeks." A beat? Probably. The whole world could never keep up.
"If you're really used to doing your own laundry, why don't you do it yourself, Stud Muffin?" She gracefully sat down on top of a dryer behind her, loath to give in or give up. If he just didn't have to go to Mickey's later, he would gladly do this the whole afternoon with her. 'Campbell'. So it was Greg House that gave in but who didn't give up, eager to please so he could at least know what her name was.
It would have probably been a standoff. It probably was. And both were oblivious that it would always be that way with them, no matter what the limits of space and time were. Naturally.
The ceiling fans continued to buzz and the lights never stopped humming inside a Laundromat one Sunday afternoon. It was summer then.
