#4
"Hey, it's Wilson. Uh, I was wondering if you could stop by House's place on your way home?"
Cuddy stopped chewing her pen, sensing something was up, "Is everything all right?"
"Well, yes. Okay, it could be better," Wilson paused, "Actually, when you come, bring a suture kit."
"Oh god, what's he done now?"
"I sort of hit him."
"You were supposed to be miniature golfing. How did you manage to hit him?"
"I thought he was sitting on the bench and I took a swing without realizing he was standing behind me. I clubbed him. Literally."
"I'll be there in fifteen minutes."
House sat on the couch, gripping his left shoulder as Wilson paced the living room floor; he sighed in guilty relief at the sight of Cuddy walking in through the front door.
"I brought two kits, I wasn't sure how bad it was," Cuddy said in complete physician mode. She walked straight to House, sat next to him on the couch, and took his pulse.
"I'll live."
Wilson stood off to the side with his hands on his hips, worried-friend expression ever present. "House, I told you we should have just gone straight to the hospital."
"Go home Wilson, before the nag shows up here. My arm's on fire as it is; I don't want face the fire-breathing dragon too."
"I don't have a car, remember?"
Cuddy rolled her eyes, "Here," she said, tossing him her keys, "Take mine. Just bring it to work tomorrow. Can Amber take you home tomorrow?"
"Sure, but what are you going to do?" Wilson looked between Cuddy and House, opened his mouth and then closed it, instantly thinking it was an impossibility. But then he saw it, just the faint echoes of a glimpse between his friend and his boss, and he smiled knowingly. "You're not going home are you?"
"What?" Cuddy asked as if shocked. "House can take me home. No, no, no. I'm not staying here tonight." Cuddy looked nervously at Wilson, "You don't think that we're…no, absolutely not."
Wilson nodded, not believing a word of it. "Okay, fine. Sorry about the arm, House. See you tomorrow."
She waved nervously, "Thanks, Wilson."
"Goodnight Cuddy. Goodnight House."
"'Night, Wilson" both said in unison.
Wilson smiled and stifled a chuckle, "Sleep tight," he said, shutting the door behind him.
Cuddy looked at House, "You don't think he knows?"
House cocked an eyebrow, "I'm sure he does."
She sighed, somewhat embarrassed as she retrieved a bowl of warm water and a cloth from the bathroom. "So, how bad is it?" she called out from the hallway.
House smiled furtively, "I never showed him the cut."
"Meaning?"
"Just a scratch."
Cuddy frowned, not knowing if he was telling the truth or not, "How many times do I have to tell you? All you have to do is call when you want to see me." She motioned towards his shoulder, "Let me see."
"I said it's fine."
"Uh-uh. I get to look, or I go home."
House stuck out his bottom lip like a child as he removed his blood-stained shirt, "It doesn't need to be stitched."
"Let me be the judge of that."
"What do think you are, a doctor or something?"
"Or something. Maybe a concerned girlfr…" she startled herself with the near admission. House grimaced not in pain, but from that frightening word.
After donning gloves, Cuddy lifted the sleeve of his t-shirt and got her first glimpse of the cut. It wasn't bad, and it really didn't need stitches. "Well, the bruise will be worse than that cut."
"Stitch it anyway."
She looked at him in confusion, "Why? I can just clean it and put a few butterfly strips on it. You'll live."
"Yeah, but Wilson's not going to let it go. He'll want to see it tomorrow and if it's not stitched up, he's going to know the real reason you were here eight minutes after he called. So, how fast were you driving anyway?"
She leaned down to inspect his arm before she began to clean the lie. "You said he already knows."
House shrugged, not wanting to verbally admit that he might be wrong.
"Fine, hold still."
"Stitches can wait," he said as he stood up.
Cuddy straighted, angled her head to the side and placed one hand on her hip, "Oh no. I'm not jumping into bed with you until it's at least bandaged."
"Killjoy."
"Just a minute."
"Where are you going?"
"Bathroom."
"Now?"
"Trust me."
A few minutes later, Cuddy emerged from the bathroom, clad in a skimpy, trashy, ridiculously cheesy, white nurse's uniform, complete with pillbox hat. The top was cropped short, exposing her mid-section from below her navel to just under her bra line, and the skirt was reminisent of an extremely short, white tennis skirt, which very obviously exposed her panties should she so much as look to the left or the right. She leaned one hand on the wall, twirled her hair with the other and called his name.
He turned to look at her and she laughed at his wide-eyed expression, "Are you ready for your stitches?" she asked breathlessly. Cuddy felt absolutely ridiculous, but she knew the stupid outfit was a fantasy of his and the look on his face at that moment was worth every ounce of the humiliation she had to endure.
He nodded with his jaw drooping, "Yes, Nurse Cuddy. I'm ready for my shot now."
She began to stitch his arm, "He's not stupid, you know. I can get maybe two stitches in here, that's it."
"Oh, come on. I taught you better than that. Four at least. And you still haven't thanked me for your handiwork yet. It's been what? Nearly twenty years?"
"I can't believe you're begging for more stitches and for gratitude."
"I don't beg."
"Oh really?" She asked with a raised eyebrow and a smirk, "I can go take this little outfit off and change back into my work clothes."
"You wouldn't."
"Try me."
House reached up and tugged at the absurd bow on Cuddy's chest, "Well, what if I don't want you to take it off?"
"You can't always get what you want."
"Oh, but I will tonight," he smiled, and Cuddy swore she saw him blush almost imperceptibly when he said, "I nicked a pair of scrubs, Nurse Cuddy. Wanna play doctor?"
"I think I already am," she shook her head, smiling, "You're incorrigible."
"Yeah, but you secretly like it," he said, lifting an edge of her skirt.
Cuddy raised an eyebrow, "I have no idea why."
"I'll remind you exactly why, as soon as you're finished with that last stitch."