A/N: Good News: I finished chapter 8 earlier in the week. Bad News: I've been bombarded with school work this week (who wants to write my Lord of The Rings essay and take my French Exam for me?), so I'm not quite sure when I'll be able to write chapter 9. I'd prefer not to post chapter 8 if I'm not at least one chapter ahead, but I also don't want to leave you guys hanging, so I'll play it by ear.
My one-shot muse has bewitched my entire body and soul (Pride and Prejudice, anyone?), and I have about a million little ideas stored away on my iphone. It's going to be a fun summer-only a month and a half left of school!
Note: For those watch Grey's Anatomy/Private Practice, be on the lookout for a special appearance in this chapter. She follows a close second to Lisa Cuddy when it comes to my favorite female doctor.
Note (2): Let's play spot the Gone with the Wind reference.
He heard her shuffling around in the morning; her movements were slow and cautious, as if she was doing everything in her power not to wake him. He felt her untangle herself form the sheets, but he didn't dare move a muscle.
She'd fallen asleep with her back to him and his arm draped across her stomach; when she woke, it was still there.
He opened his eyes for a brief second around seven in the morning and caught a quick glimpse of her primping herself in front of the mirror. She had been staring into the mirror rather intently, her hands firmly gripped on the edge of the sink.
He saw her bite down on the bottom of her lip and shift her gaze to the floor; he shut his eyes immediately and continued to feign sleep.
He felt her presence looming over him before she left. She must have paused at the edge of the bed; perhaps she was reconsidering her somewhat covert escape attempt.
He forcibly willed himself not to smirk at her nervousness.
He didn't know why she was sneaking out of his apartment. Rationally speaking, he was fully aware that she had to leave eventually—they couldn't very well walk into the hospital together, and she wouldn't be caught dead in the same outfit she'd worn the previous day.
But the slightly less rational part of his brain, the one that had convinced that him it was a good idea to ask her to spend the night in the first place, was left wondering why she was leaving without a word.
He didn't hear her when she was walking away, which meant she'd neglected to slip back into her heels—which meant she knew he was awake when he left.
He really had to start keeping his smirks in check.
House groaned and looked at the clock; it was a quarter past seven, and Cuddy was undoubtedly on her way to the hospital at this point. He thought about getting dressed and going in to work three hours earlier than usual, but he didn't want to do anything that would make this morning even more out of the ordinary.
He kept thinking back to when she paused; he could practically see the lines of worry on her face that would surely morph into guilt by her second cup of morning coffee. She must have been rethinking her decision, questioning what it would mean and how he would react—she seemed to be doing a lot of that these days.
If he was being honest with himself, he was doing it too.
But he didn't think that having her stay the night had been a mistake—after all, she'd done it once before. But that was different, that was all part of a game.
This wasn't a game.
She wasn't bowing to the pressures of a bet, or trying to prove to him that she wasn't always what he thought she was; she had stayed because he asked her to, and more importantly, she had stayed because she wanted to.
But everything was different in the light of day. What's fun and spontaneous is suddenly foolish and premature, and the people you spend your nights with are different than the people you want to wake up next to in the morning.
The proverbial shift in their relationship had hit him full force, and this time he wasn't sure he was going to make it out.
House hit the snooze button on the alarm and went back to sleep.
Cuddy balanced her extra large cup of coffee in her hand as she cradled her cell phone between her cheek and her shoulder, searching for a seat in her usual coffee shop.
She sighed and took a generous sip as she sat down, listening to her friend Addison chastise her on the phone. She and Addison had become friends years ago, always finding themselves attending the same obligatory "empowered-women-in-medicine" medical conference.
"I can't believe you called me at four in the morning to tell me you snuck out of a boy's house," she groaned.
Cuddy rolled her eyes and felt a slight pang of guilt; she'd forgotten about the time zone difference.
"That's what happens when you uproot your entire life and move across the country," Cuddy joked. Addison had lived in New York before moving to Seattle in a failed attempt to repair her marriage. About a year ago, she'd made her final move to Los Angeles.
"Besides," Cuddy continued, taking another sip of her latte, "nobody said you had to answer the phone."
"And miss out on the possibility of four AM booty call gossip? Not a chance, "Addison answered, stifling a yawn. "So let me get this straight, you actually snuck out of his apartment? I'm talking shirt barely buttoned, heels in hand."
"House isn't a booty call," said Cuddy, slightly defensively. "And what else was I supposed to do, make him breakfast?" Cuddy scoffed at the mere image; she could barely picture herself waking up in his apartment, let alone making herself at home.
Besides, she hated breakfast food. But the frustrating thing about all this, the thing that caused her to pause at the edge of his bed before leaving, was that she wouldn't have hated eating breakfast food with him.
"I suppose a good morning was out of the question," Addison quipped. Cuddy could practically see the eyebrow that was undoubtedly arched on the redhead's face.
"I'll see him at work later," she said, shrugging her shoulders and trying to rationalize her actions.
Because the truth was, she had no idea why she'd left without a word.
"Like see him see him, or just you know, get a visual?"
Cuddy rolled her eyes—Addison really needed to get away from the West Coast.
"Stop," Cuddy ordered, a slight hint of laughter to her voice.
"Hey," Addison interjected, her voice perking up, "on-call rooms were invented for a reason. That's all I'm saying."
"Do doctors really do that?" Cuddy asked, her voice lowering to a whisper as she debated on whether or not she was shocked or impressed with the information—although, she couldn't be too judgmental, given her recent track record.
Cuddy smirked to herself and took another sip of coffee.
"They do at Seattle Grace Mercy Fuck," Addison answered bluntly.
Cuddy shook her head and let out a slight chuckle, noting Addison's subtle hint of pained jealousy. "I should be going," she said. "I'm already later than I planned on being. I'll see you at the conference next month?"
"Yes," said Addison groggily, "you, me, and about a hundred other women who, try as they might, never manage to look quite as fabulous as the two of us."
Cuddy stifled a laugh.
"I see California has mellowed your ego," she joked, gathering up her things and getting up from her chair. She slung the strap of her black leather briefcase over her shoulder and made her way towards the exit of the coffee shop. "I'll let you get back to sleep," she said.
Addison muttered something unintelligible and Cuddy smirked, hanging up the phone.
And just like clockwork, a pang of guilt surged through her bones as she headed to the hospital.
House walked into the hospital ten minutes later than usual. He opened the door and limped in, his eyes scanning the entrance as he walked. Doctors and Nurses frantically bustled around him as he made his way to towards the elevator.
A nurse attempted to wave him over to the front desk, but he simply pointed to his limp and gave her an apologetic look; he made sure to wince a bit more than usual with his next step.
His eyes darted to the direction of her office. He could see that she was hunched over her desk, typing away at her computer. There was a cup of coffee from the shop that she frequented sitting next to her, and he smirked when an unpleasant look swept across her face as she took a sip—it must have grown cold in the passing hours.
He pressed the button to the elevator, wondering how long she had been sitting there; he assumed she hadn't moved since she walked in hours ago. She rarely left her office when she was struggling with some type of internal battle. He rolled his eyes; of course she was making this into a big deal.
But then he paused, because he realized he was the one who staring into her office and wondering what she was thinking.
He cleared his throat and turned his head away as the elevator doors opened. He stepped in and pressed the appropriate button. When the elevator stopped, he hobbled off and made his way to Wilson's office, bypassing his own for the moment.
House walked into Wilson's office and shut the door before plopping down into a chair. Wilson lifted his head up from a file, raising his eyebrows and waiting for House to speak.
"Cuddy's being an idiot," he stated.
Wilson rolled his eyes.
"Finally realized that the two of you are acting like lovesick teenagers with absolutely no grasp on reality?" he asked, setting his pen down on his desk and slightly leaning forward.
"Trust me, I definitely do this kind of stuff when I was a teenager," he mused. A disgusted look washed over Wilson's face. "Cuddy stayed over last night," he admitted.
"As in she slept in the bed next to you? Like overnight?"
House rolled his eyes.
"Women have stayed the night at your apartment, right? You know what it entails?"
Wilson scoffed and closed the files on his desk, giving House a knowing smirk that was followed by a self-satisfying grin. "I knew you two couldn't keep up the façade of a casual relationship for long," he stated. "Her staying the night is a big step."
House shifted in his seat, his eyes darting to the ground for a brief moment.
"There was no proverbial shift in our relationship," he claimed, his eyes flicking towards Wilson as he thought back to his thoughts three hours ago. Wilson shook his head as House struggled to stammer out the words he didn't quite believe. "It was late, she was tired….it was convenient, that's all."
"Convenient," Wilson mused, nodding his head as he spoke, "also known as the least romantic word in the English language," he said, furrowing his brow. "Whatever you say to her, don't say that."
House closed his eyes and began to tap his cane against the ground. Wilson paused and eyed him suspiciously.
"Wait a second," he said skeptically, leaning forward in his chair. "You two have talked about this, haven't you? You discussed what it would mean for your relationship?"
"Sure we discussed it," said House, shrugging his shoulders and tilting his head to the side, "one grunted syllable at a time."
Wilson shook his head in disbelief.
"So she was too tired to drive home, but somehow mustered up the strength to have sex, leaving no room for talking whatsoever?" he asked.
"We're very into the Victorian Era right now," answered House, "I just tell her to lie back and think of England. Doesn't require much effort on her part."
Wilson scoffed and rolled his eyes.
"What did she say in the morning?" he asked. "Better yet, what did you say?"
House shook his head. "Nothing," he answered. "She was gone by the time I woke up. And now she's holed away in her office refusing to leave just so she can avoid me for the rest of the day. Or longer, if she's feeling guilty enough."
Wilson smirked.
"You're upset," he stated.
"I'm not upset," muttered House, shrugging off his claims. "I'm mad because she thinks everything has changed due to the fact that she rumpled up my sheets for an extended period of time—and not in the usual way. She's being an idiot, analyzing her every move."
"Talk to her House," he ordered, reopening his case file. "Talk to her, tell her how you feel, and don't use the word convenient. You and I both know there is more to it than that."
House nodded and got up from the chair, limping towards the door. He paused, his hand gripping the knob as he lingered at he entryway.
"Know any good synonyms for convenient?"
Wilson rolled his eyes as House closed the door to his office. It was bad enough when House ignored his own problems, but Cuddy ignoring hers was even worse—especially when the problem was a direct result of their predisposed inability to share what was going on in their equally screwed up minds.
"Eight-year old girl admitted to the ER complaining of stomach pains." Foreman walked into the DDX room and threw the file on to the table. Taub, Thirteen and Kutner looked up, each grabbing a copy.
Foreman scrunched up nose as he looked around the room.
"Where the hell is House? It's practically noon."
Taub and Thirteen shared a knowing glance before quickly turning their attention back to the case file.
"I saw him wander into Wilson's office a minute ago," said Kutner, oblivious to the smirks Taub and Thirteen were trying to hide. "He should be back soon. This kid has had an unusual amount of hospital visits," he mused. "Three broken fingers, several appointments with a nutritionist, multiple visits to therapy," rambled Kutner.
"Think the parents are trying to cover something up?" Taub asked.
Foreman shook his head.
"I saw the parents in the ER, they were very attentive. They seemed very worried about their daughter, practically begged me to run more tests."
"Maybe they're compensating for something," Thirteen suggested, raising her eyebrows as she skimmed over the file and patient history.
"Guilt," bellowed House as he barged into the office. The team lifted their heads from the table, glancing up at him. "Causes Catholics to confess to all their little tiny sins, oncologists to care too much, and Dean of Medicines to wear low-cut tops. It can also cause abusive parents to act over-protective. Blasphemy I know, but hey, what can you do?"
"Where have you been?" asked Foreman, ignoring his spiel. "We have a case."
House furrowed his brow. "Did you miss the part where I agreed with Thirteen about the abusive parents?"
"You haven't even read the file," pointed out Kutner. House rolled his eyes as he took the file from Kutner, giving him a pointed look.
Taub and Thirteen quickly diverted their eyes away from him.
House thumbed through the file in a dramatically slow fashion as he mockingly rambled off the symptoms.
Foreman rolled his eyes before grabbing the file and standing up from the table. "I'll go talk to the parents," he said.
House nodded. "Kutner will go with you. The rest of us are going to go on a little field trip," he said, turning towards Taub and Thirteen. "Do an ultrasound while you're accusing the parents of hurting little Timmy."
"Kayla," corrected Thirteen.
"I thought gender was no longer important," House said mockingly. "You girls claim you want to be treated as equals, but when it comes down to it—"
"I'll page you when we have the results," interrupted Foreman. He motioned for Kutner to follow him before walking out the door.
Kutner shrugged his shoulders, shooting Taub and Thirteen apologetic smiles as he followed Foreman out the door.
Taub groaned as he looked over at House. "Where are we going? Is this about last night? Because that is not our fault. How were we supposed to know that Cuddy was going to standing in your living room half-naked?"
House rolled his eyes.
"Come along," said House, nodding his head towards the door. "Patty and Selma are long overdue for a visit."
Thirteen rolled her eyes as she watched House limp out of the office. She and Taub begrudgingly got out of their seat and followed; she paused at the door and said:
"Who the hell are Patty and Selma?"
Cuddy pressed down on her intercom, sighing as she called for her assistant. "Alex, could you bring me the budget report from last quarter?"
She looked up as she heard the door to her office swinging open, sighing as she noticed House and his two fellows walking into her office. She pressed back down on the intercom. "Never mind, I'll have to get it later."
House smiled innocently at her as he propped his feet up on her desk. Taub and Thirteen hung back, staring awkwardly at their two bosses.
"Are you making it a habit to barge into rooms unannounced?" she asked, raising her eyebrows at Taub and Thirteen. She glared at House and gently shoved his feet off from her desk.
"Only when you're not wearing tops," said House, leaning his head back into the chair, tilting it over as he winked at Taub and Thirteen.
Thirteen cleared her throat uncomfortably.
"Can we go back to the patient now?" Taub asked, irritated. "I feel like an abused child takes precedence over the fact that we saw Cuddy with her shirt off in your apartment."
House wrinkled up his nose.
"I would maybe believe you if you could manage to tear your eyes away form her chest," said House.
Cuddy held up her hand, quieting them all. "You have an abused patient and you haven't alerted social services?" she asked. She averted her eyes towards House, glaring at him. "Does the word protocol mean absolutely nothing to you?"
"It's just a theory," Thirteen interjected. "And we promise not to say anything about what we…saw. Can we go now?"
"No," Cuddy ordered, turning her attention back to House. "What's your diagnosis on the patient?"
House shrugged his shoulder and readjusted himself in his seat. "Rotten case of bad parents," he said.
Cuddy narrowed her eyes at him, sighing. "So you don't have a diagnosis at all? What are you even doing here, I didn't call you down here."
"Patty and Selma are always calling," he joked, winking dramatically at her.
Cuddy rolled her eyes.
"Get back to work," she ordered. "All of you."
Taub and Thirteen nodded and turned towards the door, where Foreman and Kutner were hurriedly walking through.
"She's not being abused by her parents," said Foreman as he walked into Cuddy's office.
Cuddy lifted a hand to her forehead, rubbing it slightly. "By all means, please come in."
House ignored her and turned around in his seat. "Is that what the parents told you? Because they could be—oh what's the word—lying."
"Both the parents and child denied any abuse. And I did a full body workup, the kid is clean."
Cuddy scooted out from her chair, picking up a pile of files as she walked out from behind her desk. "I'm going out there," she said, her eyes narrowing at him. "Feel free to continue to use my office instead of your own," she snapped sarcastically.
House smirked, watching as she sauntered away from him. He glared at Taub when he noticed that his eyes were lingering on her chest.
Taub cleared his throat once Cuddy walked out the door, suddenly embarrassed.
"The stomach pain is getting worse," began Foreman, "and I took a further look into her history, the kid has had trouble since she was six months old. The parents said she was always crying, had difficulty moving once she started to walk, and often suffered from spasms."
"Sounds like a developmental issue," said Thirteen. "Any issues with her speech?"
Kutner nodded his head. "Some when she was younger, but it faded out over the years. Could be something as simple as Autism."
"Autism wouldn't go undiagnosed this long," muttered House. He pressed his cane to his forehead, tapping it lightly as he thought.
"What about cerebral palsy?" asked Kutner
"That definitely wouldn't have gone undiagnosed this long," said Foreman. "We have to be missing something, something small."
House perked his head up.
"How small are her hands?" House asked, turning around to face his team.
Foreman furrowed his brow. "She's eight, her hands are tiny," he stated.
"That's not what I asked," said House, rolling his eyes. "Are they small, or are they small for an eight years old?"
Foreman closed his eyes briefly, understanding what he was getting at.
"It's Rett syndrome," said House. "Manage the neurological symptoms with dextromethorphan and prescribe anti-psychotics."
"Rett syndrome isn't curable," Kutner pointed out, his eyes falling to the ground for a brief moment.
House rolled his eyes.
"Doesn't mean it's not a diagnosis."
After his team had vacated her office, he found Cuddy hovering over the desk at the front of the clinic. He smirked when he saw her straighten her posture and tuck a lock of hair behind her ear as she noticed his presence.
"Do you have an actual diagnosis yet?" she asked, raising her eyebrows at him.
House nodded.
"It's Rett Syndrome," he said, his eyes look her up and down. She cast her eyes to the ground, uncomfortable with the intensity of his gaze. He was studying her, trying to piece together the puzzle of the last few hours.
She scoffed.
"Is she also suffering from Scarlet Fever?" He smirked at her reference, watching as she slightly regained her confidence. "Rett Syndrome is one of the rarest developmental diseases," she said.
House nodded.
"Which would explain why it's gone undiagnosed for this long. You busy?" he asked, raising his eyebrows at her.
"I'm always busy," she answered, shrugging him off. She knew what he was getting at.
"Is that why you pulled a disappearing act this morning?" His tone was flat; she couldn't tell if he was accusing her of something, or if he was hurt by her leaving— but she couldn't imagine it was the last one.
Accusation it was.
She paused, lifting a hand to her forehead before nodding in the direction of her office. She placed her hand on his shoulder for a moment, pushing him in that direction as she walked.
She ignored a skeptical look from one of the nurses as she closed the door to her office.
Cuddy bit down on her bottom lip, running a hand through her hair as she looked him up and down; his posture wasn't giving anything away, either.
"Look, what happened last night doesn't have to be—" she paused, struggling to find the words. House smirked at her nervousness. "It doesn't have to be a regular thing," she stammered out.
House paused, his gaze meeting hers.
"So should I expect you to up and leave every time you stay the night? What happens when I stay at your place? Because I don't move as quickly as you, so that might be an issue. But I can be stealth, if need be."
Cuddy let out a slight laugh, shaking her head at his masked accusations.
"I thought we weren't making this into a big deal," she said, folding her arms across her chest.
"We're not," he answered, shrugging his shoulders. "You were tired, I had a bed, it was—"
"Convenient," Cuddy offered up, giving him a slight smile.
House smirked, the words of his earlier conversation with Wilson echoing in his mind. Cuddy eyed him suspiciously, furrowing her brow as she noticed the smirk on his face.
He was enjoying this just a little too much.
"Are you going to Chase's little shindig later?" he asked, changing the subject rather quickly. He leaned against the chair in front of her desk, watching as she returned to her seat.
She sat down and sighed, shrugging her shoulders as she took a pen in her hand. Cameron was throwing Chase a birthday party at the bar down the street, and had invited everyone on House's team, including herself. Normally she wouldn't have thought anything of it, but ever since the slightly uncomfortable grocery store run in, Cuddy had been waiting for Cameron's passive aggressive attempt to get her to own up to her relationship with House—she was fairly certain the impromptu invite was just that.
Cuddy shrugged her shoulders.
"I haven't decided yet," she answered, eyeing him suspiciously. She paused, biting down on her bottom lip. "Are you going?" she asked
"Is my attendance dependent on yours?" he asked, leaning towards her desk. Cuddy scoffed, shaking her head in slight amusement.
"Is it possible for you to answer a question without forming another?"
House leaned forward, his eyes slowly drifting down to the plunge of her neckline. He rested his hands on the edge of his cane, focusing his gaze on her. He smirked at her.
"What do you think?" he asked, grinning to himself as a slightly irritated—but mostly amused—look swept across her face.
"Sometimes I think you say things simply out of spite," she spit back, picking up a pen that lay across her desk, pretending to ignore him.
"How long have you known me?"
This time she let out an actual laugh, the pen falling form her hands as she shook her head. "Pick me up at eight," she ordered, her eyes dancing towards him.
It was useless to pretend that she wasn't going to go home with him at the end of the night anyways.
"Presumptuous," he stated, sitting upright. She smirked at him, her head tilting as she shrugged her shoulders.
"Maybe it's just instinct," she answered slyly, raising her eyebrows at him. He paused—she was really throwing him for a loop lately. Regaining her confidence once more, she sat up, leaning closer towards him. "Or were you planning on going home with someone else? Because if that's the case, I could ask Taub for a ride. Or Thirteen even. What do you think? She seem interested?"
House gulped.
He considered taking another crack at her leaving earlier that morning, but thought better of it—he clearly wasn't wearing her down with his jokes. So instead, he cleared his throat and tilted his head, giving her a devilish grin as he said:
"See you at eight."
They straggled into the bar around 8:30. House had gotten to her house at promptly 8:07—she assumed his tardiness was once again, out of spite.
So she did the only thing that seemed natural to her—she retaliated. Cuddy insisted on changing her shirt, claiming that the neckline was just a little too inappropriate. In reality it wasn't, but watching him squirm at the thought of her covering up was more rewarding than she thought possible.
She'd slid into the tightest pair of jeans she owned, and a pale pink ruffled tank top loosely hung off her body. She threw on a casual black blazer for good measure, and slipped into a pair of black suede, gold pointed flats. Her hair was more straight than curly, and a nude color was glossed over her lips.
She looked effortlessly stunning.
House gulped as they walked out the door at approximately 8:13.
The drive over had been rather uneventful, save for a minor dispute over the music—he simply didn't understand her disdain for The Doors. After a few minutes of watching her silently fume out of the corner of his eye, he'd begrudgingly let her change the station. He grumbled while she smirked to herself.
They'd walked into the bar side by side, their eyes searching for familiar faces amongst the crowd. Cuddy paused, her eyebrows raised as she spotted Alexandra in the corner, surrounded by House's team. She was sitting between Thirteen and Kutner, but she was much closer to Thirteen than anyone else.
She gripped House's forearm.
"Is that…" her voice trailed off, unable to finish the sentence as her gaze lingered across the room.
"God I hope so," House muttered, his yes widening as he got a closer look.
Cuddy playfully slapped his arm and nodded in the direction of the bar. House ordered a beer, and Cuddy casually nodded her head at the bartender, motioning for him to bring her one as well.
House raised his eyebrows at her; beer was rarely her drink of choice. The bartender set two bottles in front of them, and Cuddy sent him a devilish grin as she brought the cold drink to her lips.
"Where's Wilson?" Cuddy wondered aloud, surveying the room. Chase and Cameron were sitting with House's team, and Cuddy had noticed a few other hospital employees milling about.
House rolled his eyes as he took another swig of his beer.
"He's not coming, something about Amber having something special planned. I understand though. Their time is limited, what with her being a vampire and everything," said House, shrugging his shoulders.
Cuddy let out a slight laugh as she turned towards him, crossing her legs and resting her elbow on the wooden surface of the bar.
"You're going to have to get over your jealousy of Amber at some point," she said.
House smirked.
"Why do you think I dragged you here?"
Cuddy narrowed her eyes at him. "Again with the questions," she teased playfully. She paused, taking another sip form her beer before pushing it away. Her face turned stoic and her features became more serious.
She pursed her lips as she said:
"Why don't you stop avoiding the issue and ask me the question you really want the answer to?"
"You think you know what I want?"
Cuddy rolled her eyes.
"Fine," he relented, pushing his beer away from him and shifting in his seat. "What's the real reason you left this morning? I know when you left, which means I know it had nothing to do with time. Which suggests it has something to do with me. Which is strange, since I'm the one who invited you to stay over in the first place."
Cuddy nervously bit down on her bottom lip, sighing before answering.
"Do you always analyze things like this?"
"Now you're breaking your own rules," he pointed out, "answering questions with another question."
She let out a slight chuckle. "I've been doing a lot of that lately," she said. "Fine. You want to know the real reason? I was afraid. I was afraid you would regret asking me to stay the minute you woke up next to me in the morning. So I didn't give you the option."
He smirked at her.
"Always one for control," he said, refusing to either deny or confirm her suspicions. She rolled her eyes at his lack of answer. He looked over to a vacant pool table and got up from the stool, holding his hand out to her.
"Wanna play?" he asked, his hand still stretched out.
Cuddy let out a sly grin, taking a sip from her beer before extending her hand out to him.
It wasn't as if she expected a response, anyway.
Cuddy bent over, the cue stick balanced expertly between her delicate fingers. Her tongue was sticking slightly out as she concentrated on the table in front of her. She could feel his eyes on her so she paused, dragging out her movements for the sole purpose of antagonizing him.
She smirked to herself as she sent the ball straight into the corner pocket.
"Your team is staring at us," she said observantly, watching as they switched places.
House took very little time deciding which ball to aim for, and a self-satisfied smirk crossed his lips as he managed to send two balls into the opposite corners.
His hand grazed the small of her back as they switched places once again.
"They're not used to Casual Cuddy," he mused, his shoulders dropping as the ball he had been aiming for bounced of the corner and pushed one of her own into the pocket.
She gave him a mockingly sympathetic look.
"You think Taub and Thirteen told anyone?" she asked, her voice never faltering as she shot two balls into the hole.
"Nah," said House. "Thirteen doesn't care enough, and Taub is too busy trying not to stare at your breasts. I doubt he has time to talk about them to anyone else."
Cuddy shook her head as she leaned against the table, taking a swig form her beer. House surveyed the table as he contemplated his next move—she was beating him by two.
"I forgot how good at this you were," he said, half impressed and half irritated.
Cuddy smirked.
"Yeah, some asshole I slept with in college taught me," she said flatly, her eyes darting towards him.
He cast his eyes to the ground, a smirk on his face as he made his move. "I'm getting another beer," she stated. "Want one?" he nodded at her and she smiled, walking back over to him. She leaned down next to him, her lips inches away from the side of his face.
He shuddered a breath as she whispered into his ear.
"Try not to cheat while I'm gone."
He turned his head. Her lips were inches away from hers, and if he wanted to, he could kiss her right then and there—she was practically begging him to; he could tell from the look in her eyes that she wanted him, but she didn't want to be the one to instigate it.
After all, she was the one with the reputation to hold up.
He turned back towards the pool table and set up for his last shot. He sent the eight ball right into the corner, beating her by exactly one.
He smirked as he stood up, watching as she mimicked his actions. Her arms were folded across her chest, and there was a saucy look in her eyes.
He leaned closer to her.
"No need to cheat when you've already won," he teased, raising his eyebrows at her.
Cuddy sent him a devilish grin, blowing a lock of hair out of her face. She grabbed their two beers and sauntered off, making sure to add a subtle jaunt to her step.
"Wasn't sure you would come," said Chase, sitting down next to her in the stool next to her. Cuddy looked over at him, a shy grin on her face.
"I guess this isn't exactly my scene," she answered. "Happy birthday, by the way."
Chase nodded in appreciation as he took a sip of his beer. "Seems to me like you're having fun," he said, turning his head towards House.
He'd gravitated over to where his team was sitting, and Cuddy shook her head, because he was staring wide-eyed at Thirteen and Alexandra.
"Your head seems to be healing nicely," said Cuddy, changing the subject and avoiding his claim.
Chase let out a slight laugh.
"It's a good sign," said Chase, ignoring her completely. He nodded in House's direction. "I could barely get Cameron to talk to me in public."
"Do you make it a mission to try and involve yourself in my personal life?" she accused tautly, eyes blazing with a hint of impressiveness. Chase was the only one who had enough balls to confront her—Taub couldn't even look her in the eyes.
And if she was being honest, he had always been her favorite.
"You've been spending too much time with House," Chase said, shaking his head in amusement. He pushed one of the beers that the bartender had set down towards her. "Not everyone has an agenda."
Cuddy eyed him suspiciously as she took a sip from the beer; it was a Corona, and she tasted a hint of lime. She sighed contently; Mexican beer had always burned in the best possible way.
She had definitely gotten used to that feeling lately.
"You give any thought to what I said last night?" he asked, taking a sip of his own beer.
Cuddy sighed. Had that really been last night? Time was starting to creep up on her.
"Some," she answered half-heartedly, giving him a sly smile. She picked up another one of the beers and nodded towards Chase.
Chase smirked. "His entire team is jealous of you, you know."
Cuddy scoffed as she took another sip of her beer. "I highly doubt that," she answered pointedly.
"They bust their asses trying to impress him, and you throw on a pair of jeans and he is completely at your will. House doesn't notice people very often, but he notices you." He paused, his eyes falling for a moment. "They're feeling what I felt for months," he said thickly, a sadness to his voice. "The roles are just a little reversed."
Cuddy sighed, her gaze looking over to the team. Cameron was joining in on the conversation, probably chastising House for something inappropriate he had said.
Cuddy smiled as he met her gaze from across the room. She watched as he got up and made his way over towards where she and Chase were seating. She took another swig of her beer and looked over at Chase.
"Don't let her break your heart," she said quietly, giving him a small smile.
Chase let out a slight laugh, shaking his head as he looked over at Cuddy's slightly drunken state. Her mouth had gotten progressively looser as the night dragged on, and somehow, her confidence had risen just a tad.
Chase got up from his stool, noticing that House was getting closer. He gripped his hands on the edge of the bar, leaning forward slightly. "Sometimes a little heartbreak is good," he mused, shrugging his shoulders. "At least then you know it was real."
Cuddy nodded in agreement. That was the trouble with relationships; you never know how important they were until they're over. And by then, it was usually too late.
She watched as Chase walked away. He patted House on the shoulder as he passed him, and she laughed, because the look of utter confusion on his face was probably one of the cutest things she had ever seen.
But she quickly straightened up, bracing herself with layers of armor as he sat down next to her; because she was no longer questioning if what they had was real or not. They may not bare their souls to each other, but somewhere along the lines, they'd both forgotten they could read each other like a book. His truth was tangled up in metaphors and tied together with sarcasm, but it was there, and he knew she heard it.
And she didn't know if her heart was going to get broken, but the likelihood if it happening was increasing with every touch.
So she straightened up as he sat down and gave her a sly grin.
"What's going on over there?" she asked, nodding in the direction of his team.
"Nothing," said House, slightly unimpressed. "Thirteen and Little Assistant Alex claim they're just friends. Personally I think it was a ploy to see if they could get a little rise out of me."
Cuddy smirked and playfully shoved his forearm. She wanted to recoil when he caught her hand in his, but for some reason, she didn't. He'd laced his fingers through hers and she took a deep breath, because she could feel him tearing down her walls of armor, and she began to wonder if she needed them in the first place.
She leaned closer, placing her free hand on his shoulder. She moved her hand up from his shoulder to the side of his face, her thumb running across his cheek as she said:
"Want to give them something to talk about?"
He didn't need to answer; she could see from the devilish grin on his face and the sparkle of his eyes that the answer was most definitely a yes.
So she leaned in closer, pressing her lips to his in such a swift motion that she didn't even have time to think about changing her mind.
And he kissed her back with a force that seemed to wipe away all of her fears.
If you couldn't tell, I'm absolutely in love with the Cuddy/Chase dynamic. I'd always wished we'd seen more of that on the show. Also, tip: if you're reviewing as a guest and have a question about something, I can't exactly answer you without a majorly long authors note in the following chapter. So if you have a question but don't have an account, feel free to send me a message on tumblr (sedgelstein).
And as always, feedback is appreciated.
-Alison
