AN: Hopefully you, dear readers, have caught on that the lyrics have slight foreshadowing in them…
"And there's affection to rent
The age of the understatement
Before this attraction ferments,
Kiss me properly and pull me apart…"
"The Age of the Understatement" by the Last Shadow Puppets.
It was... odd. No, not odd; odd implied acceptance. Weird. It was weird. Weird was a good word for what was between them. It was a cross between semi-acceptance and a reluctance to change their ways. They weren't walking on eggshells, per se. And they weren't that cautious around each other. His second day back at the hospital resulted in a shouting match that was still being referenced in most gossip circles. The shouting was normal. It was heated and he was found to be right in the end. But after the fight...
It had been weird.
They had glared at each other, breaths heavy and teeth gnashing. And then… her face went blank and she walked out of his office as if nothing had happened. It wasn't supposed to work that way. She was supposed to still be fuming and stomp out all haughty and high and mighty. Not staring blankly, as if in resignation. He didn't react to her non-reaction because he had been so confused. It was off-putting. It made him feel worse and question his reaction to her. Luckily, he had been right about the poison diagnosis, and discharged his patient three (long) days after the fight. He was surprised he could concentrate at all afterward.
He didn't want to feel guilty (in his mind he spit the word out) about doing something he and she had done countless times before without any residual emotions stopping them. It wasn't them. They didn't think out the consequences beforehand. In these cases they always had let passion and anger take their course and flow right through them. Not this stunted travesty of a fight.
So, it was weird.
If he walked by her in the halls, or saw her at the front desk, she would smile quickly, murmur a 'Hello, House,' and walk away. When the hell did they start addressing each other with such formality and distance? Were salutations going to be added into their daily lives now? What happened to sharp barbs and getting to the point? He startled himself when he greeted her just this morning with a 'hello.' It was repugnant. He felt like a pretentious asshole.
He hated it.
A week had passed since that night in his office when he had felt the first small inkling of hope that they would return to 'normal.' Since that night, things hadn't been what he thought they would be. His obsessive-compulsive mind ran through different scenarios, from Cuddy thinking she had said too much (probably) to lying about what she had said to distance herself for her or his sake with regards to the Board.
The weirdness extended to his team as well. They would mention something Wilson-related and immediately shut down or change the subject with less finesse than a two year old playing with porcelain. Hell, he had seen Rachel speak better than his fellows. He thought he had trained his fellows better than that; awkwardness did not exist in the differential room. What should and needed to be said must be said regardless of feelings and emotions.
Deep down, he appreciated their thoughtfulness. He still was wary of speaking of his best friend. He couldn't remember the last time he had said the man's name. Every time he walked down the hallway towards the elevator he would purposely look to his left as he waited to go down. He didn't want to see the dark, empty office to his right. No one had said or mentioned what would happen to the office. There was an Interim Head of Oncology, but no process had begun to fill the position permanently. He didn't think Cuddy had anyone in mind.
He didn't know how he would deal with a new doctor staying in that office. He knew he would be fiercely annoyed with anyone who dare claim it. Thoughts of driving out the future occupant of the office flitted through his head. He smirked thinking how easy it would be to do such a thing and how pissed Cuddy would be.
He groaned and leaned back in his chair. Cuddy. When he was alone, like at the present moment, he would wonder about her. The men in white coats may have helped him out but he was still obsessive, especially when it came to knowledge and the people he cared about.
Try as he might not to, he cared for her. Seeing her again throughout the week had only pounded that into his head.
He knew all the gossip and troubles of his fellows and friends. Friend. Was that the category for Cuddy? Yes, his mind made up right away; he would count her as a friend for the moment. He didn't think he could bear it if she distanced herself more from him. He knew she was still single from the nurses' gossip. He knew she had changed her schedule to fit in with Rachel's preschool and went home even earlier than normal. The workaholic had been tamed by a three and a half year old.
It made him melancholy.
For several days, he watched her from his balcony as she rushed out while still stuffing documents into her briefcase. Every day by three o'clock she was out the door. No more nine-to-five's. One of the times he saw her in the past week, after the fight, she had only asked him how he was and walked off as if she were only speaking to someone like Foreman or, God forbid, Hourani. She was keeping up her guard and keeping her life private behind an iron curtain. He didn't know anything else. No one did. No one could explain what she did outside the hospital during his two-month absence.
He felt stuck between a rock and a hard place. Ultimately, he recognized how he felt. He was missing her and trying to deal with Wilson's absence as well. He was grieving for his best friend, alone. The grief was seeping into him gradually, leaking through his stony exterior and starting to drown him. He would ignore the thoughts and try to patch some of the leaks, but the grief and loneliness were tied with another, more hated emotion.
Boredom.
He was incredibly and mind-numbingly bored. Chase had been right; his cases were coming few and far between. He had even resorted to stalking the ER and clinic the past few days to see if he could dig up anything. He had been fruitless. There was nothing to take his mind off of the current circumstances.
He didn't want to be alone. He wanted his mind to stop racing with all the possible scenarios and 'what-ifs' that plagued him nightly. He needed answers. He needed to speak with Cuddy outside the hospital, away from the miasma of ghosts and mistakes.
It had to be something they had done together before dating and something that wouldn't be taken 'wrongly.' An idea popped into his head and without thinking twice about the implications of such a request, he went in search of his boss.
"A drink?" Cuddy asked incredulously.
"Yeah... friendly, shoot-the-breeze-chat drink. No underhandedness or hidden agendas," he said. House was looking everywhere but at her. His skin felt heated, the embarrassment started to surface with each passing second. He had caught her alone at noon in her office. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Cuddy's secretary peeking at them.
"There has never been 'no-agenda' drinks between us, House," she said firmly. She shuffled papers around on her desk and continued to sign documents.
"Fine, I'll see you tomorrow," he grumbled and swallowed the remains of his pride and turned around. He had limped two steps when he heard soft, "House."
He didn't turn. This would be the last time he asked anything of her. He had needed the company of a friend, just a friend, and now he realized he didn't have any. Paying for his comfort tonight sounded marginally better, he thought sulkily.
"I'll meet you at Sherry's. I have to call Marina first."
He felt himself nodding. He hated this feeling. She pitied him. He was embarrassed and lonely and depressed, he inwardly admitted. She was only doing what was still natural; taking care of him.
They walked out into the parking lot at a quarter to five and didn't speak. She climbed into the Lexus and he hopped onto his bike. He would arrive five whole minutes before her and find a booth in the back of the room.
From his vantage point, he watched her walk in. She scanned the room briefly before spotting his sulking figure. She squeezed herself between other patrons and pool-pushers to get to the table. She slid in, flipping her hair back and giving a great sigh of what he identified as relief. She looked tired, but not as much as she usually did. He was glad she accepted his offer. He could study her without feeling like he was stalking her from his balcony.
The bar was crowded but not as noisy as it could have been for a Thursday Happy Hour night. People were sipping well drinks and relaxing, probably preparing themselves for their last day of work before the weekend. He knew he wasn't going to show up to work tomorrow if he didn't have a case.
"Before I get too drunk, I'm not coming in tomorrow," he said suddenly. He was glad he spoke up before she tried to initiate small talk.
"You're not supposed to drink very much, House," she frowned.
"I think I can slack off tonight."
She continued to glare at him when the waitress asked his order and he replied with a simple scotch. She ordered a Mai Tai, sticking to her usual overly fruity drinks. After a minute of her scowling at him, he spoke up.
"I'm only having the one scotch, Dragon Lady. You can stop with the furrows of smoke coming out of your nostrils."
She turned her glare towards the bar but he noticed the tiniest of smiles starting to pull at her lip.
"You're getting to be as bad as Wilson was," he mused.
Her eyes snapped to his, her mouth partially open at the mention. The waitress interrupted them again, placing the dark amber colored liquid in front of him and the bright red-bottomed/orange-topped drink in front of her. Cuddy closed her mouth and turned back to him after thanking the waitress.
"How so?" She asked.
"You're going to start to nag me on my health. Maybe start following me around the hospital and play my conscience. I'd like it if you wore only that skirt while following me."
She laughed, heartily.
"If I thought that would work, I would have done that ages ago and maybe, just maybe, both Wilson and I could have gotten you in line before... everything."
He smirked and took a sip of his own drink. The smooth liquid felt like a drop of heaven on his tongue. The harshness of the alcohol was covered by the slightly smoky vanilla taste. He could imagine Old Spanish oaks being topped and gold ambrosia flowing freely into crystal decanters. Two months between drinks was a good record for him.
"House."
He looked up. Cuddy had spoken but he had not heard her.
"Sorry," he muttered. "What did you say?"
"Nothing yet. I just noticed that you weren't here."
"I haven't had a drink in two months. My taste buds are rejoicing." He took a hearty sip, letting the scotch settle on his tongue.
"Me, too. I think the last time I had a drink was when—when we went to that jazz club."
He mentally commended her for her millisecond stutter. She looked a little uncomfortable for a moment. He could mentally see her tugging on all her armor.
"That was a while ago." He kept his voice even and non-committal. That had been a fun night; a good memory in their flawed history. They both chose to not elaborate.
The bar was starting to fill up with people coming in for a last minute drink. Their silence was intruded upon by it and kept them from becoming too awkward again.
"Nolan kept me up to date on your treatment," she blurted out suddenly. She averted her eyes and was staring at the patrons seated along the wooden bar. "I was surprised I was changed to your primary physician and medical proxy," she added as if it were an apology. She sipped her drink with a nervous energy.
"I needed a new one," he said quietly. "It was between you and Foreman."
She laughed quietly, glancing at him. "Thanks for telling me."
"You're the only one I trust and who knows my history better than anyone else. I was joking about Foreman by the way..."
Her face became solemn.
"Wilson would have been proud of you, you know. He-"
"He's six feet under so I don't know what he would have felt," he snapped. "Don't try to make me better than I am, Cuddy. You, of all people, know I'm not."
He took a sip of his scotch and noticed the liquid was barely amber-colored anymore. His ice had mostly melted and had watered-down his drink considerably. Honestly, he didn't know why he became so touchy about hearing Wilson's name pass through her lips. It had put him on defense. He did not want to talk about him.
"I'm not," she replied with bite. "I'm only stating what I see."
"You should get your eyes fixed then. You're too young to be having problems now."
She sighed in annoyance. "Are you ever going to talk about Wilson, seriously?"
He could feel his heart speed up and his palms become sweaty. He hoped the sudden warmth in the room was due to the scotch and not his reaction to the question. Her eyes searched his face and she knew, she knew!, he wasn't ready to talk about his best friend. He took a deep breath.
"Someday. Not now." That was as honest an answer as he could give her.
"You mean not with me."
She looked at the bar again. He could see the hurt seeping into her face, her bottom lip protruding in a small pout, her eyes downcast. He moved his glass from side to side, playing with the condensation that had dripped onto the table. Ignoring her reaction, he murmured.
"We don't have that type of relationship anymore, Cuddy. You made sure of that," he said in resignation.
He knew he was being a bastard. He had asked her for the company and now he was pushing her away. He saw her sit back stiffly in her chair and reach for her drink one last time. She didn't bring it to her lips though. Her slender fingers curled along the high baller glass and lingered.
"I'm sorry," he said, forcing his voice out. "I don't want to talk about him. I'm a jerk when I feel cornered so... I'm sorry."
She was hardly looking at him but she nodded. He watched a single tear drop down onto her cheek but she wiped it away quickly.
"No, don't be. I'm being pushy again."
"You? Pushy? Never in a hundred years," he answered.
She smiled, probably the first real one of the week. He watched as the crow's feet around her eyes deepened and the barely-there laugh lines extend with the curl of her lips. His stomach jolted and his heart fluttered in his chest.
"Tell me about Thompson, and describe in detail how you handed him his own ass on a silver platter."
She laughed heartily, color returning to her face, her eyes shining. She spoke for the better part of an hour. This felt normal. She was sitting up, proud of the way she had manipulated the Board and put the asshole in his place. He loved watching her explain, in detail, her victory. This was the missing Dean of Medicine. He recognized the woman in front of him.
The waitress stopped at their table once more, asking them if they wanted last minute Happy Hour drinks. House ordered another round of drinks with Cuddy protesting in the background. She gave in easily though, starting her tale again at the point where she defended the clinic's necessity against the State's budget cuts. He wasn't too interested and frankly would have been pleased if the clinic closed, but to see her so animated again was worth it. The scotch had worked its way into his system, making him feel warm and falsely content in the moment. He didn't even mind the throbbing of his leg, which was becoming stiff from sitting so long. He shifted slightly.
"That asshole even had the nerve to try to use your team against you! He asked Chase into the room as his 'witness' but," she gave out a very unladylike bark of laughter, "Chase screwed him over! He thought Chase would kiss his ass for a promotion in the NICU but Chase said that without you, the hospital would start to get a higher mortality rate."
"For a minute I thought I was going to have to beat a rat with my cane, but I see I have trained him well."
"You did," she said with a hint of mischief, "All your lackeys tried to get out of clinic duty to laze about in the differential room. Foreman gave me a hundred and one excuses on why they needed to be up to date on the latest medical cases... He stopped talking once I pointed out that Taub's copy of the New Jersey Medical Journal was upside down."
They laughed, chuckling at the expense of his poor fellows. Her cheeks had turned steadily rosy correlating with the emptiness of her drink. Their waitress visited their table once more and with a grin, left to bring them both coffees.
"As a doctor, you know it won't sober you up."
"It won't, but it'll take me an hour to drink it. I should be okay by then," she smirked at him.
This felt right. Cuddy joking around with him, talking with him, sharing work stories with him, felt right. He only hoped after he went home, they could turn this into some sort of normality between them. He would take this. He would have to accept it was all he was going to get from her for now on.
"What's wrong?" Cuddy asked.
The waitress, with impeccable timing, delivered their coffees and left the bill for them. They left the bill on the table and brought their coffees closer to their person, dressing them with cream and sugar. He hoped his face wasn't showing the despair he had felt a moment ago.
"Nothing. I was just—thinking."
"You're always thinking. That's not an answer."
"I was wondering if this was how it was going to be between us from now on."
She raised an eyebrow.
"What do you mean?"
"Drinks, easy talk, and then go our separate ways until the next week… or was this a one-time thing?"
She cradled the coffee between her hands, staring down into the cup.
"I don't know. Nothing's ever simple with us, but… I—I missed talking to you. I haven't really spoken with anyone since you left."
"Really?" he asked. "No boy-toys or company above the age of four chatting you up?"
It wasn't that hard to believe. He knew she could go months and years between speaking with her friends and—he hated to think of it—companions. He assumed she would seek comfort immediately with someone after he left though. She was the type of person to talk out her problems and concerns. Did she not speak to anyone about Wilson? Or was he—
"Really. It became kind of hectic with you gone. The Board took a few weeks to prepare for the meeting so I focused mostly on that. Then Rachel started school in September. This past week I've been pressured to find a new oncologist which is—hard. The two months you were gone flew by."
"Oh," he said lamely.
He was conflicted. He could continue getting information from her or let it go until the next time he spoke with her. The conversation was getting to close to his own issues and he definitely did not want to start to sift through those. She didn't give him the chance to choose.
"I'm glad you're back, House," she said while pulling out her wallet. He snatched the bill up, placing a fifty and ten inside. It was enough to cover the bill and a decent tip.
"You don't have to pay for me," she argued. She still had her wallet out.
"I asked you to meet me here. Least I could do," he shrugged it off.
She put her wallet away without anymore fuss and stood up. He stood as well, hissing slightly at his stiff leg. He saw her eye it, but was grateful she didn't comment on it. He followed her out of the crowded bar, making sure no one stepped back into him or jarring his leg. He saw that she parked right next to his bike. She turned towards him.
"Thanks, House. I needed to get away from—all of that for a while." She smiled. She stood in front of him, lovely and beautiful in the dim parking lot lights.
"You're welcome," he replied. "It was good seeing you back to your old self."
"How do you mean?" He was grateful she didn't sound offended.
"You were in charge again," he started. "I hadn't seen that fierce head-bitch in a while. It's good to see she's back."
"Well," she smirked, "she's had a lot of time to think about certain aspects of her life… She got lost there, for a while."
He almost reeled back as she took a step closer. She had a glint in her eye he had never seen and an air of confidence about her that he wanted to bury himself into or run from. He couldn't decide.
"I hope she stays for good then," his voice was gruff.
"She will… after she fixes some things."
And with that, she kissed him.
AN: I had to leave it off here because the kiss opens up the next chapter. So, please, don't kill me. Many thanks to the lovely AdieAngel and Akemi1582 who got this chapter beta'ed quickly! Thank you, dear readers, for the reviews, favorites, alerts and all that awesome stuff. I really appreciate it! Special shout out to dearest penny lane because 1) she knew what I was rambling about and 2) she has penny in her name. I am biased.
Working on Chapter 10 so it should be up and pretty by the end of the week.