- disclaimer: see part
one
- a/n: written for fanfic100 on livejournal; this chapter includes prompts taste, smell and sixth sense. Spinereader, i'm so glad you figured it out okay. i've been known to have issues with making things far to subtle, and confusion is my middle name. Lijep, yep, huzzah for the wilsoncuddyness. second favourite ship ever. :) an hallelujah is one of the most beautiful songs, in my opinion, and i thought it was rather fitting. AloneInMyMynd, here you go! (Hope it's to your liking, all. Thank you so much for the wonderful comments!)
(parts three through six)
iv. the holy ghost is still
The kiss is hard and abrasive, and Cuddy feels her soul push against her lips. It lasts no more than seconds before she struggles away, putting distance and a cold space between them.
'What the hell was that.' Her voice isn't loud enough to decipher question from statement, and her tone is smothered by her hand on her lips, smudging away the lipstick that isn't hers.
'Funny,' is all Julie says, and licks her lip.
'What.'
'You don't taste like him.' Cuddy's arm drops to her side slowly, and it takes more will power than she'd like to admit not to look away. 'But he smells like you.'
Cuddy opens her mouth, prepared for quick wit but Julie holds up her hand. 'You don't deserve to explain.'
'I wasn't going to.'
Julie raises her eyebrows and lowers her hand. 'Oh?'
'James still cares about you. If you're even remotely interested in repairing what you had…'
'It's irreparable, Dr. Cuddy.' And Julie sighs, her eyes sinking to the floor. 'We knew that a long time ago.' She looks up suddenly. 'That doesn't make this okay.'
'It makes this the only way out.'
Julie looks away briefly, then meets her eyes, and tries to read them like a play—all action within the dialogue. All dialogue dictated by the action.
'You aren't anything like me,' she says, and Cuddy's spine uncurls. 'His previous wife… and his wife before that… I guess I'm like them. You're different.' Julie's voice drops but her gaze remains level. 'He's never liked different before.'
And she can't resist rising to the bait: 'James hates normalcy.'
And Julie simply smiles. 'Maybe you aren't so different after all.' She starts to leave —the weight of the air too thick against her skin, the taste of her lips still fresh in her mouth— but stops at the door. 'Do you really know anything about him? What foods he likes, his favourite movie? How many times he's read The Great Gatsby?' Julie shakes her head and Cuddy feels her legs go numb. Not because she doesn't know, but because she does. Not because Julie's making a point, but because she's making the wrong one.
'You don't see him when he comes home at two am because he's been working, because he's been out drinking; you don't see him after he's fucked another woman, and has the brass to tell you that he's sorry. You don't know him.'
Her stomach turns to acid and screams, throws a tantrum where it quivers and shakes, but out of sheer recalcitrance, Cuddy refuses to cry. The backs of her eyelids sting, but she doesn't say she's sorry.
She also doesn't tell her that she's wrong. She doesn't ask her why she never asked, why he drinks at two am and why he works so hard. She doesn't ask her if she knows that every life he's saved and every life he hasn't is burned into his memory. She doesn't ask, and Julie doesn't tell because she doesn't know.
'Be careful,' she says finally, one hand on the door.
Cuddy swallows. 'Of what?'
'James.'
'Why?'
Julie smiles again, the gesture hollow. 'He's falling in love with you. And as soon as he does, he'll break your heart.'
v. love is not a victory march
She passes him on the way to the board meeting without a word, the first sign he knows something is wrong. She doesn't make eye contact, the second clue, and when she leaves she leaves quickly, and doesn't wait for him to follow.
He tries to ambush her in her office, but she isn't there, and the whole hall smells like lavender. He almost catches her as she comes out of the clinic, but a patient calls his name and she ducks away. He tries her office again, but again she's nowhere to be found, and he can tell by the atmosphere in which it's vacant that something happened, and he can guess what.
Julie happened. He can smell her perfume, trying to drown the sent of flowers he's come to love so much.
Sighing, he drops onto the couch and waits. Not long, because her office is her sanctuary – or rather was – and eventually she has to seek refuge in the familiar.
'Oh. Dr. Wilson.'
She slips past him, eyes on the folder in front of her and retreats behind her desk.
'What happened?'
'What do you mean?'
'I know Julie was here.'
Her shoulders tense and she looks quickly away. 'Nothing. We had a nice little chat.'
'What does that mean?'
'Nothing. It's fine, Wilson.'
'You're using my last name again.'
'We're at the hospital.'
He nods slowly. The fact that he is married never seems to bother her as much as hospital politics. It's her child, her love, the one thing she'll admit to having. He can only hope she knows she has him, too.
'Cuddy,' he says slowly and she looks up. Her eyes are glossy and her smile weak. 'I knew what would happen. I'm not sorry.'
'I am,' she murmurs, and shifts quickly to cover the sound.
'Why?' She tries to skate past him but he grabs her arm. 'Why?'
'Wilson—'
'Nobody's paying any attention, Cuddy. Just answer my question.'
'It's… God… It's your marriage! It's—'
'Yeah, and it's over now.'
Cuddy looks up suddenly, the air jumping from her lungs. 'What?'
'It's not your fault, Cuddy,' he says over her, 'Oh, god.'
'It's not.' He releases her arm and presses both hands to her face. 'Nobody's blaming you.'
'Julie—'
'Julie blames me. And she blames herself. And I'm sorry if she took that out on you, and I'm sorry you got caught in the middle. But I won't be sorry it's over, and I won't be sorry for what we have.'
'What do we have?' She whispers, and pulls away, using the distance to compose herself.
'Lisa.'
'We're at the hospital,' she says, but her voice fails and he steps closer.
'So what?' he murmurs, and catches her lips. The response is instant, and she craves the familiar ground as much as he does; but as his grip tightens so do the knots in her stomach. He can taste flower petals and chap-stick; she can taste rich perfume and vanilla, and it makes her sick.
'I'm sorry.'
She tears herself from his arms and tries to wipe the taste from her lips.
'Lisa—'
'This is… this wasn't supposed to happen.'
'What? My divorce? Us?'
'Any of it! Once would have been bad enough, but—'
'Bad enough?' He tries desperately not to look wounded, but doubts he succeeds.
'Not… that's not what I meant.'
'What do you mean, Cuddy?' His emphasis on her name makes her flinch, and he wishes he could take it back. Too late.
Her voice drops. 'I didn't mean for this to happen.'
'Neither did I. But it did, and I'm telling you that it isn't as bad as you're making it out to be.'
'Then why does it hurt so much?'
The question catches him in the back and he frowns. 'This… really bothers you, doesn't it?'
'Yes. And it should bother you, too.'
'Of course it bothers me. I'm getting divorced for God's sake—again! Not exactly a list of successes. But weighing this outcome against the alternative route wherein this never happened…' he shakes his head. 'It's not a contest.'
'Do you really think that little of your wives?'
'If I ever have a good one, I'll let you know. Cuddy—' Her eyes flicker and for the first time there's a small plot of fear collapsing in his stomach and everything feels like it's sinking. 'I'm not sorry.'
They lock eyes for a moment, and he hopes she can see the truth in what he says. But she looks away, and he feels something inside break.
'I have to go. I have a…' She gestures, but shakes her head and refuses to look at him. 'I have to go.'
He reaches out again, but she's gone, and his hand grasps only the sent of lavender.
vi. hallelujah
It's a loss of words that keeps her silent, keeps her head raised high but her eyes to the floor; full sentences get caught in her throat, and everything still feels wrong.
He tries to grab her on her way out the door, but her skin is slick and her voice not loud enough for him to hang on to. He stands stoically and watches her leave, before wandering back up to his office to hide.
House finds him later, feet propped up on the desk, considering an unopened bottle. He leans his weight to the side and holds out his cane.
'If you're going to be me, at least do it right.'
One corner of his mouth goes up and Wilson drops his feet to the floor.
'If it were you, this bottle would be half empty by now.
House concedes with a tilt of his head and sits on the other side of his desk, instantly hooking his feet over the edge, cane draped across his lap. Wilson smirks again and gets two glasses out of the bottom drawer.
'Julie and I are getting divorced,' he says as he pours.
'You sound devastated.'
Wilson shrugs and hands him a glass. 'It's been a long time coming.'
'So were your first two divorces, but last time I thought you were going to fling yourself into the Hudson.'
'I'd have to go into New York to do that. I hate New York.'
House nods and takes a drink. 'So does Cuddy.'
'Julie loves it. Julie loves the Oxygen Network and cheese soirees, wine-tastings and romantic comedies. Cuddy hates parties, loves baseball and doesn't even own a television.'
'At least your taste is eclectic,' he offers, but Wilson just shifts the wine around in the glass.
'What am I doing?'
'You're wallowing.'
Wilson looks up. 'You know it wouldn't kill you to pretend to care, every once in a—'
'Pity doesn't do anybody any good,' he says sharply, and then sighs. 'If you want her, quit bitching about it and go get her.'
Wilson shakes his head. 'She left for the night.'
'Contrary to popular belief, Cuddy does have a home. A home, in fact, that is riddled with things that belong to you.'
'Which proves what?'
'That this was not a one-time thing. And when Cuddy leaves here she actually has somewhere to go, she doesn't just fade into oblivion… although now that I think about it that would be pretty c—'
'I can't. That's not… the way it works. I'm still married.'
'You were married when you slept with her, too.'
'I didn't—'
But House just stares and Wilson drops his eyes to the red wine. He says nothing for a long while, and the room wreaks of impatience.
'Julie came by,' he says finally, his voice barely making it across the desk. 'I don't know what she said, but… something changed.'
'You let your wife talk to—'
'I didn't let her; I couldn't stop her, I… I don't know what she said.'
'Maybe you should find out.'
'Maybe I should give up.'
'Maybe you should.'
Wilson looks up, and fails to mask his surprise as House heaves himself out of the chair.
'Everything you'll ever need to know you learned in kindergarten—first grade, if you were a little slow. Don't take other peoples things; don't use physical violence; if you screw up, say you're sorry; if it's your mother, even if you didn't do it say you're sorry; and if you make two play-dates for the same time, apologize profusely and then figure out which one you'd rather go to and do that.'
'We aren't in kindergarten anymore, House. It's not the same.'
'I should hope not. Banging Cuddy would be the equivalent of banging Miss Honey.'
'Miss Honey taught first grade.'
'Then I was right—you were a little slow.'
'It's not like that—'
'Yeah, it is. You're making it different by making it complicated.'
'It's already complicated! I just screwed up my third marriage, House, by having an affair with my boss who is secretly hot for my best friend who is secretly hot for her—'
'What?' House's jaw hung a little low, and Wilson wished he were in the right mind frame to feel smug about it.
'She… you two…'
'You think Cuddy wants to have sex with me. And you think I want to have sex with Cuddy.'
'The tension is definitely there.'
'Of course the tension is there, she's my boss.' Wilson sighs and stares at the wall, fixated on the light's reflection in the glass. House rolls his eyes. 'Oh, for God's sake, Wilson, I'm not going to steal your woman.'
Wilson looks back sharply. 'What?'
'I have much higher standards than you when it comes to the ladies. Cuddy's about three rungs below where I am.'
Wilson scoffs. 'If she offered you one night of string-free six you'd jump for it.'
'Jumping's out.' Wilson glares and House gives him a 'well, obviously' expression. 'You have looked at the woman, right? She's got a rack to make straight, celibate nuns shed their habits and run for the nude beaches.'
'So then you are attracted to her.'
'Physically? Of course—she's got half the hospital in the bathroom on their lunch breaks because of those low-cut blouses. Emotionally, I'd rather go to a tattoo parlor in Newark and have a three-hundred pound gang member pierce my—'
'Okay, I got it. Please, no visuals.' Wilson waves his hand in front of his face and closes his eyes, missing House's self-satisfied smirk.
'I don't want Cuddy, Wilson.' There's a moment of intense honesty that passes that Wilson acknowledges with a slight dip of his head. 'So that makes my presence here understandable. You, on the other hand, should definitely be trying to get some.'
'What?'
'Cuddy is the master of the guilt complex, and right about now I'd say she's feeling pretty damn culpable. She's going to want to make it up to you somehow.' House shrugs dramatically. 'Don't know how she's gonna do that…'
'You think guilt makes women horny?'
'Have you met my ex?'
Wilson glares briefly, then settles his gaze at the bottom of his glass. House sighs, limps forward, picks a set of keys up off the desk and holds them out. 'In case you haven't heard, her long time handyman just lost his, and I think she's in the market. Sure, you're not Latino, but I've seen you salsa—not bad for a white boy from Jersey.'
Wilson sighs and stares at the keys, dangling from House's middle finger.
'Go.'
He looks up, surprised to be met with calm, honest eyes and the smallest hint of a smile.
He sits for a few more moments after House has left, enjoying the soft sounds of the hospital at night. Never too crowded, never vacant, a soothing mix of life and death he's never been able to find anywhere else.
Sighing, he heaves himself to his feet and grabs his coat off the back of the chair. He hesitates, fingering the keys in his hand, then switches off the light.
The door opens and closes without a sound.
/fin