Chapter 3: Oops

Lisa Cuddy opened her eyes. She groggily took in her surroundings. Firstly, she noted that this was not her bedroom; then, that this was not her bed. The morning light was not flooding through her curtains, and sounds and smells were unfamiliar. Then she noticed that there was an arm on her. She grimaced. Uh oh. OK, try to remember, she thought slowly. Everything was coming back to her at half-speed. It was a man's arm. That, at least, was slightly comforting, for the moment. She turned her head slightly and a throbbing pain started up.

Oh shit. There it was. She was in House's bed; she assumed. He was lying on his stomach; right arm flung out over Cuddy's body. He was snoring. Cuddy grimaced again. More like oh fuck. Apparently, that's what had happened here anyway.

She turned slightly away from him and her stomach churned. Too much bloody alcohol. She slipped one bare leg over the side of the bed and slid out from under House and the covers. Never again. Cuddy searched around the room, picking up her scattered clothes and putting them on. Not if this is what results from it. She edged out of the bedroom, careful not to disturb House.

Once out in his living room, she called a cab and made herself a strong coffee from his personal supplies. She downed it quickly and shook her head to wake herself up. Her hangover throbbed painfully as she walked towards the door.

"Leaving so soon?"

Cuddy whipped around and then regretted doing so because her head and her stomach groaned.

House had walked out of the bedroom, leaning on his cane. He was shirtless but had thankfully put his jeans back on. He was certainly not as attractive as he had appeared to be last night. Cuddy quickly stopped herself as she caught herself thinking, but by God is he still very attractive. She noticed the scratch marks on his chest where she had gotten rough.

House palmed his hand into his eyes, screwing up his face as a pang of sickness passed over him. Then he lifted the arm and rested his hand on the back of his neck. He looked drowsy and perhaps even more hungover than she was. Then his expression changed on a more serious note.

"Look, about last night," he began.

"Yeah," Cuddy agreed. "I've got a cab coming. Don't worry about it."

"Yeah. Let's just–"

"–forget, yeah. See you at–"

"–work. OK. If anyone asks–"

"–it never happened." She nodded enthusiastically.

"What never happened?" He smiled and she smiled back at him. Then House yawned, shattering the moment.

"All right, that's my cab," she said. "Bye."

"Yep. See ya."

Cuddy closed the door behind her. House couldn't help limping over to the window and pulling back the curtains to watch her. She climbed into the cab and he felt a slight regret. But he didn't know whether it was for what had happened last night or for letting her go now. Dismissing the thought completely, he limped over to the piano and drowned his doubts and troubles in his music.

That day, House came into work late. Unlike Cuddy, he had no reputation to keep up, and so he had moved as slowly as possible. It had taken him longer to shower and dress and arrange to pick up his bike from outside the bar of the previous night, not to mention the amount of time it took him to remember where he'd left it.

He was wearing sunglasses for the better part of the day and his team wisely decided not to ask any questions. He didn't see Cuddy all day. He was relieved, but part of him couldn't help feeling a little disappointed.

Cuddy spent most of the day in her office avoiding House. How could she have let herself get so drunk as to sleep with him? Surely there had been plenty of younger men in the bar who were far more attractive than House and who didn't work at the same hospital as she did. She was surprised how easy it was not to think about 'it'. She was surprised because secretly she would have liked to.