STEP INTO MY OFFICE, BABY
by Mickie; 05.10.18

CHAPTER III: Midnight Interlude

-

Two pieces of pie, a lovely view down Cuddy's shirt, making her laugh multiple times with only a few glares in return, no one died. House summed up his day as he lay in bed that night, satisfied with the results. On the other hand, he faced an upcoming trial where he would have to see Vogler again and no more good pie until next week. You've got to take the good with the bad, House mused as he popped another Vicodin. His bedroom was dark, the only light coming from between the blinds on his window. A light rain pattered on the glass. Rhythmically, like footsteps, like high heels: a familiar and soothing sound to him. He'd never say that out loud but at night, in the dark, in his head, it was different; acceptable.

Lying still, his eyes glanced around the darkened room, darting to shadows and contours, looking for scary monsters and such other beasts. Unconsciously, of course, consciously would be childish. He couldn't sleep so he found ways to occupy his imagination until his brain eventually overheated and shut down for the night. He didn't used to have to do that.

Sometimes, very late at night, he would think about patients. Not just his own, but his colleagues' as well. The ones that died, he thought about how the doctor took it. Was the death expected, shrugged off? Or was the doctor at fault, adding to the reservoir of guilt any doctor accumulated over time? He thought of his patients that had died because he wasn't quick enough at diagnosing them, because he screwed up the surgery, because of natural causes, because they wanted to die, and so on. Everyone would assume that Gregory House was too callous to let those memories haunt him, affect him. They wouldn't change him much, but he knew they did at least a little. He knew Cuddy took everything personally, locking away the insecure and painful feelings – guilt, compassion, helplessness – that came with the job: she was a perfectionist, always blaming herself for not re-inventing the wheel whereas House just wanted to fix the wheel. Night was the only time he thought about his mechanical failures with patients. He knew Cuddy thought about hers all the time. She was a better person than he.

But she couldn't be that much better than him if she had just as much trouble sleeping.

And she did. Women with clear consciences fall asleep easily, happily, with quiet brains humming dreams instead of nightmares. Lisa Cuddy didn't dream at all. She ran through her schedule for the next day in her mind, making sure to be mentally prepared for it all. She thought about paperwork that was due, trouble with her employees, legal issues, funding requirements, equipment acquisitions, board meetings, staff meetings, lunch meetings, tennis meetings, dinner meetings, and 'pie meetings'. She dubbed her Tuesday afternoon time with House as such, due to obvious reasons. It was not a scheduled affair. Somehow he found her, she found him, and somehow they went to the cafeteria and ate pie together. No talk of patients or paperwork, just pie. "This blueberry is by far superior to last week's offering", "My pair of banana nuts is better than yours" (that one was his), "Oh my god, rhubarb" (that one was hers). She smiled at her dark bedroom ceiling at the memories. There was nothing wrong with a little company now and then, was there?

House infuriates her on a daily basis. He is a challenge to manage as she never knows if he is really going to do as she tells him to, or if he will launch his own scheme, or not do anything at all. He is an unknown, a variable, always changing. He injects a dose of chaos into her planned, divided, sectioned off, and organized life of schedules and absolutes. Everyone asks why she hasn't fired him yet and she never answers with the full truth. Yes, he is an excellent diagnostician who is worth the occasional large legal bill, but more than that, she enjoys planning for and expecting his surprises. She enjoys when they aren't what she planned or expected.

Cuddy thought back to earlier, with Vogler's lawyers in her office and House's promotional wall art creation. He could be so immature sometimes but that is often the cure for the mature person's agonies. She admitted, the tongue-in-cheek comment stressing her superiority over Vogler made her heart swell a fraction and only a fraction, she told herself. House joked around, but he never said anything without meaning it at least a little. Sometimes his audacity was his unraveling. She hoped it wouldn't unravel her.

Ceilings are only looked upon by the lonely.

----------------tbc.

A/N: So this chapter's a little shorter, but I hope you like it anyway. Just a little reflection to get us back into the swing of things. Sorry it took me so long to update! I was pushed on by all the lovely and encouraging reviews I received – thank you so much! I know this story is a little outdated now, what with Vogler and all, but… SO WHAT. So, there. Anyway, thanks again for those reviews and keep 'em coming:D