Author's Note: Yes, I'm back again, this time with House/Cuddy fanfiction, but not the one you were probably expecting. (I just cannot work on that fanfiction right now. It's like there's some invisible forcefield around it. Ugh. It will be finished, eventually, because I really want to finish it.) So, here are some keywords to describe this: House/Cuddy. Random because written in one day and on impulse. Fluffy towards end. Unbeta'd. Re-written from second-person. Not for those who don't like dream sequences and a melting different from my other work.
Reviews are appreciated but not required. Also, a prequel is a possibility. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: It will be mine!...when Vogler has a sex change and when House is in love with him.
Like Reality Melting
"Define 'physical relationship' in your own words, Ms. Cuddy," the judge says in a booming bellow that fills the entire courtroom.
"Well," she says, a bit of a tremble in her voice, which disappears gradually as she speaks more, "I see a physical relationship as something…not quite superficial, but not exactly filled with an abundance of emotional attachments, either. It's a complicated situation, your honor. Our relationship together is…" she searches for the word, thoughtfully – albeit somewhat sassily – placing a finger on her chin, "like a stroke."
"As in a blood clot becoming trapped in a blood vessel within the brain and destroying most mental functions? Because if that is the case I don't see why you had the urge to…."
"No, no, as in a stroke, your honor, such as a caress," she states plainly, no gestures accompanying her words. She already feels like she's in dangerous hands with this man. Hands. House's hands in places that would make her mother scream. Oh God, it's all coming back to her. Not here, not now. She feels her body becoming just slightly hot and just slightly tense, and unfortunately, she's enjoying it. She continues, swallowing to clear her throat and for other reasons she would rather not state now: "Your honor, as inappropriate as it may sound, that is how I view it. If you would like my reasoning, I would be more than happy to give it to you."
Judge Farber's face is somewhat befuddled – although she noticed that expression on his face even before the trial started – but he gestures, allowing her to explain. "Well, you see, your honor, I view our 'association' together as a stroke because, well, because it tends to rub people the wrong way, the right way, or not at all. Those who are rubbed – rather, stroked – the right way delve into the relationship because of the positive effect it has on them, while others who are caressed the wrong way dive deeper into the components because they wish to find a way to make it end. And then there are those who –"
Farber raises his hands. "I've heard enough, Ms. Cuddy. You, the jury, and I all know perfectly well that it goes against the regulations of the hospital –" he pauses, raises a sheet of paper to his face, and reads aloud, "'to be intimate with (a) person/people of (a) lower position(s), regardless of a prior relationship outside of one's tenure at the Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital.'" Judge Farber places the paper in-front of him on the surface of his stand, smiles smugly at her, and then begins to read once more: "'Any information made by an anonymous employee regarding a relationship between two or more employees of varied statures will be thoroughly investigated and brought to a trial for review by a judge and jury.' And furthermore, I feel..."
"Your honor," she interrupts, "if you could just let me explain the situation to you and tell you why I made the comparison, then you might understand."
Farber had finished talking just seconds ago, and now he is looking at her with brown, flaming eyes. She sees a vein pulse on his forehead, and his whole body seems to be shaking – rather, is shaking, and quite furiously at that. His fuse, apparently, is about as long as her attention span today, if not just a tad bit shorter. "Ms. Cuddy! Do not interrupt me when I am speaking! If you are to do so again, I will personally –! "
She stands and the judge stops. "Your honor, I see our relationship as a stroke because, as I tried to state before I was interrupted, it is likely to rub people different ways. You, your honor, obviously, were stroked the wrong way when it came to this relationship, while others were more understanding, or rubbed the right way. Yet these people are not much better than you, your honor, because all of you have something in common, and that is delving where they shouldn't: My and Greg House's relationship. Personally, I prefer those who don't give a hoot, who aren't stroked; their actions are just dandy. They realize that sneaking and spying and sharing secrets will get them absolutely nowhere. They're smart to avoid the stroke, which is in a way, to some people, like an ailment, I suppose, with no cure. A disease that has infected both sides. So explain to me, Judge Farber, why I am here. Why? I didn't infect any of you; you infected yourselves. "
Judge Farber, who has risen from his seat, is holding the gavel in his right hand and looking murderous. He speaks through his teeth: "You are here, Ms. Cuddy, because you had – and are most likely still having! – an inter-office relationship with Gregory House. And furthermore, you are pregnant with his child!"
She looks the judge square in the eye and glare, and through her teeth comes a fairly decent lie: "Sir, women become pregnant everyday the way I did. They are inseminated, just as I was, with a donor's sperm, and they hope that it works. Luckily, it did for me on the first try. And does it matter if it's his sperm? Honestly, judge, all the paperwork was done, all the rules and regulations followed. And does it really matter if Greg House and I have grown closer because of this? No, sir, I am not guilty of anything except for letting the father of my child defrost from his icy misery."
Judge Farber grunts loudly, angrily, stands on top of his podium, and ragingly rips the skin from his body like wrapping paper. Now the real party has begun. Her eyes widen, and she sees all too clearly the figure of Edward Vogler positioned atop the mahogany stand. "What the –"
"Doctor Cuddy, I know that you were and are intimate with Doctor House. Do not lie to me. You are as see-through as the lingerie you probably wore when the child was conceived." His manner of speaking, even though it was rather mechanical and cold when she met him, has become completely monotonous, not a shred of emotion in any syllable, word, or phrase. But, unbeknownst to him, it's a particularly comical, and she holds a bout of laughter in her swollen stomach as she approaches him. He could act well when she met him, and now it's time for his comeuppance. She tries to look taken aback, offended even, succeeds, and walks to the podium. "I didn't know you were so magical, Mr. Ed," she say sarcastically.
"Silence!" he yells. Even though he is trying to be more intimidating than he was when he worked at the hospital, he is failing spectacularly, and the jury begins to laugh unstoppably. Perfect. She begins to chuckle, and soon enough the entire room is filled with frighteningly loud chortles, snorts, and thuds from people falling from their chairs.
"What? No!" he begins, but then starts to melt, his liquefied body dripping down the stand and falling before her feet. She grimaces in disgust, all while still managing a laugh, and tries to walk back to her seat, but where his weak, runny self has fallen – just how she probably felt about him at the end of their "association", except maybe not as literal – a wormhole has formed. She falls through it, and….
---
She wakes with a jerk, felling as though she has just fallen through the ceiling and landed roughly on her – well, his – bed. Her breathing is erratic, the beating of her heart rapid, and yet she finds enough air to giggle. But she stops when she hears a muffled groan next to her.
"Lisa, what the hell are you laughing about? It's," House pauses and looks at the clock, "four in the friggin' morning." He turns towards her, his eyes slightly weary and annoyed, but laughing lightly all the same, as they have been for seven months. "I just had an interesting dream," she says and smiles.
House raises himself on his elbow and smiles tiredly. "Have another one where Wilson is wearing a brassiere and a Speedo with one of his disgusting ties while singing "Home on the Range"?"
"No, it was less…erotic. It had Vogler in it, though."
"And you're laughing? Thank God humor hasn't been proven to be hereditary."
"Oh, right, like I want our kid to inherit some of your traits. We only need one pervert in the family."
"Hey, you came on to me. Right there in the Clinic."
"No wonder you don't complain about going down there anymore."
"So when is our next 'appointment'?" he says, raising his eyebrows suggestively.
"Try four months, Doctor Horny."
"Four months? I might die, unless, of course, I can invite over Tammy from –"
"You're pathetic. No. You'll live and live without, for the sake of the baby's mental health."
"Now why would I want to do that?" he questions sardonically and leans over to kiss her cheek, placing a hand on her swollen abdomen and stroking it soothingly as he does.
"Trust me," she pauses, his lips still on her face, with her only thinking of Edward Vogler's body melting then falling at her feet and the abundant laughter and everything melting away as she zoomed, for a second, down the wormhole. "When you get it again, it's gonna be like reality melting."