Author: A.j.
Rating: Hard R.
Pairing: Cuddy/OC, Cuddy/House (kind of.)
Notes: Done for the Five Things meme that went around LJ a while ago.
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1. There's something scratchy underneath her cheek. Confused, she rubs against it, trying to puzzle it out.
Her fuzzy brain points out that whatever it is has edges, and after a particularly curious nuzzle, they're upgraded to sharp edges. She should probably just open her eyes. Mysteries are usually solved pretty quickly that way. A voice that sounds suspiciously like her neurology professor from last semester starts shouting at her that eyes lie, even as Lisa pries one open and glares balefully... at a white blob.
Which quickly resolves itself into a book. Her vascular system reference book to be precise.
She'd fallen asleep while studying in bed. Again.
Groaning, she sits up, scrubbing at her face before turning to put her feet on the floor and look at her alarm clock. One day, she was going to be out of medical school. Really.
2. Surprisingly, she's awake when her beeper goes off at three am. Awake in the best kind of pleasantly sore ways.
Jeff is warm and long and feels like twelve different kinds of sin running his fingers lightly up and down her spine. Tonight – okay, yesterday – had been their tenth date and this was the very first time they'd stayed over at her place. The three previous times they'd ended up in this happy little boneless pile of sweaty relaxation had been at his apartment across town. But they'd gone dancing after dinner at Tonio's and the only decent club she knew of had been around the corner, and it would have been stupid to drive to his place afterwards.
Not that she'd wanted to, with his hands up her shirt and his beautiful tongue doing things to her ear that should be made illegal in all fifty states. No, in the heat of it, it hadn't mattered where they'd found a horizontal place. Humming happily under his ministrations, she admits to herself that he could have talked her into a quickie in the alley behind the club. Something she'd never actually done and that would be rather frowned on by her bosses if anyone ever found out.
Still, when her beeper blares its rather cranky tune at her, reality settles and she's left in the awkward position of deciding whether or not to ask him to stay. Or allowing him to.
A quick check of the number lets her know that yes, her intern is in desperate trouble, despite the fact that it's her first not-on-call weekend in almost two months. Sighing, she disengages from Jeff's talented fingers and sits up.
"Do you have to go…?" Jeff's voice is a baritone. Strong and clear in the soft light cast by her bedside lamp. They'd left it on, and it's casting a cheery romantic haze over everything. Even her 'doctor mode' is somehow less urgent, staring down at this naked, strong man lounging in her bed.
He's beautiful, and she can't resist running a hand through his tousled dark hair and down his jaw.
"Yeah. One of my special cases just took a turn for the worse."
"I'm sorry to hear that. Let me get my pants on and I can drive you."
It's an unexpected gift. A way out of asking, but she's never been one to shy away from something even if an easier answer presents itself. If she doesn't follow things to their end, she never feels quite comfortable.
"No. I need to take my car in. I have no idea how long I'll be, and it's better if I have my own transportation back home. You can stay, if you'd like…?" She leaves it a question because it isn't just her in this.
He smiles and shakes his head. "No, that's okay. I'll get up with you. I want to head home anyway."
Later, as he walks her to her car, she tries not to feel relieved that he's leaving her personal space. He waves her away, and as she watches him disappear in her rearview, she allows herself the truth.
3. Her ceiling is very white. She's not really noticed it before now as she hasn't had the luxury of sleeping in long enough to see her ceiling during daylight hours in a very long time.
No, that's wrong. She gets enough sleep. The days of her internship, residency, and newbie status passed long enough ago that she's had enough time to begin to decorate her home. She's bought a home, for that matter.
This is different. This, apparently, is what vacation is like.
Two whole weeks. Two weeks of being able to sleep in – not that she has the last three days – as late as she'd like. Two weeks where she can get up like a normal person and go to the market. She won't be wandering through at 3am either.
She can go to the bank.
She could get a book at the library and read it.
She can go to the dentist.
She has no idea what to do with herself at all.
With only a kind of pathetic wale, she pulls her comforter over her head. That's, at least, not white.
4. The floor is too cold when she puts her feet down. It's a feeling she's hated since early childhood, that knowledge that everything is ahead of her in the day and that the things she's done the day before kind of don't matter.
Her eyes are itchy - the benadryl wears off in the night - so she usually ends up rubbing her eyes, and by the time she looks at herself in her bathroom mirror, they're red and her hair looks like someone plugged her into a light socket and threw water at her. It's attractive. Really.
Thirty some years of this exact routine. There are wrinkles where there weren't before. Sags and blemishes that get smoothed out by makeup during the day, but are open and visible in the unforgiving early morning light.
Inevitably she rolls her eyes at herself and gets in the shower. She's never been one for self pity. Not after she's actually awake.
5. Before she even opens her eyes, she knows she desperately wants aspirin and a gallon of water. No more scotch. Ever. And she means it this time.
"Mrph. Coffee."
Yes. Coffee would be really, really good. Wait.
She hadn't said that.
Something poked her, hard, in the shoulder. She pried open an eyelid, blinked once, slamed it shut and groaned. Loudly. "Oh, shit."
"Stoppit with the shame and get me some caffeine, woman."
"Oh, fuck you, House."
NEVER. HAVING. SCOTCH. AGAIN.
-fin-