For the first time in a long time Lisa Cuddy took Friday off and didn't plan on coming to work during the weekend. Of course, her pager was never more then three feet away from her and her assistant was under strict orders to call if there were any problems, but the effort to relax was still there. James Wilson called her Friday night, checking up on her. She claimed to be feeling under the weather and convinced him that she really didn't need him to come over. James was a good friend, even if a little overprotective at times. She couldn't fault him for that.
She spent Saturday lounging around her house, preparing it for the holiday season. Her pewter menorah was pulled out and shined, the box of blessed candles her mother had given her was opened, and the potatoes were cut for latkes.
She felt at peace, if not completely happy. Once her holiday set-up was done, she played a little piano to unwind. She would never admit it, but in college Greg had taught her rudimentary piano and she had continued with the lessons after he had graduated and left. She didn't get the chance to play much now, but her fingers could still find their way. She found herself drifting from melody to melody, drifting from a few classical pieces to the themes of her favorite Broadway shows. Those she sang, as well, because as a child her mother had insisted on voice lessons. She was holding out the lingering chords to Wicked's "For Good" when she felt a shift in the air behind her.
She tensed instantly, releasing the keys and closing her mouth as her body readied itself to fight. She turned, and…
House. Greg. Damn him, he was standing behind her, quietly pulling apart one of her latkes and wearing a look on his face she hadn't seen in a while.
"Cuddy…" he started, but she wasn't in the mood.
"Leave," she ordered shortly, standing up and making her way to the kitchen, grabbing what was left of his latke and dumping it in the garbage as she passed it.
"Lisa…" he tried again, but she shook her head, black curls everywhere.
"No. House," she said, emphasizing his last name. "There is nothing you need to say to me right now. I'll see you at work on Monday. You have clinic hours due before the holiday vacation."
She turned, intent on darting into her home office and locking the door behind her, but a fire-painted cane slammed onto the counter top just inches from her waist.
"Damn it, Elisaveta!" he cursed, so softly she almost missed it.
She tried to swallow away the rush of heartbeats that followed her given name. Her fingers curled around his cane and dropped it to the ground as she forced her gaze up to meet his eyes. It was pitiful, really, but she knew she probably wore her wounded soldier look, the one that had been immovable in his office and when she had stood outside of it just a few days ago.
"Your little stunt with the fake patient will cost you approximately three thousand dollars, for all of the tests Kutner and Taub ran, and the cost of housing your…friend…for two days. If a check isn't on my desk by lunch Monday then the money will come from your office cable bill," she murmured softly. She thought she saw his eyes flash when she mentioned the hooker, but it was probably just a trick of the light.
"When did you get so good at the piano? And since when do you sing?" he asked.
"It's time for you to leave, House," she replied, avoiding the questions as she had avoided all of the other comments he had made over the years. "I have things to do."
"Like what, a Grease medley?" he snarked, and that was enough.
"Leave, House. When I'm on the clock I'm paid to deal with you, but this is my free time and I don't have to put up with you," she returned, the cold comment triggering an instant release of guilt. "Besides, I would bet that your friend is eager for you to come back. Wouldn't want to disappoint her."
This time his reaction was immediate, visible, and frustrated.
"I hired her to teach Kutner and Taub a lesson—"
"And you got a private session too," she interrupted. "I get it, House."
"It didn't happen like that!" he retorted quickly, and she saw…concern?...in his eyes before they narrowed in careful suspicion.
"How do you know about what I may or may not have done with her?" he asked.
"I was showing Wilson my finished office and saw the desk…only you and my mother know that it was still around. I was coming to thank you and…you were busy," she mumbled, and her eyes slid from his gaze and fell to the floor.
"Damn it, Elisaveta…" he cursed again. The sound of her name steeled her resolve and she forced herself to look him in the eyes once more.
"I'm busy, House. Don't forget to lock the door on your way out," she said shortly, turning on her heels and disappearing into her home office, slamming and locking the door behind her.
So...I was really shocked at the response I got from this story! It was so good to hear that most people like this, so I decided to try my hand at making a story at it. I have no idea where it will go, so any suggestions or a holiday wishlist would be nice. As always, not mine, read and review, etc. Thanks!