A/N: Hello my lovelies. This time I'm having a theme. I thought it was a fun little idea, and hope you like it too. The theme is comfort. So you'll get two stories, one where Cuddy is there for House, and one time when House is there for Cuddy. There's also another twist, both of these stories are written with a specific House and Cuddy scene in mind. So both of these are based off moments from the show.
The first one is one of my all time favorite House episodes, Wilson's Heart. I just love the scene when House wakes up. It's one of my favorite House and Cuddy moments. There aren't many words said, but I just love their expressions. So I wanted to make something out of it, and I hope it does the scene justice.
The second happens during Joy, and I think you know fully well what scene I'm talking about. Yes, it's the kiss. I really thought long and hard about the times when House was there for Cuddy, and I think that this is one of the rare times that he actually opens up to her, and allows his vulnerable side to show. I really enjoyed delving deeper into those moments, and hope you like my interpretation of them.
Both chapter titles belong to song titles. The first one belongs to Iron &White, it's the same song that plays during the scene. And the second belongs to Livehouse, because I seem to suck in finding decent chapter titles these days.
Huge thanks to my lovely reviewers. You guys are amazing!
To those who are reading The Antic Disposition, I'm working on it, but this chapter is really delicate so I'm taking my time with it. Hope you don't mind.
Thank you for reading.
XV
Passing Afternoon
She stood by the foot of the bed, and watched his unconscious form on the bed. The beeping monitors were the only indication that he was still alive. His face was completely still. His usual frown nonexistent, and the crease on his brow was virtually gone. It almost made him look peaceful.
But there was always something there, a shadow that reminded her of all the horrible things that had happened to him.
After all these years of drug abuse, and pain, it had started to show on his body. His languid body was thin, his cheeks were sunken, and the pallor of his skin had an ugly grey shade that told her just how much he had been abusing his own body.
If he only knew how much it hurt her. How much his pain shook her to the core. It made her feel sick.
She had lost count of how many times she had watched him like this, lying there in her hospital. She should have gotten used to it by now, but somehow it felt different. She didn't bother to ask herself the why's, and how's. She just stood there, and watched him as if her presence would make things better.
It was stupid. She couldn't change anything, and yet she hoped that he could sense her, that he could sense that someone was there. That someone cared.
The doctor had told her that there was little to do but wait. Only time would tell if he would ever wake up again. He had left unsaid what would happen if he woke up at all. He didn't sound too positive, and that unnerved her.
She bit her lip, and took a step forwards. At first her moves were timid, but soon her steps quickened as she reached the head of the bed where his head lay motionlessly on the pillow. She stretched one hand out and touched his forehead with a feather light touch. His skin felt hot against her cold hands. Slowly she moved her hand to his hair, and smoothed the soft strands with the palm of her hand. She used to love the way his hair curled on the ends.
She watched the tiny plasters on either side of his forehead, which reminded her why he was there in the first place. She felt the mix of anger and fear at the same time.
How could he be such an idiot? Why did he always have to risk his life?
She knew the answer, but she didn't care to dwell on it.
Reluctantly she removed her hand from his hair. She sat down on the chair by his bedside, and cradled her hands in her lap.
She refused to cave in on the tears that were threatening to fall. She didn't know what to do without him. Yes, House was a sore spot in her life, one she couldn't rub away no matter how hard she tried. He was always there, and she had grown to like his presence. She just hadn't realized how much she relied on him until she knew what she could lose.
She felt so confused, and so tired. She was tired of playing cat and mouse with him. She wanted answers, and she wasn't sure whether she would ever be able to receive honest answers from him.
She was shaken out of her thoughts when she saw movement in the peripheral of her vision.
She stood up, and leaned forward to check on his vitals. She inhaled sharply when she saw his eyes flutter open then blink into the light.
"Hey, I'm here." She breathed. Could he hear her? Did he know that she was there?
"Blink if you can hear me."
He blinked, and she let out a small gasp in relief. He would be fine. Her legs felt shaky, and she could barely contain her relief.
House moved his lips, his voice an incoherent whisper.
"Shh. Don't try to talk. Just rest."
She instructed, and much to her surprise he listened to her, and closed his eyes. She looked down and noticed that she had unconsciously grasped his hand. It felt warm, and slightly rough against her smaller hand. She sat down on the chair, and watched him sleep.
She was so relieved, and now when she was sure that he was all right she could feel the heavy load of exhaustion. She kicked off her shoes, and curled her legs underneath her. Her hand was still clasped in his.
She leaned her head against the slightly uncomfortable armchair, and watched his chest rise and fall evenly.
Soon she too fell into the heavy embrace of sleep. Even in their sleep their hands were still clasped together. It was a reassurance that she was there for him. That she would always be there for him.
XVI
You and Me
Her house was dark when he arrived. He parked his bike by the end of her drive, and shut off the engine. He removed his helmet and looked at the stark windows of the house as if to make sure that she was there.
Yet it was obvious to him that she was there. Her car was there, and he could see a pool of light on the grass lane by the side of the house. He knew exactly where she was and what she was doing.
He sighed, and stepped off the bike, and with his cane in hand he walked up the drive. He passed the flowerbed by the paved lane that led to her front door. He raised his hand to the doorbell but hesitated. Rightfully he shouldn't be there. He shouldn't care. Then why did he feel the guilt in the pit of his stomach? He knew that she was in pain. She was probably all alone moping over the things she couldn't have. That alone should have been repulsive enough for him to recoil back to his bike, and drive away. He simply didn't care about such things.
But he felt an odd feeling spread through his body at the thought of her all alone, in pain. It was a feeling he was all too familiar with, and she of all people shouldn't deserve such pain.
The fact was that he wanted to comfort her. What the hell did that mean?
He didn't dare answer that question. It would only lead him to answers he didn't dare to admit.
He scowled, and turned around to leave. He tried to tell himself that he didn't care, but something pulled him back. He stopped in his tracks, and stomped his cane on the ground, and turned around.
He raised his cane up and knocked on the door. He didn't have to wait long until he heard the soft padding of feet before the door opened.
She looked so small and beaten. Her hair was pulled up in a ponytail on the back of her neck. Her bangs almost managed to cover her red-rimmed eyes that were brimming with tears. She had never looked so vulnerable, so defeated.
He could see the unspoken question on her face. Why are you here?
Why was he there? He didn't know.
Oh, but you do know the answer. A voice in his head muttered.
She had come to him. She had asked him opinion, not Wilson, or any other doctor in the hospital. Cuddy had come to him.
"It's really not the greatest time for gloating." Her voice was a little hoarse from crying.
He looked down, a bit shamefully, but was grateful to see that she had stepped aside to let him in. He took a careful step forwards. She looked so small before him, clad in a sweater that was too big for her small frame, a far cry from the low cut, tight fitting apparel she was so used to wear.
What could he possibly say to that? Hadn't he been telling her that she was unfit to be a mother? Hadn't he tried to talk her out of it?
He had been wrong. He hadn't been there for her, but wasn't that why he was there, to make it up to her?
"There's more than one baby in the sea." The door closed behind him. "The world is full of teenage boys riding bareback." He murmured.
"No." She shook her head and turned her head downwards.
"I'm done." She looked into his eyes. "I can't go through that again."
Her voice was soft, defeated, and eerily calm.
"You're quitting." He said, a bit disappointedly. If there was anything he respected her for it was that she never quit, no matter how hard things were for her.
"Just like you quit IVF."
"Yeah, just like that." Her voice was still eerily calm, and horrible defeated.
"There, you just did it again." He murmured.
She smiled slightly, but the smile didn't reach her eyes. Her grey orbs were lifeless, and devoid of any warmth. It made him feel…. sad.
"It's too bad. You would've made a great mother."
Her smile faded, her head turning sideways as if he had just slapped her in the face. She turned her head to him.
"You son of a bitch." She hissed. "When I was getting a baby, you said I'd such as a mother. Now that I've lost it, you tell me I'd be great as a mother." She approached him with each word, her grey orbs sparkling with tears, and seething anger.
"Why do you need to negate everything?"
He rarely cared what he said to people. Whether it hurt them or not, but her pain stricken face made him feel horrible.
"I don't know." He whispered.
They stared at each other, both devoid of words to say.
He didn't know what he was doing. He was leaning towards her before he could realize what he was doing. His impulse was to make her feel better, and for a split second he was in no control of his actions. He could see her confused expression, and her watery eyes stare into his.
He leaned down, and claimed her lips with his. Her hand grasped his face, and she drew him nearer. She opened her lips, and his tongue slid between her teeth and into her mouth. Every fiber of his being was on fire. He wanted her so badly, and now when her hot mouth was on his he couldn't help but allow his bottled up feelings to open up.
But there was a part of him that told him that he was doing this for all the wrong reasons. He could so easily sweep her off her feet, and have sex with her right then and there. Her vulnerable state would leave her exposed and desperate, and he would be using her condition to gain the upper hand, and do what he pleased.
It wasn't right.
Slowly he pulled away from her. They were still several inches apart, and he could see her bewilderment, and amazement on her features. He wanted to touch her, to feel her. It exhilarated and terrified him at the same time.
"Good night." He murmured, and turned around. It took all of his free will not to turn around and kiss her again. He limped to the door, and opened it.
He heard her small voice murmur a good night before the door closed shut.
He breathed in the clear air, and hurried towards his bike.
"Idiot." He muttered under his breath.
The reality didn't sink in until he had reached his bike.
He had just kissed Lisa Cuddy. Not only had he kissed her, but he had almost caved in to his feelings.
He exhaled, and shook his head frustratingly. It was for the best, he decided, and climbed onto his bike.
He glanced quickly towards the house before he drove away.