Chapter 5 - Michigan
The early morning light filtered softly through the blinds, casting gentle patterns on the walls of Cuddy's bedroom. She had woken up just as dawn broke, a habit born from years of being a doctor and her personal life. Slipping out of bed, she stretched and began her morning routine quietly, not wanting to disturb the unusual yet comforting presence of House sleeping in the guest room.
She tiptoed past his door, which was slightly ajar. Curious, she paused and glanced inside. There he was, sprawled across the bed, his breathing steady and deep, still caught in the embrace of sleep. It was a rare sight to see House so at peace.
His usual defenses were down, the perpetual frown softened, making him look almost boyish in his slumber. The sight made Cuddy smile—a tender, unguarded smile she rarely allowed herself. She knew the challenges he had faced in the past few days, and seeing him resting was a small victory in itself.
He was devastatingly handsome, even more so when the harshness of his usual expression was smoothed by sleep. For a brief moment, Cuddy felt like that 18 years old again back at Michigan, swept away by him, in the bookstore. She had been drawn to House since that time ago — and, of course, that night was forever in her mind.
Back then, he was the bad boy medical student and lacrosse player that every girl wanted to date, the brilliant rebel who defied conventions and captured her curiosity. Their connection was undeniable, a magnetic pull that she couldn't resist despite knowing better. She had told herself it was a one-time thing, but the truth was, she had never really forget him go. Over the years, the spark between them had never quite died; if anything, it had grown stronger, more complicated, and infinitely more frustrating.
Cuddy couldn't deny that she was always acutely aware of House—his inappropriate comments that often masked deeper feelings, their heated arguments that simmered with unspoken tension, and his piercing blue eyes that could convey a world of emotions in a single glance. He was infuriating and charming in equal measure, a puzzle she had never quite been able to solve but couldn't stop herself from trying.
There was something captivating about the way his eyes lit up when he was certain about something, a spark of determination and brilliance that drew her in. And then there were those rare, vulnerable moments when his guard slipped, revealing a glimmer of his true feelings—moments when his gaze would soften, almost shyly, betraying the complex man beneath the sarcasm and bravado.
It was in those fleeting instants that Cuddy saw the real House, the one who hid behind his sharp wit and prickly demeanor. She knew it was risky to entertain such feelings, to let herself care for someone who seemed determined to keep everyone at arm's length. But as she stood there, watching him sleep, she couldn't help but feel a surge of affection and longing that she had kept buried for too long.
And now, he had chosen her. Not Wilson, his best friend and confidant. Not any of the skilled doctors from his own team. He had chosen her, Lisa Cuddy. The woman he often dismissed with biting comments as a mere administrator, a second-rate doctor. But deep down, she knew his words were just a façade, a shield he used to keep people at a distance.
In all their years of working together, despite his harsh words and dismissive attitude, she had always been his doctor. When he needed a procedure done on himself, he came to her. When the pain became unbearable, it was her door he knocked on. She was the one he trusted to get him through his darkest moments. She thought back to that harrowing night months ago when he had asked her for morphine, the desperation and pain in his eyes clear as day.
Cuddy sighed softly, knowing that despite everything, she was in too deep to turn back now. She had always known that House was a risk worth taking, and as she watched him sleep peacefully, she couldn't help but hope that maybe, just maybe, he felt the same way too.
Shaking herself from the moment, Cuddy quietly continued her way to the living room. She rolled out her yoga mat, the familiar ritual providing a sense of normalcy amidst the recent upheaval. The routine was a refuge, a way to center herself before the day began.
She started with some gentle stretches, her body moving fluidly through the poses. As she bent into a downward dog, she could hear the soft hum of the house waking up around her—the distant hum of the refrigerator, the chirping of birds outside, and the occasional creak of the floorboards. The world was slowly coming to life, and so was she.
Breathing deeply, Cuddy flowed from one pose to another, her mind occasionally drifting back to the guest room. Having House here was both surreal and unexpectedly comforting. It reminded her of how much she had missed having someone to share her space with, even if that someone was as complicated and guarded as House.
After about half an hour, she finished her routine, feeling refreshed and more grounded. She took a moment to sit on her mat, reflecting on the days ahead. House's recovery was progressing remarkably well, and while there were still challenges to face, she felt more hopeful than she had in a long time.
Rising to her feet, Cuddy quietly gathered her mat and moved to the kitchen. She started preparing coffee, the rich aroma soon filling the air. She wanted to make breakfast for both of them, a small gesture to show her support and care.
As she busied herself with the morning routine, she couldn't help but wonder how House would adjust to this new phase of his life. His independence was fiercely guarded, and accepting help wasn't in his nature. But they were in this together now, navigating uncharted territory with a mix of hope and uncertainty.
With the coffee brewing and the eggs sizzling gently in the pan, Cuddy glanced back towards the guest room. She knew it wouldn't be long before House stirred, drawn by the promise of food and the familiar scent of coffee. And for a moment, everything felt just right, as if they were both exactly where they were meant to be.
Cuddy was sipping her coffee, savoring the brief moment of peace, when she heard the soft shuffle of footsteps behind her. She turned slightly and saw House standing in the doorway, still looking groggy from sleep.
"Good morning," he said, his voice rough with the remnants of sleep.
"Good morning," she replied with a warm smile, extending a cup of freshly brewed coffee towards him. "How do you feel?"
House took the cup and wrapped his hands around it, as if absorbing its warmth. "Sore," he admitted, his face contorting slightly with the discomfort. "My body feels like I've been hit by a truck, but the leg... the leg's okay."
"Okay?" she echoed, raising an eyebrow.
"Yeah," he nodded slowly, as if still coming to terms with the sensation. "I slept through the night. I haven't done that in years. That's probably why my body's aching—it's not used to actually resting."
"That's a good sign," Cuddy said, her smile widening as she moved towards the kitchen table. She opened the clinical file she had brought from the hospital and began flipping through the pages, making notes and tracking his progress.
House's eyes narrowed as he watched her, curiosity piqued. "You brought that with you?" he asked, pointing at the thick file she was scrutinizing.
"Yes," she replied seriously, not looking up from her notes. "Leaving it at the hospital would have been risky. Someone could access it, and we need to maintain confidentiality. Plus, I need to keep a close eye on your progress."
House walked over, his interest growing. "Let me see," he demanded, his tone softer than usual but still carrying an edge of impatience.
Cuddy glanced up at him, her eyes searching his face for a moment. There was a hint of hesitation, but she chose to trust him with his own records. She handed him the file without another word.
"Everything went well," she reassured him, her voice steady and calm.
House took the file, flipping through the pages with a mix of professional curiosity and personal investment. He scanned the notes, seeing the details of his treatment, the dosages, the observations made by Nifo and Cuddy.
As he read, his expression softened slightly. "So far, so good," he murmured, his eyes lingering on the entries that detailed his progress over the last few days.
Cuddy watched him, the corner of her mouth lifting in a faint smile. This was a side of House that few got to see—a man deeply engaged with his own medical journey, willing to trust and, for once, hopeful. She knew how monumental this moment was for him, a rare instance of vulnerability in a life often shrouded in defiance and isolation.
"You know," she began softly, "seeing you like this—taking your recovery seriously—it's... it's good. You're doing great, House."
He looked up from the file, meeting her gaze with a mixture of gratitude and determination. "I have to," he said simply. "Especially now."
They shared a quiet moment, the air between them filled with an unspoken understanding. House had always been fiercely independent, often to his own detriment. But now, for the first time in a long time, he was letting someone in. And that someone was her.
-/-
The day passed in a rare, quiet ease. House felt well enough to tackle lunch, and Cuddy enjoyed the simplicity of spending this relaxed time with him.
House took charge in the kitchen, moving with a surprising grace as he cooked. He chopped vegetables, stirred sauces, and seasoned dishes with a confidence that showed he was no stranger to the kitchen.
Cuddy, eager to help, found herself happily playing sous-chef, as he joked about it She cut and peeled vegetables, handed him ingredients, and tasted the flavors he created. Each bite he offered her was met with genuine delight.
"You're pretty good at this," she said, tasting a spoonful of his sauce.
He smirked, stirring the pot. "I'm a very doting boy mommy."
She laughed, the sound light and carefree. "Much doting than me."
The scene felt almost dreamlike in its normalcy. They were far from their usual hospital chaos and snappy exchanges. Here, they were simply two people enjoying each other's company, the world outside fading into the background.
Cuddy marveled at how natural it felt. The act of cooking together, sharing space and tasks, was intimate in a way she hadn't expected. She cherished the sight of House in this light—a softer, more human side of him that she rarely saw.
After they finished cooking, they sat down to eat. The food was delicious, but it was the experience that mattered most. They talked and laughed over the meal, the usual barriers between them momentarily gone.
As lunch ended, they lingered at the table, savoring the peace of the moment. For Cuddy, it was magical. She loved seeing this side of House and realized how much she valued these quiet, everyday moments with him. For now, they had this—a simple, perfect day, and it was more than enough.
-/-
he evening had settled into a comfortable rhythm as House and Cuddy sat together on her couch, the glow of the TV casting soft light across the room. They were watching a random college comedy that Cuddy had picked—a film full of wild pranks and over-the-top antics. House's deep, infectious laugh filled the room, and Cuddy found herself chuckling along, despite the movie's ridiculousness.
"It's funny," she said, smiling at the screen, "but so exaggerated."
House, still grinning, shook his head. "Depends," he said, his tone teasing.
"Depends on what?" she asked, turning to face him, her curiosity piqued.
"Depends on how crazy your college days were," he replied with a mischievous glint in his eye. "Some people lived through wilder stuff than this."
She arched an eyebrow, intrigued. "I wasn't exactly a saint in college, you know," she admitted, a playful smirk on her lips. "And I'm sure you remember that."
He laughed, the sound rich and filled with nostalgia. "Oh, I remember," he said, his voice carrying a mix of fondness and mischief. "Party Pants."
Cuddy rolled her eyes at the old nickname but couldn't suppress a smile. "You're still calling me that?"
"Always" he replied, his grin widening. "You were the med student who could out-party everyone and still ace every exam. After all, I saw you in endocrinology and tracked you down at the Hoe-down."
She laughed, shaking her head. "I meant... we met before that, at the bookstore."
"Ahh" He state, confused.
"It was my third day of school," she recalled with a smirk. "I handed my syllabus to the guy behind the counter. He barely looked at me, just skimmed the sheet, and told me I was overly ambitious, had a chip on my shoulder, and knew how to party."
"I forgot you knew about that," he chuckled softly.
"And I said, 'Are you making that up?' and you said, 'Your class schedule is overloaded, but none of your classes are before eleven, and no one takes Professor Lamb's course unless they have something to prove...'" she continued, completing her story.
"'Cause Professor Seagul covered the same ground and was the easier grader," he finished his sentence, smiling at the memory.
"I tracked you down... endocrinology... the party..." she said, trailing off as memories flooded back.
"And one thing led to another..." he said softly, reminiscing.
"But it didn't," she interjected.
"I was going to call you," he admitted.
"Don't do that," she replied, almost pleading.
"I was. Just as I was going to see you, figure out where things would go from there. That was the morning I got the call from the dean and was expelled from my first med school. It didn't seem like there was any point..."
The atmosphere between them grew dense with unspoken tension, an inexplicable attraction pulling them closer. They sat side by side on the sofa, the weight of his confession still lingering in the air. House leaned in, his gaze locking with hers. He gently brushed a stray strand of hair aside and whispered, "Maybe it did."
His words hung in the air, charged with a mix of uncertainty and longing. Without another moment's hesitation, he closed the distance between them and kissed her.
Cuddy's initial surprise melted into a response that mirrored his intensity, a culmination of years of unspoken feelings and moments shared. The kiss felt both inevitable and revelatory, like finally acknowledging something that had been silently acknowledged for far too long.
As they pulled back, breathless yet undeniably connected, Cuddy met his eyes again. "House..." she began, her voice barely above a whisper, searching for words that seemed unnecessary in that moment.
He placed a finger on her lips, silencing any hesitation. "Just let this be," he murmured, his eyes reflecting a vulnerability rarely seen. They both knew the risks, the complexities that lay ahead, but in that shared moment, none of it mattered. They had crossed a threshold, uncertain yet resolute.
Cuddy nodded in understanding, her hand reaching out to touch his cheek, tracing a path of familiarity and affection. "Okay," she breathed, her heart racing with a mixture of anticipation and a quiet certainty that this, whatever it meant, was something worth exploring.
They remained in silence for a moment, letting the weight of their unspoken truths and newfound connection settle around them. The television droned on in the background, forgotten amidst the uncharted territory they had just entered.
Finally, House broke the silence with a hint of his trademark humor. "So, was this how you planned to spend your Friday evening?" he quipped, a playful glint in his eyes.
Cuddy chuckled softly, shaking her head. "Not exactly," she replied, a smile tugging at her lips. "But I'm not complaining."
With that, they leaned in again, the distance between them shrinking until their lips met once more, sealing their unspoken agreement to explore this unexpected turn in their relationship.