She's The Boss

Lagniappe, PG-13, Cuddy/House.... sorta

2008-09-29T01:17:48Z

Yeah, I know it's WAY late, but I had to do it.

Title: Lagniappe
Author: kimbari
Pairing: Cuddy/House
Rating: PG-13 (mild slash)
Word count: 3,574
Summary: Cuddy wanted her, despite the bad rep, because she only hired the best. She was about to learn that diagnostics wasn't the only thing that Sharongrace House was very, very good at.
Spoilers: None
Prompt: 146. Genderfuck - Cuddy/always been a girl!House.
Author's Note: Thanks to avidreadergirl for the splendid beta.
Writing House as a woman was easier than I thought it would be. A woman would never get away with the stuff that House, due to a little thing called male privilege, has gotten away with all his life. However, a woman would have her own arsenal in this man's world, and it wasn't much of a stretch for me to imagine a female version of House using every single weapon she had at her disposal, whether she needed to or not.

The last time Cuddy saw her, she'd been Cuddy's patient, leaving the hospital on crutches and in the company of her doting Significant Other. She had been angry, and in pain. Cuddy knew that the pain was only a small part of the reason for her anger. That anger mostly depended upon the fact that her wishes had been ignored... not just ignored thwarted. And she'd resented that. It didn't matter that thwarting her had saved her life, or that her SO loved her so much he would have done anything to keep her alive. She hadn't gotten what she wanted; and that made her feral.

Cuddy wouldn't have taken a bet on how long the Significant Other was going to remain significant.

The last time Cuddy saw her she was leaving the hospital on crutches wearing a long denim skirt (the better to hide but not encumber her disfigured thigh), a t-shirt emblazoned with a logo so faded as to be indecipherable, and a corduroy blazer. She'd shaken Cuddy's hand and even muttered thanks, her eyes soft-focus from the pain meds. At the time Cuddy thought she would just as soon have nothing to do with Sharongrace House when she wasn't high. Handicap notwithstanding, Cuddy knew she wouldn't come out well in any kind of match-up with the tall, arrogant woman.

This time Cuddy saw her through her glass-paned office door, grilling her assistant, God knows over what. House was well-dressed in a beige skirt suit that showed a pair of long, beautifully shaped legs to their advantage despite the sensible shoes. She had a leather portfolio clamped under her arm, and wore her wavy, burnt-caramel hair down around her shoulders. She chose that moment to look into the office, directly into Cuddy's eyes and Cuddy felt a completely illogical blush suffuse her face, as if she'd been caught peeping into a bedroom window rather than studying a potential employee. House finished her palaver without looking again at the assistant, then limped to the door, leaning heavily on a polished mahogany cane.

She entered the room like a fresh breeze. "Doctor Cuddy," she said.

"Doctor House," Cuddy replied. She waved her hand toward the chairs in front of the desk. "Please, have a seat."

"Thank you," House said, maneuvering her long frame into the chair. "Standing hasn't been fun for me for a long time now."

That last statement tweaked Cuddy's habitual guilt. She pushed past it by opening the folder that contained House's curriculum vitae. "Thank you for coming," she began smoothly. "I...."

"Oh, no, thank you," House interrupted. "I realize what a leap of faith this interview is for you, considering my... ah, history." She batted her eyes, an incongruous gesture considering the fact that Sharongrace House was six feet tall and her looks could only be described by the most charitable as "handsome." Cuddy had the distinct feeling of being fucked-with and her guard went up.

"I'm well aware of your history," Cuddy conceded. "Nevertheless, I feel that your skill and knowledge would be an asset to this institution."

"Yes, but do the assets outweigh the liabilities?" House said, turning her head and looking at Cuddy sidewise.

Is she flirting with me? "That's what we're here to find out," Cuddy said, dragging her focus back to the CV. She'd forgotten how heart-stopping beautiful Sharongrace's eyes were. They were innocent of any kind of cosmetic and for that Cuddy found herself grateful. Adorned, those eyes would snarl traffic. As they were, if Cuddy wasn't careful, they would snare her.

House shrugged. "Have at it," she said, crossing her legs. They were very nice legs. Cuddy noticed the surreptitious assist she gave her right leg and briefly wondered if House practiced that move.

"I have created a department of Diagnostic Medicine and I need someone to head it up. I currently have one doctor, Robert Chase, in line for a fellowship. I have a budget for two more fellows which you will have full discretion in hiring."

"Is he cute?"

Cuddy blinked. "Excuse me?"

"This Robert Chase, is he cute?" House repeated.

Cuddy managed a squirmy shrug. "I suppose so. He's not my type..." She caught herself. "And that's a completely inappropriate question," she said, drawing her fine eyebrows together.

"What is your type, Doctor Cuddy?" House asked, with a hint of leer. "Tall... Dark... Female?"

"That is none of your business, House," Cuddy said. "And again, that's an inappropriate question."

"My apologies, Cuddy. You mind if I call you Cuddy? We seem to be on a last-name basis, here."

Cuddy took a breath and clenched her fists over the open file folder. The woman was trying to get her goat... did she realize she was here to interview for a job? At this hospital?

"Or you could call me by my given name," House continued. "Sharongrace. One word. Unusual, isn't it? My mother is a lesbian and she named me after two of her girlfriends. My dad never had a clue..."

"Doctor House," Cuddy began, her voice hardening.

"I know, I know..." House waved a bored left hand and Cuddy noticed the huge man's watch on her bony wrist, wished she could see the time, and wondered whatever had possessed her to interview this woman when she was the unrepentant owner of a large number of reprimands and dismissals for insubordination all the way back to medical school, and most likely clear back to kindergarten.

"I'm being inappropriate." House dragged the word out until it stretched across the desk. "Sorry. I get a little cranky when the pain gets bad." And to Cuddy's horror, House reached into a well-concealed skirt pocket, withdrew an amber vial, opened it and popped two pills into her mouth, dry-swallowing with only the slightest effort showing on her face. She noted Cuddy's expression. "What?"

Cuddy held up both hands, then planted them on her desk. It might have been construed as a gesture of defeat but Cuddy had no intention of giving up. At least, not without a much bigger fight.

"Are you hungry?"

It was House's turn to blink. She thought for a moment. "No."

"I'm hungry, I haven't had lunch yet," Cuddy said. "Let me buy you something, a cup of coffee..." She closed the folder and reached for her handbag.

House brightened. "Can I have whatever I want?"

Cuddy stood and eyed House. "I thought you weren't hungry."

"That was before I knew you were buying." She planted her cane and rose.

"Business expense," Cuddy said, rounding her desk. "Let's go."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Cuddy admired the way House moved, graceful despite her disability. She made her cane seem more like a fashion accessory than a means to the end of keeping her on her feet.

Cuddy had her wait at the front door while she went to get her car. House watched her walk away, noting her slender legs and curvy ass, something the astounding level of pain had left her unable to do when she was Cuddy's patient. Yes, being around that zesty bod forty hours a week was a considerable perk. One might be tempted to take the job for free....

Or not.

House made a big show of getting her bad leg into Cuddy's car, the better to play on the other woman's sympathy... and guilt. She in no way blamed Cuddy for her handicap; she'd only done as she'd been directed. Stacy was a different story. House hadn't even been aware of how much she'd blamed Stacy for her disability until he gave up on their relationship. Stacy doing an end-run around her wishes on the surgery had been bad enough; the thing House really couldn't forgive was his not realizing that no matter what she told him, it was not "all right" and never would be. Every minute of every day House had pounded that home until the man couldn't take it any more.

And of course the bastard left her just when she needed him.

"A penny for your thoughts," Cuddy said, her eyes on the road.

House looked over at her, admired her profile. After a long moment she said, "I was thinking about Stacy."

Cuddy remembered the devastatingly handsome man who had wept as he signed the release for House's surgery. She's gonna hate me for this, he had told her, and when Cuddy assured him that he was saving House's life, he'd smiled sadly and said, She won't see it that way.

"How is Stacy?"

"Gone," House said shortly, and for the first time since she walked into her office, Cuddy heard something other than snarky superiority in House's voice. "We broke up."

Cuddy stole a glance at her passenger. House's eyes were fixed on the road ahead, her long face set. "I'm sorry to hear that," Cuddy said softly. She could see movement from the corner of her eye as House's head whipped around to look at her, as if she'd said something shocking. Cuddy glanced over again and caught House's assessing look.

"He was a hunk, wasn't he?" House murmured. "Women swooned in his presence – and they all wondered what the hell he was doing with me." She shifted in her seat, stretched the seat belt, then said, "He was incredible in bed, too. He could go for hours..."

"I'm sure this is something I don't need to hear about," Cuddy said, frowning, her eyes steadfastly on the road.

House shrugged. "He's free as far as I know. I'd give you his number if I knew it. You're definitely his type."

"I'm not like you," Cuddy said without thinking.

"Precisely," House said dryly.

"I'm sorry," Cuddy said. "I shouldn't have said that."

"Don't worry about it. My ass is big, almost–" She clamped her lips shut on the rest of that thought. Wouldn't do to insult Cuddy before Cuddy hired her. There would be plenty of time after...

"We're here!" Cuddy announced, and the relief in her voice made the corners of House's mouth quirk upward.

The little bistro was quiet with only three other people there having a late lunch. Cuddy and House sat at a table by the window, Cuddy with her chicken salad and House with her club sandwich. For a long time, nothing was said as they munched their food.

"How are the benefits?" House asked. She took a bite of her sandwich, eyeing the other doctor. Cuddy raised her eyebrows, then remembered she was conducting an interview. How nice of you to steer me back to the subject at hand, Cuddy thought, irritated that she hadn't done it herself.

"Stellar," Cuddy said, and House nodded.

"You do realize that I'll need special accommodations because I'm a cripple." House said this very smoothly, and Cuddy got that fucked-with sensation again.

"The hospital is ADA compliant, of course. The handicap parking spaces..."

"There are so many things I can't do, now that I'm disabled," House said, putting on a Poor Pitiful Pearl mug that was so transparent Cuddy nearly laughed in her face.

"You're not that disabled," Cuddy said, recovering. "I expect the same professionalism and fulfillment of obligations from you as I do all my other doctors."

"But not clinic duty," House declared.

"It's in the job description..."

House waved that away, "Job Description: Suggestions on paper to prove you're in compliance with state and federal regulations."

Cuddy stared at her. House looked serious. Cuddy said, "For somebody looking to get hired, you don't act as if you want the job."

"I don't do anything the way other doctors do, Cuddy." House was still serious. "I was under the impression that was why you wanted to hire me. Do you want me to work for your hospital or not?"

"I do," Cuddy said. The truth. "But you're making it very hard for me to do right by my patients, not to mention my staff, and I haven't even extended an offer."

"The patients are my main focus," House said. "Nothing matters to me more than that."

"A patient is a he or a she, House," Cuddy said. "Not a 'that'."

"With a few exceptions," House allowed. "Can I assume we've found an area of agreement?"

"We have," Cuddy said, still a little wary.

"So, where do I sign?"

House had left Cuddy feeling as if the other side in a tug of war had let go of the rope at the precise moment she'd put her back into pulling it: flat on her ass. In an effort to regain control, she reached out and laid her hand on House's hand. House looked at Cuddy's hand on hers, then up at Cuddy. Cuddy leaned closer, directly into the other woman's personal space. "Am I going to have trouble with you?" she asked.

House thought about it, staring back into Cuddy's eyes. "Nothing you can't handle," she replied.

Cuddy sat back; her hand stayed where it was. What in the hell does that mean? "Fair enough," she said out loud, then pointed to the remains of House's sandwich. "You want another?"

House pretended to preen. "I really shouldn't, my figure..."

Cuddy snorted. "Oh, please, you're an ectomorph! You wouldn't gain weight if you strapped a couch to your back."

House laughed and Cuddy smiled in response. House was very pretty when she laughed. "You should take advantage of my generosity while you can," Cuddy told her. "You never know when it'll come around again."

House gazed at Cuddy speculatively, her eyes still crinkled with laughter. "I would love to take advantage of you," she said. "My place or yours?"

Cuddy felt a little jolt, a tingle between her legs. She took her hand off House's. "The benefit package does not include access to my body." She hoped she didn't sound as weird to House as she sounded to herself.

"It should," House said. "Your turnover would drop to zero." Cuddy opened her mouth to speak and House forestalled her with, "And no this isn't sexual harassment. It's only harassment when the boss makes the pass." Her blue eyes glittered. "You make a pass at me, not only will I not file charges, I will make sure you see the nine faces of God."

Cuddy's mouth was still open as she wondered if House was insane, crazy, or just a garden variety egomaniac. 'nine faces of God?' Yeah, right. And why was she even taking this woman's babble seriously? Cuddy gathered her wits enough to say, "I had no idea you were..."

"Gay?" House interrupted. "I'm not. Ask Stacy. I made him happy and he's all boy." She paused, then showed her teeth in a deliciously lascivious grin. "And you're all girl," she continued and leaned toward Cuddy. "So much girl you've got me switching sides..."

"Oh, don't be silly," Cuddy said, shifting in an attempt to put more space between them. God, she smells so good. In a way that had nothing to do with perfume... and why was she just noticing this now?

"I'm perfectly serious," House said. "Come on, Cuddy... you know I know where everything is." She sighed and smiled. "I would love to screw you."

I just bet you would.... The blush that had started between Cuddy's legs finally made it to her face. Breathlessly, she said, "That would be totally--"

"Inappropriate, yeah, I know the drill," House interrupted. "Still, you only live once. If I take the job, I don't have to go to work until Monday." Her expression turned devious. "If I take the job."

"Maybe you didn't notice, but I haven't offered you the job, yet," Cuddy pointed out. "And the longer I talk to you, the less reason I have to hire you."

"Bullshit," House said, her face complacent. "You don't take people you don't intend to hire to lunch. I've asked around. A successful interview with you doesn't last longer than ten minutes. You want me," House said, nearly sang, and she smiled again. And again, Cuddy was struck by how sweet that smile was; the total antithesis of the arm-twisting its owner was currently engaged in.

"I want your skills," Cuddy said.

"And they are at your disposal... if you'll come back to my place. I am dying to show you my etchings." House showed her teeth, a sharp and distant cousin to the sweet smile she'd just displayed.

Cuddy sputtered. "I have never... in my life..."

"Then it's time," House said, her voice low, soft and sexy. Before Cuddy could stop her, House took her hand and pressed her lips into the palm. The jolt between her legs this time was so strong she gasped, even as she reacted to the sensation of House's kiss. She stifled a moan and said,

"Do you always try to seduce your potential employers?" Cuddy was relieved when it came out sounding coherent.

"Only the hot ones," House said, and before Cuddy had a chance to wonder if this was yet another chapter in the fuck-with-Cuddy saga House appeared to be writing, she continued, "and you are the hottest." Her eyes slid down her cleavage. Cuddy could almost feel the caress. Shut this down, Lisa, the wise woman who lived inside her head said. Shut it down NOW!

"Let go of my hand," Cuddy said. Her voice was steady, calm, cool. House, sensing that playtime was over, did as she was bid. She sat back in her chair.

"You're no fun at all," she pouted.

"I'm not looking for fun," Cuddy said sternly.

"Then you're an idiot..." House muttered.

"I'm sorry, did you say something?" Cuddy's brows had collided in a ferocious frown and her eyes were downright wintry. House held her peace. After a long moment, Cuddy said, "You're absolutely right. I do want you, and nobody but you. I have it on good authority that you're the kind of virtuoso that I desperately need at my hospital. Your kind of genius doesn't come cheap but fortunately for me you couldn't get hired as a vet. So you can rest assured that you're not going to even come close to being overpaid..."

"Wait a second—"

"I'm not finished," Cuddy said, freezing the other doctor's protest. House subsided and she continued. "What you will have is a fairly free hand and a number of privileges, none of which include having sex with or making passes at me, is that clear?"

"Cuddy—"

"Yes or no, House? I've spent way too much time with you already. I need to get back to the hospital."

"Are you really going to lowball me?" House whined. "Because that's really not fair..." She trailed off as Cuddy simply stared at her. "All right," she caved. "God, you drive a hard bargain!"

"Oh, I'm sure you'll make me pay," Cuddy declared.

"You got that right," House muttered.

Cuddy chose to ignore that. "So, are we good?"

House made a rueful face. "We're good."

"Great," Cuddy said and extended her hand. "Welcome aboard, Doctor House." Smiling with her eyes, House took Cuddy's hand and they shook. Cuddy pulled away first and look at her watch. "Damn," she said under her breath. "I really have to get going... Eight o'clock on Monday, House?"

"Color me there," House said. Cuddy was on her feet about to step away from the table when House said, "Oh, Cuddy? Just one more thing..."

Impatient, Cuddy said, "Yes, what is it?"

Before she had time to draw another breath, House grabbed her hand, then reached up with the other hand and, with a brief caress of fingers into silky black hair, pulled Cuddy to her. Cuddy had been so certain she was the one in control that House's tongue was in her mouth for a dozen seconds before she realized what was going on. It took her fewer seconds to realize that she liked it, and a split second after that she was kissing her back.

It took Cuddy at least a minute to realize that this was exactly what she did not want but House was way ahead of her and suddenly let her go, leaving her swaying on her high heels.

Swaying and wondering if there was any sane and logical reason for her to just lean back into the tall woman and taste that mouth again. Damn. Her. House continued to gaze at Cuddy, triumph in her eyes mingled with something else. Sadness? A bone-deep anguish that brought out all of Cuddy's maternal instinct. Then that look was gone, as quickly as it appeared, and House appraised her with eyes that held only the curious glint of a scientist studying an anomaly.

"I know you're in a hurry," House said. She made a face. "I'll get a taxi back to my car. 'til Monday?"

Cuddy took a deep breath and blew it out. "'til Monday," she agreed, turned on her heel and walked out of the restaurant.

She couldn't be certain because she refused to look back, but she could swear that House was staring at her ass as she walked away.

End

The Remainder, 1/1, PG-13, crossover with The Pretender

2008-08-30T00:34:30Z

This is impressively late. This is for last year's fest. Heh.

title: The Remainder
author: chopsticks (antiqueskies)
rating: PG-13
crossover between: House MD and The Pretender
characters and pairings: Lisa Cuddy, Mr. Lyle, Miss Parker, Sydney || Lyle/Cuddy, Lyle/Parker, Parker/Jarod
spoilers: post-season four of House, post-Island of the Haunted
note: Uh, this is for cuddy_fest, 2007 prompt #271: The Pretender crossover - She reminds him of his sister. Lyle/Cuddy. Bonus points if it's dark and twisted. Also for fanfic100, #017: brown.
disclaimer: Very much not mine.

He's passed out on his desk by eight thirty. Another successful day.

Masterlist!

2008-08-17T21:31:07Z

Sorry this took so long. Thanks to everyone who participated!

Please note that cuddy_fest will remain open continuously for anyone who finishes their submission late. It will not be added to the masterlist, but it will be tagged, and we'd love to have it posted here.

Fics

1. A Kiss Is Not A Contract by spoggly | HouseCuddy, PG-13
2. A Small Victory by lieueitak | Cuddy, House, PG-13
3. Breakdown by pokeitlikejello | HouseCuddy, PG-13
4. Bricks and Beams by entropy_comix | Gen, Tony Stark/Cuddy, PG-13 | pt 1, pt 2, pt 3, pt 4
5. Chocolate and Marshmallows by kerryaod | WilsonCuddy, PG
6. Chocolate, Caramel and Strawberry Topping by olaf47 | HouseCuddy, R
7. Combinatorial Mathematics by phinnia | HouseWilsonCuddy, R
8. Conflict of Interest? by spoggly | ForemanCuddy, PG-13
9. Contemplation by the_vintage | Gen, HouseCuddy, PG
10. Corners by rolleson | HouseCuddy, R
11. Cry by travlncarrie | Gen, PG13
12. Destroying the Barriers by perfect_pride | ThirteenCuddy, PG-13
13. Doors and Windows by melissaisdown | HouseCuddy, R
14. Easy Control by speshtian | ThirteenCuddy, PG-13
15. Eschara by how_i_lie | HouseCuddy, PG13
16. Five People at PPTH Lisa Cuddy Would Sleep With by rolleson | HouseCuddy, ChaseCuddy, ThirteenCuddy, OMC/Cuddy, OFM/Cuddy, NC-17
17. Giving Up by lauriestein/how_i_lie | HouseCuddy, PG
18. Growing Up by perfect_pride | CameronCuddy, NC-17
19. Head to Heart, an Accidental Dialogue by melissaisdown | HouseCuddy, R | pt 1, pt 2, pt 3, pt 4, pt 5
20. Intense by chippers87 | HouseCuddy, PG-13
21. Like A Moth to a Flame by pokeitlikejello | Cuddy/Gen, HouseCuddy, PG13
22. Like a Swan by kerryaod | Gen, PG
23. Little Girls and Dandelion Chains by loudxmusic | Gen, G
24. Never at the Same Time by arhh | HouseCuddy, NC-17
25. Living the Nightmare by avidreadergirl | Gen, PG
26. Maternal Instincts by chippers87 | HouseCuddy, WilsonCuddy, PG-13
27. Measure of a Life by i_heart_cuddy | HouseCuddy, PG-13
28. Misery by hola_meg_a_cola | HouseCuddy, R
29. Needle and Thread by travlncarrie | HouseCuddy, R
30. Not Making A Mistake by lauriestein | AmberCuddy, PG
31. Play Golf With People You Hate by oqidaun | Gen, HouseCuddy, R
32. Pretty Girl by bittereternity | WilsonCuddy, PG
33. On Her Knees by nemesishamartia | Vogler/Cuddy, NC-17
34. Radiowaves by bittereternity | HouseWilsonCuddy, R
35. Raising the Bar by kimbari | HouseCuddy, NC-17
36. Shades of Life by keeper_of_stars | WilsonCuddy, PG
37. She Strips In Her Sleep by phineas_gatsby | HouseCuddy, R
38. Shot Through the Heart by alanwolfmoon | HouseCuddy, PG-13
39. So, You've Got Huntingon's by speshtian | ThirteenCuddy, R
40. Summer Light by melissaisdown | HouseCuddy, M | pt 1, pt 2, pt 3, pt 4
41. Straight Through by rolleson | ThirteenCuddy, NC-17
42. Taking Chances by lovesrogue36 | CuddyMulder, CuddyHouse, ScullyMulder, PG-13
43. Tapping the Glass by travlncarrie | HouseCuddy, R
44. Territories Familiar and Unknown by lieueitak | HouseCuddy, NC-17
45. That Perfect Stage of Overripeness by phinnia | ThirteenCuddy, PG-13
46. The Laws of Tightrope Walking by myconstant | HouseWilsonCuddy, PG-13
47. The Morning After by | ThirteenCuddy, PG-13
48. 20 Things You Never Knew About Cuddy by olaf47 | Gen, HouseCuddy, WilsonCuddy, R
49. The Wind in the Wires by oqidaun | Gen, HouseCuddy, PG
50. Time Passes by antiqueskies/chopsticks | HouseCuddy, Elizabeth/John, PG
51. We Will Rock You by i_heart_cuddy | Gen, PG-13

Art
1. Cuddy, insp. Damien Rice "Volcano" by mlo1114 - 15 icon, 2 wall

If there are any problems with links, misinformation or a missing entry, please comment here and a mod will fix it right away!

Thanks again to all!

cuddy_fest @ 2008-08-16T18:44:00

2008-08-16T15:28:11Z

Title: Easy Control
Author: speshtian
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Cuddy/Thirteen
Summary: Post-Wilson's Heart. She had Cameron once. Now she has Thirteen. But at what cost?
Spoilers: Season 4 finale; is that still a spoiler?
Author's Note: I hope you like it! I wrote it in a hurry; really pushing the deadline here. It's definitely not the best I can do (sorry!) but I didn't want to be late in submitting, either. Need better time management next time :(

Prompt: 216. Cuddy/Thirteen. She can't hold on to anything anymore.

Once upon a time, she would've been with Allison, but there was Chase, the ever-indulgent, ever affectionate significant other. Out of their fling, Cameron knew that she had to choose, and she chose the boy. The safer option; the easier option.

So Cuddy went back to being the Dean of Administration, and nothing was different. House and his team solved medical mysteries, House broke rules, Cuddy covered for him, House went home, Cuddy went home. Everyone went home. It was constant, it was routine; even though there was chaos of some sort each week, there was something comforting in the fact that it was always the same.

When everything went mad and Chase and Foreman left Princeton-Plainsboro, with Allison right on their heels, Cuddy thought that perhaps that organized chaos was beginning to get a bit out of control.

But then House hired more internists, and she and Thirteen fell into an easy working relationship, and then, one night, with slow and calculating deliberation, they ended up in an easy relationship.

Cuddy finds a lot of House in Remy. Sometimes she thinks it's slightly disconcerting, but it's that similarity and defiance that makes it so easy for her to be with the girl. They give and they take, they argue and House surely knows that there's something underneath their workplace facades, when they're not fucking illicitly or spooning comfortably in one of their beds, but it's a good thing they have, Cuddy and Thirteen. She's got it under control. There's no-one that Thirteen can leave her for.

The jazz band is covering Sharon Jones while Cuddy waits for Thirteen. It's been a while since they've spent time together; after Amber, things broke a little. She hasn't seen Remy since House woke up. It feels like an age.

When Thirteen finally shows up, Cuddy knows instantly that the tiny sliver of control she had left is now completely gone. Her hospital is a fucking mess; now her personal life is splintering like a sampan on unforgiving rocks. "You took the test," she says, more like a statement than a question.

"Yeah." Then: "I need some space. I think we should just…"

Thirteen trails off; Cuddy doesn't wait for her to finish her sentence before she leaves.

Behind her, the singer croons. How long do I have to wait for you…?

"No!" Thirteen argues. "He was fine two hours ago. You can't tell me that all of a sudden he breaks into high fever with fifty percent lymphs. Bacterial meningitis wouldn't be this rapid."

Things are a disaster as always. Cuddy feels like her head is lead; can she be bothered with anything any more? SNAFU has never been so apt a term. She, Cameron, Taub, and Thirteen are crammed into her office, poring over books to find out what's wrong with their patient.

She shuts the book and sighs. No joy, much like the past hour. What now?

Thirteen meets her eyes. "Are you waiting for this?" She indicates the book she's looking at, but Cuddy doesn't even know what book that is.

Does she need any book at all?

So she says, "I don't know what I'm waiting for."

They both know the hidden meaning behind that. Out of the corner of her eye, Cuddy sees Cameron curiously looking over, but the blonde quickly ducks back into the hefty volume she's poring over.

When they've all left the hospital, separately, Thirteen shows up at her doorstep a few hours later and, without a word, Cuddy lets her in. They lost the kid; they missed the diagnosis. Cuddy has to wait on the labs from autopsy.

She guesses that there's no need for talking; they fall into bed and make love like there's nothing else to live for. They keep each other awake until Cuddy's alarm goes off unnecessarily, and Thirteen says, "I don't know about you, but I'm starving. I make really good waffles, you know."

They used to go through this like it's routine. Now, Thirteen says it like everything's normal, like how they've done it for the past few months.

She needs that normality.

So she pretends to think about it, like she always does. "Hm," she hesitates, "I don't know if I trust you in my kitchen… How about you use the shower first while I do breakfast?"

Remy smirks at her. "How about we both use the shower first?"

"I'm tempted, but I'm also hungry."

Watching her carefully, Thirteen slides her hand over Cuddy's calf and leans closer. "Shower with me," she whispers, "and you'll forget that you were ever in need of anything else." Her hand moves higher and, as she moves back to look at Cuddy fully, her smirk grows bigger until she's positively grinning.

Cuddy's close to acquiescing, but her stomach decides to interject with a growl that breaks the silence. She reluctantly catches Remy's wrist and pulls her hand away, leaving a rush of cold air to fill the space. "Maybe later," she says with a hint of a promise. As she gets up, leaving Thirteen tangled in the sheets, she smiles to herself.

Maybe she doesn't need all that control after all.

Not Making a Mistake, Cuddy/Amber, PG

2008-08-16T12:51:44Z

Title: Not Making a Mistake
Author: Lola Lauriestein
Rating: PG
Pairing: Cuddy/Amber
Spoilers: Anything up to 4 x11, everything after that doesn't happen in this little world.
Summary: Somebody's fired, and somebody's lonely.

Apologies that this is un-beta'ed, I left it right until the last possible second to get this finished and there wasn't time.

For cuddy_fest prompt 107: Cuddy/Amber, Amber will do anything to win. That doesn’t change because she’s out of a job (AU no Amber/Wilson)

Not Making A Mistake

Prompt 172: Conflict of Interest?

2008-08-16T04:34:35Z

Title: Conflict of Interest?
Pairing: Foreman/Cuddy
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Spoilers for the end of S3 and the beginning few episodes of S4
Summary/Prompt: 172. Cuddy/Foreman. She didn't hire him back just because of House.
Disclaimer: DAVIDSHORE
A/N: Written for cuddy_fest . Thanks to entropy_comix for the beta. Concrit is ~*~always welcome~*~

Little Girls and Dandelion Chains

2008-08-16T04:34:26Z

Title: Little Girls and Dandelion Chains
Author: Carlee [loudxmusic] in onmybreaht
Prompt: Prompt #9 at cuddy_fest - Cuddy's favorite patient
Genre: Angst? I guess.
Rating: G
Spoilers: None
Word Count: 810
Characters/Ships: Cuddy
Disclaimer: Not mine

(You refrained from stories about your life as a doctor because you didn’t want to scare her with the end so close. Instead, you told her about your childhood. About the way you and your dog would play in the field down the street from your house, and how you would make dandelion chains for the two of you. Rebecca was most fond of that story, and she wanted a dandelion chain for herself.)

Prompt 107: A Kiss Is Not A Contract

2008-08-16T02:58:36Z

Title: A Kiss Is Not A Contract
Author: spoggly
Pairing: House/Cuddy
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Once, there was a cop on this show.
Summary/Prompt: 107. Cuddy/House - Cuddy follows through on a threat and fires House. Now what?
Disclaimer: DAVIDSHORE
A/N: Written for cuddy_fest. Thanks to entropy_comix for the beta and bammel for the threats. Concrit is ~*~always welcome~*~

cuddy_fest @ 2008-08-15T18:35:00

2008-08-15T23:39:54Z

Title: Never At The Same Time

Author: arhh

Pairing: House/Cuddy

Rating: NC-17

Summary: Written for cuddy_fest for the prompt #127: “Never the time, the place and the loved one all together” Robert Browning. Done in drabble style, although not strictly 100 word counts. Three times House and Cuddy were in the same bed, but never on the same page and one time that they were.

that perfect stage of overripeness

2008-08-15T22:26:07Z

title: that perfect stage of overripeness
author: phinnia
prompt: cuddy_fest - 13/Cuddy: "it was jump out of a plane, or this"
rating: pg-13
disclaimer: a wandering minstrel i, a thing of shreds and patches. i own nothing.
author's note: another strange stylistic shift. i don't know where this stuff comes from.

It's kind of awkward finding your boss's boss crying in amongst the melons at the Save-Mart.

You feel like you should do something - not just because she's your boss's boss and therefore ultimately responsible for your job, but also because she's attractive and probably isn't the harpy that your boss seems to think she is, and even harpies would deserve a tissue and a kind word if you found them crying in the melons at the Save-Mart. So Remy stops, coughs, and sets one hand gently on the cool yellow-mottled skin of a honeydew - near, but not too near. "Um, Dr. Cuddy? Are you okay?"

Her head snaps up, and she's wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand, trying to patch the tears in and put herself back together - obviously not expecting to meet one of her subordinates here with the tiny sprinklers and rolls of plastic bags and neat pale globes that bubble out of the shallow tray. "I - oh. Oh, Dr. Hadley, yes - yes, I'm fine." And she smiles, nods at the simple kindness of a folded square of soft paper that is pressed into her palm. "Thank you." Dabs at her eyes. The smudges of mascara make her whole expression look sad and uncertain. "I'm fine."

It's a lie, of course, but it's a lie of self-preservation, which is something Remy understands lying about; she nods, but can't quite let it slip away. "If you need someone to talk to-"

"Thanks." A weak smile, dark curls fluffed away from her face. "I'll be alright."

"Sure."

She turns away toward the dairy department and muses over the yogurt, and her boss's boss, tissues and white lies and the eternal decision of how much milk to buy. She's alone in her apartment, spends so many days at the hospital and it goes bad quickly, but she can't just not buy milk. There's something just - wrong about not buying milk.

There's a ringing tap-tap-tap on the parquet floors, and she turns, almost without thinking about it, because she knows those shoes and that ring-a-tap-tapping. "Dr. Cuddy?"

The smile seems almost weaker now, stretched thin and saggling like a misshapen balloon. "Dr. Hadley -"

She reaches out, rests her hand on a rounded shoulder, and nods. "Remy."

*

Of course what's more awkward than finding your boss's boss crying in the melons at the Save-Mart is bringing your boss's boss back to your apartment.

Because, Remy admits - Lisa (a name often thought and never spoken) is by no means an unattractive woman. She's gone to sleep quite a few times to fantasies of running her hands through those dark, dark curls, massaging the knots in those sensual calves, burying her face in the valley of that cleavage. Sucking a nipple. Letting her fingers draw away the tension of running a hospital, the tension of dealing with House.

Which is completely inappropriate, she scolds herself.

But she's still thinking about it.

Lisa - Dr. Cuddy - has managed to reassemble herself into something that might look like normal to an unobservant person. Because House doesn't hire unobservant people, Remy knows it's all a charade; she can see the crumpled tissue that Lisa's fidgeting between her fingers, can see the tiniest of bite marks on her lower lip.

She tries out her voice and words stagger across the quiet cabin of Remy's car. "I - I'm not usually like this."

Remy nods. "I know."

They sit silent for a while, again. The car flows in and out of light weekend traffic. They are back at Remy's apartment in a matter of minutes, but instead of leaving the car she just parks, shuts the engine off. Waits.

Cuddy clears her throat. "I - I just snapped. I guess. After everything that's happened - I was shopping, and I went to buy some fruit; and then I realized that there's really no point, because I'm never home to eat it anyway. I bought a bunch of bananas last month and they'd turned completely black before I knew it. And - I'm as - I'm getting older, and I don't really have anyone to tell me to eat more fruit -"

She blinks away tears, starts again. Remy reaches across the gearshift and takes Lisa's (Cuddy's) hand. She has slender hands, long fingers. Beautiful nails.

"There's a statistic that says that people in relationships live longer - not just because they're happy, but because - they have another person, that's concerned about their welfare. That might notice the scary looking moles on their back before they turn into cancer. That might tell them to eat more fruit, to get more sleep, because they care. And I don't-"

"I know." The two words feel empty, but she's not sure what else to say. Because she does know. She knows about fruit and spoiled milk; she knows about expiration dates that are only memories, and the throat-catching loneliness of an empty bed that lies cold and half made even after a night asleep.

Remy wants to lean over and kiss her. Just lean over the gear shift, brush those beautiful curls away from her face and kiss her again and again and again until the tears stop.

But she doesn't, because this is her boss's boss, because hitting on the dean is just a bad idea, because she almost lost her last job by being out at work, because-

because Lisa (Cuddy? Lisa?) is already kissing her ...

wait.

Lisa is already kissing her, but she's about to pull away, and so Remy grabs her shoulders with both hands and drags her forward again; she tastes like coffee, tastes like trepidation, and those beautiful cheekbones are traced with salt; she makes it vanish under her tongue and the delicate brush of her fingers.

"Lisa." she breathes. The word hovers, an uncertain weight between them. "I - I have - I can - I want-"

"I know."

Something in Remy's chest breaks open, and Lisa smiles. Smiles and draws her hair away from her face, and kisses her again, and again, and again, until the tears stop.

Radio Waves: House/Cuddy/Wilson

2008-08-15T19:35:55Z

title: radio waves
author: bittereternity
rating: M
characters: lisa cuddy, gregory house, james wilson
pairings: house/cuddy, wilson/cuddy [slight hints of house/wilson]
warnings/spoilers: set right after the wilson/cuddy scene in don't ever change.
notes: everything I had in my laptop got deleted. so the original fic I had for this prompt got deleted too. hopefully this isn't as bad as I think it is. written for cuddy_fest prompt #245: it's time to choose

summary: falling in love with House is dangerous. falling in love with Wilson is fatal.

This is not an ending

cuddy_fest @ 2008-08-15T17:34:00

2008-08-15T17:04:08Z

Stupidly, I only posted half of my fic, so I'm reposting it.

Corners), R, House/Cuddy

Territories Familiar and Unknown

2008-08-15T05:44:31Z

Title: Territories Familiar and Unknown
Author: lieueitak
Pairing: House/Cuddy
Rating: NC-17 for sex
Summary: After Cuddy has a date, House begins to confront his own feelings for her. But it’s still not love, even if it is so easy to end up in bed together. Written for prompt #113 - House/Cuddy - House loves his control over her, especially in the bedroom.
Author's Note: This fic contains a pretty mild spoiler for season five and also contains sex. Don't click if either of those things bothers you.

This is how he finds her.

Almost time!

2008-08-15T04:25:40Z

Hey gang! This is just your (approximately) one more day notice! The deadline is August 15th, 11:59pm Pacific Standard Time (PST)*. Please do your best to have your fics (and your ART!) submitted by then.

The masterlist will be up sometime on the 16th!

*Please note, we are anal. ...But not that anal. If your fic/art comes in before the Masterlist is posted, we will accept it and we will add it to the list. But you never know. List could go up just after midnight. So. Better get those submissions in, y/y? ^^

Chocolate, Caramel and Strawberry Topping

2008-08-15T03:32:15Z

Title: Chocolate, Caramel and Strawberry Topping
Author: olaf47
Fandom: House
Rating: R
Character/Pairing: House/Cuddy
Spoilers: None.
Warnings: Sex, alcohol and marijuana use.
Summary: Prompt 101. Cuddy House: The Adventures of Partypants and Sweetsauce
Notes: Characters are not mine. Comments, criticism and favorite lines are always welcomed

He’s at the counter, mixing chocolate and caramel syrups and strawberry sauce. He had buried the ice cream under frozen peas—knowing no one would ever think to look there. So now that the party has dwindled to twenty or so people, eight of whom are tangled in a hot tub and at least seven of whom have found bedrooms or soft ground and are thus just as naked as those in the tub, he’s ready for his ice cream.
Or maybe it has nothing to do with the amount of people left at the party. Maybe it’s just that he’s fucking high and isn’t this exactly what he put the ice cream there for?
He just got to Michigan earlier this week, but the name Greg House has already started being whispered across campus. Even tonight, someone at the party had mentioned him. People talked about seeing him—said he was six-six and all muscle, said no he was only five-eight, but still totally intimidating—talked about talking to him—“He’s got a British accent, but it’s obviously fake”—talked about talking about him, and he just sat there in a haze laughing in his head.
“I bet he’s a total douche,” he had said and others nodded.
He hears someone behind him in the kitchen and spins around, protective though his dessert is still hidden under the peas.
It’s a girl who he saw downing five shots in about as many minutes. She had probably had a lot more. He wonders if he’s too high to take advantage of her before realizing she’s still surprisingly steady on her feet.
“Hey,” he says.
She beams at him. He stares at her chest. His pupils are too dilated.
“Hey,” she’s got half a giggle that is feminine without being annoyingly girly. There’s a gleam in her eyes that almost makes him forget his ice cream. “Whatcha making?”
He glances suspiciously between the girl and the goo in the bowl on the counter, protective again.
“Nothing.”
She laughs—no trace of a giggle this time—and leans against the counter. “Share.”
He wrinkles his forehead. “That’s a little demanding.”
She nods, not caring in the least. He yawns, and she seizes his lack of vigilance and dips a finger into his concoction.
“Hey!” he complains, but then she’s licking her finger and his pupils are still dilated.
“Where’s the ice cream?”
“Who says it’s going on ice cream?”
She opens the freezer and stares for a moment, before immediately moving the peas and pulling out the ice cream. He hates her a little.
“You know, Sweet Sauce,” she’s getting spoons, which he’s a little thankful for, having never before been in the house, “I know who you are.”
Her eyes flash to him then slip back to the spoons just as quickly. His mouth is dry.
“Do you?” he asks. “Where are glasses?”
“Cotton mouth?”
“Who says I’m high?”
He’s not really sure why he keeps asking “who says” things, or why he would ever deny he was high. His pupils are dilated and his mouth is dry and he probably reeks. She hands him a glass of water and there are bowls on the counter too.
“Serve up, Sweet Sauce. You can decide how much I get.”
He’s already finished the water, so he grabs a spoon and heaps ice cream into the bowls. He lets her have as much as he’s having. He’s looking forward to watching her lick the sweet stickiness from her spoon or her hands or anywhere it might happen to land. He’s considering spilling it all over himself.
“Let’s go outside.”
“Front,” she says. “Hot tub and fucking in bushes in the back.”
“We could always join them.”
“Not in the mood for a gangbang. Some other time.”
He follows her swaying hips and doesn’t want to share her with anyone.
They’re on the porch and she’s attacked the ice cream with a vengeance and he suddenly thinks she’s cute. She’s hot, gorgeous, sexy, all that stuff. But he thinks she’s cute too. That doesn’t happen a lot. His eyes roll around in their sockets and he realizes he doesn’t know her name.
“Greg,” he says suddenly, holding out a hand.
She smirks because she knew it. “Lisa.”
She’s got a strong handshake, but it’s short, and she immediately goes back to the ice cream. He takes a bite of his. It’s sickly sweet and absolutely perfect.
“So Sweet Sauce, are you really a douche bag?”
“Yes,” he replies immediately. “But I’m sharing my ice cream.”
“And your sweet sauce, for that matter.”
He considers telling her he’ll share a different kind of sweet sauce with her but decides against it.
“If I have a nickname you should have a nickname.”
She doesn’t reply. He looks her up and down, his eyes settling on her white shorts that must only be just longer than her underwear.
“Partypants.”
She follows his eyes. “They’re called hot pants.”
“Yeah, but my nickname has alliteration. I wanted you to match.”
She laughs and steals some of his ice cream. He can’t believe how good she is at catching him off guard. He can’t believe how quickly she finished her bowl.
“You downed that ice cream pretty quick. You sure you’re not high too?”
“Probably from the fumes still radiating off of you.”
“Didn’t your mother teach you if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all?”
“This coming from the infamous Greg House?”
He glances around to make sure no one heard. “Shut up. My name’s Sweet Sauce.”
She looks at him. He’s not comfortable under her studying stare.
“It’s just nice to get away from the legend for a while, okay? Leave me alone, Partypants.”
“Don’t worry, as soon as everyone finds out who you are, as soon as you start acting like the legend, I’m not going to want to be anywhere near you. If you’re anything like they say, Sweet Sauce, you’re definitely not my type.”
He’s a little hurt by that and hopes he’s not like they say.
But later that week people figure out who he is and he falls into his role of brilliant asshole and doesn’t see her for months.
---
“Don’t even think about lighting that, Sweet Sauce. I want to know what you’re like when you’re sober.”
“I think I’ve had a little too much alcohol to be considered sober,” he calls back without looking at her, trying to put weight back into his body. He heard her voice and his heart got weightless and his stomach did a somersault. It’s so teenage he wants to be disgusted, but then she’s next to him and he doesn’t think about it anymore.
“Haven’t seen you in a while,” he says.
“You got all legendary. I told you you wouldn’t be my type,” she takes a drag off a cigarette and looks perfect.
“And yet, you’re here.”
He steals the cigarette from her hand to have a taste.
“Aren’t you going to be a doctor?” she asks. “Shouldn’t you know better?”
“Aren’t you?”
She shrugs and takes another drag. “I show up at parties where people are already too drunk to mind that I’m not the stubborn, annoyingly ambitious doctor wannabe.”
He breathes in the smoke she breathes out and it somehow doesn’t feel like tobacco. Their shoulders brush together as they lean against the porch railing. He wants to smile.
“I show up at parties where people are too drunk to mind that I’m not really the legend, and I hope you show up so I’m your type again.”
She laughs, her dark brown curls bouncing behind her. “I never said you were my type to begin with—I just said as a legend, you weren’t.”
“I don’t think you have a type,” he turns around and leans against the railing, watching her.
“Because you know me so well.”
He doesn’t really get it, how she can seem this way. She seems so much older than he is. She seems brilliant and mysterious and experienced in the ways his best friends’ moms used to seem. She isn’t that old, clearly, but she does seem older, though he knows he has about four years on her. Four years is a long time at that age—she’s somewhere around 18 while he’s 22. But she has him confused and interested in a way that’s far beyond her years.
“You wanna get out of here?” she asks.
He’s honestly a little disappointed. He doesn’t want her to do this, doesn’t want her to be like the other girls, to lose her mystery.
He follows her anyway, and she hardly is like the other girls.
Half an hour later and they are not half naked in one of their apartments, not half naked in the nearest privacy they can find. No, they’re on a playground, fully clothed, and she’s swinging.
He’s standing just out of the reach of her feet as she flies back and forth past him. He can see their breath.
“You should swing.”
“I think I’m a little too old for swinging.”
“I think anyone who has that attitude has a bad outlook on life. That’s like saying you’re too old to climb trees.”
He chuckles. “I’d agree with that statement too.”
“Hm. Guess you’re not even my type when you’re not being the legend.”
Fuck. And he doesn’t want to hop on the swing like some lovesick teenager trying to prove that he is her type, but he does want to be her type. He wants to know what her type is.
“How is swinging your type?” he asks, then arches an eyebrow when he realizes what he said.
She rolls her eyes at him. “Seriously, Greg, get on the fucking swing.”
It’s the first time she’s ever called him Greg, he realizes. He ducks her feet and gets on the swing next to her. His legs are longer, and he’s soon swinging higher and faster than she is. He hates to admit it, but it’s exhilarating.
“See?” she says without asking him how he likes it. “It’s good. You’re not too old for it.”
He doesn’t reply. He can’t think of anything to say.
“I think about sleeping with you, but then I think about people knowing I’ve slept with you, and it doesn’t sound so appealing.”
He actually laughs at this; he doesn’t know what else to do. How is he supposed to respond to that?
“Who says people would know?”
She stops pumping her legs. “I suppose that’s true. I mean, you do have a big ego, but it could be the girls who spread it about themselves. You don’t share anything with anyone anyway.”
“There were a lot of anys in that sentence.”
She nods, slowing almost completely to a stop.
Is he supposed to try to convince her? He’s not one to turn down sex, but he’s not sure what to do with this.
She takes out another cigarette and he pulls it out of her hand.
“Stop it,” he says. “It’s bad for you and it doesn’t make you cool.”
“Well, you would be the expert in both those things, huh, Sweet Sauce?”
He just looks at her. She’s got the most amazing blue eyes, and he can’t remember the last time he noticed the color of a girl’s eyes.
“There’s something else you should take into account before deciding whether you want to sleep with me,” he says, breaking eye contact and kicking sand over the discarded cigarette.
She brushes the sand away and picks it up. “Don’t litter.”
“You’re not one night stand material.”
She looks at him again and he’s never had so much trouble keeping eye contact.
“You’re saying you want a relationship?”
“I’m saying I couldn’t fuck you once and leave you. You interest me.”
“I thought the only things that interested Greg House were medical mysteries.”
“Who says you’re not a mystery?”
They end up kissing hard. It’s a little uncomfortable because they’re both still in their swings, twisting to reach lips and tongues and skin. He’s not sure who’s in control and it’s the first time he hasn’t overpowered a girl in as long as he can remember. She’s the one who pulls away.
“Not tonight,” she whispers, and heads off, stopping at a trashcan to pull the pack of cigarettes out of her pocket and dump it in.
He doesn’t follow her.
---
It’s only the next weekend and they’re at the same party again.
She tugs on his sleeve on the way out, and this time he follows her.
This time there’s an apartment, no playground, no swing sets. She hasn’t said anything since they left the party but she’s unlocking her door and his pupils are dilating. She’s wearing tight, dark jeans and boots that aren’t made for Michigan winters. She has a black jacket pulled over a bright red shirt, but her cheeks are still flushed with the cold. He rubs warmth back into his ears and follows her inside.
She doesn’t turn on any lights.
Her hand finds his as they stand just inside her dark apartment. He brushes his thumb over the back of her hand. She shivers.
“You don’t have heat?” his voice shatters their silence.
“I’m a poor college student.”
“It’s too easy to say we could make our own.”
“And yet, that’s the plan.”
And she kisses him.
Skin on skin is so much hotter. He thinks of physics class and specific heat. And then he can’t think anymore but it’s still science, all friction and magnetism and sweat glands. They come together like their bodies’ responses—something they can’t consciously control and yet it runs completely smoothly. His pupils dilate as her shirt comes off; her pulse skyrockets as his hands skim down her sides. Blood gathers in their centers and their arteries constrict. He’s inside her like the epinephrine pumping through their veins and it feels right.
And after, the parasympathetic takes over. Breathing slows, sweat evaporates and it’s cold again. He had a sweatshirt, but it’s suddenly hanging over her bare breasts and past her fingertips.
“I got ice cream.” He can tell she’s grinning even in the dark.
“Sex and dessert? A girl after my own heart.”
“Not so fast, Sweet Sauce. You have to make the topping.”
He groans. “Ah, work? I don’t know.”
“I want my sweet sauce dammit.”
He laughs and cocks an eyebrow at her. “I think you just got it.”
She hits him and rolls out of the bed, her bare feet pattering quietly to the kitchen. He pulls his boxers on and follows. It’s freezing in her apartment, but he’s mixing the caramel and chocolate and real strawberries this time and she’s scooping ice cream. The lights are still off and they’re both still half naked and he has trouble paying attention to the sauce when her legs are bare and smooth next to him, her feet moving like music is playing somewhere. He keeps kissing her and she keeps laughing at him and telling him to focus.
They eat their ice cream, still half naked, sitting cross-legged on her bed, grinning at each other. She drags her finger along his cheek, collecting spills, and licks it.
“That was mine,” he whines.
“You really must learn to share, Sweet Sauce.”
He does eventually. He shares the covers that night. They sleep half naked, legs tangled and he pretends it’s to keep warm. Except they wake up every once in a while almost already kissing, so maybe there are other benefits.
---
Rumors of the girls he’s slept with still fly, but her name is never mentioned. She thinks it’s rather funny, as he spends every night at her place. He’s already getting an absurd amount of sex, but she supposes the rumors might be true. Maybe he really is getting a little afternoon delight from Sarah Cochran.
Except he’s starting to complain to her—“That girl’s an Amazon—how does anyone really believe I’d want that?”—it’s not a declaration of love, but she thinks it’s as close as he’s ever come to one.
Winter fades ever so slowly into spring, as it always does in Michigan. The groundhog dives back into his hole—there’s still five inches on the ground February 2; they expect much more than six weeks of winter. Eventually the lack of heating doesn’t matter, though he’ll never admit he misses huddling for warmth.
April comes and people are talking about finals. He helps her study as he lazily plays the keyboard he brought over—“It’s not a baby grand, but I need something.”—but she doesn’t much need his help when she’s got a brain and an ambition like she does. He likes to tell her that he probably pulls her exam grade from a 98 to a 99. She blushes and generally ignores him. Finals week he makes her coffee at two a.m. and she doesn’t thank him—“Why haven’t you been studying? Don’t you have exams?” she snaps instead. He just looks at her and she apologizes and he convinces her to give up for the night. Instead he explains gene sequencing as he plays Bach on her back, easing out the muscles. Ten minutes later he has every muscle in her body clenched and she’s so easy tonight.
“When are you going home?” she asks after her third final—which she swears she failed.
“I got an apartment,” he’s looking in the fridge, not at her. “I’m doing research in Bodie’s lab.”
She gives him the half-giggle from the night they met. He eyes her, still leaning into the cool air of the refrigerator.
“What?”
“I’m doing research in Bodie’s lab.”
He throws her a grin over his shoulder and grabs the milk. “A new lab to have sex in. One more checked of the list.”
She laughs, throwing a dishtowel at him. “So presumptuous.”
But of course they do have sex there. They have sex everywhere that summer. The privacy without 20,000 students is amazing. But of course there are a few others doing research, and when school starts in the fall everyone knows. The rumors of other girls stop and she doesn’t get the wolf-whistles and bad pick-up lines she used to.
They live in his apartment for the year. He’s got a real piano and he plays her anything he can think of. He makes her come to Beethoven and Mozart and a few originals. She still can only play Chopsticks.
---
When he leaves for his residency the next spring, he tells her he loves her. She pulls out a cigarette.
“For old time’s sake.”
They smoke it together and she kisses him until they can’t taste the tobacco anymore.
She doesn’t say I love you back.
He rides off on a motorcycle, all his possessions—save the piano being shipped—in his sidecar. It isn’t until he gets to Chicago that he discovers the chocolate, caramel and strawberry topping she buried in his bag.

Maternal Instincts

2008-08-15T03:32:07Z

TITLE: Maternal Instincts
AUTHOR: chippers87
PAIRING: gen, Cuddy/House friendship, Cuddy/Wilson friendship
RATING: PG-13
SUMMARY: cuddy_fest Prompt 69. Five conversations Cuddy has on flights back home
A/N: I owe everything to travlncarrie, without whom this story would cease to exist.

Maternal Instincts