Title: Begin, and cease, and then again begin
Author: PWCorgigirl
Pairing: None. It’s gen.
Rating/Genre: PG-13 for strong language. Gen/het and somewhat AU because it deals with a lot of non-canon backstory. Cuddy, Wilson, House friendship. 3,513 words.
Summary: “I’m,” she says and pauses. “I’m a little mixed up about why I’m here.”
Author’s note: My prompt was No. 18 -- The five people Cuddy sees when she's dead. The title is from Matthew Arnold’s poem “Dover Beach." Beta'd by my first readers group.
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One
“Lisa? Can you get up?”
Her father’s asking her that and she’s amazed because Frank Cuddy’s been dead almost a decade. But it’s not her father as he was when he died (massive heart attack while having his evening drink at the Flannigan brothers’ bar) or as he would be now, if he were still alive.
He looks as he did when she was a little girl.
“Dad,” she says. He’s leaning over her, his gray eyes bright, and his thick hair is reddish in the dappled sunlight falling through the oak tree's leaves. His briefcase is on the sidewalk by his feet and he’s holding out his hand. It’s the end of the day, and his suit jacket is off and his cuffs are turned up.
The rest is here.
Author: PWCorgigirl
Pairing: None. It’s gen.
Rating/Genre: PG-13 for strong language. Gen/het and somewhat AU because it deals with a lot of non-canon backstory. Cuddy, Wilson, House friendship. 3,513 words.
Summary: “I’m,” she says and pauses. “I’m a little mixed up about why I’m here.”
Author’s note: My prompt was No. 18 -- The five people Cuddy sees when she's dead. The title is from Matthew Arnold’s poem “Dover Beach." Beta'd by my first readers group.
“Lisa? Can you get up?”
Her father’s asking her that and she’s amazed because Frank Cuddy’s been dead almost a decade. But it’s not her father as he was when he died (massive heart attack while having his evening drink at the Flannigan brothers’ bar) or as he would be now, if he were still alive.
He looks as he did when she was a little girl.
“Dad,” she says. He’s leaning over her, his gray eyes bright, and his thick hair is reddish in the dappled sunlight falling through the oak tree's leaves. His briefcase is on the sidewalk by his feet and he’s holding out his hand. It’s the end of the day, and his suit jacket is off and his cuffs are turned up.
The rest is here.
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