Disclaimer: I unfortunately own nothing but my deranged mind and my exquisite taste. House MD belongs to David Shore and FOX.
First of all, a Happy 2011 to you all, readers of my heart. I do hope you have enjoyed New Year's Eve and wish you the best luck on writing the pages of this brand new blank book we just got graced with. It's time to correct the old mistakes and make some new ones. Who's excited? I know I am!
As promised, here it is the second part of this unpretentious tale. Thank you so much for the lovely and generous reviews – my flawed English is obnoxiously flattered! – as well as the silent support brought by those who marked this as their favorite/story alert. I know your account only has space for the best guys.
Andie.
"She lifts her skirt up to her knees
Walks through the garden rows with her bare feet laughing
I never learned to count my blessings
I choose instead to dwell in my disasters
I walk on down the hill through grass grown tall and brown and still it's hard somehow to let go of my pain
On past the busted back of that old and rusted Cadillac that sinks into this field collecting rain
Will I always feel this way?
So empty, so estranged…"
"Empty" – Ray LaMontagne
Complicity – part II
His blood pulsated strongly in his jugular and her turgid lips could feel his heartbeat as they touched the balmy skin of his neck and planted small kisses over the light purple bruises fruit of her ministrations in the previous night. Cuddy's eyelids gave up for a couple of seconds lost in the sensation of proximity. Despite the magnitude of evolutionary process, human being would never be able to negate their animal portion, and that was one of those moments one could wisely appreciate the blessing of having such instincts. She would just stay there and lose herself in his warmth, and scent, and snore, and taste, and beauty a little while longer.
After an unusually restful night of sleep, House had started to stir some minutes ago, but his senses seemed to refuse being dragged back into consciousness as his naked body still laid comfortably abandoned in the mattress in all its gorgeousness. Getting all the benefit from this precious unawareness, Cuddy coddled him in every possible way, worshipping his body and displaying all the affection she strived to keep under control in his austere presence. Her love for him did not share the same subtlety of his love for her, and it was hard enough to hold her tongue and suppress the three little words not to freak him out more than necessary.
Cuddy brushed small kisses under his right ear and nuzzled his neck breathing him in when House's hoarse and sleepy voice graced her with his first witty remark of the day "Taking advantage of a crippled and unconscious middle-aged diagnostician, Dr. Cuddy? I'm sure this is illegal in some states…"
She smiled and bit his earlobe ever so gently before replying between kisses "No, if the victim consents, it's not…" And then, moving left to face him, their mouths no more than two inches apart, she asked seductively "Do I get your consent, Dr. House?"
His answer was silent and vehement, as he leaned forward and captured her lips in an unhurried peck, tasting the coffee that still lingered in her lips and breath before lying back on the pillow, lazily. Cuddy took in his figure observantly, still debating whether to ask how he was feeling or bringing up the night before. He looked well-rested, peaceful, no purple bags under her beloved aquamarines… No frantic muscle-rubbing, no pain distorting his features… Grey disheveled tufts, square stubble jaw, bared chest, and those pomegranate lips, oh so kissable…
Cuddy continued to study House closely for a minute or two before he raised his right hand to feel her face ever so delicately, slender pianist fingers contouring her features as a blind person who tried to memorize an unknown face. She leaned onto his touch for a while, delighting herself in the adoration that sparkled in baby blue immensity, and a rhetorical and out-of-habit question escaped her mouth and broke the sacred silence between them before her mind could censor it "What?"
It was hard to believe he was actually awake. Being stirred up to his senses after a merciful night of restful blackout by the unmistakable and mouthwatering scent exhaled by her pores just to taste a mix of coffee and passion on her velvet lips was surreal enough. The sensorial right side of his brain already worked frantically to convince the left incredulous one of the veracity of that moment while his lips covered hers, but the vista his lynx eyes captured after reopening from the kiss was way too angelical to be trusted. No human being could be that stunning, it was against the laws of nature. And, assuming that such a gorgeous female was indeed real and made of flesh and bones, she could not be his. No way did she dedicate the precious moments of her unlikely existence caring about a physically and emotionally crippled mortal like him. No. That would mean pretty much the death of logic. And House could not live in a reason-free world. Could he?
Her gaze was full of scrutiny. For a moment he feared she would be able to read his every thought; there must be a pre-designed utility for such astoundingly beautiful green blue irises. Hypnosis, maybe? The peach skin of her face was magnetic, the positive extremity attracting the negative one, his hand, to feel it, to confirm its silky realness. She inclined her face a little bit to the right and the corners of her mouth curled up a bit, a grin of genuine approval. She was enjoying the feeling of his rough skin against her milky one, and suddenly that moment felt like being frozen forever, immobilizing them both in that silent reverie so life could remain perfect. And it did, for a couple of seconds at least, before space-time continuum went on its course, and reality used her voice to suck him back from the reclusion of his wonder.
She stared at him inquisitively, patiently demanding an answer. Would it hurt to tell her the truth, just this once? House decided to take his chance. "You're breathtakingly beautiful, Dr. Cuddy." he stated plainly, without breaking eye contact, and beheld her lopsided smile flashing instantaneously, lighting up the whole room at once like a big white neon billboard in Vegas. That was it, damage was done, he could spot her ego inflating and menacing to take the whole apartment. In a dull try to minimize the havoc caused by his alien way-too-flattering compliment, House added, maybe a little too late "I guess that spell you cast back in Salem three centuries ago worked better than expected".
Ten seconds. That was exactly the amount of time House had dared to sneak out of his thick carapace, and for Cuddy it had been more than enough. Having him verbalizing his sentiments so spontaneously had just made her day, even though she had already read them with no difficulty, written as they were in capital letters in his intense ice blue gaze. The witch joke was even more amusing, and she could not help but guffaw wholeheartedly at the memory of Bette Midler in Hocus Pocus "I put a spell on yoooou, and now you're miiiiine…" she tried to sing but choked with laughter, causing House to burst out too, giving her another reason to treasure that moment. The sound of his earnest laughter was not a noise her ears – or anyone else's – were familiar with.
Some good calories burned on crack up later, the laughter died down and House was back to his usual inquisitive mode "Tell me, enchantress, why are you up and dressed to kill at 8 a.m. on a Saturday? I thought we had set up that my ass was the only one that got to be kissed during the weekends." he inquired on a fake reproachful tone, supporting himself on his elbows to sit on the mattress. His hand flew to rest on his right thigh, rubbing it absentmindedly.
Cuddy's brows immediately furrowed in concern "Today's that brunch with Dr. Tilghman, the Trustees and the Council I told you about…" she trailed off, failing miserably on disguising her preoccupation "Are you alright? Do you want me to get you some Ibuprofen?"
Her excessive worry was unnerving, but House was gradually learning how to control his impulse to lash out at her overprotective behavior. Another rightful victim of her momism would be out in less than four months, ready to join Rachel and save daddy's ass. "I'm fine. I had forgotten you were meeting your boss today…"
Sweeping his eyes over her elegant and overly expensive outfit, House noted "Geez, if this dressing code applied to your employees as well, Wilson and I would have to take that part-time porn star job offer we declined a few years ago just to afford the brands. What's up with women and Italian surnames anyway?"
Cuddy grinned at House's second implicit woo of the day. The annual gathering with Princeton University governance used to be one of the most important – therefore stressful – social events of the year for so many reasons, fashion obviously included given the fact that she was a woman.
This year, however, far from feeling anxious about the gathering, Cuddy felt genuinely excited. She was radiant. Currently living the most blissful phase of her life carrying her little boy in her womb, Cuddy wanted the world to be aware of how far remained those "lonely, miserable and workaholic middle aged woman with no personal life" days. She had it all now, and world could kiss her ass. An afternoon shopping with Lucinda in Manhattan had granted her the armor she needed to face the lions' coven. She picked out an impeccable outfit, formal and neat as the Ivy League scholar environment demanded, which also made her feel gorgeous and serious and powerful. The second youngest Dean of Medicine, first female, hired under the age of 35…
And House could see it again, the lovely overconfident smile blooming in her face like a white tulip on a Dutch garden during the spring. It did not matter what unintended compliment slipped his big mouth today, the woman's ego was already a liability anyway, especially when she was wearing a 10-thousand-dollar outfit. He might as well indulge her and get his reward when she got back home later…
"How many?" House asked, trying to repay the favor and pull her back from her reverie like she had done with him moments before.
"How many what?" Cuddy wondered, oblivious as she was from House's previous rambling.
"How many Italian surnames are you wearing now?" House clarified, pointing at Cuddy and her Vanity-Fair-page-10 garments. He had absolutely no curiosity on finding that out, but the prospect of stripping every ridiculously costly piece of cloth and have her gloriously naked on top of him later was certainly worth the pointless asking. Nothing turned a woman on as bragging about an exclusive and unaffordable wardrobe.
"A few… A couple of French ones too." Cuddy answered smiling wickedly and saving herself the trouble of naming the brands that compounded her perfect look. House was hardly into fashion, except for the lingerie that he used to buy her every now and then – and he had an exquisite taste for that, she must admit – but that was obviously for his own benefit. He unquestionably had an agenda that justified the fake interest, but she was appreciating the effort. "Do you like it?" she inquired, standing up to give him a panoramic view of her self.
She looked fantastic. The ivory tailleur was classy, gracefully hugging her curves at the same time it conveniently hid her better assets, boobs and ass temptingly concealed, leaving a lot of room to a wild imagination. And those scarlet stilettos, she was definitely keeping them later… "Yeah, it's alright." House dismissed in forged disdain, feeling a soft friskiness emerge on his groin when his eyes acknowledged she was wearing stockings. God, he loved stockings… Such a tease…
The greed she saw navigating on baby blue told Cuddy everything she needed to know. House liked it, even though it was not tight or low-cut. "Alright? What happened to the 'breathtakingly beautiful' part?" she teased in mock indignation.
The Devil would forgive 167 soul debts before Cuddy forgot about House's chivalrous slip up. Was it really that important to her that he stated the obvious? Women are just odd. "You did get a kick out of that, didn't you?" He grinned and stretched his hand to reach for hers, bringing it to his lips and brushing small kisses on her knuckles. "You can reward me when you get your pear-shaped ass back from Princeton's modern version of cotton fields, you blue-eyed Jewish luxury slave…"
"Really? I was thinking about starting to reward you now with coffee, maybe some of the eggs, French toast and fruit salad I made to myself and couldn't eat it all but, if you prefer…" Cuddy purposefully triggered his hunger and tried to sound extra casual about the fact that she had made him breakfast. House was not exactly a fan of niceties.
"Aw, I see. You feed me now so you can suck all the energy out of my body later and be hot and young forever, right? I'm okay with that. How do you intend to do it? I can think of some good options…" House delivered another witch remark full of innuendo, causing Cuddy to giggle on her way to the kitchen. Predicting he would wake up absolutely ravenous as usual, she had already spared two thirds of the exaggerated amount of food and started setting everything on a tray.
Cuddy was pouring the steamy coffee on his favorite mug when she heard the Hanson's ring tong playing loudly somewhere in the living room. Scanning the room for it, she found House's cell phone in his wet trousers' pocket and hurried to give it to him, who had just put some boxers on and was brushing his teeth in the bathroom. She handed him his phone and left him alone to answer his call, walking back to the kitchen to finish up his breakfast.
Less than two minutes later, House was leaning against the kitchen's threshold, his former laid-back expression substituted by a defeated one. "It was Foreman. My patient just died."
Cuddy felt a light squeeze in her chest once she turned around to look at him and dove head first in the genuine grief that filled up his eyes. House's obsession with this case had grown out of the ordinary; that was first time he slept on his own bed in three days, and his pain had substantially increased. Before leaving PPTH the evening before, Cuddy had peeked into his conference room to observe him DDXing with his team and wondered whether this unusual commitment was simply for the puzzle-solving sake.
Now the hurt freely displayed on his gaze spoke loud and clear: he had gotten involved with this patient most likely for the resemblance she had with his recently adopted daughter. Cuddy had been a witness of how much House had been struggling to get over his fatherhood issues, how determined he was to be a good father for Rachel and Gabriel. The ghost of John House's abuse still haunted him, but little by little Rachel's affection along with Nolan's counseling got shake his isolation walls and he started to trust him self more around the kid.
And then, just as he was creating a soft spot in his heart for three-year-old girls, Katie Wilder entered his life like a devastating hurricane. For the first time in months – maybe years – Dr. Gregory House had dared to truthfully care about a patient who, ironically enough, he had not been able to save. Because life is screwed up that way.
"Oh Greg, I'm so sorry." Cuddy earnestly lamented, walking towards him and cupping his stubble face in her tiny hands "I know how hard you've been working on this case but… There was really nothing to be done, right? I mean, all the differentials…" She started in a futile endeavor to comfort him as he immediately retreated and averted her apologetic gaze to stare at the floor.
"I did my job, I diagnosed her. I solved the puzzle." He stated a little bit too harshly, stopping her midsentence and furrowing his brows in annoyance. "I guess that should be enough, right? Knowing that I've done my best? Even if it sucks?"
House's disconcerting outburst dragged Cuddy to the dark place his mind had been inhabiting the last couple of days. The images of a little girl at the same age as their own wasting the last instants of her life lying on a hospital bed on an inutile strive for survival fired her pregnancy hormones, which added powerful misery effect to the mental motion picture. Her hand dropped from his face on a reflex, betraying tears invincibly filling her ocean eyes as her lips pursed in an attempt to keep them from rolling down her cheeks and ruining her makeup. Cuddy hated this, this alien sentiment of vulnerability that got the best of her when it came to her Rachel and all the horrible stuff that could happen regardless of her efforts to keep her safe and happy.
And now there was Gabe, the unlikely present she had been given by God, and by the man she loved. Six pregnancy tests, six pee sticks. All positive. Her facial muscles alternated between cry and smile when she decided to kept the tests for posterity under House's fake protests. Two days later, on the ultrasound, a frantically beating heart broke the silence in the room and changed their lives forever. House looked petrified at the scream for almost five minutes, absolutely mute, just to utter when everybody in the room started to fear he had gone catatonic "Your mom will castrate me if I don't marry you."
Four months later, House's equipment was still attached and Cuddy's civil state remained the same, in spite of Arlene's marriage jihad. The Dean's finger was adorned with a very discrete and tasteful pink diamond ring and her closet and drawers had been invaded by a half of Nike Air collection and Rock in Rio amount of band t-shirts. Her belly was growing round and forth under a pair of big male hands that rested above it every night. Rachel's hopes for a little sister had perished two weeks before, just when "it" became "he", the "embryo" became a "fetus", the "baby" became "Gabriel". Gabriel James House.
Life was very good, thank you, but it was still life. It still sucked in so many levels. Meaningless fights at home, power struggles at the hospital, overprotective mother-in-law nagging, risky pregnancy, dusty skeletons stocked in the closet, emotionally demanding daughter, Vicodin missing, pain… Pain and all the shit that came with it. All the callousness. House watched Cuddy trying badly to restrain her weep and felt the urge to kick himself in the gut. So much for being inconspicuously gallant. How long had he made it, half an hour? His scorpion ass had nearly gotten to the other side of the river without piercing Cuddy's trusty frog back this morning, but it was merely a matter of time before his sneaky obliterating nature overruled him, and now they were both drowning in misery thanks to his stupidity. How could he ever make her understand that beasts like him needed to bleed alone, otherwise hurting others became inevitable?
Still trying to come up with something minimally decent to apologize to Cuddy, House noticed that the sophisticated close-fitting tailleur did very little to hide her baby bump, which was still discrete and purposefully showing off, much to her pride and delight, as well as his. The urge to touch the small rigid bulge immediately assaulted him, and before his mind could think of a random reason to restrain his impetus his hand had already moved to rest on her womb, tactile nerves alert to the slightest sign of movement. There was none. Great, he had probably upset them both… "Gabe is too quiet today, isn't he?" House pointed out, breaking the deafening silence that had been encrusting the room since his unexpected yelling moments ago.
Cuddy entwined her left hand in his and smiled weakly. "It's always like this during the mornings… I'm pretty sure he's inherited your aversion to waking up early, so I don't look forward to much action before 10." she explained, waiting a few more seconds before moving her other hand to his jaw and lifting it up so he could face her. His expression was calmer now. "Are you ok?"
"I'm fine." He assured her, not putting much effort into being convincing. If his Wicca theory was accurate – and he did believe it might – witches are impossible to deceive, and he could tell she had long ago mastered the art of reading him like an open book. "You should go. None occurs to me now, but I bet there are some good jokes about Jews and punctuality."
Cuddy knew that was her cue to leave. He needed his space, and she would always respect that. He did not need to change, he had not. And she prayed everyday he would not. Letting go of his hand and fondling his cheek, she kissed him tenderly on the lips. "Enjoy your breakfast. I'm planning to have a Salem-fashioned energy-sucking afternoon when I get back." She uttered playfully before reaching for her Fendi and car keys and exiting the house.
The door snapped shut and the house was suddenly noiseless. No little feet tapping on the floor, no cartoon sounds coming from the TV. No giggles, no whining. No "Daddy!" Just silence, deafening silence. The same silence that will envelop the Wilder residence from now, since little Katie was an only child.
The same virtual knife was back inside House's damaged quadriceps, causing him to grimace while limping painfully to the couch. His back hit the cushioned surface and he stretched his right leg slowly while his right hand flipped his cell phone open and browsed through the phone list. Pressed on the green button, he brought the device to his ear, and awaited anxiously until a known female voice spoke on the other end "Lucinda? Is Rachel up yet?"
"Well I looked my demons in the eyes
Laid bared my chest and said 'Do your best, destroy me!'
'See, I've been to hell and back so many times I must admit you kind of bore me…'
There's a lot of things that can kill a man
There's a lot of ways to die
Yes, and some already did and walk beside me
There's a lot of things I don't understand
Why so many people lie?
Is the hurt I hide that fuels the fire inside me?
Will I always feel this way?
So empty, so estranged…"
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