One Time He Returned the Favor
He watched her flutter about the kitchen as he sat on the couch, unable to repress his smile. She was wearing her high heels, low cut blouse and tight skirt, her usual work attire with the addition of an apron on top. It was early in the morning and she was busy making breakfast. His smile broadened, as he wondered if he had a camera somewhere; there was some great blackmail potential nagging at House's twisted sense of right and wrong. He stood from the couch, unable to sit so far from her any longer and he stealthily made his way into the kitchen, silently creeping up behind Cuddy as she took hold of the empty coffee pot.
"So," House said, wrapping his arm around her middle.
Before he could say anything more, Cuddy shook in fear, not realizing he was behind her, much less close enough to touch her. The coffee pot fell, shattering at her feet, promptly slicing into her ankle; she cried out, more in surprise than in pain and she stared in cofusion at the blood now pooling on the floor.
"I'm bleeding," she said quietly, somewhat mystified by the crimson hue spilling from her foot. She looked up at him, somewhat dazed, as if everything was happening in slow motion. He stood rooted to the spot, still processing what had just happened. Going numb momentarily, he stared at her bleeding foot, perturbed by its horrible timing.
Snapping out his reverie, he said, "Guess we won't be having coffee this morning," as he walked out of the kitchen.
"Do you still have the second suture kit?" she called out after him.
House reappeared at the entryway to the kitchen, suture kit in hand, "Yep. Can you make it to the couch?"
"I think so."
"Here," he said, passing his cane to her.
Cuddy hop-limped out to the couch, using his cane, and propped her foot up on the coffee table as House pulled up the piano bench to sit down.
He placed his hand on her foot and began to exam her injury.
"House! Put gloves on."
"Why? Do you have an STD?"
Slightly taken aback, she said, "No. Put gloves on anyway."
He rolled his eyes, donned a pair of gloves and set to work. House numbed the affected area, removed the glass, flushed the wound, and began his trademark stitch.
"I guess I won't be going to work today."
"Not unless you want to borrow the crutches in the closet."
"No thanks."
"How convenient you managed to do this on my last day of sick leave."
"Yeah, I planned it all along," she said sarcastically.
"You know, if you really wanted to spend the day with me, you could have just asked," he said, mockingly. Cuddy smiled at him, savoring every moment, grateful he was around to tease her with her own words.
"So is this another lesson?" she asked, while watching him stitch her foot.
"No."
"No?"
"You had your one free lesson. I still haven't gotten my thanks for it."
She watched as House finished stitching her foot. The stitches were perfectly formed, precise, accurate. When he was finished, he pulled the gloves off, tossed them in the trash and cleaned up the mess before sitting next to her on the couch.
House ran his fingers through her hair and very nonchalantly said, "I heard you."
She looked at him in confusion, "I didn't say anything."
"What exactly is a non-boyfriend boyfriend?" he asked, wrapping his arm around her.
Cuddy angled her chin so that she could look up into his eyes as she rested her ear on his shoulder, "You heard me?"
"I'm here to glare at you in response," House said with a wry smile.
She lowered her chin and snuggled into his embrace, "I'm glad you're not dead."
He closed his eyes at her words, recalling the last words she had said that day, You are the most aggravatingly frustrating, devestatingly annoying, vicisiously intelligent, horribly brilliant non-boyfriend, because-he-won't-say-it, boyfriend I've ever had the pleasure of falling in love with." And he remembered the gentle kiss, full of hope and want for him to be okay.
"No, I'm not dead." Thanks to you, he thought.
"I would have fired you if you'd died." House knew she meant that she would have been lost without him. She would have been in the same position Wilson was in now and as he rested his chin on the top of her head, he was thankful he hadn't put her through that, too.
"You'd never fire me. You're hot for my bod."
Cuddy half-heartedly chuckled, "I should have said thank you years and years ago." She felt him pull her in close, just a bit. Cuddy held her breath, hoping he wouldn't bite back, or choose this moment to release his fiery, snarky tongue.
And much to Cuddy's surprise, he whispered, "You're welcome."