|3x05 Fool for Love Companion piece
||[Mar. 17th, 2007|10:16 pm]
Cuddy's Secret - Season Three Companion Series
Late as hell, but finally done ♥|
Rated PG, maybe PG-13
Cuddy stared forlornly at the negative pregnancy test. She stared at it for another moment before throwing it annoyedly into the trash. “Fuck it!” She muttered.
She undressed and pulled her nightgown on. This is getting ridiculous. She sat down on her bed and sighed. She was exhausted but she wasn’t sleepy. She was just done. She needed to get out of her own head for a while.
She pulled out her cell phone and dialed Wilson’s number.
“You’ve reached James Wilson, I’m not here right now or my phone is off. Leave me a message and I’ll call you back.”
“Jimmy… it’s Lisa… where are you?” She wiped her eyes, “I kind of need some company right now.”
She sighed and hung up the phone. “Where the hell are you?!” She turned the phone over in her hands a few times. She was thinking about it… she was thinking about calling him. Something told her she’d regret it. But she dialed the number.
House’s voice came through the earpiece, “I’m off the clock, leave me alone.” He muttered.
“You picked up. You never pick up.”
“What do you want Cuddy?”
“Company. I just need some company right now. Will you come over?” She bit her lip as she waited for a reply but got none. “Please?”
She heard the rustle of something, it sounded like his leather jacket and she smiled a little.
“I’ll be right over.” He said, his voice softening.
“Thank you,” she whispered, “I appreciate it.” Even though she knew he’d already hung up the phone. She shut her phone off and went into the kitchen and put on a pot of coffee.
House paused his OnDemand movie, Bound, Jennifer Tilly and Gina Gershon in leather clad lesbian sex scenes… Cuddy better really need company, he thought. But he’d recognized her tone of voice, he knew she needed company.
It was a tone he’d heard only once or twice. The soft voice had mewled into the phone, sounding young and scared the night her father’d had his heart attack. He held her all night long, stroked her hair, listening to her softly recite her nutrition notes. She was still an undergrad then. And she’d never looked so small and helpless as she had in the dim light of his apartment that day.
The second time he’d heard the tone he bought her an ice cream and walked with her through the Princeton park until the wee hours of the morning. They’d talked about anything and everything she brought up, but she stayed gingerly away from the subject of what was bothering her. He walked her right up to the front door of her house. She’d invited him in and he looked her in the eyes and said he’d better not. She wrapped her arms around his neck and held him tightly against her. Her hair still smelled faintly of her strawberry scented shampoo. He squeezed her gently and when she let go she had tears in her eyes. She turned and went inside before he had the chance to ask her what was wrong.
That had been 1991 and now in 2006 Lisa Cuddy was once again vulnerable and in need and she called him.
But none of that exactly mattered at the moment. None of it mattered as he sat on the cold floor of the cell, his cane taken away and his leg aching.
They hadn’t let him have his phone call. They’d said it was too late and it would have to wait until the morning.
House limped over to the bunk and laid down in a vain attempt to sleep. An attempt that was thwarted both by the throbbing pain in his leg and the incessant off-key singing of the local drunk, tucked into the corner.
House rolled over onto his side, “know any show tunes?”
8 AM in Princeton, New Jersey rolled around and the lights in the building turned on. House groaned and rubbed his eyes, bothered by the sudden light. He looked over at the drunk who was slowly rambling out “She’s having my baby.” He sighed. Cuddy. He needed to call Cuddy.
“Hey!” He shouted, “hey, I get a phone call!”
“Fine,” the officer on duty grumbled, letting House out of the cell and locking it behind him. “One phone call.”
House limped to the phone, biting back a pained groan. He picked up the receiver and dialed the familiar 7-digit number. The phone rang and he waited. Wilson answered.
“Hello?” He said.
House was stunned silent for a moment. He was brought out of his stupor by a second more persistent, “hello?” From Wilson.
“Hey.” He said. “It’s me.”
“Where are you?”
“Jail?!” Wilson repeated, dumbfounded. “What… why?”
“Long story. Is Cuddy there?” of course Cuddy’s there! It’s her fucking House. The more pertinent question is why the fuck are you there?!
“Do you need someone to bail you out?”
“Yes, can you put Cuddy on the phone?”
“She’s showering. I’ll come get you. I don’t think she needs this stress at the moment.”
“Fine. How soon can you get here?”
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