No Children, 7/16, PG13
Aug. 27th, 2008 05:58 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
damelolaTitle: No Children (part 7 of 16)
Author: Lola Lauriestein
Rating: PG13-R for language, occasional sex references!
Pairing: Cuddy/OMC, House/Cuddy, House, Cuddy, Wilson friendship.
Spoilers: Everything up to Wilson's Heart, takes place not long after.
Disclaimer: not-not-mine, House et al belong to David Shore, Fox etc. The song "No Children" is by The Mountain Goats, they are awesome and you should check them out.
Summary: Cuddy has a new boyfriend, House has a problem and Wilson is grieving. As matters go from bad to worse, will they be able to help each other as they once did? Friendships under strain and tough decisions ahoy.
With thanks to my awesome beta,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
lucyvanflick! Thank you to everyone for your thoughtful and considered criticism so far, it's giving me so much confidence when something I really worked at goes over in the right way.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
“And I hope you die, I hope we both die”
The distant sounds of raised voices disturbed Cuddy’s brief nap, and the slamming of a door jolted her fully awake. Utterly confused, she stared at the strange colors and furniture that surrounded her, trying desperately to identify her surroundings. As the fog of sleep finally cleared, she remembered where she was and why she was here. Setting out in search of the bathroom, she surveyed her reflection in the mirror with a rueful smile. The drive and lack of decent sleep had taken their toll, and she repaired the damage as best she could with the contents of her purse. Feeling presentable at last, she returned to the room and selected some fresh clothes, settling on black jeans and a white shirt. Most of what she had brought was too formal for an afternoon that would probably be spent making tea and helping House order flowers.
By the time she had wandered through the house and unearthed the dining room, the afternoon sky was beginning to darken. House didn’t hear her approaching the room in her bare feet, and only when she rapped gently on the doorframe did he look up. The couple of hours that had rested her had taken an even greater toll on him, the presence of his reading glasses a sure sign that he was struggling with exhaustion.
“Coffee,” she offered, more of a command than a question.
When in doubt, she chose to deal with his most urgent needs first: triage for the sleep-deprived and grieving. He looked grateful for a moment, before rising from his chair and grumbling that he’d do it since she didn’t know where anything was.
She stopped him as he approached, her hand firm against the warmth of his cotton-clad chest.
“I’m a big girl, House, I can figure it out for myself. Where’s your dad? I’ll ask if he wants any.”
She felt the reflexive tensing of his muscles under her hand, reminding her that the contact was unnecessary.
“He went out.” His spiky manner invited no further questions, but seemed to explain the noise that had brought her back to consciousness.
Cuddy left him to his paperwork, padding through to the adjacent kitchen. This room was the homiest she had seen so far, not as neutral or as uncluttered as the other spaces she had been privy to. It was comforting to be somewhere that contained the presence of the departed Mrs. House, and Cuddy supposed that while they had been accustomed to travelling light for the constant moves, a good housewife would always make her mark in the most important room. With quick and easy exploration, she found the necessary equipment and coffee beans to get a pot brewing, and by the time she was pouring into two mugs, House had appeared behind her.
He took the proffered mug with muttered thanks and slurped greedily at its caffeinated contents, jerking it back towards her for a refill before she even had a chance to sip at her own. Satisfied enough not to complain about her coffee-making skills, he attacked the second helping with a little more decorum.
“Hungry?”
Cuddy kept conversation to a minimum; she could practically hear him thinking from across the room and knew he would talk only when he felt like it. He shrugged as though food was nothing worth thinking about, but from his unusually pale skin and listless demeanor she could see that he was most likely surviving on the occasional candy bar.
Opening cupboards, she cobbled together enough for quick pasta dish since cooking had never been her strong point. She fixed her gaze on the boiling water, running through the formulaic way she knew how to make sauce. It was hardly cordon bleu, but it made her feel useful.
House watched her intently as she applied her usual precision to a simple meal. From her methodical approach it could easily have been a surgical procedure, not a wasted movement, everything laid out in advance of the next step. Her capability soothed him, but sent fresh reminders of his mom surging through him. How many meals had he scoffed his way through, not remembering to thank her before rushing off to lacrosse practice or sneaking out to drink warm beer that one of his friends had stolen? The stinging in his eyes made further crying a painful risk, but he knew what he really needed was sleep. Eye drops and caffeine could only do so much and he was rapidly approaching a state of running entirely on empty.
He was puzzled by Cuddy’s presence, but had finally reached a level of exhaustion that wouldn’t let him dissect and analyze it properly. Her leaving the hospital for more than an evening was a big freaking deal, not to mention the abandoned boyfriend and the kiss he had been sure meant nothing to her. Now here she was, making him food that smelled delicious, her casual clothes making her seem softer than she did at the office. It might be confusing, but it was also pretty damn welcome.
As he waited for her to dish up the food, his thoughts turned to his father, and the promise he had made to his mother. How the hell was he supposed to fix things when every conversation turned into a fight? The constant battle of wills exhausted even a consummate game player like him, and he had no earthly idea how to remove years of carefully maintained distance. For a fleeting moment, he wished it had been his dad who had died first; it would have been easier to adjust to life without him. Hell, he’d rather his own miserable life ended than waste the 10 or 20 years his mother might still have had. He felt no remorse over thinking that way, except that he wouldn’t have wished his death on his mother. Back when he’d almost died after the infarction, she had been inconsolable, muttering over and over at his bedside that a mother should never outlive her children.
They ate in silence. He couldn’t find anything light to open conversation with and she seemed oddly content just to eat and make sure that he did too. As she gathered their dishes to wash, he turned and made his slow progress back to the dining room. He had scarcely settled back into his seat before she appeared in the doorway, drying her hands on a dishtowel.
“Don’t even think about it.”
He looked up at her in surprise. What could he possibly have done wrong?
“You can’t even see straight right now. Get your ass to bed and get some sleep before I have to sedate you.”
There was no mistaking her body language, it was absolutely an order, delivered in her best administrator-cum-dominatrix voice. Not that such a clear warning sign had ever deterred him from arguing before.
“Sleep is for the weak, Cuddy. There’s a shitload of stuff to get through here: insurance, stuff for the attorney, the bank, you name it. The last thing I need is my dad getting on my case about not doing enough to help. He’s running all over town playing the stoic widower, organizing the funeral all by himself.”
With a huff of exasperation, she calmly walked over to the table and scooped the papers out from under him. His reflexes were too dulled from tiredness to stop her.
“Bed. Now.”
The unguarded affection in her eyes tipped him over the edge and he finally relented. It felt strange to be heading off to bed and leaving Cuddy alone in this house, one he had never pictured her in. He supposed it was no different to when Stacy would get up hours before him on the rare weekends they spent here, reading the papers with his dad or cooking with his mom. The latest jolt of memories sent him reeling once more, and he wondered with gritted teeth when the sense of loss was going to stop its assault on him.
He paused in the doorway of ‘his’ bedroom, running his eyes over Cuddy’s things. Even in her brief time here, she had already unpacked her bags and organized her girly crap on the dresser. As he considered how his mother would have approved, he bent double with the force of missing her, the waves coming closer together now, unable to say anything about it. For a moment, he considered turning around and telling Cuddy what he had just been thinking, but was already angry with himself for exposing his weaknesses left, right and center.
Beyond weary, he stripped to his boxers and eased himself into bed. Barely able to keep his eyes open for more than a second, he wondered briefly why he was able to sleep now when he had been exhausted for days and failed to rest at every attempt. As sleep claimed him, he felt the gentle tug of a smile on his lips as he noticed that the pillow he had buried his head in smelled just like Cuddy.
After retrieving her laptop from the car, Cuddy had attacked the necessary correspondence with her usual efficiency. All the relevant notifications were typed up and ready to print. She would pester House about a printer when he awoke rather than pry further in this strangely unwelcoming place. Having sorted the important documents from the general, she left a neat pile with a note for House or his father, whoever came across it first. She stretched gently as she stood by the oak sideboard that was filled with framed photographs. Free to be nosy for a moment, she smiled at House’s telltale frown, apparent from pictures of him as baby. The shot from his graduation--she guessed med school since she didn’t recognize it as Michigan--reminded her of the silly crush she’d had for him in college. Save for that one night, years ago, just a day or so before he met Stacy, she hadn’t considered him that way. Or rather, every time she had, there had been at least five good reasons to dismiss such crazy notions.
As she finally stood in pursuit of a fresh pot of coffee, she heard the telltale sound of the front door opening. Seizing the initiative as usual, she went to greet the returning John House and offer him the same care she had provided for his son.
“Colonel?”
“You can call me John, the other one always did.”
Cuddy tried not to wince at the blunt allusion to Stacy, but didn’t try too hard as a little reflexive jealousy would be expected if she really were House’s girlfriend.
“Greg’s finally getting some sleep. Can I get you a cup of coffee?”
To her amazement, she saw the gruff exterior slip at her simple question. House Senior looked every one of his 70-odd years, and his gratitude at the offer of coffee seemed disproportionate. He followed her to the kitchen, his measured steps a few behind her own. In the expanse of the homely room, he seemed lost, bewildered even. Cuddy considered how many times he must have spoken with his wife in this very room, and other rooms like it all over the world. They must have been married for something like 50 years, the sort of life she could barely comprehend. Outside of her family, the only person she had known well for more than ten years was House.
She added the cream and sugar that he requested and a few moments later placed the mug of warm coffee in front of him, opting to lean back against the sink as she sipped from her own.
“Did you get everything done that you needed to? Greg sorted all the papers and he’s going to print out the letters when he gets up. Is there anything I can do to help?”
John considered her offer, snapping back from his confused staring at the fittings of the kitchen.
“She loved this room so much. Always in here, whether there was anything to be done or not.” His voice was quiet, almost broken.
“This was our first real home. I dragged that woman from one end of the earth to another, and she never complained.”
Cuddy offered him a comforting pat on the shoulder.
“She loved you, anyone could see that. I’m sure she was happier that you were together.”
He looked at her with realization.
“I knew we had met before – you’re his boss!”
It wasn’t exactly disapproval, but she could feel it brewing.
“Not exactly. He answers to me, but he has tenure. Really, his employment is regulated by the board. I uh…”
She flushed quickly, the heat rising in her cheeks like the steam from her coffee.
“None of my business, sweetheart. That boy in there never met a rule he couldn’t sail right past. I’m gonna ask, and you don’t have to answer, but how long have you two been…? It’s just a shame he didn’t tell his mother sooner.”
This was tricky territory. She had to be careful not to be too elaborate or risk contradicting what little House might have said earlier in the day.
“A little while? We’ve known each other a long time.”
Fathers were much easier to handle, she reflected; they never wanted detail. Predictably, he seemed satisfied with her answer.
“Well, you’re both adults. I just hope you don’t walk out like the other one did. Five years we had her here for Thanksgiving or the Fourth, always talking weddings and babies with Blythe. Then when the going gets tough she’s gone, says she can’t take the misery anymore. Always surprised me, that. It’s not like Greg was ever a ray of sunshine.”
Cuddy could only conjure a wan smile. She had seem firsthand the effects of Stacy’s desertion, but knew only too well the vitriol and spite that had filled the lawyer’s days before she snapped. How could she explain that she’d already been through House lashing out, as his friend and the attending physician? She was still there after all, though not in the way this man in front of her understood it. It made her feel guilty all over again about poor, patient Zach, back in New Jersey waiting eagerly for her return. Distracted by thoughts of her actual boyfriend, she mounted a half-hearted defense of House.
“Your son is a good man. Sure, he can be a little rough around the edges, but he has a decent heart under it all.”
John regarded her suspiciously, unsure if her defense was actually an attack on him or his parenting skills. He seemed about to challenge her, but with a weary shrug, he seemed to opt for a more pleasant avenue of conversation.
“There is one thing you could do, if it’s not too big a trouble for you. I got everything sorted out for tomorrow, except for flowers. Janice at the flower shop said she’d pick out something appropriate, but Blythe never liked that woman and it just doesn’t seem right somehow. I wouldn’t know a tulip from a turnip, so if you could maybe pop down there, it’s just on the next street over? I don’t mean to impose.”
Cuddy was grateful to be kept busy and accepted the new task gratefully. She confirmed the directions and prepared to set out, first stopping by the bedroom for shoes and to check that House had actually obeyed her order about resting.
As she fumbled with a pair of black flats, she saw his face crumpled against the pillow in the soft afternoon light and felt her heart rhythm alter ever so slightly. He looked innocent that way, the ravages of pain and misery not evident on his rested face. Unable to control the impulse, she pressed a soft kiss to his temple before heading out on her errand. Had she turned around again before leaving the room she would have seen his eyes flutter open in surprise. As it was, she remained oblivious and before she had cleared the front porch his snores had returned.
Chapter 8
Author: Lola Lauriestein
Rating: PG13-R for language, occasional sex references!
Pairing: Cuddy/OMC, House/Cuddy, House, Cuddy, Wilson friendship.
Spoilers: Everything up to Wilson's Heart, takes place not long after.
Disclaimer: not-not-mine, House et al belong to David Shore, Fox etc. The song "No Children" is by The Mountain Goats, they are awesome and you should check them out.
Summary: Cuddy has a new boyfriend, House has a problem and Wilson is grieving. As matters go from bad to worse, will they be able to help each other as they once did? Friendships under strain and tough decisions ahoy.
With thanks to my awesome beta,
lucyvanflick! Thank you to everyone for your thoughtful and considered criticism so far, it's giving me so much confidence when something I really worked at goes over in the right way. Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
“And I hope you die, I hope we both die”
The distant sounds of raised voices disturbed Cuddy’s brief nap, and the slamming of a door jolted her fully awake. Utterly confused, she stared at the strange colors and furniture that surrounded her, trying desperately to identify her surroundings. As the fog of sleep finally cleared, she remembered where she was and why she was here. Setting out in search of the bathroom, she surveyed her reflection in the mirror with a rueful smile. The drive and lack of decent sleep had taken their toll, and she repaired the damage as best she could with the contents of her purse. Feeling presentable at last, she returned to the room and selected some fresh clothes, settling on black jeans and a white shirt. Most of what she had brought was too formal for an afternoon that would probably be spent making tea and helping House order flowers.
By the time she had wandered through the house and unearthed the dining room, the afternoon sky was beginning to darken. House didn’t hear her approaching the room in her bare feet, and only when she rapped gently on the doorframe did he look up. The couple of hours that had rested her had taken an even greater toll on him, the presence of his reading glasses a sure sign that he was struggling with exhaustion.
“Coffee,” she offered, more of a command than a question.
When in doubt, she chose to deal with his most urgent needs first: triage for the sleep-deprived and grieving. He looked grateful for a moment, before rising from his chair and grumbling that he’d do it since she didn’t know where anything was.
She stopped him as he approached, her hand firm against the warmth of his cotton-clad chest.
“I’m a big girl, House, I can figure it out for myself. Where’s your dad? I’ll ask if he wants any.”
She felt the reflexive tensing of his muscles under her hand, reminding her that the contact was unnecessary.
“He went out.” His spiky manner invited no further questions, but seemed to explain the noise that had brought her back to consciousness.
Cuddy left him to his paperwork, padding through to the adjacent kitchen. This room was the homiest she had seen so far, not as neutral or as uncluttered as the other spaces she had been privy to. It was comforting to be somewhere that contained the presence of the departed Mrs. House, and Cuddy supposed that while they had been accustomed to travelling light for the constant moves, a good housewife would always make her mark in the most important room. With quick and easy exploration, she found the necessary equipment and coffee beans to get a pot brewing, and by the time she was pouring into two mugs, House had appeared behind her.
He took the proffered mug with muttered thanks and slurped greedily at its caffeinated contents, jerking it back towards her for a refill before she even had a chance to sip at her own. Satisfied enough not to complain about her coffee-making skills, he attacked the second helping with a little more decorum.
“Hungry?”
Cuddy kept conversation to a minimum; she could practically hear him thinking from across the room and knew he would talk only when he felt like it. He shrugged as though food was nothing worth thinking about, but from his unusually pale skin and listless demeanor she could see that he was most likely surviving on the occasional candy bar.
Opening cupboards, she cobbled together enough for quick pasta dish since cooking had never been her strong point. She fixed her gaze on the boiling water, running through the formulaic way she knew how to make sauce. It was hardly cordon bleu, but it made her feel useful.
House watched her intently as she applied her usual precision to a simple meal. From her methodical approach it could easily have been a surgical procedure, not a wasted movement, everything laid out in advance of the next step. Her capability soothed him, but sent fresh reminders of his mom surging through him. How many meals had he scoffed his way through, not remembering to thank her before rushing off to lacrosse practice or sneaking out to drink warm beer that one of his friends had stolen? The stinging in his eyes made further crying a painful risk, but he knew what he really needed was sleep. Eye drops and caffeine could only do so much and he was rapidly approaching a state of running entirely on empty.
He was puzzled by Cuddy’s presence, but had finally reached a level of exhaustion that wouldn’t let him dissect and analyze it properly. Her leaving the hospital for more than an evening was a big freaking deal, not to mention the abandoned boyfriend and the kiss he had been sure meant nothing to her. Now here she was, making him food that smelled delicious, her casual clothes making her seem softer than she did at the office. It might be confusing, but it was also pretty damn welcome.
As he waited for her to dish up the food, his thoughts turned to his father, and the promise he had made to his mother. How the hell was he supposed to fix things when every conversation turned into a fight? The constant battle of wills exhausted even a consummate game player like him, and he had no earthly idea how to remove years of carefully maintained distance. For a fleeting moment, he wished it had been his dad who had died first; it would have been easier to adjust to life without him. Hell, he’d rather his own miserable life ended than waste the 10 or 20 years his mother might still have had. He felt no remorse over thinking that way, except that he wouldn’t have wished his death on his mother. Back when he’d almost died after the infarction, she had been inconsolable, muttering over and over at his bedside that a mother should never outlive her children.
They ate in silence. He couldn’t find anything light to open conversation with and she seemed oddly content just to eat and make sure that he did too. As she gathered their dishes to wash, he turned and made his slow progress back to the dining room. He had scarcely settled back into his seat before she appeared in the doorway, drying her hands on a dishtowel.
“Don’t even think about it.”
He looked up at her in surprise. What could he possibly have done wrong?
“You can’t even see straight right now. Get your ass to bed and get some sleep before I have to sedate you.”
There was no mistaking her body language, it was absolutely an order, delivered in her best administrator-cum-dominatrix voice. Not that such a clear warning sign had ever deterred him from arguing before.
“Sleep is for the weak, Cuddy. There’s a shitload of stuff to get through here: insurance, stuff for the attorney, the bank, you name it. The last thing I need is my dad getting on my case about not doing enough to help. He’s running all over town playing the stoic widower, organizing the funeral all by himself.”
With a huff of exasperation, she calmly walked over to the table and scooped the papers out from under him. His reflexes were too dulled from tiredness to stop her.
“Bed. Now.”
The unguarded affection in her eyes tipped him over the edge and he finally relented. It felt strange to be heading off to bed and leaving Cuddy alone in this house, one he had never pictured her in. He supposed it was no different to when Stacy would get up hours before him on the rare weekends they spent here, reading the papers with his dad or cooking with his mom. The latest jolt of memories sent him reeling once more, and he wondered with gritted teeth when the sense of loss was going to stop its assault on him.
He paused in the doorway of ‘his’ bedroom, running his eyes over Cuddy’s things. Even in her brief time here, she had already unpacked her bags and organized her girly crap on the dresser. As he considered how his mother would have approved, he bent double with the force of missing her, the waves coming closer together now, unable to say anything about it. For a moment, he considered turning around and telling Cuddy what he had just been thinking, but was already angry with himself for exposing his weaknesses left, right and center.
Beyond weary, he stripped to his boxers and eased himself into bed. Barely able to keep his eyes open for more than a second, he wondered briefly why he was able to sleep now when he had been exhausted for days and failed to rest at every attempt. As sleep claimed him, he felt the gentle tug of a smile on his lips as he noticed that the pillow he had buried his head in smelled just like Cuddy.
After retrieving her laptop from the car, Cuddy had attacked the necessary correspondence with her usual efficiency. All the relevant notifications were typed up and ready to print. She would pester House about a printer when he awoke rather than pry further in this strangely unwelcoming place. Having sorted the important documents from the general, she left a neat pile with a note for House or his father, whoever came across it first. She stretched gently as she stood by the oak sideboard that was filled with framed photographs. Free to be nosy for a moment, she smiled at House’s telltale frown, apparent from pictures of him as baby. The shot from his graduation--she guessed med school since she didn’t recognize it as Michigan--reminded her of the silly crush she’d had for him in college. Save for that one night, years ago, just a day or so before he met Stacy, she hadn’t considered him that way. Or rather, every time she had, there had been at least five good reasons to dismiss such crazy notions.
As she finally stood in pursuit of a fresh pot of coffee, she heard the telltale sound of the front door opening. Seizing the initiative as usual, she went to greet the returning John House and offer him the same care she had provided for his son.
“Colonel?”
“You can call me John, the other one always did.”
Cuddy tried not to wince at the blunt allusion to Stacy, but didn’t try too hard as a little reflexive jealousy would be expected if she really were House’s girlfriend.
“Greg’s finally getting some sleep. Can I get you a cup of coffee?”
To her amazement, she saw the gruff exterior slip at her simple question. House Senior looked every one of his 70-odd years, and his gratitude at the offer of coffee seemed disproportionate. He followed her to the kitchen, his measured steps a few behind her own. In the expanse of the homely room, he seemed lost, bewildered even. Cuddy considered how many times he must have spoken with his wife in this very room, and other rooms like it all over the world. They must have been married for something like 50 years, the sort of life she could barely comprehend. Outside of her family, the only person she had known well for more than ten years was House.
She added the cream and sugar that he requested and a few moments later placed the mug of warm coffee in front of him, opting to lean back against the sink as she sipped from her own.
“Did you get everything done that you needed to? Greg sorted all the papers and he’s going to print out the letters when he gets up. Is there anything I can do to help?”
John considered her offer, snapping back from his confused staring at the fittings of the kitchen.
“She loved this room so much. Always in here, whether there was anything to be done or not.” His voice was quiet, almost broken.
“This was our first real home. I dragged that woman from one end of the earth to another, and she never complained.”
Cuddy offered him a comforting pat on the shoulder.
“She loved you, anyone could see that. I’m sure she was happier that you were together.”
He looked at her with realization.
“I knew we had met before – you’re his boss!”
It wasn’t exactly disapproval, but she could feel it brewing.
“Not exactly. He answers to me, but he has tenure. Really, his employment is regulated by the board. I uh…”
She flushed quickly, the heat rising in her cheeks like the steam from her coffee.
“None of my business, sweetheart. That boy in there never met a rule he couldn’t sail right past. I’m gonna ask, and you don’t have to answer, but how long have you two been…? It’s just a shame he didn’t tell his mother sooner.”
This was tricky territory. She had to be careful not to be too elaborate or risk contradicting what little House might have said earlier in the day.
“A little while? We’ve known each other a long time.”
Fathers were much easier to handle, she reflected; they never wanted detail. Predictably, he seemed satisfied with her answer.
“Well, you’re both adults. I just hope you don’t walk out like the other one did. Five years we had her here for Thanksgiving or the Fourth, always talking weddings and babies with Blythe. Then when the going gets tough she’s gone, says she can’t take the misery anymore. Always surprised me, that. It’s not like Greg was ever a ray of sunshine.”
Cuddy could only conjure a wan smile. She had seem firsthand the effects of Stacy’s desertion, but knew only too well the vitriol and spite that had filled the lawyer’s days before she snapped. How could she explain that she’d already been through House lashing out, as his friend and the attending physician? She was still there after all, though not in the way this man in front of her understood it. It made her feel guilty all over again about poor, patient Zach, back in New Jersey waiting eagerly for her return. Distracted by thoughts of her actual boyfriend, she mounted a half-hearted defense of House.
“Your son is a good man. Sure, he can be a little rough around the edges, but he has a decent heart under it all.”
John regarded her suspiciously, unsure if her defense was actually an attack on him or his parenting skills. He seemed about to challenge her, but with a weary shrug, he seemed to opt for a more pleasant avenue of conversation.
“There is one thing you could do, if it’s not too big a trouble for you. I got everything sorted out for tomorrow, except for flowers. Janice at the flower shop said she’d pick out something appropriate, but Blythe never liked that woman and it just doesn’t seem right somehow. I wouldn’t know a tulip from a turnip, so if you could maybe pop down there, it’s just on the next street over? I don’t mean to impose.”
Cuddy was grateful to be kept busy and accepted the new task gratefully. She confirmed the directions and prepared to set out, first stopping by the bedroom for shoes and to check that House had actually obeyed her order about resting.
As she fumbled with a pair of black flats, she saw his face crumpled against the pillow in the soft afternoon light and felt her heart rhythm alter ever so slightly. He looked innocent that way, the ravages of pain and misery not evident on his rested face. Unable to control the impulse, she pressed a soft kiss to his temple before heading out on her errand. Had she turned around again before leaving the room she would have seen his eyes flutter open in surprise. As it was, she remained oblivious and before she had cleared the front porch his snores had returned.
Chapter 8
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
on 2008-08-27 05:37 pm (UTC)I think you posted your fic twice thou.
no subject
on 2008-08-27 05:47 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2008-08-27 06:07 pm (UTC)Americans don't really use the term "row" to mean fight. And since House is an American, it would seem a tad OOC for him to be thinking in those terms.
But everything else is great!
no subject
on 2008-08-27 06:16 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2008-08-27 06:23 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2008-08-27 08:16 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2008-08-27 08:31 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2008-08-28 12:16 am (UTC)no subject
on 2008-08-28 04:33 am (UTC)I love the connections you've drawn out between Lisa and Stacy (in other chapters, too). Cool idea, having Lisa get together with House just before he meets Stacy! And I like the subtle differences between the two women. I just can't see Lisa leaving House after the infarction, no matter what he did. (Maybe that's naive.)
Oh, and I too am eagerly awaiting season 5. Are you doing a rewatch? I might need to go all the way back to season one, because I've watched all the others recently. ;D
no subject
on 2008-08-28 06:03 pm (UTC)It's great!
Keep the wonderful work.
no subject
on 2009-01-31 08:23 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2009-01-31 09:08 pm (UTC)