Fic: Overtime, Cuddy/Stacy, PG
Mar. 1st, 2009 03:14 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
damelolaTitle: Overtime
Author: Lola Lauriestein
Pairing: Cuddy/Stacy
Rating: PG for a little bit of language
Spoilers: Set pre-show, about a month after the infarction. There's a lot of timeline speculation still going on, but the purposes of this story I've assumed both Stacy and House were working at PPTH at the time of the infarction.
Summary: House is recovering slowly, still livid at the women he feels betrayed him. Cuddy is hiding in her office, avoiding Stacy but eventually seeks her out. Sorry, I suck at summaries.
Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
house_femfest
prompt: Stacy/Cuddy, overtime (you can see I really thought outside the box, ahem). I love Stacy so much, thought it was about time I started writing her.
It starts with an immaculately worded memo from the Head of Legal.
Typical of a lawyer, it’s the perfect non-apologetic apology. In the attached documents, underlined in red was a budget item for her consideration.
She knows the name without looking, because since House got sick and stopped running up legal bills, she’s only had one other to look out for. It’s Taylor, S., with billable hours reaching the stratosphere, and while the work needs doing, the hospital has never been willing to sanction so much overtime in the past.
Of course, attorneys are used to charging for every second worked; it’s like muscle memory. Since Stacy’s boss won’t step in and tell her to betray their mutual instinct, it’s once again Cuddy’s job to be the enforcer.
With a Post-it on the edge of her screen to remind her, Cuddy has every intention of calling Stacy to set up a meeting for that afternoon. A quick chat, a reminder of the budgetary constraints, and order would be restored.
The clock had reached seven without her lifting receiver and dialing that four digit extension number that had been a lifeline for the past couple of years. Cuddy blamed the chaos of her desk, the frantic activity of her day, but even on her busiest day, nothing prevented Lisa Cuddy from doing something when she wanted to. Clearly, the real reason was the one she’d deny if anyone were ever to ask: she couldn’t handle seeing Stacy again.
With House constrained to his own four walls by the injury she’d helped to inflict, Stacy had become the ghost of Cuddy’s misery present, a walking reminder of the carnage her medical decisions had caused.
At first, Cuddy had made a point of seeking out her friend, of offering her own awkward version of support. But the lifelessness of Stacy’s eyes, the bone-aching weariness of her voice were too much to bear. On her daily walk around the hospital grounds, Cuddy had occasionally seen Stacy huddled by an exit, cigarette clamped between her fingers. It would have been a perfect opportunity to talk, but Cuddy avoided eye contact and hurried on her way.
The day finally at an end, Cuddy shrugged her way into her long black coat, briefcase and purse ready for the short journey home. Escaping before bedtime was a luxury, and by rights she ought to have been scurrying to the parking lot before an emergency could roar up and destroy her evening. Instead of the exit, she found her feet carrying her to the staircase and then along the second floor corridor that was home to Legal and Accounting.
Of course there was a light on.
Of course she was behind the desk, heels kicked off, a glass of Scotch in her hand and a pile of legal briefs high enough to build a miniature fort.
All that was missing was the smile.
Cuddy leaned against the doorframe, offering a weak smile of her own. A month ago, Stacy would have made a mocking attempt to hide the booze, or at least fished out a second glass. Now she simply nodded, as close to a welcome as Cuddy could expect these days.
“I get that you need to bury yourself in work, but do you need to bankrupt me in the process?”
A spark of interest flared in Stacy’s face at the light but confrontational tone. Maybe it was her training, or maybe it was her only way to function lately, but adversarial seemed to be the only way to get her attention.
“Keep your doctors in line and maybe I won’t have to bill you so much.”
Feigning hurt at the low blow, Cuddy took it as her opening to come inside the office and sit down. To show she wasn’t scared, that she wasn’t about to bolt, she shed her coat and draped it over a slightly precarious pile of statute books. Stacy regarded her progress warily, exhaling loudly when Cuddy was finally seated.
“Before you ask, Lisa, nothing’s changed. He’s still in agony, he still hates you, though not as much as he hates me, and this week we’re having the silent treatment from the sofa instead of the bed. It’s all good.”
Stacy’s left hand released the papers she’d been reading, the fingers taking advantage of their freedom to run through her hair. Nothing she did seemed to be a choice lately, her every movement seemed strangely automated. Cuddy leaned across the debris that she was so used to seeing on Stacy’s desk, slightly desperate to penetrate the fog that seemed to exist around her friend.
“What about you, Stace? I’m worried about you.”
Stacy’s mouth opened, words forming somewhere in her formidable brain, but only the softest of sighs managed to escape.
“Maybe you should call it a night? You can’t keep pushing yourself like this, no matter how bad House is making you feel.”
“Some would say Greg has every right to make me feel bad. He certainly says it. I can’t face going home to another night of being despised, I really can’t do it, Lisa. I’ll just keep working until I need to sleep. Thankfully your budget did provide for a pretty comfortable sofa in here.”
Cuddy raised herself to standing, letting Stacy think for a moment that she had won without an argument. It took a few short strides to be on the other side of the desk, her fingers clasped on Stacy’s shoulders. The tension Cuddy felt under her hands was remarkable, and it broke her heart a little to see such a strong woman so broken.
“You’re coming home with me if you can’t go home. I won’t have your backache on my conscience as well. Get your things.”
Stacy hung her head in defeat, her perfectly straight hair falling over her face. After a few seconds of silent battle, she consented, wriggling away from Cuddy’s hands and grabbing clumsily at her shoes and then her purse.
“If you get sued for something tomorrow and I’m too far behind to take it on, I want it noted that this was your idea.”
“I have a whole team of lawyers you know.”
“None as good as me.”
A little laugh escaped Cuddy’s lips, finally a sign of the Stacy Taylor confidence that made up her own legend. This was the woman who had wrangled the world’s most impossible man into a serious relationship after all. You didn’t achieve that without being pretty damn tough.
Companionable silence filled their trip in Cuddy’s Lexus, Stacy’s fingers gripped tightly around the handles of her purse, Cuddy focusing overly hard on roads she could have driven blindfolded.
Stacy took up the offer of a shower gratefully, and when she slipped back into the kitchen in the pajamas Cuddy had left out for her, she looked five years younger and nowhere near as tense.
Cuddy had prepared simple pasta for them both, with generous glasses of wine to wash down her mediocre cooking. Stacy picked at the fusilli half-heartedly, but Cuddy felt vindicated that she ate almost as much as she left in the bowl. Leaving Stacy to stare blankly at CNN, Cuddy retired for her own shower, the powerful spray alleviating at least some of the day’s stresses. Make-up removed, she winced at the dark circles under her eyes, too many nights of disrupted sleep showing their toll.
She made her way back to the living room, finding a sleeping Stacy stretched out on her sofa. Perhaps she’d learned obnoxious sleeping from House, because it didn’t look comfortable to be sprawled out like that.
Cuddy grabbed a blanket from her linen closet and placed it gently over her sleeping friend, only to jump with fright when Stacy snatched at her wrist as the blanket made contact. It seemed faintly ridiculous to be trapped like that, looming over Stacy in the warm lamplight. Dark brown eyes snapped open, the hint of tears shimmering in them.
“Is it ever going to get better, Lisa? Am I ever going to stop feeling like this? So damn alone?”
At a loss for words, Cuddy pursed her lips and shrugged. She attempted to retreat from Stacy’s grip, to stand up but found the other woman’s grip surprisingly strong. The warmth of Stacy’s hand felt strange, and Cuddy tried not to think how long it had been since Ethan… or was it Nathan? The last guy to touch her had been so remarkable she couldn’t remember his name, which said more than she ever wanted to about her track record.
“We’re in this together though, right? I mean, we can help each other get through this?”
Cuddy surrendered to going nowhere fast, and stooped to sit on the scrap of cushion Stacy wasn’t occupying.
“You know I’m here for you, Stacy, for both of you if House ever speaks to me again.”
Stacy offered a wan smile at the reassurance, her eyes never leaving Cuddy’s face. After a moment’s consideration, she appeared to have come to a decision and raised herself to a sitting position. She released her hold on Cuddy’s arm, but traded it for a firm squeeze of her friend’s shoulder.
Cuddy didn’t see it coming, but she blinked and somehow Stacy’s lips were on hers, the tingle of mint from mouthwash she recognized as her own. A jolt went immediately south through her body, and she was ashamed to note that she moaned even at that gentle contact. With reluctance she pulled back, attempting to shuffle back across the sofa cushions, sliding to the floor instead.
“What the fuck?”
Cuddy rarely cursed, but there really wasn’t any other word that would get the job done.
“Oh come on, Lisa. It’s not the first time we’ve kissed.”
“What? That was for a bet. A drunken bet to stop those creepy accountants from following us around. Ten years ago, for God’s sake.”
“You enjoyed it then, too.”
Stacy’s eyebrows were arched, the familiar expression of her going in for the kill. Cuddy felt that the room was suddenly too small, that it was far too warm, that she had no idea what the hell was happening. She knew the appropriate thing to do would be to walk out of the room, go to bed and pretend nothing had ever happened. In the same second she knew that she would do no such thing.
For the first time in a month, she felt human; that someone was looking at her with something other than anger or fear. The loneliness, the wracking guilt that left her unable to breathe at three in the morning was radiating back at her from the stunning woman on her couch. It seemed strangely okay to be comforted by the only other person suffering as much as she had been.
With tentative fingers, she reached out to stroke Stacy’s hair, her breath catching in her throat as Stacy leaned into the touch of her hand. It took another second for Cuddy to close the gap between them, but when their lips met for the second time there was no gentleness, no hesitation. There was only need, pain and desperation, but it felt fucking fantastic.
It would be over by morning.
But morning was hours away.
Author: Lola Lauriestein
Pairing: Cuddy/Stacy
Rating: PG for a little bit of language
Spoilers: Set pre-show, about a month after the infarction. There's a lot of timeline speculation still going on, but the purposes of this story I've assumed both Stacy and House were working at PPTH at the time of the infarction.
Summary: House is recovering slowly, still livid at the women he feels betrayed him. Cuddy is hiding in her office, avoiding Stacy but eventually seeks her out. Sorry, I suck at summaries.
Written for
house_femfest prompt: Stacy/Cuddy, overtime (you can see I really thought outside the box, ahem). I love Stacy so much, thought it was about time I started writing her.
It starts with an immaculately worded memo from the Head of Legal.
Typical of a lawyer, it’s the perfect non-apologetic apology. In the attached documents, underlined in red was a budget item for her consideration.
She knows the name without looking, because since House got sick and stopped running up legal bills, she’s only had one other to look out for. It’s Taylor, S., with billable hours reaching the stratosphere, and while the work needs doing, the hospital has never been willing to sanction so much overtime in the past.
Of course, attorneys are used to charging for every second worked; it’s like muscle memory. Since Stacy’s boss won’t step in and tell her to betray their mutual instinct, it’s once again Cuddy’s job to be the enforcer.
With a Post-it on the edge of her screen to remind her, Cuddy has every intention of calling Stacy to set up a meeting for that afternoon. A quick chat, a reminder of the budgetary constraints, and order would be restored.
The clock had reached seven without her lifting receiver and dialing that four digit extension number that had been a lifeline for the past couple of years. Cuddy blamed the chaos of her desk, the frantic activity of her day, but even on her busiest day, nothing prevented Lisa Cuddy from doing something when she wanted to. Clearly, the real reason was the one she’d deny if anyone were ever to ask: she couldn’t handle seeing Stacy again.
With House constrained to his own four walls by the injury she’d helped to inflict, Stacy had become the ghost of Cuddy’s misery present, a walking reminder of the carnage her medical decisions had caused.
At first, Cuddy had made a point of seeking out her friend, of offering her own awkward version of support. But the lifelessness of Stacy’s eyes, the bone-aching weariness of her voice were too much to bear. On her daily walk around the hospital grounds, Cuddy had occasionally seen Stacy huddled by an exit, cigarette clamped between her fingers. It would have been a perfect opportunity to talk, but Cuddy avoided eye contact and hurried on her way.
The day finally at an end, Cuddy shrugged her way into her long black coat, briefcase and purse ready for the short journey home. Escaping before bedtime was a luxury, and by rights she ought to have been scurrying to the parking lot before an emergency could roar up and destroy her evening. Instead of the exit, she found her feet carrying her to the staircase and then along the second floor corridor that was home to Legal and Accounting.
Of course there was a light on.
Of course she was behind the desk, heels kicked off, a glass of Scotch in her hand and a pile of legal briefs high enough to build a miniature fort.
All that was missing was the smile.
Cuddy leaned against the doorframe, offering a weak smile of her own. A month ago, Stacy would have made a mocking attempt to hide the booze, or at least fished out a second glass. Now she simply nodded, as close to a welcome as Cuddy could expect these days.
“I get that you need to bury yourself in work, but do you need to bankrupt me in the process?”
A spark of interest flared in Stacy’s face at the light but confrontational tone. Maybe it was her training, or maybe it was her only way to function lately, but adversarial seemed to be the only way to get her attention.
“Keep your doctors in line and maybe I won’t have to bill you so much.”
Feigning hurt at the low blow, Cuddy took it as her opening to come inside the office and sit down. To show she wasn’t scared, that she wasn’t about to bolt, she shed her coat and draped it over a slightly precarious pile of statute books. Stacy regarded her progress warily, exhaling loudly when Cuddy was finally seated.
“Before you ask, Lisa, nothing’s changed. He’s still in agony, he still hates you, though not as much as he hates me, and this week we’re having the silent treatment from the sofa instead of the bed. It’s all good.”
Stacy’s left hand released the papers she’d been reading, the fingers taking advantage of their freedom to run through her hair. Nothing she did seemed to be a choice lately, her every movement seemed strangely automated. Cuddy leaned across the debris that she was so used to seeing on Stacy’s desk, slightly desperate to penetrate the fog that seemed to exist around her friend.
“What about you, Stace? I’m worried about you.”
Stacy’s mouth opened, words forming somewhere in her formidable brain, but only the softest of sighs managed to escape.
“Maybe you should call it a night? You can’t keep pushing yourself like this, no matter how bad House is making you feel.”
“Some would say Greg has every right to make me feel bad. He certainly says it. I can’t face going home to another night of being despised, I really can’t do it, Lisa. I’ll just keep working until I need to sleep. Thankfully your budget did provide for a pretty comfortable sofa in here.”
Cuddy raised herself to standing, letting Stacy think for a moment that she had won without an argument. It took a few short strides to be on the other side of the desk, her fingers clasped on Stacy’s shoulders. The tension Cuddy felt under her hands was remarkable, and it broke her heart a little to see such a strong woman so broken.
“You’re coming home with me if you can’t go home. I won’t have your backache on my conscience as well. Get your things.”
Stacy hung her head in defeat, her perfectly straight hair falling over her face. After a few seconds of silent battle, she consented, wriggling away from Cuddy’s hands and grabbing clumsily at her shoes and then her purse.
“If you get sued for something tomorrow and I’m too far behind to take it on, I want it noted that this was your idea.”
“I have a whole team of lawyers you know.”
“None as good as me.”
A little laugh escaped Cuddy’s lips, finally a sign of the Stacy Taylor confidence that made up her own legend. This was the woman who had wrangled the world’s most impossible man into a serious relationship after all. You didn’t achieve that without being pretty damn tough.
Companionable silence filled their trip in Cuddy’s Lexus, Stacy’s fingers gripped tightly around the handles of her purse, Cuddy focusing overly hard on roads she could have driven blindfolded.
Stacy took up the offer of a shower gratefully, and when she slipped back into the kitchen in the pajamas Cuddy had left out for her, she looked five years younger and nowhere near as tense.
Cuddy had prepared simple pasta for them both, with generous glasses of wine to wash down her mediocre cooking. Stacy picked at the fusilli half-heartedly, but Cuddy felt vindicated that she ate almost as much as she left in the bowl. Leaving Stacy to stare blankly at CNN, Cuddy retired for her own shower, the powerful spray alleviating at least some of the day’s stresses. Make-up removed, she winced at the dark circles under her eyes, too many nights of disrupted sleep showing their toll.
She made her way back to the living room, finding a sleeping Stacy stretched out on her sofa. Perhaps she’d learned obnoxious sleeping from House, because it didn’t look comfortable to be sprawled out like that.
Cuddy grabbed a blanket from her linen closet and placed it gently over her sleeping friend, only to jump with fright when Stacy snatched at her wrist as the blanket made contact. It seemed faintly ridiculous to be trapped like that, looming over Stacy in the warm lamplight. Dark brown eyes snapped open, the hint of tears shimmering in them.
“Is it ever going to get better, Lisa? Am I ever going to stop feeling like this? So damn alone?”
At a loss for words, Cuddy pursed her lips and shrugged. She attempted to retreat from Stacy’s grip, to stand up but found the other woman’s grip surprisingly strong. The warmth of Stacy’s hand felt strange, and Cuddy tried not to think how long it had been since Ethan… or was it Nathan? The last guy to touch her had been so remarkable she couldn’t remember his name, which said more than she ever wanted to about her track record.
“We’re in this together though, right? I mean, we can help each other get through this?”
Cuddy surrendered to going nowhere fast, and stooped to sit on the scrap of cushion Stacy wasn’t occupying.
“You know I’m here for you, Stacy, for both of you if House ever speaks to me again.”
Stacy offered a wan smile at the reassurance, her eyes never leaving Cuddy’s face. After a moment’s consideration, she appeared to have come to a decision and raised herself to a sitting position. She released her hold on Cuddy’s arm, but traded it for a firm squeeze of her friend’s shoulder.
Cuddy didn’t see it coming, but she blinked and somehow Stacy’s lips were on hers, the tingle of mint from mouthwash she recognized as her own. A jolt went immediately south through her body, and she was ashamed to note that she moaned even at that gentle contact. With reluctance she pulled back, attempting to shuffle back across the sofa cushions, sliding to the floor instead.
“What the fuck?”
Cuddy rarely cursed, but there really wasn’t any other word that would get the job done.
“Oh come on, Lisa. It’s not the first time we’ve kissed.”
“What? That was for a bet. A drunken bet to stop those creepy accountants from following us around. Ten years ago, for God’s sake.”
“You enjoyed it then, too.”
Stacy’s eyebrows were arched, the familiar expression of her going in for the kill. Cuddy felt that the room was suddenly too small, that it was far too warm, that she had no idea what the hell was happening. She knew the appropriate thing to do would be to walk out of the room, go to bed and pretend nothing had ever happened. In the same second she knew that she would do no such thing.
For the first time in a month, she felt human; that someone was looking at her with something other than anger or fear. The loneliness, the wracking guilt that left her unable to breathe at three in the morning was radiating back at her from the stunning woman on her couch. It seemed strangely okay to be comforted by the only other person suffering as much as she had been.
With tentative fingers, she reached out to stroke Stacy’s hair, her breath catching in her throat as Stacy leaned into the touch of her hand. It took another second for Cuddy to close the gap between them, but when their lips met for the second time there was no gentleness, no hesitation. There was only need, pain and desperation, but it felt fucking fantastic.
It would be over by morning.
But morning was hours away.
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no subject
on 2009-03-01 05:12 pm (UTC)Just wanted to let a little word to say I loved it.