Dead Ends
I wanted to write a Cuddy-based fic. And maybe one of these days I'll do it. This, however, isn't the Cuddy fic I wanted to write. This fic was intended to be a slightly tongue-in-cheek look at Cuddy's private life interspersed with scenes that show her always ending up back with her two best boys. Somehow I could never get past the scenes of Cuddy and her two best boys.
I decided to post a few of the scenes before trashing them, because you might get a giggle and for those who don't have Memorial Day off--well, it has to be better than work, right?
PG at worst. It might be H/W. Might be H/C. Might be H/W/C. Or none of the above.
Every Tom, Dick, and Greg
House dropped suddenly into the chair between Wilson and Cuddy. He reached over and grabbed half of Wilson's sandwich, favoring them both with a smug look. "I so scored this morning."
"It's daylight." Cuddy continued munching on her salad despite the puzzled tilt of her eyebrows.
"They're hookers, not vampires. Besides, that's not the kind of score I was talking about." House pulled three tickets from his breast pocket and waved them in front of his face. "Tickets to the game tomorrow night. Box seats and a suite at the Plaza. All expenses paid."
"Who'd you kill?" Wilson eyed the appropriated half of his sandwich with resignation.
"Compliments of a grateful patient." House tucked the tickets away and took a big bite out of the middle of the sandwich.
"Statements like that should cause a rip in the time-space continuum," Wilson said. Cuddy and House stopped eating and stared at him. "I mean, House, grateful and patient all used in the same sentence. There's a reason you don't usually hear that."
House moved his cane sharply under the table. Wilson yelped and reached down to rub his shin but kept his free hand firmly on the remaining half of his sandwich.
"Pick me up at seven," House told Wilson. Then he turned to leer at Cuddy. "Bring that black see-through nightie that makes you look like an expensive hooker. Or the red see-through one that makes you look like a cheap hooker."
"I'll loan the red one to Wilson," Cuddy said. "I can't go."
"Why not?"
"She has a date," Wilson said in clear retaliation for the nightie comment.
House stared at Cuddy in disbelief, then made a dismissive wave with the half eaten sandwich. "Mr. Lonely Hearts Club can wait. These are box seats."
"It's not...." Cuddy glared at him. "It's a real date."
"Right. My guess is either your latest 'handy' man, or you finally found yourself that sugar daddy you've always dreamed about," House said.
"Jealous?" Cuddy asked.
"He's just mad 'cause he's old enough to be a sugar daddy himself. He's just a little short on the sugar," Wilson said. House swung his cane again but Wilson had already moved his legs. House winced when the cane rebounded off the chair leg instead.
"He's probably some dork with a toupee and a beer gut," House said, rubbing his knee.
"Thomas is a commodities broker with excellent hair, impeccable manners, and an ass so taut you would weep to see it," Cuddy said.
"Thomas 3; House 0." Wilson shrugged when House gave him a dirty look.
"Bet we'll have more fun," House told Cuddy.
"Doubt it," Cuddy said as she got up from the table. "I'm planning to wear the black see-through one."
~~**~~
"So whose idea was it to stat page me in the middle of my date?" Cuddy asked. She had her feet perched on House's coffee table; her stiletto heels had been abandoned the moment she entered the apartment. She wiggled her butt, settling deeper into the easy chair.
"Wilson," House said immediately. He was sitting at one end of the couch, opposite Cuddy, maintaining firm control over a bottle of bourbon.
"Liar," Cuddy said. Wilson was currently unable to defend himself. He was slumped at the other end of the sofa, asleep. His head had fallen back and faint snuffly snores issued from his open mouth. "Doesn't matter. The date was over. The relationship was over. I'd just told Tom...."
"Thomas," House interrupted as he refilled his glass.
"Whatever," Cuddy said with a careless wave of her hand. "I'd just told him he was so boring that watching continental drift would seem like the Indy 500 by comparison."
"Didn't."
"Did," Cuddy insisted.
"You're evil." House saluted her with his bottle. "When I take over the world, I'll appoint you my queen."
"I thought Wilson was going to be your queen?"
"Look at him." House waved the bottle at Wilson with a little too much emphasis, splashing bourbon on his leg. "How can I evil overlord the world with a guy who can't hold his liquor?"
"So what? Strip him naked and throw him to the teeming masses. Trust me--they won't care what you're up to."
"He's a lightweight."
"He's cute."
"You just want to sleep with him, like every other tight skirt in town," House said.
"Duh." Cuddy stared at her toes and couldn't remember why she'd gone with the bright red nail polish. "Wouldn't be right, though, 'cause I'd only be sleeping with him to get to you."
House stared at her for a moment, then a slow smile spread across his face as he leaned over to splash more bourbon into her glass.
"I heard that," Wilson muttered.
~~**~~
Cuddy burst through the door to the roof of the hospital. Wilson flinched slightly, but House just took a long draw of his cigar as he leaned against the outer ledge.
"You superglued my stapler," Cuddy accused.
"I did?"
"Sounds like something you'd do," Wilson said.
"Sounds like something you'd do, then blame me for," House shot back.
"And...." Cuddy glared at them. "You superglued the lock on my file cabinet. I had to have the maintenance guy break it open with a crowbar."
"Which one?" House asked.
"Which file cabinet?" Cuddy asked, puzzled by the question.
"Which maintenance guy?"
"What difference does that make?"
"Well, Daryl exposes more butt cleavage, but Larry's is more attractive," House explained. He gave an exasperated sigh at Cuddy's even more puzzled look. "It was supposed to be entertaining."
"You sabotaged my office to make me feel better?"
"I wanted to take you out to dinner," Wilson chimed in.
"Yeah, and I wanted to take you to a strip club," House said, disdainful of Wilson's suggestion. "We compromised on superglue."
"I feel so much better now. I lost Richard, but I gained two complete lunatics." Cuddy leaned up against the wall between House and Wilson. She grabbed the cigar from House's hand and crushed it out against the bricks.
"Hey!"
"Those things are bad for you," Wilson said in the way only an oncologist could.
"Well, excuse me." House tucked the tattered cigar away in his breast pocket. "Sometimes at the end of a long day I like sucking on a good metaphor."
"Suck th...." Wilson began.
"Shut up," Cuddy said. Wilson shrugged and joined them in leaning over the wall. All three of them stared down at the darkened street.
"Wilson's got some bodacious weed in his office," House said after a moment. Cuddy and Wilson's heads turned in unison to stare at him. "Just a suggestion."
"Are you trying to get me arrested?" Wilson asked.
"No way. Pretty boy like you wouldn't last a day in prison." House used his cane to illustrate his meaning. "Cuddy'd have a better chance of coming out with her virtue intact. Assuming her virtue was intact when she went in."
"He's jealous," Cuddy told Wilson.
"He wants to watch," Wilson said with a small, crooked smile.
"Well, if you won't let me go see the strippers...," House complained.
"Fine, let's go see the strippers." Cuddy pushed away from the wall. "Male strippers."
House and Wilson exchanged glances. House shrugged. "Okay."
"You know he's just going to look for ways to humiliate us in a male strip club," Wilson told Cuddy as House hurried to the stairway door.
"As opposed to a female strip club?" Cuddy asked.
"Point taken."
"Don't worry. I've got just the thing." Cuddy pulled a couple of confiscated fake IDs from her pocket. "The police report will read Gregory House, Terry Yoder, and Mabel Davenport."
"Fine," Wilson said with a sigh. He tucked the ID in his breast pocket. "But why do I have to be Mabel?"
I decided to post a few of the scenes before trashing them, because you might get a giggle and for those who don't have Memorial Day off--well, it has to be better than work, right?
PG at worst. It might be H/W. Might be H/C. Might be H/W/C. Or none of the above.
Every Tom, Dick, and Greg
House dropped suddenly into the chair between Wilson and Cuddy. He reached over and grabbed half of Wilson's sandwich, favoring them both with a smug look. "I so scored this morning."
"It's daylight." Cuddy continued munching on her salad despite the puzzled tilt of her eyebrows.
"They're hookers, not vampires. Besides, that's not the kind of score I was talking about." House pulled three tickets from his breast pocket and waved them in front of his face. "Tickets to the game tomorrow night. Box seats and a suite at the Plaza. All expenses paid."
"Who'd you kill?" Wilson eyed the appropriated half of his sandwich with resignation.
"Compliments of a grateful patient." House tucked the tickets away and took a big bite out of the middle of the sandwich.
"Statements like that should cause a rip in the time-space continuum," Wilson said. Cuddy and House stopped eating and stared at him. "I mean, House, grateful and patient all used in the same sentence. There's a reason you don't usually hear that."
House moved his cane sharply under the table. Wilson yelped and reached down to rub his shin but kept his free hand firmly on the remaining half of his sandwich.
"Pick me up at seven," House told Wilson. Then he turned to leer at Cuddy. "Bring that black see-through nightie that makes you look like an expensive hooker. Or the red see-through one that makes you look like a cheap hooker."
"I'll loan the red one to Wilson," Cuddy said. "I can't go."
"Why not?"
"She has a date," Wilson said in clear retaliation for the nightie comment.
House stared at Cuddy in disbelief, then made a dismissive wave with the half eaten sandwich. "Mr. Lonely Hearts Club can wait. These are box seats."
"It's not...." Cuddy glared at him. "It's a real date."
"Right. My guess is either your latest 'handy' man, or you finally found yourself that sugar daddy you've always dreamed about," House said.
"Jealous?" Cuddy asked.
"He's just mad 'cause he's old enough to be a sugar daddy himself. He's just a little short on the sugar," Wilson said. House swung his cane again but Wilson had already moved his legs. House winced when the cane rebounded off the chair leg instead.
"He's probably some dork with a toupee and a beer gut," House said, rubbing his knee.
"Thomas is a commodities broker with excellent hair, impeccable manners, and an ass so taut you would weep to see it," Cuddy said.
"Thomas 3; House 0." Wilson shrugged when House gave him a dirty look.
"Bet we'll have more fun," House told Cuddy.
"Doubt it," Cuddy said as she got up from the table. "I'm planning to wear the black see-through one."
~~**~~
"So whose idea was it to stat page me in the middle of my date?" Cuddy asked. She had her feet perched on House's coffee table; her stiletto heels had been abandoned the moment she entered the apartment. She wiggled her butt, settling deeper into the easy chair.
"Wilson," House said immediately. He was sitting at one end of the couch, opposite Cuddy, maintaining firm control over a bottle of bourbon.
"Liar," Cuddy said. Wilson was currently unable to defend himself. He was slumped at the other end of the sofa, asleep. His head had fallen back and faint snuffly snores issued from his open mouth. "Doesn't matter. The date was over. The relationship was over. I'd just told Tom...."
"Thomas," House interrupted as he refilled his glass.
"Whatever," Cuddy said with a careless wave of her hand. "I'd just told him he was so boring that watching continental drift would seem like the Indy 500 by comparison."
"Didn't."
"Did," Cuddy insisted.
"You're evil." House saluted her with his bottle. "When I take over the world, I'll appoint you my queen."
"I thought Wilson was going to be your queen?"
"Look at him." House waved the bottle at Wilson with a little too much emphasis, splashing bourbon on his leg. "How can I evil overlord the world with a guy who can't hold his liquor?"
"So what? Strip him naked and throw him to the teeming masses. Trust me--they won't care what you're up to."
"He's a lightweight."
"He's cute."
"You just want to sleep with him, like every other tight skirt in town," House said.
"Duh." Cuddy stared at her toes and couldn't remember why she'd gone with the bright red nail polish. "Wouldn't be right, though, 'cause I'd only be sleeping with him to get to you."
House stared at her for a moment, then a slow smile spread across his face as he leaned over to splash more bourbon into her glass.
"I heard that," Wilson muttered.
~~**~~
Cuddy burst through the door to the roof of the hospital. Wilson flinched slightly, but House just took a long draw of his cigar as he leaned against the outer ledge.
"You superglued my stapler," Cuddy accused.
"I did?"
"Sounds like something you'd do," Wilson said.
"Sounds like something you'd do, then blame me for," House shot back.
"And...." Cuddy glared at them. "You superglued the lock on my file cabinet. I had to have the maintenance guy break it open with a crowbar."
"Which one?" House asked.
"Which file cabinet?" Cuddy asked, puzzled by the question.
"Which maintenance guy?"
"What difference does that make?"
"Well, Daryl exposes more butt cleavage, but Larry's is more attractive," House explained. He gave an exasperated sigh at Cuddy's even more puzzled look. "It was supposed to be entertaining."
"You sabotaged my office to make me feel better?"
"I wanted to take you out to dinner," Wilson chimed in.
"Yeah, and I wanted to take you to a strip club," House said, disdainful of Wilson's suggestion. "We compromised on superglue."
"I feel so much better now. I lost Richard, but I gained two complete lunatics." Cuddy leaned up against the wall between House and Wilson. She grabbed the cigar from House's hand and crushed it out against the bricks.
"Hey!"
"Those things are bad for you," Wilson said in the way only an oncologist could.
"Well, excuse me." House tucked the tattered cigar away in his breast pocket. "Sometimes at the end of a long day I like sucking on a good metaphor."
"Suck th...." Wilson began.
"Shut up," Cuddy said. Wilson shrugged and joined them in leaning over the wall. All three of them stared down at the darkened street.
"Wilson's got some bodacious weed in his office," House said after a moment. Cuddy and Wilson's heads turned in unison to stare at him. "Just a suggestion."
"Are you trying to get me arrested?" Wilson asked.
"No way. Pretty boy like you wouldn't last a day in prison." House used his cane to illustrate his meaning. "Cuddy'd have a better chance of coming out with her virtue intact. Assuming her virtue was intact when she went in."
"He's jealous," Cuddy told Wilson.
"He wants to watch," Wilson said with a small, crooked smile.
"Well, if you won't let me go see the strippers...," House complained.
"Fine, let's go see the strippers." Cuddy pushed away from the wall. "Male strippers."
House and Wilson exchanged glances. House shrugged. "Okay."
"You know he's just going to look for ways to humiliate us in a male strip club," Wilson told Cuddy as House hurried to the stairway door.
"As opposed to a female strip club?" Cuddy asked.
"Point taken."
"Don't worry. I've got just the thing." Cuddy pulled a couple of confiscated fake IDs from her pocket. "The police report will read Gregory House, Terry Yoder, and Mabel Davenport."
"Fine," Wilson said with a sigh. He tucked the ID in his breast pocket. "But why do I have to be Mabel?"