The rarest of rare
So this is my contribution to the hmd_rareathon, because sometimes you just have to try something different ;-) My prompt was a picture of an old record player and the pairing I chose was Cuddy/Scooter. No, seriously. It basically follows the events of Conspiracy of Hope but you don't need to read that one to follow this one.
“So how did you find this place?” Cuddy asked as the waiter cleared away the scant remains of their meal. She gave an airy wave, encompassing the main dining room of the restaurant, before turning back to her dinner companion. “The décor is gorgeous and the food is wonderful but from the outside this place looks like....”
“Like a dump, I know.” Henry nodded and took a sip of wine. He and Cuddy were seated at a small, round table. The flame of an ivory pillar candle cast a soft glow on their faces as they leaned toward each other. There were a number of other small, round tables in the restaurant, spaced in such a way as to maintain the illusion of privacy, even intimacy. The lighting was low and warm and the noise level rarely rose above a muted hum. It was definitely a setting for lovers, and for possibly soon to be lovers.
Henry gestured toward the entrance where the proprietor, an old friend of his, was greeting an elderly couple. “The owners like to keep it exclusive. I like it that way, too. It certainly helps avoid House detection.”
“Please, House is too busy protecting his investment in Wilson to do any detecting,” Cuddy scoffed. She waved off the dessert menu and waited until the waiter had left them alone again before continuing in a low voice. “He wouldn’t notice if I started dating the cast of ‘The L Word’.”
“I think he’d notice that,” Henry said with a wry smile. “Just like he’ll eventually notice we had a date."
“And then he’ll make my life miserable, sticking his nose in where it doesn’t belong,” Cuddy agreed with a casual shrug.
“You like that he’s jealous,” Henry said, his voice carrying a subtle hint of challenge.
“I don’t like that he’s jealous...exactly,” Cuddy said with a thoughtful pause. “It’s just his weird way of showing he cares. After all the time and energy I’ve invested in him, yes, I like to know that it means something to him.”
“Fair enough,” Henry said. He held his wine glass by the stem, twirling and watching the liquid swirl. He glanced back up at Cuddy. “I can’t help but wonder what you’re doing here, though.”
“I’m here because you asked me.”
“You said yes. Why?”
“Why did you ask me?” Cuddy gave a little shake of her head. She got enough head games on the job with House. She was off the clock now, and away from House. “I said yes because you interest me.”
“Because I’m like House?” Henry shrugged when Cuddy gave him a puzzled look. “It’s what a lot of people would think.”
“Is that what you think?” Cuddy toyed with her wine glass a moment then pushed it aside. “The fact that I was attracted to House and that I’m attracted to you now isn’t because you’re a House substitute. You both happen to share some qualities I admire. I respect those qualities in House; I respect them in you. That doesn’t mean I see the two of you the same.”
“But you do think we’re similar?” Henry prompted.
“You both have that non-linear way of thinking. It’s annoying but it’s amazing, too.”
“It’s not non-linear thinking.” Henry leaned forward, shaking his head. “House simply follows a different line to the answer. Everyone starts at point A and ends up at point B. Except House, who ends up at point Q. The thing is, he didn’t jump to that point, he followed a very specific route to the answer. It looks like he’s pulling it out of his ass because he doesn’t explain his thought process.”
“And you can follow his process. Hell, you don’t even follow, you take a parallel path at the same time because you have that ability to see what other people don’t. I envy that.”
“You shouldn’t. You’re a very intelligent woman.”
“Give me a list of textbook symptoms and I can make the diagnosis. But if it’s not textbook, if it requires a little creative thinking, I can’t do it.”
“That’s not necessarily a bad thing,” Henry said. “Sometimes, following a different path gets you lost.”
“Like following a different path gets you thinking I’m looking for a House substitute,” Cuddy pointed out. She gave Henry a small, warning shake of her head. “I’m not looking for anything more than to get to know you better.”
~~**~~
“What’s the differential for my fraudulent resident needing a nap?”
House capped his marker and took his cane from where it was hooked over the top of the whiteboard. His fellows stopped in the middle of discussing their current patient and glanced at Henry, momentarily disconcerted by the abrupt change of topic.
“It’s a plasmacytoma,” Henry said. He was slouched in his chair at the end of the table, his expression bored.
“Of course it is,” House said.
“It is?” Kutner asked.
“Obviously, which is why it’s not the differential I’m interested in at this moment.”
“What does it matter?” Thirteen asked as she began to shuffle the pages of lab results back into the file. “Henry was obviously paying attention or he wouldn’t have gotten the right diagnosis.”
“He got the right diagnosis two minutes into the differential, just like I did,” House said impatiently. “The rest of the time he’s been in la la land.” House turned a sharp-eyed look on Henry. “So what was it? Did public television play a late night episode of Lawrence Welk last night?”
“Sinatra,” Henry said calmly. “Didn’t get over until 8:30, which is way past my bedtime.”
“Who was she?” House asked. “Obviously not one of the blue-haired brigade. A man who looks as happy and exhausted as you do is obviously getting it on with a much younger woman.”
“Great,” Taub said sarcastically as he shoved his pen in his breast pocket. “Just what the world needs: another old fart banging some young college girl.”
“She’s not in college.”
“Grad school?” Kutner asked, sounding almost hopeful.
“Does she know you’re poor?” House asked. “More to the point, does she know you’re not a real doctor?”
“It’s not really an issue, seeing as she’s a well-paid doctor herself,” Henry said.
“Seriously?” Thirteen asked. She gave him a fleeting half smile. “Good for you.”
“Yeah, good for you,” House said. His expression had suddenly gone all too serious. “Bad for lonely forty-year-old hospital administrators.”
The three fellows looked at each other, their faces shaded with uncertainty. Kutner squirmed in his seat, his eyes darting suspiciously between Henry and House. Taub squinted at the ceiling as he tried to picture how the pieces fit. “Do you mean...?” he began.
“He doesn’t mean anything,” Henry said, his impassive stare fixed on House.
House grimaced a smile. “Right. I don’t know what I’m talking about at all.” He glanced at the others. “Go scan the patient’s spine, then page Wilson when you find the plasmacytoma.”
The room fell silent as the three fellows shuffled out. Henry remained seated and House gave him a probing look before he turned to erase the white board. “Bad idea, banging your boss.”
“Interesting observation coming from you,” Henry said calmly. “Especially given that you’re my boss.”
“Technically, Cuddy’s everyone’s boss.”
“Technically, she’s not my direct supervisor therefore we’re not violating the code of conduct.”
“Bet that’s the only thing you’re not violating.”
“She’s a beautiful, intelligent woman and I enjoy her company,” Henry said as he got up and pushed his chair under the table. He slid his hands in his pockets as he regarded House somberly. “And you don’t give a crap about what’s bad for me which means you really do think this is bad for Dr. Cuddy.”
House set the eraser down very slowly, then he shifted his cane to his right hand as he abruptly faced Henry. “Does she make you call her Dr. Cuddy in bed? Or did you skip the formalities and go straight to Mistress?”
Henry shook his head at House’s attempt to avoid the real issue. “I’m not playing games with her, House.”
“Everyone plays games,” House said as he walked heavily toward his office.
~~**~~
“He’s twice your age,” House argued.
Frustrated by the way he was following her around her office, Cuddy stopped in her tracks and turned on him. “He’s not twice my age. Besides, all the men my age are married, gay....” She gave House a pointed look. “Or jerks.”
“You like him,” House said, suddenly hesitant as she walked behind her desk.
“Imagine that.”
“No, I mean...you actually like him,” House said, perplexed.
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“He’s old and wrinkly and bald.”
“He’s mature. He’s also intelligent, charming, and he doesn’t need pills to be able to interact with the rest of the human race.”
“So you’re dating him because he’s a wimpier version of me.”
“He’s a better version of you.” Cuddy sat at her desk and stared at House, her expression defiant. “He’s you without the anger and the self-loathing and the inappropriate comments about my wardrobe. Henry has all your good qualities, and none of the bad ones.”
“He’s only doing you to repay the fake degree you gave him,” House said in what even he recognized was a lame attempt at retaliation. “The fact you don’t realize that makes you even more pathetic than usual.”
“Go take care of your patient.”
“Not my patient anymore. It’s Wilson’s.”
“Then go find a new patient,” Cuddy said, her hands flying out in exasperation. “Stop sticking your nose in my business.”
“Your business is my business.”
“No. It’s not. I know this is hard for you to accept but who I date, who I sleep with, who I fantasize about is none of your business. Never has been, never will be.”
“You fantasize about Scooter?” House asked, face scrunched up in disgust.
“Out!”
~~**~~
Henry opened the door to a little used storeroom around the corner from the morgue. To his surprise, the overhead light was already on. The single dim bulb did little to illuminate his surroundings but it provided enough light to see his boss’s boss in the room, on her knees digging through boxes on the lowest level of the metal shelving unit.
“Lisa?”
Cuddy startled, then sat back on her heels as she looked up. “Henry? What are you doing here?”
“House sent me on a wild goose chase...at least that's what I thought he was doing.” Henry held his hand out and helped Cuddy to her feet. Her hand lingered in his as she reached down with her other hand to brush some dust from the hem of her skirt. “What are you doing here?”
“The real question is what are the Dean of Medicine and an old fraud doing together in a storage closet?” House was standing in the doorway with a slightly smug and definitely expectant air.
“The compliance hotline got a tip that someone’s been using this closet to stash expired dialysate fluid and then giving it to indigent patients,” Cuddy told Henry. Then she turned a glare on House. “Apparently I misread the signature on the tip, though. It wasn’t anonymous, it was anonym-ass.”
“It’s a good idea, though. We throw gallons of perfectly good dialysate away every week.”
“It’s not perfectly good--it’s expired. We can’t use expired medications on anyone,” Cuddy said, her hand slipping from Henry’s grasp as she advanced on House. “We especially can’t use expired medications on the poor.”
“Right, because it’s better, and tidier, to just let the poor die,” House said sarcastically.
Cuddy smacked him on the arm. “What are you doing?”
“I think it’s obvious what he’s doing,” Henry said, moving to just behind her left shoulder.
“Nothing’s obvious with him,” she snapped as she looked over her shoulder at Henry. House looked over her shoulder as well and gave Henry a look that hinted at victory.
“He’s hoping to precipitate a scandal in the hope of splitting us up. “ Henry gave him a smile that said he’d see that victory and completely own House while he was at it. “Or maybe he was simply hoping to pick up a few pointers about what to do with a beautiful woman in a dark room.”
“As if,” House snorted, but he didn’t look so sure of himself any longer.
“Stop chasing geese and go do your real work,” Cuddy told Henry. He nodded, giving her elbow just the lightest touch as he passed. She turned on House as he tried to slip out the door after Henry. “You. Stay.”
“But what about my real work?” House whined.
“Your lackeys will do it, as usual.” Cuddy stepped closer. House backed away, step for step, until he thumped against the closed door. She kept moving forward until he had to tuck his chin against his chest to look down into her eyes. “I told you to stay out of my personal life. I told you it’s none of your business.”
“Pshaw. You always say that, and you never mean it.”
“This time, I do,” Cuddy said. She nudged House out of the way and opened the door to leave. “Stay out.”
~~**~~
“You waited too long,” Wilson said. “Again.”
“I don’t want Cuddy,” House snapped as he followed Wilson through the lunch line. “I just don’t want Cuddy hemorrhaging bits of her broken heart all over the place. It’ll make the floor slippery and I’ve already got one bad leg.”
“Maybe he won’t break her heart.”
“Every man breaks Cuddy’s heart,” House scoffed.
“Even you?” Wilson sighed as House turned away from him, his silence answer enough. Wilson paid for his meal and picked up his tray. “Who’s to say Cuddy’s heart is on the line to begin with? Henry takes her dancing, they go to dinner, they have a little civilized conversation. They enjoy each other’s company. It’s not necessarily true love.”
“Cuddy always thinks it’s true love. She’s like you that way. Neither of you has the sense to avoid bad relationships.”
“Right, and you’re an expert on good relationships.”
“Don’t need to be. I’m an expert on her bad relationships.” House picked up his tray and followed Wilson to a table on the far side of the room. He dropped his tray on the table with apparent disregard for the safety of either the dishes or the food.
“I think Henry could be good for Cuddy,” Wilson said as he spread his napkin over his lap. “I think you think Henry could be good for Cuddy, too, which is why it bothers you so much.”
“You have no idea what I think,” House said harshly. “You don’t even have any idea what you think.”
“Yeah, I don’t know you at all.”
“You don’t.” House picked up his sandwich and took a huge bite.
“So you’re not going to show up at Cuddy’s house in the middle of the night or cancel their dinner reservations or make Henry work extra shifts?”\
“Duh.” House chewed with his mouth open, crumbs tumbling from his lips. Wilson averted his eyes in disgust. “Cuddy would be hurt if I didn’t.”
~~**~~
“You didn’t have to do this, you know.” Henry and Cuddy were seated on the floor in front of his coffee table, open containers of Chinese take-out scattered in front of them. Cuddy was still wearing the skirt and blouse she’d worn to work that morning. Henry was still wearing the clothes he’d worn to work the morning before that. He’d removed his tie and his shoes and rolled up his sleeves, though, now that he was officially off House’s clock.
“I wasn’t going to let House ruin our evening,” Cuddy said.
“He did, though,” Henry said ruefully. “I promised you dinner and dancing. This is poor substitute.”
“I beg your pardon,” Cuddy said, affecting an offended look. “This is the finest Chinese take-out in, oh, probably ten miles. Five at least.” She broke open her fortune cookie and read the paper strip. “And wise, too. My fortune says I will find the perfect man sitting to my right.”
“Let me see that.” Henry reached for the fortune, skeptical.
“Nope.” Cuddy crumpled the paper up in her palm and tucked it in the deep V of her blouse, a taunting grin on her face. “It won’t come true if you see it.”
“It’s a fortune, not a birthday wish,” Henry said, but he leaned back and left her fortune alone...for the moment. “Okay, so the dinner was tolerable--although that was mostly due to the company--but we missed the dancing.”
Cuddy climbed to her bare feet, shoes long since abandoned, and held her hand out to Henry. “So let’s dance.”
“Now?” Henry chuckled but he took her hand and pushed himself off the floor. He walked over to an old stereo system, one that played actual LPs, and set the needle down on the vinyl. As the strains of Sinatra filtered through the speakers, slightly scratchy with age, Henry turned to her and held out his hand.
“You’re good at this,” Cuddy said a moment later. They slow danced across the living room, Henry guiding them gracefully around obstacles like the coffee table where they’d shared their meal.
“Sure, but anyone can dance in the living room,” Henry said dismissively. He broke into a sly smile. “You should see me tango in the bathtub.”
“I don’t know about your tub tango, but you do a mean samba in the sheets.”
Henry’s smile softened as Cuddy rested her head against his shoulder. “But a man needs to be more than a dancing fool. I’m afraid your fortune cookie lied--I’m not a perfect man.”
“No, I lied.” Cuddy looked into his eyes, a soft smile on her lips. “My fortune actually said the perfect man was sitting to my left. But when I looked to my left there was no one there.”
“Not literally....”
“Stop it. House isn’t here literally or figuratively or any other way,” Cuddy said firmly. “There was no one sitting in the position of the perfect man because there is no such man.” Cuddy hooked her arms around his shoulders. “But there is such a thing as a good man. You’re a good man, Henry.”
“But I’m not House,” he reminded her.
Cuddy chuckled. “Thank god.”
“So how did you find this place?” Cuddy asked as the waiter cleared away the scant remains of their meal. She gave an airy wave, encompassing the main dining room of the restaurant, before turning back to her dinner companion. “The décor is gorgeous and the food is wonderful but from the outside this place looks like....”
“Like a dump, I know.” Henry nodded and took a sip of wine. He and Cuddy were seated at a small, round table. The flame of an ivory pillar candle cast a soft glow on their faces as they leaned toward each other. There were a number of other small, round tables in the restaurant, spaced in such a way as to maintain the illusion of privacy, even intimacy. The lighting was low and warm and the noise level rarely rose above a muted hum. It was definitely a setting for lovers, and for possibly soon to be lovers.
Henry gestured toward the entrance where the proprietor, an old friend of his, was greeting an elderly couple. “The owners like to keep it exclusive. I like it that way, too. It certainly helps avoid House detection.”
“Please, House is too busy protecting his investment in Wilson to do any detecting,” Cuddy scoffed. She waved off the dessert menu and waited until the waiter had left them alone again before continuing in a low voice. “He wouldn’t notice if I started dating the cast of ‘The L Word’.”
“I think he’d notice that,” Henry said with a wry smile. “Just like he’ll eventually notice we had a date."
“And then he’ll make my life miserable, sticking his nose in where it doesn’t belong,” Cuddy agreed with a casual shrug.
“You like that he’s jealous,” Henry said, his voice carrying a subtle hint of challenge.
“I don’t like that he’s jealous...exactly,” Cuddy said with a thoughtful pause. “It’s just his weird way of showing he cares. After all the time and energy I’ve invested in him, yes, I like to know that it means something to him.”
“Fair enough,” Henry said. He held his wine glass by the stem, twirling and watching the liquid swirl. He glanced back up at Cuddy. “I can’t help but wonder what you’re doing here, though.”
“I’m here because you asked me.”
“You said yes. Why?”
“Why did you ask me?” Cuddy gave a little shake of her head. She got enough head games on the job with House. She was off the clock now, and away from House. “I said yes because you interest me.”
“Because I’m like House?” Henry shrugged when Cuddy gave him a puzzled look. “It’s what a lot of people would think.”
“Is that what you think?” Cuddy toyed with her wine glass a moment then pushed it aside. “The fact that I was attracted to House and that I’m attracted to you now isn’t because you’re a House substitute. You both happen to share some qualities I admire. I respect those qualities in House; I respect them in you. That doesn’t mean I see the two of you the same.”
“But you do think we’re similar?” Henry prompted.
“You both have that non-linear way of thinking. It’s annoying but it’s amazing, too.”
“It’s not non-linear thinking.” Henry leaned forward, shaking his head. “House simply follows a different line to the answer. Everyone starts at point A and ends up at point B. Except House, who ends up at point Q. The thing is, he didn’t jump to that point, he followed a very specific route to the answer. It looks like he’s pulling it out of his ass because he doesn’t explain his thought process.”
“And you can follow his process. Hell, you don’t even follow, you take a parallel path at the same time because you have that ability to see what other people don’t. I envy that.”
“You shouldn’t. You’re a very intelligent woman.”
“Give me a list of textbook symptoms and I can make the diagnosis. But if it’s not textbook, if it requires a little creative thinking, I can’t do it.”
“That’s not necessarily a bad thing,” Henry said. “Sometimes, following a different path gets you lost.”
“Like following a different path gets you thinking I’m looking for a House substitute,” Cuddy pointed out. She gave Henry a small, warning shake of her head. “I’m not looking for anything more than to get to know you better.”
~~**~~
“What’s the differential for my fraudulent resident needing a nap?”
House capped his marker and took his cane from where it was hooked over the top of the whiteboard. His fellows stopped in the middle of discussing their current patient and glanced at Henry, momentarily disconcerted by the abrupt change of topic.
“It’s a plasmacytoma,” Henry said. He was slouched in his chair at the end of the table, his expression bored.
“Of course it is,” House said.
“It is?” Kutner asked.
“Obviously, which is why it’s not the differential I’m interested in at this moment.”
“What does it matter?” Thirteen asked as she began to shuffle the pages of lab results back into the file. “Henry was obviously paying attention or he wouldn’t have gotten the right diagnosis.”
“He got the right diagnosis two minutes into the differential, just like I did,” House said impatiently. “The rest of the time he’s been in la la land.” House turned a sharp-eyed look on Henry. “So what was it? Did public television play a late night episode of Lawrence Welk last night?”
“Sinatra,” Henry said calmly. “Didn’t get over until 8:30, which is way past my bedtime.”
“Who was she?” House asked. “Obviously not one of the blue-haired brigade. A man who looks as happy and exhausted as you do is obviously getting it on with a much younger woman.”
“Great,” Taub said sarcastically as he shoved his pen in his breast pocket. “Just what the world needs: another old fart banging some young college girl.”
“She’s not in college.”
“Grad school?” Kutner asked, sounding almost hopeful.
“Does she know you’re poor?” House asked. “More to the point, does she know you’re not a real doctor?”
“It’s not really an issue, seeing as she’s a well-paid doctor herself,” Henry said.
“Seriously?” Thirteen asked. She gave him a fleeting half smile. “Good for you.”
“Yeah, good for you,” House said. His expression had suddenly gone all too serious. “Bad for lonely forty-year-old hospital administrators.”
The three fellows looked at each other, their faces shaded with uncertainty. Kutner squirmed in his seat, his eyes darting suspiciously between Henry and House. Taub squinted at the ceiling as he tried to picture how the pieces fit. “Do you mean...?” he began.
“He doesn’t mean anything,” Henry said, his impassive stare fixed on House.
House grimaced a smile. “Right. I don’t know what I’m talking about at all.” He glanced at the others. “Go scan the patient’s spine, then page Wilson when you find the plasmacytoma.”
The room fell silent as the three fellows shuffled out. Henry remained seated and House gave him a probing look before he turned to erase the white board. “Bad idea, banging your boss.”
“Interesting observation coming from you,” Henry said calmly. “Especially given that you’re my boss.”
“Technically, Cuddy’s everyone’s boss.”
“Technically, she’s not my direct supervisor therefore we’re not violating the code of conduct.”
“Bet that’s the only thing you’re not violating.”
“She’s a beautiful, intelligent woman and I enjoy her company,” Henry said as he got up and pushed his chair under the table. He slid his hands in his pockets as he regarded House somberly. “And you don’t give a crap about what’s bad for me which means you really do think this is bad for Dr. Cuddy.”
House set the eraser down very slowly, then he shifted his cane to his right hand as he abruptly faced Henry. “Does she make you call her Dr. Cuddy in bed? Or did you skip the formalities and go straight to Mistress?”
Henry shook his head at House’s attempt to avoid the real issue. “I’m not playing games with her, House.”
“Everyone plays games,” House said as he walked heavily toward his office.
~~**~~
“He’s twice your age,” House argued.
Frustrated by the way he was following her around her office, Cuddy stopped in her tracks and turned on him. “He’s not twice my age. Besides, all the men my age are married, gay....” She gave House a pointed look. “Or jerks.”
“You like him,” House said, suddenly hesitant as she walked behind her desk.
“Imagine that.”
“No, I mean...you actually like him,” House said, perplexed.
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“He’s old and wrinkly and bald.”
“He’s mature. He’s also intelligent, charming, and he doesn’t need pills to be able to interact with the rest of the human race.”
“So you’re dating him because he’s a wimpier version of me.”
“He’s a better version of you.” Cuddy sat at her desk and stared at House, her expression defiant. “He’s you without the anger and the self-loathing and the inappropriate comments about my wardrobe. Henry has all your good qualities, and none of the bad ones.”
“He’s only doing you to repay the fake degree you gave him,” House said in what even he recognized was a lame attempt at retaliation. “The fact you don’t realize that makes you even more pathetic than usual.”
“Go take care of your patient.”
“Not my patient anymore. It’s Wilson’s.”
“Then go find a new patient,” Cuddy said, her hands flying out in exasperation. “Stop sticking your nose in my business.”
“Your business is my business.”
“No. It’s not. I know this is hard for you to accept but who I date, who I sleep with, who I fantasize about is none of your business. Never has been, never will be.”
“You fantasize about Scooter?” House asked, face scrunched up in disgust.
“Out!”
~~**~~
Henry opened the door to a little used storeroom around the corner from the morgue. To his surprise, the overhead light was already on. The single dim bulb did little to illuminate his surroundings but it provided enough light to see his boss’s boss in the room, on her knees digging through boxes on the lowest level of the metal shelving unit.
“Lisa?”
Cuddy startled, then sat back on her heels as she looked up. “Henry? What are you doing here?”
“House sent me on a wild goose chase...at least that's what I thought he was doing.” Henry held his hand out and helped Cuddy to her feet. Her hand lingered in his as she reached down with her other hand to brush some dust from the hem of her skirt. “What are you doing here?”
“The real question is what are the Dean of Medicine and an old fraud doing together in a storage closet?” House was standing in the doorway with a slightly smug and definitely expectant air.
“The compliance hotline got a tip that someone’s been using this closet to stash expired dialysate fluid and then giving it to indigent patients,” Cuddy told Henry. Then she turned a glare on House. “Apparently I misread the signature on the tip, though. It wasn’t anonymous, it was anonym-ass.”
“It’s a good idea, though. We throw gallons of perfectly good dialysate away every week.”
“It’s not perfectly good--it’s expired. We can’t use expired medications on anyone,” Cuddy said, her hand slipping from Henry’s grasp as she advanced on House. “We especially can’t use expired medications on the poor.”
“Right, because it’s better, and tidier, to just let the poor die,” House said sarcastically.
Cuddy smacked him on the arm. “What are you doing?”
“I think it’s obvious what he’s doing,” Henry said, moving to just behind her left shoulder.
“Nothing’s obvious with him,” she snapped as she looked over her shoulder at Henry. House looked over her shoulder as well and gave Henry a look that hinted at victory.
“He’s hoping to precipitate a scandal in the hope of splitting us up. “ Henry gave him a smile that said he’d see that victory and completely own House while he was at it. “Or maybe he was simply hoping to pick up a few pointers about what to do with a beautiful woman in a dark room.”
“As if,” House snorted, but he didn’t look so sure of himself any longer.
“Stop chasing geese and go do your real work,” Cuddy told Henry. He nodded, giving her elbow just the lightest touch as he passed. She turned on House as he tried to slip out the door after Henry. “You. Stay.”
“But what about my real work?” House whined.
“Your lackeys will do it, as usual.” Cuddy stepped closer. House backed away, step for step, until he thumped against the closed door. She kept moving forward until he had to tuck his chin against his chest to look down into her eyes. “I told you to stay out of my personal life. I told you it’s none of your business.”
“Pshaw. You always say that, and you never mean it.”
“This time, I do,” Cuddy said. She nudged House out of the way and opened the door to leave. “Stay out.”
~~**~~
“You waited too long,” Wilson said. “Again.”
“I don’t want Cuddy,” House snapped as he followed Wilson through the lunch line. “I just don’t want Cuddy hemorrhaging bits of her broken heart all over the place. It’ll make the floor slippery and I’ve already got one bad leg.”
“Maybe he won’t break her heart.”
“Every man breaks Cuddy’s heart,” House scoffed.
“Even you?” Wilson sighed as House turned away from him, his silence answer enough. Wilson paid for his meal and picked up his tray. “Who’s to say Cuddy’s heart is on the line to begin with? Henry takes her dancing, they go to dinner, they have a little civilized conversation. They enjoy each other’s company. It’s not necessarily true love.”
“Cuddy always thinks it’s true love. She’s like you that way. Neither of you has the sense to avoid bad relationships.”
“Right, and you’re an expert on good relationships.”
“Don’t need to be. I’m an expert on her bad relationships.” House picked up his tray and followed Wilson to a table on the far side of the room. He dropped his tray on the table with apparent disregard for the safety of either the dishes or the food.
“I think Henry could be good for Cuddy,” Wilson said as he spread his napkin over his lap. “I think you think Henry could be good for Cuddy, too, which is why it bothers you so much.”
“You have no idea what I think,” House said harshly. “You don’t even have any idea what you think.”
“Yeah, I don’t know you at all.”
“You don’t.” House picked up his sandwich and took a huge bite.
“So you’re not going to show up at Cuddy’s house in the middle of the night or cancel their dinner reservations or make Henry work extra shifts?”\
“Duh.” House chewed with his mouth open, crumbs tumbling from his lips. Wilson averted his eyes in disgust. “Cuddy would be hurt if I didn’t.”
~~**~~
“You didn’t have to do this, you know.” Henry and Cuddy were seated on the floor in front of his coffee table, open containers of Chinese take-out scattered in front of them. Cuddy was still wearing the skirt and blouse she’d worn to work that morning. Henry was still wearing the clothes he’d worn to work the morning before that. He’d removed his tie and his shoes and rolled up his sleeves, though, now that he was officially off House’s clock.
“I wasn’t going to let House ruin our evening,” Cuddy said.
“He did, though,” Henry said ruefully. “I promised you dinner and dancing. This is poor substitute.”
“I beg your pardon,” Cuddy said, affecting an offended look. “This is the finest Chinese take-out in, oh, probably ten miles. Five at least.” She broke open her fortune cookie and read the paper strip. “And wise, too. My fortune says I will find the perfect man sitting to my right.”
“Let me see that.” Henry reached for the fortune, skeptical.
“Nope.” Cuddy crumpled the paper up in her palm and tucked it in the deep V of her blouse, a taunting grin on her face. “It won’t come true if you see it.”
“It’s a fortune, not a birthday wish,” Henry said, but he leaned back and left her fortune alone...for the moment. “Okay, so the dinner was tolerable--although that was mostly due to the company--but we missed the dancing.”
Cuddy climbed to her bare feet, shoes long since abandoned, and held her hand out to Henry. “So let’s dance.”
“Now?” Henry chuckled but he took her hand and pushed himself off the floor. He walked over to an old stereo system, one that played actual LPs, and set the needle down on the vinyl. As the strains of Sinatra filtered through the speakers, slightly scratchy with age, Henry turned to her and held out his hand.
“You’re good at this,” Cuddy said a moment later. They slow danced across the living room, Henry guiding them gracefully around obstacles like the coffee table where they’d shared their meal.
“Sure, but anyone can dance in the living room,” Henry said dismissively. He broke into a sly smile. “You should see me tango in the bathtub.”
“I don’t know about your tub tango, but you do a mean samba in the sheets.”
Henry’s smile softened as Cuddy rested her head against his shoulder. “But a man needs to be more than a dancing fool. I’m afraid your fortune cookie lied--I’m not a perfect man.”
“No, I lied.” Cuddy looked into his eyes, a soft smile on her lips. “My fortune actually said the perfect man was sitting to my left. But when I looked to my left there was no one there.”
“Not literally....”
“Stop it. House isn’t here literally or figuratively or any other way,” Cuddy said firmly. “There was no one sitting in the position of the perfect man because there is no such man.” Cuddy hooked her arms around his shoulders. “But there is such a thing as a good man. You’re a good man, Henry.”
“But I’m not House,” he reminded her.
Cuddy chuckled. “Thank god.”