"Minor Details" - H/C oneshot
Title: Minor Details
Rating: PG13
Word Count: 1158
Summary/Notes: Just a little ditty inspired by the latest speculation (so kind of spoilery? if you count anything ausiello says as actually true?). That said, it's a bit (or a lot) fluffy and sappy and all that. Mostly I'm just trying to think through the "what if?" scenario and this is what I came up with. Read at your own risk.
Cuddy had been sitting on the couch in her sweatpants, digging into a pint of ice cream and half-heartedly reading some legal documents while trying to watch a Desperate Housewives rerun when House did it.
He’d been doing dishes all night, so she’d largely been ignoring him. He only did dishes when he needed to get his mind off something (commonly his leg, sometimes something to do with Wilson, other times a case gone bad) and he usually did such an awful job that Cuddy had to rewash half of them the next day anyway, which was almost more frustrating than just doing them all herself. But she let him do the dishes because it seemed to calm him down, and he always smelled like lemons and soap afterwards and she liked the smell on him.
She didn’t notice when the sound of the running water had stopped until he’d fallen onto the couch next to her with a grunt and squished most of the paper she’d been trying to (kind of) read.
“Hey!” she exclaimed.
He pulled the documents out from under his butt and threw them onto the coffee table. They didn’t all make it. “Oh c’mon, like you were actually reading them.”
She didn’t deny it, just sighed and slumped down into the cushions. House took the opportunity to pry the ice cream out of her hands and pick through it himself.
“So I’ve been thinking,” he said before spooning a giant glob of mostly fudge, maybe ice cream, into his mouth.
Cuddy arched her eyebrows at him and waited.
“We should probably go ahead and get hitched,” he finished with a full mouth.
She blinked at him, and he proceeded to just look at her in that infuriating way of his that was impenetrable and unequivocally determined.
“Why’s that?” she asked evenly.
“You haven’t left me yet, I haven’t relapsed yet, we have great sex, and my toothbrush is already in your bathroom.” He shrugged. “What more is there to say?”
Cuddy scrutinized his face. He plunked another spoonful of ice cream into his mouth.
“Is this some kind of bet you have going with Wilson?”
“No.”
She squinted at him.
“Not really.”
She sighed and grabbed the ice cream back, firmly placing a lid on it.
He sat up, grabbed the pint from her, and forced her to look at him. “So?” he asked.
“House, this is serious. ‘Til death do us part, and all that.”
“Between the vicodin and the bourbon, my liver’s basically shot, so that won’t be too long, if you think about it.” He wore something of a nonchalant smile now, and it puzzled Cuddy. It was typically, paradoxically House-where nonchalance stood in for the kind of conviction that often meant his mind was clearly, 100% decided on something.
“Oh, and I forgot to mention I got you this,” he said. He set the pint on the coffee table and dug into the back pocket of his jeans for a second until he’d procured a small black box, which he handed to her in a gesture that lacked in even the faintest hint of fanfare.
Cuddy took the box, and had barely glanced at the ring before she was glaring at House again. “This is Wilson’s.”
House rolled his eyes. “Minor detail.”
Cuddy laughed, threw the box back at him, and leaned over to kiss him quickly. “Give Wilson his ring back before he has a heart-attack.”
“That’s still not an answer.”
“Then sure.”
It was House’s turn to raise his eyebrows. “Really? The sex and toothbrush thing got you?”
“No.” Cuddy laughed and leaned into his shoulder. “You got me, Gregory House.”
He put his arm around her with a satisfied smirk and began to flip through the channels.
"Hey! I was watching that."
He eyed her sideways. "I thought you were working. And I'm letting you know now, I won't be wearing a tux."
"Fine."
"Or a tie. And I don't want to write vows."
"Okay. And we're not inviting my mother. Or Wilson."
"We should probably just never tell Wilson," House agreed.
Cuddy leaned her head against House's arm. "What're you gonna do about the apartment?"
"Keep it. Unless you want to get two dogs and move to the suburbs?” He cocked an eyebrow at her. “But as it is this place does not have room for a grand piano, four guitars, and my record collection."
Cuddy screwed her face up in disgust. "Too far from the hospital. And I never liked dogs."
"That's what I thought."
House continued to channel surf, Cuddy watching him for a few more minutes. "You know," he said idly, "we should probably just skip the whole ceremony and pinky swear on it."
Cuddy sat up. "Pinky swear? On being married? How does that even make sense?"
"I'm ordained."
"What-? When did-? Actually, nevermind. I don't want to know."
“It’s amazing what you can find on the Internet when you’re not just looking for porn,” House mused.
Cuddy crossed her legs and muted the TV, turning to face him. “So we can really just pinky swear on it? No church, no mothers, no flowers and organs or anything like that?”
House stuck his pinky out. “Be mine, valentine?” He fluttered his eyelashes at her.
She shoved his knee. “Try and be serious, at least?”
He cleared his throat, his pinky still standing at attention between them and looked at her over the rims of his glasses. “Lisa Cuddy, do you hereby solemnly, forever and ever after, pinky-swear to by my waffly-leaded wifey, or whatever?”
“Lawfully-wedded.”
“Yeah, whatever.”
Cuddy took House’s pinky with her own and they shook on it. “I do-oh, yuck, that feels weird to say.”
House chuckled. He went to detract his pinky but Cuddy glared at him. “You too!”
“Fine. I do too.”
Cuddy let his hand go and he ruffled his hair with it. “You may now have awesome wedding-night sex all over the couch, and probably the rest of the house,” he announced.
When Cuddy grabbed his shirt collar and kissed him hard on the mouth, he managed to mutter, “or kiss the bride” between kissing her back as she slid down the couch. She smiled into his kisses and resisted the urge to laugh at how ridiculous this all was beginning to feel. It made no sense.
He’d started to slide her shirt off over her head when she perfunctorily declared, “I still want a ring.”
“Oh, sure, you say that now, but when I gave you one you were all, ‘oh, no, give this back to Wilson before you make him cry again, House’,” he whined.
“Oh shut up.”
Cuddy grinned, and House grinned back, and Cuddy wondered just how long it would take for her to regret this decision. After all, she didn’t have a very good track record with proposals and marriages. Although this one was, admittedly, quite a bit different.
Rating: PG13
Word Count: 1158
Summary/Notes: Just a little ditty inspired by the latest speculation (so kind of spoilery? if you count anything ausiello says as actually true?). That said, it's a bit (or a lot) fluffy and sappy and all that. Mostly I'm just trying to think through the "what if?" scenario and this is what I came up with. Read at your own risk.
Cuddy had been sitting on the couch in her sweatpants, digging into a pint of ice cream and half-heartedly reading some legal documents while trying to watch a Desperate Housewives rerun when House did it.
He’d been doing dishes all night, so she’d largely been ignoring him. He only did dishes when he needed to get his mind off something (commonly his leg, sometimes something to do with Wilson, other times a case gone bad) and he usually did such an awful job that Cuddy had to rewash half of them the next day anyway, which was almost more frustrating than just doing them all herself. But she let him do the dishes because it seemed to calm him down, and he always smelled like lemons and soap afterwards and she liked the smell on him.
She didn’t notice when the sound of the running water had stopped until he’d fallen onto the couch next to her with a grunt and squished most of the paper she’d been trying to (kind of) read.
“Hey!” she exclaimed.
He pulled the documents out from under his butt and threw them onto the coffee table. They didn’t all make it. “Oh c’mon, like you were actually reading them.”
She didn’t deny it, just sighed and slumped down into the cushions. House took the opportunity to pry the ice cream out of her hands and pick through it himself.
“So I’ve been thinking,” he said before spooning a giant glob of mostly fudge, maybe ice cream, into his mouth.
Cuddy arched her eyebrows at him and waited.
“We should probably go ahead and get hitched,” he finished with a full mouth.
She blinked at him, and he proceeded to just look at her in that infuriating way of his that was impenetrable and unequivocally determined.
“Why’s that?” she asked evenly.
“You haven’t left me yet, I haven’t relapsed yet, we have great sex, and my toothbrush is already in your bathroom.” He shrugged. “What more is there to say?”
Cuddy scrutinized his face. He plunked another spoonful of ice cream into his mouth.
“Is this some kind of bet you have going with Wilson?”
“No.”
She squinted at him.
“Not really.”
She sighed and grabbed the ice cream back, firmly placing a lid on it.
He sat up, grabbed the pint from her, and forced her to look at him. “So?” he asked.
“House, this is serious. ‘Til death do us part, and all that.”
“Between the vicodin and the bourbon, my liver’s basically shot, so that won’t be too long, if you think about it.” He wore something of a nonchalant smile now, and it puzzled Cuddy. It was typically, paradoxically House-where nonchalance stood in for the kind of conviction that often meant his mind was clearly, 100% decided on something.
“Oh, and I forgot to mention I got you this,” he said. He set the pint on the coffee table and dug into the back pocket of his jeans for a second until he’d procured a small black box, which he handed to her in a gesture that lacked in even the faintest hint of fanfare.
Cuddy took the box, and had barely glanced at the ring before she was glaring at House again. “This is Wilson’s.”
House rolled his eyes. “Minor detail.”
Cuddy laughed, threw the box back at him, and leaned over to kiss him quickly. “Give Wilson his ring back before he has a heart-attack.”
“That’s still not an answer.”
“Then sure.”
It was House’s turn to raise his eyebrows. “Really? The sex and toothbrush thing got you?”
“No.” Cuddy laughed and leaned into his shoulder. “You got me, Gregory House.”
He put his arm around her with a satisfied smirk and began to flip through the channels.
"Hey! I was watching that."
He eyed her sideways. "I thought you were working. And I'm letting you know now, I won't be wearing a tux."
"Fine."
"Or a tie. And I don't want to write vows."
"Okay. And we're not inviting my mother. Or Wilson."
"We should probably just never tell Wilson," House agreed.
Cuddy leaned her head against House's arm. "What're you gonna do about the apartment?"
"Keep it. Unless you want to get two dogs and move to the suburbs?” He cocked an eyebrow at her. “But as it is this place does not have room for a grand piano, four guitars, and my record collection."
Cuddy screwed her face up in disgust. "Too far from the hospital. And I never liked dogs."
"That's what I thought."
House continued to channel surf, Cuddy watching him for a few more minutes. "You know," he said idly, "we should probably just skip the whole ceremony and pinky swear on it."
Cuddy sat up. "Pinky swear? On being married? How does that even make sense?"
"I'm ordained."
"What-? When did-? Actually, nevermind. I don't want to know."
“It’s amazing what you can find on the Internet when you’re not just looking for porn,” House mused.
Cuddy crossed her legs and muted the TV, turning to face him. “So we can really just pinky swear on it? No church, no mothers, no flowers and organs or anything like that?”
House stuck his pinky out. “Be mine, valentine?” He fluttered his eyelashes at her.
She shoved his knee. “Try and be serious, at least?”
He cleared his throat, his pinky still standing at attention between them and looked at her over the rims of his glasses. “Lisa Cuddy, do you hereby solemnly, forever and ever after, pinky-swear to by my waffly-leaded wifey, or whatever?”
“Lawfully-wedded.”
“Yeah, whatever.”
Cuddy took House’s pinky with her own and they shook on it. “I do-oh, yuck, that feels weird to say.”
House chuckled. He went to detract his pinky but Cuddy glared at him. “You too!”
“Fine. I do too.”
Cuddy let his hand go and he ruffled his hair with it. “You may now have awesome wedding-night sex all over the couch, and probably the rest of the house,” he announced.
When Cuddy grabbed his shirt collar and kissed him hard on the mouth, he managed to mutter, “or kiss the bride” between kissing her back as she slid down the couch. She smiled into his kisses and resisted the urge to laugh at how ridiculous this all was beginning to feel. It made no sense.
He’d started to slide her shirt off over her head when she perfunctorily declared, “I still want a ring.”
“Oh, sure, you say that now, but when I gave you one you were all, ‘oh, no, give this back to Wilson before you make him cry again, House’,” he whined.
“Oh shut up.”
Cuddy grinned, and House grinned back, and Cuddy wondered just how long it would take for her to regret this decision. After all, she didn’t have a very good track record with proposals and marriages. Although this one was, admittedly, quite a bit different.