rp for l_cuddy_md

[rubicks_complex]

This had to be some kind of joke. It had to be.

House had been back to the Hotel for a few days now. Or what seemed like a few days. He was completely disoriented by what time meant anymore, because he thought he’d only been in the Hotel for a total of a couple of weeks when he’d had his 24-hour reprieve, only to discover a couple of months had

Comments

[l_cuddy_md]

Cuddy lay on the bed, sheet pulled to her waist and a pillow hugged to her chest. She wasn't asleep though. She was merely staring into the darkness

[rubicks_complex]

House's pounding on Cuddy's door grew more and more insistent and he gave serious thought to trying to jimmy her door open with his cane, when the door suddenly opened.

"No," he replied promptly, and just for good measure he threw his arm out and braced his hand against the door so that if Cuddy tried to shut the door she'd at least have to fight him to do it. His eyes were drawn down to her nightgown and a brief thought of 'whoa, no bra' raced through his head. He dismissed that thought almost as soon as it entered his mind and turned his attention back up to Cuddy's face, looking equal parts panicked and desperate.

Cuddy, on the other hand, looked completely apathetic. Either because she'd been rudely woken up, or because she hated him and really didn't want to care what his issue was, or... Who cared why she was apathetic. His issue mattered more than hers as far as he was concerned.

"You need to help me."

[l_cuddy_md]

"No. I. Don't." With each word, Cuddy tried to close the door against House's resistance. He didn't budge and neither did the door so she quit trying after one last attempt. She stepped back and crossed her arms under her breasts, regarding House with a flat expression.

House thought she 'needed' to help him? Hardly. It could be argued that she needed to help herself, but if that was too much work in her current frame of mind, she certainly wasn't going to rouse herself to help him.

"You know why I don't need to help you?" Cuddy asked in a low voice. "Because you told me you didn't need my help. You said all you needed were your pills. So go ask your Vicodin for help and stop bothering me."

[rubicks_complex]

House stared down at her, a sudden rush of memories from the last time they talked -- or fought, more accurately -- sweeping through his mind: how he'd told Cuddy he didn't need her because he had his pills.

None of that mattered now, not to him. He had no idea what Cuddy would be able to do for him, if anything, but she was all he had right now to turn to for help.

"I don't have any Vicodin," he fired back.

He pushed hard on her door so it swung all the way open, and the door knob bashed loudly against the wall. Though Cuddy was blocking the doorway, House stepped in to try and insinuate himself into her room. "I don't have any pills left. I don't..."

Too desperate and frustrated to stand out here in the hallway, he made another move to try and push past her and then demanded, "You going to let me in or not?"

The Morning After

[l_cuddy_md]

Cuddy paced back and forth in front of the drug cabinet in the clinic. She had a choice to make, and it wasn't merely which medicine to select. Although, the fact that she was even here meant she'd essentially made her choice.

After House left her room in the wee hours of the morning, she'd been too worked up to sleep, or even to lay around in an apathetic depression. So she'd ended up pacing around her room, fighting with herself.

If she could only have one piece, one reminder of her life at home, why did it have to be House? He harassed and used her and she hated him. Except she didn't hate him. She wanted to, though. Caring about House was a one-way street that led to a whole lot of heartache. Hating him would be so much easier. Or if not hate, then at least not-caring about him.

She'd known him too long and too well and had too many moments where he wasn't being a bastard to not care. So here she was.

Cuddy considered the bottle of Vicodin, but left it. If the hotel was regulating House's Vicodin use, then it might not let

[rubicks_complex]

After leaving Cuddy's room, House started to stalk off down the hall with the intention of going somewhere... anywhere, to try and get his mind off his discovery about his pills. He entertained going to the bar and drinking himself stupid, and he entertained the idea of going to Snape's room and demanding he give him something. He halted when he reached the elevator, realising that getting drunk wasn't going to kill his pain, and he had no idea if what Snape had would even help. He wanted his pills, god damn it

[l_cuddy_md]

Cuddy studied House's face, trying to remain clinical about her assessment. He looked a little rough around the edges, although whether that was purely physical or partly due to his anger and frustration was hard to tell. Either way, she was fairly certain he hadn't truly started to detox again, which was...good.

"You need to let me in," Cuddy said in a low voice. She was trying to steel herself for a confrontation because she truly expected House to be angry that she was only going to help him if she could control his drug use rather than be grateful to have any drugs at all. She was trying to steel herself to treat him like any other patient, like any other person, and not care what he said or thought about her. Trying not to think about why she did care about him.

"Let me in, House. I have a proposition for you."

[rubicks_complex]

Oh, he needed to let her in?

"I don't need to let you in," he replied crisply. "Just like you said you didn't need to help me