Daily Drabble #14
Daily Drabble #14
Rating: G
Warning: kid!fic (part of the Church-verse)
Word Count: 1085
A/N: Well, it's supposed to be a drabble, but I got carried away. My bad.
Julie hears about it through the grapevine. She and Cuddy still frequent the same gym, and Cuddy's tennis instructor at the country club is close friends with Julie's hairstylist (how close, no one can be certain). In the end, there is no way to pinpoint the exact flow of information, but pillow-talk has ruined greater nations than Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital.
Being herself, Julie calls the front desk and demands to speak to Wilson. The receptionist, having worked for the hospital longer than Julie Ex-Wilson has been alive, accidentally forwards the call to the Diagnostics Department.
The Diagnostics Department, being saddled with a teething infant and an inborn lack of tact, tells Mrs. Ex-Wilson exactly where she can take herself, and what she can do when she gets there.
She decides she wants to see this for herself. She has a right to know what Jim has gotten himself into, what he's let that awful Greg House get him involved in. Married to that man! With a child! Honestly, it boggles the mind. Leave a man, and see how quickly he ruins his own life; she almost feels bad for him.
Cuddy is disappearing into her office when she hears Brenda coughing up a lung. When she turns her head to ask if she'd like to die somewhere else, please, Brenda gives her the eye. There, stalking into the front lobby like a predatory feline thing (unfair to felines, Cuddy actually likes cats), is Julie Formerly Wilson. And she's making a beeline toward the elevator.
Rushing without appearing to rush, Cuddy nods thankfully to Brenda, smoothing her skirt with nervous hands. Trust Wilson to leave this unfinished, and heaven could only help her if she tried anything with House. There might not be homicide, as House was patient-free, but teething babies were not helpful to his temperament, especially with the hospital daycare being laid low with a particularly vile stomach virus.
She manages to slip inside the elevator just as the doors are closing, nearly running into Julie's habitually pursed face. Always looking like she's sucking a lemon, Cuddy thinks. God, if House is a step up from this...
"It would be best if you went home now," she begins, and Julie's cheeks cave in slightly. Maybe House will make her swallow her face.
"Is it true?" Julie queries, although she had heard the baby crying herself.
"Yes. It's none of your business, Julie. You'll only cause trouble, and you know it."
Julie snorts, "I'm the troublemaker. That damned House has James playing house with him, and a poor, defenseless baby as well. Where did the baby come from, anyway? What kind of woman would give them a baby? I ask you, honestly."
Cuddy's eyes narrow, and without further thought, she throws out a hand and hits the emergency stop button. Her voice, when she speaks, is terrifying in its intensity. "The fact that you know about the baby at all lets me know that you know exactly where the baby came from. I gave them my son, to raise the way they see fit, because I know that they'll give him the best life possible."
Julie opens her mouth, a cutting look beginning on the stark planes of her face. Before she can get a word out, she finds herself pushed against the farthest corner of the elevator, and Cuddy's flashing eyes are daring her to speak.
"You will leave this hospital. Right now." The tone is deadly, real, and Julie is reminded of mother lions and their cubs. She inclines her head, nearly imperceptibly, but Cuddy is already moving to hit the button for the lobby.
The ride down is conducted in absolute silence. As the elevator doors open, Cuddy is surprised to find House and Church at the front door; Wilson meets them with his arms out, taking over control of baby duties for the day. Automatically, her fingers dig into Julie's bony arms, and although she squeaks with the pain of it, she makes no further sound.
No overt affection passes between them, House handing over the squalling baby in his snuggly carrier, as Wilson attempts to soothe the child. They are talking, and whatever House says elicits a quick bark of laughter and a boyish smile from Wilson. A sly look passes over House's face, and he leans in to drop a kiss on his son's tiny back. There is more laughter from Wilson, and then he waves goodbye, exiting with baby in tow.
The spell is broken with Wilson's departure, and Julie struggles against Cuddy's hold. Cuddy lets her go, but not without a last, unnecessary push towards the door. Too late, Julie realizes that House's large frame is blocking her way to James.
She attempts to cut around him, using his crippled state to her advantage, but his cane catches her softly, warningly against the knees. "That could have hurt," House says, and his eyes are sharp enough to cut through bone.
"I'm leaving," she says, "Let me go." Julie has never admitted this to anyone, but there is something wild and untamed about House, something she instinctively knows to fear.
"Absolutely," House agrees, turning and offering his arm politely. The incongruity makes her lose her breath a moment. "Let me walk you to your car." The threat is no less apparent than in his usual blunt speech, but it seems even more dangerous when couched in such a manner, coming from him.
She doesn't take his arm, but finds herself matching his step, afraid of what might happen if she tries to break away. Cuddy is hovering threateningly behind them, a stalking lioness.
"A pride, that's what you are," Julie says, apropos of nothing, "Like animals, protecting each other."
House smiles, and the look on his face is as predatory as any found on the African savanna, "You'd best believe it, lady. Don't worry, I'll make sure to send you a Christmas card, complete with baby pictures, since you're so very concerned."
She finds herself pushed none-too-gently into her own vehicle, and House nearly catches her legs in the door as he slams it shut. As she drives, she realizes that her hands are shaking. In her rear-view mirror, she can still see House watching her, white teeth glinting in the sunlight.
Every year after that, she gets a Christmas card, addressed to her in House's sprawling hand. Every year, she throws it away, and reaches, hands shaking, for the brandy.
Rating: G
Warning: kid!fic (part of the Church-verse)
Word Count: 1085
A/N: Well, it's supposed to be a drabble, but I got carried away. My bad.
Julie hears about it through the grapevine. She and Cuddy still frequent the same gym, and Cuddy's tennis instructor at the country club is close friends with Julie's hairstylist (how close, no one can be certain). In the end, there is no way to pinpoint the exact flow of information, but pillow-talk has ruined greater nations than Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital.
Being herself, Julie calls the front desk and demands to speak to Wilson. The receptionist, having worked for the hospital longer than Julie Ex-Wilson has been alive, accidentally forwards the call to the Diagnostics Department.
The Diagnostics Department, being saddled with a teething infant and an inborn lack of tact, tells Mrs. Ex-Wilson exactly where she can take herself, and what she can do when she gets there.
She decides she wants to see this for herself. She has a right to know what Jim has gotten himself into, what he's let that awful Greg House get him involved in. Married to that man! With a child! Honestly, it boggles the mind. Leave a man, and see how quickly he ruins his own life; she almost feels bad for him.
Cuddy is disappearing into her office when she hears Brenda coughing up a lung. When she turns her head to ask if she'd like to die somewhere else, please, Brenda gives her the eye. There, stalking into the front lobby like a predatory feline thing (unfair to felines, Cuddy actually likes cats), is Julie Formerly Wilson. And she's making a beeline toward the elevator.
Rushing without appearing to rush, Cuddy nods thankfully to Brenda, smoothing her skirt with nervous hands. Trust Wilson to leave this unfinished, and heaven could only help her if she tried anything with House. There might not be homicide, as House was patient-free, but teething babies were not helpful to his temperament, especially with the hospital daycare being laid low with a particularly vile stomach virus.
She manages to slip inside the elevator just as the doors are closing, nearly running into Julie's habitually pursed face. Always looking like she's sucking a lemon, Cuddy thinks. God, if House is a step up from this...
"It would be best if you went home now," she begins, and Julie's cheeks cave in slightly. Maybe House will make her swallow her face.
"Is it true?" Julie queries, although she had heard the baby crying herself.
"Yes. It's none of your business, Julie. You'll only cause trouble, and you know it."
Julie snorts, "I'm the troublemaker. That damned House has James playing house with him, and a poor, defenseless baby as well. Where did the baby come from, anyway? What kind of woman would give them a baby? I ask you, honestly."
Cuddy's eyes narrow, and without further thought, she throws out a hand and hits the emergency stop button. Her voice, when she speaks, is terrifying in its intensity. "The fact that you know about the baby at all lets me know that you know exactly where the baby came from. I gave them my son, to raise the way they see fit, because I know that they'll give him the best life possible."
Julie opens her mouth, a cutting look beginning on the stark planes of her face. Before she can get a word out, she finds herself pushed against the farthest corner of the elevator, and Cuddy's flashing eyes are daring her to speak.
"You will leave this hospital. Right now." The tone is deadly, real, and Julie is reminded of mother lions and their cubs. She inclines her head, nearly imperceptibly, but Cuddy is already moving to hit the button for the lobby.
The ride down is conducted in absolute silence. As the elevator doors open, Cuddy is surprised to find House and Church at the front door; Wilson meets them with his arms out, taking over control of baby duties for the day. Automatically, her fingers dig into Julie's bony arms, and although she squeaks with the pain of it, she makes no further sound.
No overt affection passes between them, House handing over the squalling baby in his snuggly carrier, as Wilson attempts to soothe the child. They are talking, and whatever House says elicits a quick bark of laughter and a boyish smile from Wilson. A sly look passes over House's face, and he leans in to drop a kiss on his son's tiny back. There is more laughter from Wilson, and then he waves goodbye, exiting with baby in tow.
The spell is broken with Wilson's departure, and Julie struggles against Cuddy's hold. Cuddy lets her go, but not without a last, unnecessary push towards the door. Too late, Julie realizes that House's large frame is blocking her way to James.
She attempts to cut around him, using his crippled state to her advantage, but his cane catches her softly, warningly against the knees. "That could have hurt," House says, and his eyes are sharp enough to cut through bone.
"I'm leaving," she says, "Let me go." Julie has never admitted this to anyone, but there is something wild and untamed about House, something she instinctively knows to fear.
"Absolutely," House agrees, turning and offering his arm politely. The incongruity makes her lose her breath a moment. "Let me walk you to your car." The threat is no less apparent than in his usual blunt speech, but it seems even more dangerous when couched in such a manner, coming from him.
She doesn't take his arm, but finds herself matching his step, afraid of what might happen if she tries to break away. Cuddy is hovering threateningly behind them, a stalking lioness.
"A pride, that's what you are," Julie says, apropos of nothing, "Like animals, protecting each other."
House smiles, and the look on his face is as predatory as any found on the African savanna, "You'd best believe it, lady. Don't worry, I'll make sure to send you a Christmas card, complete with baby pictures, since you're so very concerned."
She finds herself pushed none-too-gently into her own vehicle, and House nearly catches her legs in the door as he slams it shut. As she drives, she realizes that her hands are shaking. In her rear-view mirror, she can still see House watching her, white teeth glinting in the sunlight.
Every year after that, she gets a Christmas card, addressed to her in House's sprawling hand. Every year, she throws it away, and reaches, hands shaking, for the brandy.