New fic!-'Cheap Mascara'
Title: Cheap Mascara [1/?]
[chapter name: Smudge]
Fandom: House, MD
Pairing: Thirteen/Cuddy
Word Count: 1237
Rating: T for language now, M in later chapters.
Warning/spoilers: Femslash, slight spoilers for the end of Season 4; I own Mr. Stedman, but not anyone else in this fic.
Thirteen.
Remy Hadley was desperate to rub her eyes, but she couldn’t.
She never wore mascara, but Cuddy had made everyone, even House, come to this function, and apparently, mascara was absolutely necessary at functions where the paparazzi were present and sure to take pictures of you. It seemed that there were a lot of society people who enjoyed going to PPTH events.
“If the paparazzi are going to be there anyway, they might as well get a good picture,” Cuddy had said.
Remy had sighed. A tight dress, she could pull off. Pouty lips, not a problem. Walking in the highest heels, not an issue. But mascara was something Remy Hadley hated.
Remy had always taken good pictures without wearing mascara, but seeing as it was Cuddy asking, Remy had obliged. She was, for lack of a better word, besotted with Lisa Cuddy.
Your boss’s boss!
As if that stops her from being hot. And smart. And she can sort of make House shut up.
The night before, she’d made a quick drugstore run and bought a tube of the cheapest mascara she could find. A few hours ago, she’d sat in front of her mirror, painstakingly applying it and hoping that just because it was about half the price of all the other similar products, it didn’t mean the quality was half as good.
Hope is stupid.
Now the mascara was clumped all over her eyelashes, and to make matters worse, a paparazzo was coming around to her table-the table where, by some miracle, she was sitting two seats over from Cuddy. Trying to look composed, but not like a boring doctor, she turned away from the camera, fixed her eyes on a point to the right of the photographer's ear, and smiled slightly at the wall, just as everyone else at the table was doing. When the photo was printed in the…wherever they were going to print them, everyone at the table would look like they were having a pleasant conversation with the person across from them. As the flash faded, everyone resumed eating, but Remy excused herself to go to the bathroom. She had to get this friggin’ mascara off.
She stood in front of the bathroom mirror with a paper towel, wiping the mascara off her eyelashes, becoming increasingly relieved as the clumpy black stuff came off onto the paper towel. Suddenly, the door opened. Remy’s hand slipped slightly, and a black line was smudged down her left cheek. “Shit!” she muttered, sort of wanting whoever it was to feel bad for making her look like a mid-Victorian chimney sweep.
“Dr. Hadley! I’m sorry if I scared you...here, let me help you get that off.”
Oh God.
“Oh, no, Dr. Cuddy, I'm fine. Really.” Remy backed away slightly, grabbing another paper towel and wetting it a little, then cleaning off her face. “It's okay.” She glanced in the mirror. The smudged mascara had all come off, but her cheeks were reddening, getting pinker and pinker even as she watched.
Cuddy still looked upset. More upset, really, than she should have been. Actually, why had she offered to help clean off Remy’s face, anyway? It was a strange offer, even if she felt bad. Remy mentally shook herself. She was reading too much into this. Cuddy was just a nice person. “Well, I’ll see you back at the table, then,” she said with a polite smile, almost running out of the bathroom. As she opened the door, she almost tripped on her high heels for the first time ever.
Cuddy.
God, she’s so cute. Did I just make a total ass of myself?
Lisa watched as Dr. Hadley stumbled slightly as she left the bathroom. That confirmed her suspicion that the young doctor was drunk. What else could explain her reddened cheeks? A thought nudged at the back of Lisa’s mind, but she pushed it away. She didn’t act on instinct or gut feeling. She needed hard evidence, whether it was House asking for a radical course of treatment, or her asking herself if she should take the risk of revealing her feelings to Remy Hadley.
Lisa exited the bathroom cautiously, looking towards her table. Dr. Hadley (she had to stop almost calling the other doctor Remy) was having a polite conversation with House-well, as polite as any conversation with him could ever get. She watched the light from the large crystal chandelier on the ceiling reflecting in Dr. Hadley’s hair, making it seem like it was spun from gold.
Quit the clichés.
Leaving her reverie, Lisa walked back to her table, on the verge of starting to mutter to herself as she realized how stupid Dr. Hadley made her feel. On the outside, she was the picture of cool perfection, but profuse sweating and nervous fidgeting would probably represent how she really felt. She took her seat next to House, sighing as she prepared to launch back into a conversation with the stubborn potential donor next to her. She smiled politely at old Mr. Stedman, wondering what obscure conversation topic he would come up with next. He had already spent the better part of the last hour extolling the virtues of Rafaelle Bombelli, who was apparently a mathematician who had discovered an imaginary number. Too bad Dr. Hadley wasn’t sitting on Mr. Stedman’s other side. At least Lisa would have something to look at while pretending to listen.
However, before Mr. Stedman had even finished his first sentence (“You know, my niece’s brother-in-law who lives in Oxford…”), he was interrupted from someone sitting on Cuddy’s other side. House.
“Dr. Cuddy!” he said loudly, then dropped his voice to a whisper. “Since I’m feeling very charitable today, can I discuss something with you in confidence? As opposed to yelling it out in front of the whole table to humiliate you, that is, which is what I’d much rather do, but-“
Cuddy cut him off. “Whatever, House. Why don’t we go over to the bar?” she sighed, deciding that even House was better than a story about Mr. Stedman’s niece’s brother-in-law from Oxford.
House ordered a Scotch, while Lisa just leaned against the bar, waiting for him to talk. When he did nothing but stare at the bartender (who looked more like a stripper than a bartender, really…what is up with that shirt?), Lisa prompted him. “You wanted to talk?”
“Yeah,” House said, acting as if he’d just been jolted out of a fantastic daydream…which he probably had.
“So…?” Lisa was losing her patience.
“When are you gonna boink her?” House finally replied, seeming very annoyed all of a sudden.
A sudden wave of dread washed over her. How did House know? Was that what he’d been talking to Dr. Hadley about? Had she been that obvious? Who knew that Hadley was such a bitch?
Playing dumb (and safe), she looked up at him and said, “Her? I don’t know who you’re talking about.”
“Was that an ‘I’m-not-a-lesbian-her’ or just an ‘I’m-pretending-I-don’t-know-who-you’re-talking-about-her’?”
“Uh…I’m guessing ‘I’m-not-a-lesbian’ is the safest one here.”
“Safe? Aha! So you admit it!” The look of glee on House’s face only served to make Lisa even angrier.
“House, my personal life is none of your business. I think I’d rather talk to Mr. Stedman,” she hissed. She turned around and marched back to her table. House stayed at the bar. Lisa didn’t know it, but he was watching.
[chapter name: Smudge]
Fandom: House, MD
Pairing: Thirteen/Cuddy
Word Count: 1237
Rating: T for language now, M in later chapters.
Warning/spoilers: Femslash, slight spoilers for the end of Season 4; I own Mr. Stedman, but not anyone else in this fic.
Thirteen.
Remy Hadley was desperate to rub her eyes, but she couldn’t.
She never wore mascara, but Cuddy had made everyone, even House, come to this function, and apparently, mascara was absolutely necessary at functions where the paparazzi were present and sure to take pictures of you. It seemed that there were a lot of society people who enjoyed going to PPTH events.
“If the paparazzi are going to be there anyway, they might as well get a good picture,” Cuddy had said.
Remy had sighed. A tight dress, she could pull off. Pouty lips, not a problem. Walking in the highest heels, not an issue. But mascara was something Remy Hadley hated.
Remy had always taken good pictures without wearing mascara, but seeing as it was Cuddy asking, Remy had obliged. She was, for lack of a better word, besotted with Lisa Cuddy.
Your boss’s boss!
As if that stops her from being hot. And smart. And she can sort of make House shut up.
The night before, she’d made a quick drugstore run and bought a tube of the cheapest mascara she could find. A few hours ago, she’d sat in front of her mirror, painstakingly applying it and hoping that just because it was about half the price of all the other similar products, it didn’t mean the quality was half as good.
Hope is stupid.
Now the mascara was clumped all over her eyelashes, and to make matters worse, a paparazzo was coming around to her table-the table where, by some miracle, she was sitting two seats over from Cuddy. Trying to look composed, but not like a boring doctor, she turned away from the camera, fixed her eyes on a point to the right of the photographer's ear, and smiled slightly at the wall, just as everyone else at the table was doing. When the photo was printed in the…wherever they were going to print them, everyone at the table would look like they were having a pleasant conversation with the person across from them. As the flash faded, everyone resumed eating, but Remy excused herself to go to the bathroom. She had to get this friggin’ mascara off.
She stood in front of the bathroom mirror with a paper towel, wiping the mascara off her eyelashes, becoming increasingly relieved as the clumpy black stuff came off onto the paper towel. Suddenly, the door opened. Remy’s hand slipped slightly, and a black line was smudged down her left cheek. “Shit!” she muttered, sort of wanting whoever it was to feel bad for making her look like a mid-Victorian chimney sweep.
“Dr. Hadley! I’m sorry if I scared you...here, let me help you get that off.”
Oh God.
“Oh, no, Dr. Cuddy, I'm fine. Really.” Remy backed away slightly, grabbing another paper towel and wetting it a little, then cleaning off her face. “It's okay.” She glanced in the mirror. The smudged mascara had all come off, but her cheeks were reddening, getting pinker and pinker even as she watched.
Cuddy still looked upset. More upset, really, than she should have been. Actually, why had she offered to help clean off Remy’s face, anyway? It was a strange offer, even if she felt bad. Remy mentally shook herself. She was reading too much into this. Cuddy was just a nice person. “Well, I’ll see you back at the table, then,” she said with a polite smile, almost running out of the bathroom. As she opened the door, she almost tripped on her high heels for the first time ever.
Cuddy.
God, she’s so cute. Did I just make a total ass of myself?
Lisa watched as Dr. Hadley stumbled slightly as she left the bathroom. That confirmed her suspicion that the young doctor was drunk. What else could explain her reddened cheeks? A thought nudged at the back of Lisa’s mind, but she pushed it away. She didn’t act on instinct or gut feeling. She needed hard evidence, whether it was House asking for a radical course of treatment, or her asking herself if she should take the risk of revealing her feelings to Remy Hadley.
Lisa exited the bathroom cautiously, looking towards her table. Dr. Hadley (she had to stop almost calling the other doctor Remy) was having a polite conversation with House-well, as polite as any conversation with him could ever get. She watched the light from the large crystal chandelier on the ceiling reflecting in Dr. Hadley’s hair, making it seem like it was spun from gold.
Quit the clichés.
Leaving her reverie, Lisa walked back to her table, on the verge of starting to mutter to herself as she realized how stupid Dr. Hadley made her feel. On the outside, she was the picture of cool perfection, but profuse sweating and nervous fidgeting would probably represent how she really felt. She took her seat next to House, sighing as she prepared to launch back into a conversation with the stubborn potential donor next to her. She smiled politely at old Mr. Stedman, wondering what obscure conversation topic he would come up with next. He had already spent the better part of the last hour extolling the virtues of Rafaelle Bombelli, who was apparently a mathematician who had discovered an imaginary number. Too bad Dr. Hadley wasn’t sitting on Mr. Stedman’s other side. At least Lisa would have something to look at while pretending to listen.
However, before Mr. Stedman had even finished his first sentence (“You know, my niece’s brother-in-law who lives in Oxford…”), he was interrupted from someone sitting on Cuddy’s other side. House.
“Dr. Cuddy!” he said loudly, then dropped his voice to a whisper. “Since I’m feeling very charitable today, can I discuss something with you in confidence? As opposed to yelling it out in front of the whole table to humiliate you, that is, which is what I’d much rather do, but-“
Cuddy cut him off. “Whatever, House. Why don’t we go over to the bar?” she sighed, deciding that even House was better than a story about Mr. Stedman’s niece’s brother-in-law from Oxford.
House ordered a Scotch, while Lisa just leaned against the bar, waiting for him to talk. When he did nothing but stare at the bartender (who looked more like a stripper than a bartender, really…what is up with that shirt?), Lisa prompted him. “You wanted to talk?”
“Yeah,” House said, acting as if he’d just been jolted out of a fantastic daydream…which he probably had.
“So…?” Lisa was losing her patience.
“When are you gonna boink her?” House finally replied, seeming very annoyed all of a sudden.
A sudden wave of dread washed over her. How did House know? Was that what he’d been talking to Dr. Hadley about? Had she been that obvious? Who knew that Hadley was such a bitch?
Playing dumb (and safe), she looked up at him and said, “Her? I don’t know who you’re talking about.”
“Was that an ‘I’m-not-a-lesbian-her’ or just an ‘I’m-pretending-I-don’t-know-who-you’re-talking-about-her’?”
“Uh…I’m guessing ‘I’m-not-a-lesbian’ is the safest one here.”
“Safe? Aha! So you admit it!” The look of glee on House’s face only served to make Lisa even angrier.
“House, my personal life is none of your business. I think I’d rather talk to Mr. Stedman,” she hissed. She turned around and marched back to her table. House stayed at the bar. Lisa didn’t know it, but he was watching.