[H]ouse

Cuddy kept her head buried in the crook of her lover’s neck even as she heard him exchange words with her best friend. Exposed was definitely the way to explain how she felt. Both had seen her break down before. Both she trusted to be there for her 100 percent, but having them both there at the same time? It was a bit much to say the least. The comfort she would receive from House would be different than that which she would receive from Clarisse. The negative part of her was sure that her friend would judge House for how he dealt with her. Logic told her that her friend was better than that, but in a moment where her pride had already received a beating she could only think the worst.

Time marched on and eventually the tears subsided, but she didn’t pull away. She spent the remainder of their time in the office with her feet tucked up under her and her body leaning across the sliver of space between the couch and his wheelchair so that she could sidle up to him as best as possible with her head resting on his shoulder.

Before she wasn’t sure what she wanted. Now all she could think of was home much she just wanted to go home with him and curl up under the covers. He could watch his trash tv and she could bury herself against his side. The sting of the day would pass, she was sure but for now she was completely raw.

The code was called off, and she frowned at the speaker overhead, “They aren’t supposed to call it off without my consent.” The slightly bitter words showed a glimpse of the administrator she truly was. No one called codes off without her knowledge. She cursed herself for appearing weak, but there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it now. Damage was done.

As promised Clarisse drove them home. Cuddy helped House mechanically to get into the wheel chair then even went so far as to hug her friend, “Thank you.” The soft spoken words encompassed so much. A thanks for being her friend. A thanks for letting her have her moment with House in her own way. A thanks for the ride home. It was everything.

She pushed House inside then immediately went through their process of getting him ready for bed (at four in the afternoon mind you) then her as well. She was striving for the ultimate comfort for them both, “We can order you something to eat whenever.” She was in no place to eat anything, but she acknowledged that he might be hungry.

Forty minutes of prep including a shower and finally she got her wish. She turned on the tv for him then buried herself against his side willing the entire day to disappear by mere thought alone.

#ppth-rp-para-house #wrap!

The next few hours were a blur of Cuddy's constant nearness, getting out of the still chaotic hospital and home for an early retirement into bed. House had to admit, that for her part Clitorisse came through; she helped to get them into her car, constantly watchful of Cuddy's state, and he nodded his silent gratitude to her once she'd dropped them off.

Now home, he let Cuddy do whatever she needed to do to feel just that much closer to herself. This included getting him ready for bed, which he was perfectly willing to comply with, even if it still was nothing more than the late afternoon. While she showered, he called in for Chinese (old habit, that seemed an easy decision when feeling generally indifferent) and set about getting himself comfortable.

The food arrived just as Cuddy was out and drying her hair. Seeing as he was pretty much in bed for the long haul, she grabbed the food at the door and brought it to him before finishing up getting into her pajamas. From there, she wasted little time crawling under the warmth of the covers and clicking on the flatscreen.

Sitting up against the headboard he picked at the handful of take out boxes with a plastic fork, his free arm wrapped snugly around Cuddy's shoulders as she curled up right against his side. Their 'safety barrier', the body pillow, was lying discarded at the foot of the bed for the moment. They would still have to use it for a few more weeks, but for now, it could stay right where it was, the hell out of the way of their much needed, mutually shared personal space.

It was a bit too early for the good trash TV, so the evening news was settled on for the moment; trash TV in its own right. Not as hungry as he had originally thought, House set the take out boxes aside on the nightstand after getting his fill; they made better left overs anyways. He didn't bother offering any to Cuddy; she'd ask if she wanted any, and he doubted that would be the case, at least for tonight. She was now beyond that point where she wasn't sure what she wanted; now she was on a straight course for a full emotional recovery.

Freed from eating, he scooted further down on the headboard, resting his temple against hers. The fingers of his bracing hand brushed idly against her shoulder. He didn't say anything; a quiet, stoic comfort suited him. She would talk if she wanted to. Either way, he would continue to hold her.

Cuddy watched with avid interest, but no participation, as he scooped up her knees to bring her legs up to his lap. Her shoes were discarded to the side and she could only assume he was trying to make her more comfortable. A gesture small for someone else, but big for him. He was trying to care for her. He did that well. Better than he probably realized. She thought back to the day she found out about her dad’s death as well as the days that followed. He was so good for her. So good with her.

Her bottom lip trembled as she looked at House and she bit down on it to hold it steady. How close had she come to never seeing him again? She had always assumed he would go first, but it had all almost been snatched away without permission from either of them. A good man was currently having a bullet removed from her in sacrifice for the life she was going to continue to live.

In that moment she was sure she had never loved House more. She had always seen their future together, but it was in a new shade now. If possible she probably valued it more. Life in all of its random and crazy events had screeched by yet again and allowed her to live another day with him.

“I want to go home.” She admitted in a shaky voice as tears rolled down her cheeks. Leaning forward her arms found their way around him as best she could and her head tucked into the crook of his neck. She cried out her feelings, slow tears meant to relieve her of some of the pressure she was trapped under. Deep breaths in and out, she clung to him for dear life, “I love you.” Muffled words of appreciation and devotion, every emotion she felt for him wrapped up in a phrase that still didn’t seem to be enough to express everything she felt.

Cuddy was a strong woman, without a doubt the strongest House had known. Sure he'd met harder women, more audacious ones; ones that perhaps, appeared stronger from far away, or had that hard edged outline that was often as conceived 'strength'. But when it came to a sort of close up, true inner strength, a determined resoluteness, an unyielding courage that he respected behind his veneer of smarm and apparent disregard for the rules of the institution she ran, she was just about as tough as they came. After all, she'd had to deal with him for years, and now she was dealing with him as somebody she had allowed to get close to her. That was strength. Of course, good luck on getting him to actually tell her all of that in words, but he showed it to her, every time he looked at her in those silent, private moments between them.

But right now, this was Cuddy at her most vulnerable. He knew her pride had been wounded out there, what it took to get her to this point. He knew how much she hated to feel scared right in her own territory, where she was supposed to be in control and flawlessly confident. He watched her shakily tell him she wanted to go home, watched her fight the emotion she'd attempted to bottle up, knowing it was a losing battle.

And then, all at once, she was leaning forward and wrapping her arms around him; holding onto him, and burying her face against his neck; seeking his protection and comfort. Once again, he cursed the goddamn wheelchair for keeping him so constricted, but she managed to embrace him as best she could. And then the tears came; not an uncontrolled bawling, but a slow, steady cadence to the full weight of what had just occurred, and more poignantly, what could have occurred. He wrapped his own arms around her, his hands clasping tightly over the petite curve of her back. “I know, baby...,” he whispered into her hair. Endearing words, they came so easy with her. An 'I know' for her wanting to go home, yes, but also much so more than that.

He turned his head to the side, nuzzling up against her temple and placing a soft kiss there; blinking rapidly as the raw quality of her words reached him. “I love you too.” He was right here, with her; he wasn't going anywhere. He knew that it would still take time for her to fully trust him again, if ever. But it was all he could do to transfer every bit of that resolute desire in him to want to do everything in his power to be there for her, in his own way, which was the only way he knew how.

Aware that Clitorisse was still sitting there, bearing witness to an exposed, private moment between he and Cuddy, House would just have to give it up that he wasn't as big of an ass as he'd wanted the woman to believe he was. Continuing to hold onto Cuddy, he lifted his head just enough to give Clitorisse an earnest look, nodding over at the box of Kleenexes on the end table. “Mind yanking a few of those out...”

Cuddy stood stock still while Clarisse took care of her, only giving enough so that she could actually take the jacket off of her. Even as it was moved to the side her eyes still followed where it went. She wondered if her dry cleaner could get out that much blood. She didn’t want to lose it, but by the time she got to go to the cleaners it would be too set in. But they did have special cleaning solutions. She would have to see.

“I’m fine.” She didn’t see the humor in Clarisse’s joke. Her pride was in ruins. There was no point in referencing that at all. What was so funny about her wounded pride? There was nothing funny right now at all.

It didn’t take long at all for Clarisse to back off and give her some space. The ringing in her ears had finally let up. That was a good sign. She noticed that Clarisse had retrieved a salad from her bathroom. Why on earth had there been salad in her bathroom? That was far from sanitary.

House was next in line for the take care of Cuddy show. Surprisingly though he merely took her hand and guided her to the couch. She took a seat willingly and watched him intently as he brushed her hair from her shoulders, “Hi.”

Her mind wandered back to all the many times that he had almost died. All of the danger he had put himself in. She had went and put herself in danger this time. He was on her normal side of things. She had never meant to upset or hurt him. Even in her own state of… well pre-shock her mind was focused on him and his feelings. They were easier to deal with than her own, “I didn’t mean for this to happen. I’m sorry.” Dry and still dull. Her voice didn’t even sound like her own anymore. She wanted him with her, but at the same time she didn’t. She found that the most appealing choice would be to leave the hospital and lock herself up in her bedroom for a long sleep, but there were two problems with that. One, the hospital was in lockdown still. Two, she shared that bed with him now. She was no longer alone.

Clarisse sat at the door, tapping at her phone but paying attention, in case they needed something, even if she couldn’t get it. She sighed and tapped her fingers against her leg, giving up and just starting a game of solitaire on her phone.

If there was one thing you could count on with House, it was that he wasn't going to force affection or comfort on you. You were generally lucky to get 'nice' out of him, but this was Cuddy; Cuddy with him, and even still, he wasn't going to push anything on her. He was fully aware of what she was doing here. She was going to retreat into herself; throw up her defenses and isolate it all. She was confused about what she wanted, so a sort of internal stand off was occurring. They weren't so unlike.

Her apology was met with a vaguely disapproving look on his part. There she went, saying she was sorry, sorry for something that was completely out of her control; her hospital or not. As if she could have done anything to stop some crazy asshole who was hell bent on doing whatever his demented mind was telling him to do. And House knew where her mind was going. As if she could have done anything to stop Jack Moriarty from walking into Diagnostics and shooting him. As if she could have done anything to stop him from nearly overdosing on morphine those few months back, or him driving off the Turnpike just weeks ago. Things happened, and more often than not, they were going to happen on their own accord. But this was Cuddy in full shut down mode, reason did not apply.

The guilt, all that guilt she harbored shut her down, and turned in on itself. He was concerned, yes, but for her sake. She'd been about six inches away from taking a bullet, and that was just going on what he saw. He didn't even know had happened in detail, yet. But if she wanted to feel bad for him, merely feel bad that he'd been locked in here with Clitorisse for nearly twenty minutes, and nothing more. She spent so much time worrying about him, and yet, he knew there wasn't much he could do about that. Cuddy worried about House; and the Earth revolved around the Sun.

Calling her out on all of it right now was just going to send her over the edge, and while he may have done that last year, he'd wizened up (a bit) in some areas. That didn't make him any more likely to just let her sit and stew in all of it though. He wasn't going to allow her to retreat, not on her own at least. Whatever had happened, he knew she was going to allow the weight of it all press down on her, but like him, she was going to have to learn to do deal with having somebody around to lessen that burden. He was new at this, being the needy bastard that he was, but he knew he had to try.

Bending down, he wrapped an arm around the back of her knees and briefly propped her feet up on his knees, and slipping off her heels and so she could curl her legs up more comfortably. This done with a sort of quiet, brow furrowed, determination on his part. "We'll get out of here as soon as we can," he said quietly; fully aware he was stating a redundant, moot, and thus idiotic, point.

He glanced over his shoulder at Clitorisse, still seated by the door. "I'm sure Clitorisse here will be a pal and give us a lift home." Chancy could be anywhere at this point, and House wasn't going to wait around to try and find him once the Code was called off.

“Of all the stupid, idiotic……”

The words of the negotiator that had finally decided to show up faded with the ringing in her ears. God when was that supposed to stop? She had never actually been around gunfire before. She hated guns. They scared her, and obviously for good reasons. Actually people with guns scared her. Guns on there own were virtually harmless, but that was a pretty obvious point.

Blood was soaking through the shoulder of her jacket onto her shirt, but she didn’t dare look. They had rushed the security guard away. Bill. It had been Bill. She liked Bill. She owed Bill her life now.

Her mind was in a constant loop of trying to figure out if she had really been wrong. This was her hospital. It was her responsibility to make sure they were safe and cared for, but had she done more harm than good? A man had been shot because of her. FOR her. But she still whole heatedly believed that if she had sent those men in there alone there would have been more injuries. Maybe they should have just waited, but he was in the cafeteria with innocent people. A shot had already been fired. She couldn’t stand the wait so she had pushed forward putting herself and others at risk.

She wasn’t wrong, but she wasn’t right either.

Suddenly she was being literally led by the arm away from the lobby where they had been lecturing her for the past ten minutes. He probably said something about it, but she had lost touch with it a long time ago.

Oh she was going to her office. House was in her office. House was staring at her. Why was he looking at her like she was his latest puzzle? Probably something to do with the blood on her face and shoulder. She turned her head to finally look at said shoulder and tugged at the sleeve a little, “I really liked this jacket…” She complained in a dull voice.

She heard the moment that the men entered the office, and stayed back a moment to assess who they were. When she recognized them as security and saw the bloodied Cuddy, she immediately went into action. She wet some paper towels, and then went into the office.

“Are you hurt anywhere?” She asked, slowing down so she didn’t overwhelm Lisa, helping her out of her jacket and making her stand long enough so she could check her pulse. “And don’t say your pride, because I’ll smack you.” She gave her a warm smile, once it was ascertained that she was fine, just in shock. She wiped the blood off of Lisa’s face. “I’ll be over here so you two can have a moment.”

She didn’t care if House wanted to check Cuddy first, she was going to make sure her best friend was at least physically okay, she’d leave her mental health to her boyfriend until she could sit and chat with her at the house girl-to-girl. She went in the bathroom and grabbed the untouched salad. She went back in the room and put it on the desk for Cuddy to eat, then pulled the visitor chair to the office door so she could watch the hallways, texting back and forth with others in the hospital.

Didn't take a Diagnostician to see that Cuddy was in shock; not shock, shock, but shocked enough to have entered that stunned, dull, vacant, non-emotive headspace a step right before shock; the mind's natural defense mechanism to trauma. It's the place people went right before they had a breakdown. He knew her well though; she wouldn't stay there for long. He couldn't be sure of precisely what she'd seen, but bullets entering people next to you didn't exactly settle well with your average person. She'd concentrate on that jacket, just like she'd concentrated on the spot on the kitchen tiles right after her father died.

Even as a cripple, House would have at least been able to get up and get over to Cuddy before Clitorisse did, but the goddamn wheelchair pretty much impaired all of his well meaning efforts. Nor was he going to try to roll his way over there when he knew it would be to just sit there awkwardly while Clitorisse did her concerned best friend thing. So, he stayed back as that played itself out, which while a bit on the smothering side, at least made some practical sense; getting rid of the jacket, and briefly checking Cuddy's vitals (he, of course, wouldn't have needed to even do that to know what they were). While he waited, House eyed the salad that for some reason had made a trip into the bathroom and back onto the desk. Yeah, like Cuddy was in any state to be stuffing her face. A few bites of that, and she'd just be refunding it.

Once Clitorisse had moved away to seat herself closer to the doors, he wheeled himself out from around the desk and over to where Cuddy was still standing; still looking as if she was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Without saying anything, he reached up and took her hand, leading her over to the couch as he slowly inched himself along with his other hand. Mechanically, she sat down on the cushions. Continuing to hold her hand, he turned himself so he was in front of her, but not directly so.

"Hey," he reached out and lightly brushed her hair off her shoulder. The blouse was stained pink where the jacket had been pulled away. Carefully, he moved her hair aside from that; as intensely deliberate and watchful as always. Traditionally comforting wasn't exactly his style, but she would know he was right there.

“Verbs aren’t half as interesting as you are, Gramps. And I don’t bother you with intelligent insults because you’re not worth the brain cells necessary.” Truth be told, she enjoyed arguing like kids with him, and just didn’t care to argue intelligently, cause it wouldn’t be as much fun. She shrugged and grabbed up the salad on her way to the bathroom. She’ll munch on it if he didn’t want it.

“That’s not what my inner voice sounds like,” She said over her phone, rolling her eyes, stepping in the bathroom but leaving the door open. She didn’t like the harsh light and fan of the bathroom and preferred to keep it off if she could. “And I’m worried about the babies, so I’m trying to calm her down.” She smiled at Ava’s last text. “And Bonnie Bell Glitter Application School taught Cuddy and I quite a lot growing up, you should ask her about it.” She put her phone in her pocket and went to grab some paper towels to put under the salad box on the counter. It was Cuddy’s personal bathroom, so it was neat, orderly, and sanitized. She sat on the back of the toilet seat and browsed the internet on her phone, House within hearing distance as usual.

#ppth-rp-para-house #no idea what happened to the guard that was shot....#tag: VANCE #tag: Cuddy

"Or," House leaned down into the keyboard for emphasis, still sorting through the computer's system files, "you don't bother me with intelligent insults because you're a puerile idiot who can't come up with anything even remotely clever or effective to say." He didn't believe her excuse for one damn second. "The stupid hide behind apathy remarkably, not to mention ironically, well."

He looked up from what he was doing as Clitorisse moved across the office, still texting like a tween, towards the open bathroom door; his gaze following her with a bemused glint. She was actually going into the bathroom. That had quite possibly been the most effortless manipulation he'd ever achieved. Squinting at her, her visage all at once could nearly be seen materializing into a pack of lemmings heading for the nearest cliff. If he'd only been fully aware that she was that gullible, he'd have told her to go do an Amy Chow out up on the balcony, five years ago.

Brow arching incredulously, he tilted his head back towards the open door to the bathroom she was now sitting in. "The babies? God, you shouldn't have the responsibility of a baby, let alone babies. What's Mama Bear baking up in the oven, monozygotic gingerbread embryos?" Who needed 'Days' when you had reality? He attempted to concentrate back on the computer, but the thought of Clitorisse actually hunkering down into domesticity was deeply disturbing. "You know doing porn didn't work out so well for the Octomom, right? Just sayin'." Babies? Did Cuddy even know about this? Last he'd checked Clitorisse and Cuddy were supposed to be BFF's, but he was positive that this was the first time the news of multiples had hit this office. "Yes," he scoffed, "because you and Cuddy turned out to be so much alike." He was still having difficulty even seeing how the two of them bonded to begin with, let alone managed to remain friends over the years.

Just as a sort of mutual, treaty-like silence had lapsed between he and Cher Horowitz, there was the distintive clamor of footsteps, and then keys jingling just outside the set of doors. House glanced up from the monitor, frowning at the cluster of uniforms now outside the glass. The Code hadn't been called off, so there was something else going on here; and just right when he and Clitorisse were getting so chummy....

The explanation arrived in the form of a group of grim faced NJPD officers, the sort of tight assed crowd that came with the Hostage Negotiations Unit, bursting into the office. In their midst, they appeared to be delivering for safekeeping, a dazed, pale faced, blood spattered Cuddy. The blood wasn't hers, it was a fine radial spray covering nearly the entirety of the shoulder on her jacket. House didn't have to pull a Dexter to see what had happened; somebody had been shot standing right next to her. She was no doubt still trying to sort out the higher register of her hearing, and by the looks of her, her entire bearings.

"She attempted to negotiate with the gunman," the Prick In Charge informed the room, agitated that this stop had to be made. "We are placing her in here until the crisis has passed." With that, the group turned around and promptly left, re-locking the doors behind them, and leaving Cuddy standing there; in trouble with the au-thor-it-ay.

House stared at her, gauging her current emotional state before making his next move. From within the adjoining bathroom he could still hear Clitorisse texting.

She ignored most of his snark, clicking out of the shopping page and pushed the chair back as she stood. “Fine by me.” She didn’t like the situation anymore than he did, but she didn’t want any deaths while she was on watch. She held the chair out for him. “Oh, I’m sorry, you can’t sit on regular chairs yet.” She kept the smile on her face and moved it back against the wall, giving him room. She went to the door and glanced out, wondering exactly what had happened. “A code silver. One of your patients must’ve threatened someone because they want your head.” She said loud enough for House to hear. “I mean, how close to death do your patients find themselves before you finally cure them?” She chuckled, scratching at the lock with a nail, half heartedly. She got a text from her girlfriend and responded. “Oh, and there’s a salad on the desk. It was for Cuddy, but obviously she won’t get to it. You’re welcome to it if you want.” She kept texting, offering the small peace offering for the duration of their time forced together.

#ppth-rp-para-house #House clearly isn't favoring the peace offering XD

There wasn't a facepalm enormous enough, or an eyeroll dramatic enough for this woman. House had yet to figure out if she was just awful at understanding the concept of abstract thinking, or was just plain stupid.

He wheeled himself behind Cuddy's desk once Clitorisse had moved the chair back against the wall. Her vapid, idiotic presence alone already, literally, starting to give him a headache. He dug in his blazer pocket for the usual bottle of Vicodin and threw back a handful. "If that is genuinely your attempt at insulting me, you probably should go back and relearn the English language. Concentrate on those pesky verbs." From there he placed a hand over his heart; expression contorting into one of pure, sardonic, wounded pain. "Oh, how you cut me to my cold, misanthropic core with barbs about my poor patient's near death experiences." She'd obviously entirely missed the boat; and by boat he was starting to think a chromosome or two. As if he cared one way or another about a patient being pissed at him; as if he cared one way or another if his patients nearly died or not. As long as they were cured in the end, nothing else mattered. He was a Utilitarian through and through, but seeing as she was either a) confusing him with some other brilliant doctor who actually gave a shit, or b) forgot who he was entirely when she left what was remaining of her long term memory somewhere back in the last beer bong she'd sucked on, he would just have to chalk that one up to some combination of thee above.

He eyed the boxed salad she'd brought in for Cuddy before giving it a nose scrunching rejection. "Not that hungry." There was a good joke or five about Cuddy's salad to be had there, but he knew they'd be completely wasted on this crowd, so he let that rest as is and began clicking around on the computer. He knew, by years of experience, that anything worth messing with on there was password protected, and he wasn't all that interested in having Cuddy pissed off at him tonight, particularly since he knew she was going to be coming home fresh after the stress of having to deal with this shitstorm. So he let those be, and instead concentrated on changing all of her sound prompts to the beautiful, haunting utterances of the Gregorian Chanting Monks.

He watched Clitorisse out of the corner of his eye as she slowly moved across the office with her phone, looking like a fourteen year old, mindlessly blocking the walkway in the mall. "Aww, you texting Mama Bear? That's so adorable. You guys get matching tramp stamps yet? I mean, like, you have been together for like, a whole like, month now." He was about as interested in hearing an answer to that as he was having his prostate probed, and moved right on. "So, back to nearly two minutes ago, you agreed to take the bathroom." She had agreed, and he never forgot an agreement; especially when it was so idiotically agreed upon in his favor. He motioned expectantly at the open door to the adjacent restroom. "The space isn't occupying itself." He tilted his head, considering that for a moment, "Well, technically it is, but I don't think you would even know Zeno's Paradoxes if they crawled up your skirt and occupied the Grand Canyon. They don't exactly go over that kind of stuff in Bonnie Bell Glitter Application School." He turned back to the computer monitor with a scowl. "Shut the door, I'm allergic to the sound of fickleness."

Clarisse could have sworn Cuddy mentioned that she didn’t have anything going on for lunch, so she decided to invade her office so she could talk to her. She sat Cuddy’s desk in her chair, poking randomly at the keyboard, munching on a sandwich she picked up from the cafeteria, a salad to the side she picked up for her best friend. She typed on the internet, looking for a side car for her motorcycle, in case she was allowed to take Lilly for a ride or something. She heard a noise at the door and looked up, scowling instantly, but shifting it to a sweet smile as he turned to her.

“Sorry Glinda isn’t here, had I known you would show up, Dorothy, I would’ve stopped her from visiting the munchkins.” She smiled pleasantly, then turned back to the computer. “I haven’t talked to Cuddy in a while, so I thought I’d drop by for lunch. Apparently she’s not in though.” She clicked to the next page and found a side car with a lightning bolt on the side. Cooler than the last one that was blue with sparkles, at least.

There was something odd about seeing anybody other than Cuddy sitting behind her desk. Maybe House was just a bit possessive; maybe it made him nervous to think about anybody else in her position. Foreman's forty-eight hour stint as Dean hadn't exactly been the highlight of the past few months, even if it had been really nothing more than a joke. Without Cuddy doing what she did, House very well knew that things would not be the same. He didin't like change, damn it.

"Nooo," he drawled sarcastically as he rolled a few more feet into the office towards Clitorisse's hijacked perch, "she's just hopped on over into the eleventh dimension for a spell...she does that sometimes." He pointed into the corner. "Looks, she's actually standing right over there." He rolled his eyes. Of course Cuddy wasn't there, moron. Short of locking herself in the bathroom, or hiding under the desk (and naturally House's mind went there), there wasn't a lot of places to play hide and go seek in here.

"Apparently she also forgot to lock up her computer." He eyed Clitorisse. "You stalking her appointment book? Because I can give you a few key pointers on how to fast-track that process...." It was odd though, that Cuddy had left her office, in the middle of the day, unlocked. He worked here; that alone was reason enough to be wary, and she damn well was. Distracted with this new mystery, House forgot about Clitorisse for a few moments as he peered off into seemingly nowhere. And then just as suddenly as the musing spell came on, it left him, and he started to turn his chair back towards the doors.

"As fun as it would be," he lamented over dramatically, "to chit chat about vaginas with you, I-" But he was cut off mid-sentence by the blaring overhead intercom system, informing the entirety of the hospital that they were now under a Code Silver. This was followed by the usual scripted instructions to get into the nearest closed off area, remain calm, to press your alert buttons if you were in need of emergency medical assistance, and to wait until the Code had been called off to do anything but sit on your ass and wait it out, because some crazy, gun toting asshole was on the loose. House knew well enough what this meant, and he spun his wheelchair fully around at the inner doors to try and get out before he was locked in with Abizou.

Too late. Security was on the move, and Cuddy's office was right in their line of sight. He rushed forward, only to come nose to glass with the closing office doors. He pounded a fist against the panes. "Hey! Help me! I don't think you understand, somebody will die in here if you don't let me out!" The security officer standing on the other side of the outer doors gave him the 'yeah right, sorry pal, too bad' wave and moved on.

Slowly, House spun his chair back around, his eyes wide as they turned back on Clitorisse. "You get the bathroom, I take the computer."

#ppth-rp-para-house #tag: VANCE XD

Two cases solved in one foul swoop; yes, House was just that good. His team might of have had some small thing or two to do with it as well, but he wasn't about to be handing out credit like candy here; after all, he liked to horde all the candy for himself. Two cases down, two patients now on a cocktail of dangerous medication, lounging in recovery. Two less, well...one less, sick girl in the world. JRA girl, unfortunately, wasn't going to walk out of this hospital as healthy as her counterpart, but she was now at least going to be less sick than she had been coming in, and if House knew something, it was to stop bitching about the things you can't do a damn thing about and be marginally, begrudgingly grateful for the things you, or modern medicine, can do a damn thing about. Two less sick girls, two girls who were no longer puzzles; two patients that now didn't interest House whatsoever.

And that was all before eleven. So then it was time to get caught up on 'Days' in a coma patient's room after all too easily ditching Chancy. There was however a disturbing lack of food to be found in said coma patient's room. The guy had been a vegetable for eighteen months, and not even House was willing to touch whatever stale, feel good snacks his family might have left him. Watching soaps on an empty stomach was not ideal; where was the slow, shoveling food into the mouth 'aha' moment when that surprise (not surprise) pregnancy showed up, and it was quadruplets, fathered by the woman's twin brother? Where were the wrappers he could wad up and leave in various corners of the room for nurses and/or other people who get paid to clean stuff up? There was none of that to be had, and so after over an hour of 'me time' on his portable TV, while he ignored his vibrating cell phone, House gave up to get lunch.

Cuddy, of course, was the natural first choice. He'd had lunch with Wilson yesterday, and that had been only marginally entertaining; not to mention Yorkie Hair might still be clinging around, and that interaction needed to be avoided again at all costs. Besides, Cuddy had a better rack than Wilson. There wasn't any point in counting off a third finger, because at that point House ran out of people who would actually want to have lunch with him.

Pocketing the small TV in his blazer, he rolled himself out into the hallway and towards the elevators. He'd ditched the sling, and while it hurt like hell every time he lifted his arm above his ribcage, it made getting around almost manageable. He pushed his wheeled self into the elevator car, somewhere between a pair of gossiping nurses and a group of teenagers who were clearly not there to learn anything other than their friend was a dumbass for taking too many Yellow Jackets with his Red Bull.

Once on the ground floor, House crossed the lobby and headed for Cuddy's office, without any real regard for the path of people he was cutting across. He had about two hundred things on his mind, but two of them were: Cuddy and food.

The door to the office was unlocked, and with a little tricky maneuvering, he was able to get the thing open and prop it open with the wheel of the chair, before scooting inside. Once in there however, the small, anticipatory smile on his face dropped away. There was a woman in there, but it wasn't Cuddy, and out of all the over three billion of them in the world, this one had to be Clitorisse.

“Sorry,” he scowled at her, “wrong office. Forgot the Wicked Witch of the East was to right.”

simplymaterial

#pictures

#:3 #very glad to have this back #pictures

Cuddy snorted in amusement when he suggested he should hold his thoughts more often. The day that House started to hold back his thoughts would be the day she would have him committed for psych evaluation. Neither of them were very good at keeping their mouths shut, but he had, by far, less discretion than she did. She knew when her point would either be a) useless, b) offensive, or c) all of the above (not that she felt she was ever offensive). House didn’t even acknowledge the possibility that he would be out of line to say something. Social protocal never played a dictating roll in his life.

When her legs started to go numb under her, she carefully shifted in favor of spreading her legs out in front of her. She was still wary of pressing her weight against him, and she leaned more to his good side just to be sure. She was also well aware that she could have moved, but she wasn’t ready to. Sitting in front of him with his arm(s) around her was one of her favorite things. He enveloped her and it was oddly comforting.

His chin settled on her shoulder, and a chuckle rumbled through her, “I don’t know about other married couples, but this one obviously does.” She tilted her head to catch his lips in a brief kiss, “Your wife has demanding needs.” She stated in a teasing tone.

As they sat in companionable silence she let her hand trail along the arm that was around her. It was broken in time by her vocalization of where her thoughts had wandered off to, “I’m going to give back the key to your landlord.” It wasn’t a matter of being bossy. It was her way of telling him that she had confidence that they were in a good enough place that he wouldn’t be needing that way out. If he had wanted it he would have never given her a ring.

#ppth-rp-para-house #feel free to let that stand as a wrap or do Cuddy wrap. XD

The 'marriage' jokes would probably never end, and they now had the pictures to prove it. Even if some day they really did make it a legitimate arrangement (by the idiotic standards of 'polite' society that is), they would both always find ways to make light of it; because this was them, and there were some things that just needed to never be taken too seriously. There were a hell of a lot more important things than some officially endorsed piece of paper. They'd made their own pact, in their own way; that would always mean more.

At the mention of Cuddy's 'demanding needs', House lightly rolled his eyes at her, "I'm not even sure if I can keep up with you. You're just that ridiculously needy " That, of course, was a trumped up half truth. It would be a toss up between the two of them to say which had the more demanding needs in the physical intimacy department.

Teasing exchanged, they fell into an easy silence for a few moments. He was content to just sit there with her and hold her against him, idly touching her and feeling the rise and fall of her slowing breathing against his chest. He'd just started slipping somewhere else entirely, when she mentioned the key to his apartment.

The key. Of course. He'd tried to tell her weeks ago that he didn't want it, but that had been more of a knee jerk reaction than anything grounded in reason; he'd been angry and scared, and ready to throw any means of escape she was giving him at that moment right back in her face. But over the past few weeks, going through what they had together, and coming out of it, as they had, as they were tonight; stronger, more wary of what the consequences were when letting things get to the point that they had reached, but much stronger nevertheless. He could now say with absolute certainty, that that key's place was back in his landlord's possession. He didn't need it any more, and he sure as hell didn't want it any more. The apartment would be left when and how it should have. Being here, with her, it just made sense now. He'd been an idiot to have been so scared to leave in the first place.

It was his turn to tilt his head and catch her lips in another brief kiss. "Okay." A small smile to show her that he wasn't complying out of any sort of obligation, or mere male pandering to her 'wants'; he was doing this with eyes wide open, with all the hindsight he'd acquired, and all the foresight he was allowed as just another screwed up human being forging forward in a relationship the best he could.

His fingers lifted to trail through her hair, brushing it off of her shoulder before clasping her ringed hand. "You've worn me and my man parts out, Needy Sue, let's go to bed."

mrlaurie-blog

#not at all relevant #not even House relvant #but holy moly THAT'S a beard!#bc I know Cuddy loves this look XD #pictures

james-wilson-md-deactivated2013

Wilson looked up from his food again when House asked Vanessa who had died that made her want to be an oncologist. He hadn’t even thought about asking her why she wanted to be one, not that he would have asked in the way House did, but he was still interested as to why she had chosen this particular speciality. House, of course, made it look really simple - someone you know dies from cancer, you become an oncologist. Turned out, he was right in Vanessa’s case. Her violin teacher. Of course. The violin in his office still didn’t make much sense, but maybe a tiny bit more. He watched as she drew back her hand, because House wouldn’t shake it. No big surprise there.

He was, however, surprised when she asked him why he was friends with that ‘arrogant son of a bitch’. Wow. Well, she seemed to have figured House out really fast. He couldn’t help but give his best friend another amused smile. Before he had the chance to come up with a not-so-serious, sarcastic answer however, she decided to let them know that she would have lunch at their table and walked away just as House answered the question for him. A slightly puzzled confusion appeared on Wilson’s face. Was she serious about wanting to eat at their table?

He looked back at House. “I seriously don’t know.”, he said in response to his question why he was getting all the weird ones. “I did ‘shove her on down the line.’”, he added, slightly rolling his eyes at House. “Turns out, she managed to come back to haunt me.” And on top of that, she was abusing his office as her storage room. He chose not to mention that though.

#ppth-rp-para-house #sorry guys I totally fucked up this whole para -_-#Wilson/Vanessa feel free to continue or wrap..again sorry about that!

Wilson was, as always, way too much of a pushover. He could have gotten rid of the intern if he really wanted to. But he'd felt bad that whomever she was supposed to be shadowing had backed out, and instead of shoving her onto somebody else, he'd taken up the responsibility himself; not all that different than his ex-wives forcing him to pet sit. It was all too painfully clear.

House snorted as he finished up the last of his hamberger, "Yeah, well as long as she doesn't haunt you like that Moroccan food we had at the OMICS convention in Vegas..." Distracted, he turned his head and watched Yorkie make her way up through the buffet line, all smiles and gentility, before turning back to Wilson with a sharp sidelong glance. "So, were you just trying to get me to trash her violin so I could add more tears to my collection jar, or did you really need the extra space in your office?" He quickly held up a hand to still an answer (as if Wilson was any hurry to do that). "Forget it, I'd rather find that out on my own."

Reaching to snag one last mooch off of Wilson's drink, House shoved his nearly empty plate over at his friend; bestowing him the 'honor' of cleaning up. "Sorry," he quipped, as he began backing his wheelchair away from the table, "just saw the House Signal flashing up on the ceiling, somebody dying out there in need of saving." The wheelchair nearly took out an elderly couple before he turned it at the very last moment. "And yes...the House Signal is a cane, unless Cuddy's flashing it," a juvenile sneer, "and then it still sorta looks like a cane, if you squint, and add about twelve inches."

Scooting away, he glanced over his shoulder at Wilson, "Give Yorkie my condolences, we'll just have to become friends later." With that, House left the cafeteria; the irked kid with the DS and only four pennies in change pointing the parting diagnostician out to his mother on the way out.

dr-lisa-cuddy-md:

There was no denying that pleasing him pleased her. Cuddy wore a sort of victorious smile after she had drew back from him. She was the reason he was left in a euforic state. She caused that pleasure. She had completely earned the kisses and caresses she was sure he would soon bestow on her. Oh yeah, she was just that good.

Her predictions had of course been correct. He drew her in and his hand wandered south. A tilt of her head and an adoring moan were elicited from her. The good thing about giving him his climax first was that she didn’t have to multi task. This could be all about her.

Knowing that kneeling in front of him just wasn’t going to last, she pushed his hand away briefly only to turn and sit with her back to his front without pressing her weight against him. His arm easily draped over her, and her head tilted back against him. Much better.

Fingers played her like a well tuned instrument. She was left moaning and eventually keening her way to climax. Her body arched forward with her head tilting further back against his shoulder and shook in response to him, and she called his name in a way she was sure he would tease her about waking neighbors.

When all was said and done she remained in front of him not wanting to move. Trying to find the words all she could come up with was, “So glad you held that thought.”

When Cuddy turned herself around, so she was kneeling with her back arching up against this chest, he was more than happy to comply with the new arrangement; not only did this position give his hand a far better angle, it was hot as hell. She rocked back into his embrace, her head tilting further and further over his shoulder, while he gradually quickened the pace, working her up into a peak of moaning pleasure until she came, bucking against his hand and shouting her elation at the ceiling. Half the neighborhood probably already thought she had a very intimate, unorthodox, relationship with her 'house' by this point; no need to stop now.

Once she'd stilled, he continued to hold her there; not that she seemed in any hurry to move. His hand moved back up the length of her torso, taking a boldly gluttonous moment to caress over her peaked breasts before dropping to rest down against the flat of her stomach, just below her navel. His long fingers splayed out, slowly tracing over that domicile of womanhood (or at least the one that society had placed as the culmination of it) that had betrayed her so painfully. The touch was not intended to bring them back there right now, but merely House's eccentric way of filing the memory away in a physiological fashion.

Between now far milder kisses, he smiled into the warm crook of her neck at her breathless words. “Makes me think that I should hold my thoughts more often.” Of course, the genuineness of that statement was entirely up for debate. A few more kisses peppered lazily over the crown of her shoulder before he rested his chin there, giving her a bright and affectionate sidelong look. “So, is this what us 'married' people do then? Because I'm starting to think the whole matrimony thing might have gotten a bad rap somewhere along the way..."

#clearly not relevant #but leather jacket arrested House....hmm #fucking Tritter #pictures

samwiseg

50 pictures - House M.D.

27/50

They were nothing if not creative. Long gone were the days of walls between them built so high that they wouldn't even try to work around his impairing injuries. Now it was a challenge they gladly took on.

She laughed when he ducked under her shirt, but it didn't last long. His actions left her fidgeting under his touch and small moans filled with need escaped her lips. The man showed devotion to her body, and said body responded in kind.

There was something about the way he touched and grabbed her. A type of possessive way that left her wanting more. She had never thought she would be okay with someone almost feeling as if they owned her, but she would be lying if she said she wasn't his for the taking.

She kissed him like it would be their last, a desperate need tinging it. Hips and hands aided in the removal of her underwear until she was left kneeling stark naked on the bed in front of him. Other women might have felt vulnerable, but she wore a confident smile that told of a woman comfortable in her body and in the knowledge that her man loved what he saw.

With the kiss broken she pulled from him letting her smile turn more mischievous. The damn casting impaired his own nudity but she was able to uncover what was essential to the both of them.

Bent over in front of him she let one hand move up to his hip while her other tucked under to support her. Tongue met skin to tease him before taking him into her mouth. Luckily they were both willing to give in such ways. Others would kill to have the sex life they had.

There were a few certainties in life, and one of them was that House wanted to engage himself with Cuddy's body on a level that he'd never wanted to engage with a woman's body before. And why not? She had a gorgeous body, and he adored it, all of it. She had absolutely no reason to be ashamed or self conscious of it. Part of her sexiness was her undeniable self confidence; the fact that she could kneel right there in front of him, as naked as the day she was born and look like she had all the fearlessness and fortitude to take on the world, was a very powerful turn on. He was brash with her, possessive even; he objectified her, but it was an objectification of absolute exaltation. He just couldn't get enough.

They were both generous lovers; this had been well established. That generosity to one another also served to cater to the fact that they were both simultaneously driven to seek out their own physical satisfaction. House could be greedy, but he'd found, particularity with Cuddy, that he could also be equally as charitable, because giving her pleasure was just as, or better, than getting his own. And yet, he hadn't entirely expected her to go where she had just then, but the tilt of her suddenly devious smile told him just what her intentions were, even before she reached down to free him from his boxers and lean down to trace her lips and tongue over what had already become a painful erection.

He tilted his head down and watched her for a few moments, not making any move whatsoever to stop her, and with absolutely no intention of doing so. She had no qualms about oral sex, that also had been clear from the start. And that only intensified their already intense physical bond, because it was also a fact that he could never be fully physically compatible with somebody who wasn't at the very least willing to color a bit outside the lines of sexual boundaries. After all, besides that whole procreating to continue to propagate the species thing, sex was supposed to be fun.

It was almost enough just watching her, but soon enough the mounting pleasure grew to be so, that he had to give up his view when the back of his head bumped up against the headboard; eyes rolling shut, his features slacking into an expression of pure and unadulterated ecstasy. Ask just about any man alive, and they would tell you there were few things in life better than getting head; that wasn't misogyny talking, that was just the simple truth. It felt amazing, and knowing you were getting it from somebody who was doing it because they cared about you, made it just that much better.

He was certainly the quieter of the two of them in bed, by a long shot, but by the time he finally crested over the edge, he'd managed to groan out a few noises that were entirely incompressible in the English language, but perfectly clear in the universal human language of 'oh my fucking god'. Unable to do much more than just sit there for a minute or so, breathing gradually slowing, he opened his eyes at last, gazing at her with that glassy, post-climax look. Naturally, he wanted to reciprocate; touching her and tasting her were things he craved, but that just wasn't an option at the moment, at least not without some creative acrobatics that he was pretty sure she wasn't going to be too willing to perform.

So, he leaned forward, and wrapped his arm around her, drawing her right back up against him, Initiating a new round of deep, desperate kisses (and no, he didn't care at all where her mouth had just been) that soon trailed down into the crook of her neck, his fingers caressing her stomach and then down between her legs. When he was feeling more talkative, another time, he'd have to explain his playing the piano metaphor, but for the now, she'd just have to come to that conclusion on her own.