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Gatecrash (House/Cuddy; rating: M)
title: Gatecrash
pairing: House/Cuddy
words: 5,400
rating: M
summary: “So, why didn't you go to the Christmas party?” he asked.
disclaimer: When the vulture flies sideways, the moon has hair on its upper lip.
beta:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
earlwyn, shutterbug_12 and _vicodin. So much love for their input, suggestions, help with some of the dialogue and with the ending. ♥♥
spoilers: It's A Wonderful Lie (4x10); post-episode fic
notes: So, the lack of Cuddy in the last episode? So not cool. Concrit is of course welcome. THIS FIC IS FORsapphs, WHO IS AWESOME AND SENT ME X-FILES DVDS. ♥♥♥
House knew he was probably insane, standing on Cuddy's doorstep on Christmas Eve. Insane and possibly stupid. And maybe more than a little pathetic. But here he was, cold, shivering and covered in sleet and snow, and after a few long minutes of staring at her front door he finally worked up the nerve to knock on it; three firm, loud raps of his cane against the door panel.
He waited. He almost considered turning tail and heading back to his car instead of running the risk of making a complete idiot of himself, but when he heard footsteps approach the door, followed by the turn of the door handle, he straightened his shoulders.
Cuddy opened the door and peered at him with obvious confusion, perhaps mild concern. “House?”
"I was the last time I checked,” he greeted. He thumped his cane on the porch, the dull sound resonating hollowly in the small alcove. “Unless you'd like to double check for me? My identification is in my pants, which is probably the best place to start.”
She wrapped her arms around her middle to shield herself from the cold. She was dressed in her robe and her hair looked tussled and mildly damp, as though she'd recently got out of the shower. Her feet were bare, too, House noticed. She seemed to ignore his greeting. “What're you doing here?" she asked.
“Standing on your porch, freezing my ass off.”
Cuddy gave him an even look. “Why are you standing on my porch?” she clarified impatiently.
House knew she'd ask something like that. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes again. “Because unlike Romeo, I can't climb walls to pay you a visit in your bedroom.”
He watched Cuddy press her lips into a thin line, then noticed the corners of her mouth lifting in a slight, suppressed smile. “Flattered as I am, House, I'm not your Juliet.”
House rolled his eyes. “We can play Let's Pretend?”
“I'm not interested in playing another one of your crazy games.”
“Why would it be a game?”
Cuddy gestured mock cluelessly with her hands. “Because you're you?”
“No. The correct answer is, 'Because it's Christmas'.” Cuddy stared at him, clearly unimpressed. “It's the silly season,” he explained.
Cuddy gave him another look, a weird one this time. “Since when have you ever cared about Christmas?”
“Since I realised that spending Christmas with a Jew means I wouldn't have to celebrate it.”
“Wilson's Jewish,” she pointed out.
“He's also drunk.”
“So, get drunk with him. Isn't that what best friends do?”
“He's made friends with a moose, and I already met a girl who made friends with an ass.” House motioned impatiently past her into her house, yearning to get out of the cold. “You going to let me in?”
“What girl?” Cuddy asked.
“I swear,” House said, holding his frozen hands up in surrender, “she didn't mean anything. I'm sure the donkey will say the same thing come tomorrow morning, too."
She squinted at him. “What are you talking about?”
“It's a long, sacrilegious story."
“I... think I'm a little too scared to even ask.”
“Good,” House said. “Because I think even the priest in the confessional was a little disturbed.”
She blinked. “Priest?”
“Yeah. You know the guys; long robes, talk to God as part of their job. Like to have little boys to play with on the side.”
Of course, no such thing had happened: he'd sat and watched the Nativity play, making eyes at the woman while she acted out her role of the Virgin Mary in a manner more flirtatious than was undoubtedly appropriate. And after the service was over, he waited for her and talked to her for a little while. About this and that, nothing too compelling and nothing too important. He wasn't sure if he really intended to try and get laid with her or not. It certainly crossed his mind, more than enough times while sitting in the church. Part of him wanted to if only for some companionship. But then they'd finally parted ways and House sat alone in his car, staring out the falling snow and wondering what to do with himself or where to go. Which was how he ended up on Cuddy's doorstep; she'd been the first person he thought of.
He gestured again into her house. “You going to let me in?”
“Are you going to keep asking me that? Because it's not going to get you anywhere.”
“I'm freezing my butt off out here.”
“I'm not letting you in,” she said.
House tsked impatiently. “Why?”
“Not until you tell me why you're here.”
“Oh, come on,” he protested. “You're ruining the romantic moment.”
Cuddy shot him a flat, disbelieving look. “You hate romance.”
“You don't know that.”
“I know you hate Christmas.”
“Not when I get gifts.”
“I haven't got a gift for you,” Cuddy countered.
“Be my Secret Santa, then,” he said. “Still got time 'til Santa himself gets here.”
“It's not a secret if it's negotiated.”
House was beginning to get frustrated at how stubborn Cuddy was being. “How about that half a lap dance, then?” he suggested. “That's something we could negotiate.”
“I'm not negotiating any sexual favours with you,” she replied evenly.
House pursed his lips. “Is the fifty bucks still negotiable?”
“I'm not one of your hookers, House.”
“It's only half a lap dance.”
“No deal.”
“I'll pay you the other fifty for the other half of the lap dance when it's my birthday.”
“Not negotiable. Period.”
House threw a hand up in frustration. His face stung from the sharp bite of frost against his skin, his nose was almost as red as Rudolph's and if he stood out here much longer, his balls were going to shrivel up into his body. His leg was going to start cramping, too; his leg never fared well in this kind of weather. “What is negotiable, then?”
Cuddy leaned her shoulder against the door frame. “You telling me why you're standing on my porch on Christmas Eve, wasting my time.”
“Paying you a visit out of the kindness of my Scrooged little heart is a waste of your time?”
“It's going to be a waste of your time in about five seconds,” she warned.
“Oh, come on,” House protested.
“One,” Cuddy began counting.
“I was in the neighbourhood,” House tried.
Cuddy snorted wryly. “You're never conveniently 'in my neighbourhood' unless it's to break into my house or gatecrash my dates.” She held up two fingers, as if to demonstrate she was serious about this five second countdown. “Two.”
“I'm your Secret Santa?”
“The only gift you've ever given me is a headache.” She held up a third finger. “Three.”
“Well, now's my chance to go one better,” House replied. “Let me in.”
Cuddy ignored him. “Four.”
House gave her a frustrated look. If she really was going to be this stubborn and really didn't want him here, then maybe he was better off leaving. But he didn't want to leave. Not yet. He definitely didn't want to go home, where he'd have nothing but the TV to keep him company.
He decided to act on impulse and maybe stun Cuddy into shutting up: he quickly leaned forward and pressed his lips against her cheek, a light but lingering kiss. Her skin felt warm, almost a shock against his near-frostbitten lips. When he pulled back, Cuddy was still holding her fingers up, but had a look of surprise frozen on her face.
“Now can I come in?” he asked, ignoring the spark of nerves that kissing her on the cheek ignited.
She continued to stare at him for a long moment. “What was that for?” she finally asked.
House rolled his eyes. Just as he did, he spotted some foliage that hung above Cuddy's door. He pointed up to it. “Mistletoe.”
Cuddy followed where he was pointing with her eyes. “That's not mistletoe, that's Boston Ivy.”
“Made you look,” he taunted. He watched Cuddy settle her eyes back on him and for a moment he wasn't sure where to look. “You going to let me in?” he tried again, insistently this time. He shifted his weight to and fro on his feet, shaking his hands and arms to show just how cold he was. “Come on, Cuddy. I'm freezing out here.”
He really didn't think Cuddy was going to relent, not with the way she was still staring at him, but she did; she stepped back, holding the door open for him. He gratefully stepped inside. The warmth of her house instantly hit his iced skin, causing his extremities to almost feel like they were burning. He blew on his hands and shook his arms out again while he watched Cuddy close the door. She faced back to him, rubbing her arms.
“How'd you even know I was here?” she asked.
House gave her a questioning look. “You live here. Pretty obvious.”
“No,” she replied impatiently. “I mean I could've been at the Christmas party.”
“If you were at the Christmas party, then you wouldn't be here.”
“Wow, you think?” she asked sarcastically. Her tone then turned incredulous. “You went to the hospital Christmas party?”
“How could I miss it? It was right in the front reception area, where no one could escape it.”
“So, you walked through the party rather than actually attended it.”
“Never said I went.”
“If you had no intention of attending the party, then why would you even notice if I was there or not?”
“If Wilson was hopped up on Christmas spirits and sporting a moose, chances are you're twice as likely to have been either laughing really obnoxiously the way you do when you're drunk, or swearing like a sailor the way you do when you're really drunk.” House raised his hand to dust a few flakes of snow from his shoulder. “Pretty hard to miss. Which means I noticed you weren't there.”
Cuddy arched up onto her tiptoes with an irritated sigh and lifted her hand to his head. She started brushing away the snow that had gotten caught up in his hair. “So, you decided to come here instead to gatecrash my Christmas.”
“You're Jewish; you don't do Christmas,” House said, a little taken off guard by what Cuddy was doing. He screwed his face up as a few snowflakes fell and brushed against his nose. “Besides, what's there to gatecrash? There's no one here. Unless you're hiding someone in your bedroom.”
“I'm not hiding anybody, anywhere,” she retorted.
“What – not even any Internet boyfriends? No good catches on single-ballroom-dancing-lovers-dot-com? ”
“Shut up.”
“Whatever happened to that lube guy, anyway?”
Cuddy lowered herself to the flats of her feet and House flinched when she slapped him lightly on the chest. She then threw her hands out. “Why are you even here, House?”
“Told you.” He stamped his feet on the ground a couple of times to shake the snow off his shoes. “Because it's Christmas.”
“That's not a reason,” Cuddy argued. “That's... I don't even know what that is. A lame excuse for being here. That's not a reason.”
“Maybe I have a present for you.”
“Right.” She started waving her hands about theatrically, which House watched in amusement. “And the world's about to end and pigs have started flying and Gregory House is now known as a New Age sensitive guy.”
“You should be careful what you wish for,” he replied. He was bluffing, of course; he didn't have a present for Cuddy. He never bought gifts for anyone because he considered that a waste of time in most circumstances. Or too sentimental. He hated sentimentality; it made him feel uncomfortable. He had no problems with giving gifts just to confuse people, however. Just to confuse Cuddy, he reached into his pocket and produced a badly wrapped present. “Ta-da.”
It worked: Cuddy stared at the gift in bewilderment, then shot her eyes up towards him. “Are you drunk?” she asked suspiciously.
“Not yet, but there's still plenty of time.”
“Or high?”
House rolled his eyes. “Firing accusations is no way to accept a gift.” He waved the present impatiently at her.
Cuddy eyed it. “It looks like it's already been opened.”
“Shipping damage.”
She snatched it from his hand and House smiled innocently as she shot him another suspicious look. He watched her tear the paper off – what remained of it – and smiled again when she raised her eyes back up to him incredulously.
“Conan Doyle?”
“Sure. A well-known author who--”
“I know who he is,” Cuddy cut in.
“A 'thank you' would've sufficed.”
Cuddy ignored him. “You never give gifts.”
“You clearly don't know me very well, then.”
“You've never given me a gift,” Cuddy clarified.
“There's a first time for everything?” He shrugged and tapped his finger on the cover of the book. “It was actually a toss up between this and 'The Joy of Jewish Foreplay'.”
“Wow, you chose tamely, then,” Cuddy drawled.
“Conan Doyle was on sale.”
Cuddy snorted. “Such a cheapskate.”
“It's more polite to say 'thank you'.”
“And you'd know all about being polite,” Cuddy replied dryly. House watched her look down at the book, turning it over in her hand while her other hand scrunched up the wrapping paper. She looked back up to him, still looking suspicious but conceding at the same time. “Thank you.”
“You're not welcome.”
He smiled down at Cuddy rolling her eyes at him with fond exasperation. “Do you want a drink?” she offered, turning towards the direction of the kitchen. “A coffee? Afraid I don't have much in the alcohol department.”
House was already starting to shrug out of his coat, though he halted to give Cuddy a sceptical look. “You spent all that effort trying to keep me out of your house and now you're offering me coffee?”
“Might as well. Getting rid of you is going to be a nightmare. Besides, I could use the company.” She faced back to him and lightly tapped her finger against his chest. “But don't go getting any big ideas.”
He looked down at his chest. “Pity. Because I forgot to mention that there's a second part to the gift.”
“I knew there was a catch.”
“It's not a catch.” He looked back up to Cuddy. “Or maybe it is a catch, if you consider me a catch.”
“Thanks, but I think I'll just stick with Conan Doyle.”
“I'm sexier than he is. More alive than he is, too.”
“He's bound to be less annoying than you are.”
“Less annoying means less exciting,” House pointed out.
Cuddy crossed her arms over her chest. “Why would I want you for Christmas?”
“Ouch,” House replied. “Harsher words have never been spoken.”
She outstretched her arms, still clutching the book and wrapping paper in either hand. “You come to my house on Christmas Eve, talking about liaisons with donkeys, priests and paying me fifty dollars to give you half a lap dance, and you wonder why I might not want you for Christmas?”
House pursed his lips and thought about that for a moment. “I'll be your stress ball for Christmas. Only bigger than a stress ball. With lots of different areas to squeeze.”
“You're the reason I need a stress ball,” Cuddy argued.
“I come with two balls. Bonus.”
“I'm sure those are not the balls you'd want me to squeeze. Especially if the stress is because of you.”
“I hear sex is good stress relief,” he tried.
“In your dreams, House.”
“Particularly the wet ones,” he agreed.
Cuddy gave him a look. “I always suspected you were as adolescent as you behave.” She faced away, shaking her head, and started towards the kitchen. House knew she was smiling, though; he could tell by the way she walked with an extra sway to her hips.
He quickly tugged his coat off, shook away the excess snow and hung it up before following the direction Cuddy had gone. “So, why didn't you go to the Christmas party?” he asked.
“Why are you so concerned?”
He stopped in the doorway and watched her set the book down and put the wrapping paper in the trash. “I'm not concerned. Just curious.”
“I left early.”
“Why?”
“Because,” she began. She set two cups on the counter, then turned to face House with one hand hand braced on her hip. “I hate Christmas parties.”
“Since when?”
“Why do you need to ask so many questions?”
“'Since when' isn't a hard question to answer.”
Cuddy sighed and turned back to the coffee cups. House watched her fidget with them as though having both cup handles facing the same direction was an important part in the process of brewing instant coffee. “It's not the party I hate. It's coming home after the party.”
House waited patiently for her to continue, raising his brows at her when she threw a couple of visibly uncomfortable glances at him.
She sighed again. “People have families to go home to.”
“So?”
“So?” She headed across the kitchen to the fridge. “I don't.”
“Everybody's lonely at Christmas time,” he replied matter-of-factly.
“Not everybody. Only some of us.”
House shrugged, watching Cuddy grab the milk out. He didn't really like how close to home Cuddy's statement hit. “Christmas is overrated, anyway.”
“You think anything sentimental is overrated.”
“That's usually because it is.”
Cuddy shook her head as she walked back to the cups, milk in hand. “Being alone might not matter to you or bother you, but it just so happens that not everyone is you.”
“Who said it didn't bother me?”
House instantly wished he'd thought before he'd spoken because the curious look Cuddy gave him made him feel self-conscious. “You always make out that it doesn't bother you,” she replied.
“That's because most of the time it doesn't.”
Cuddy faced back to him, resting a hand on the counter. “But it bothers you tonight.”
House frowned. A sudden flashback of last Christmas went through his mind of how he'd woken up on the floor in his own vomit with Wilson kneeling over him. He'd been in such a dark state of desperation that he wasn't completely certain what he'd been trying to achieve that night – to forget what was happening to him, or to black out the almost unbearable pain in his leg. Maybe even kill himself. This Christmas Eve served a painful, bleak reminder of just how lonely and full of self-loathing he'd been this time last year. If it hadn't been for Cuddy perjuring herself for him in court, who knew where he'd be. It was unsettling to think about.
“House?” Cuddy asked.
He snapped out of his thoughts. Cuddy was watching him with a concerned look on her face. He opened his mouth and tried to think of a reply. He looked away when he failed to come up with anything witty.
“House, why are you really here?” Cuddy asked softly.
He darted his eyes back to her, then straightened his shoulders and thumped his cane on the floor. “Because I'm lonely,” he replied with as much sarcasm as he could muster. “That's what you want to hear, right?”
Cuddy levelled her gaze with him. “You never come here when you're lonely,” she said. “You hire hookers or go gambling or annoy Wilson.”
“Wilson's getting drunk at the Christmas party. And my poker buddies are all married or still living at home with their mom. Christmas demands them to be at home.”
“And the hookers?”
“She chose the donkey over me.”
Cuddy frowned in confusion.
“Don't ask,” he added.
“Trust me, I don't think I will.” She turned back to the cups and House watched her make the coffees. She tossed the spoon into the sink and took both cups up. “Sounds like you missed out on a good time, though,” Cuddy remarked dryly.
“She could've made fifty bucks, too,” House agreed as he took the coffee offered to him.
“Giving you half a lap dance?”
“I was thinking more the full French.”
Cuddy gave him a look that was equal parts wry and amused as she took a sip of her coffee. “Boy, you must be really hard pressed for company if your last resort was to come here. Especially seeing you're not going to get either of those things here.”
“Even though I've offered myself as a giant stress ball, as a gift to you?”
“I'd probably accept if you'd offered yourself as a giant punching bag instead.”
House sipped his coffee. “What kind of punching bag?”
“There are different kinds?” Cuddy asked.
“Well, what kind are you thinking of?”
“The kind I'd be able to hit when I wanted to.”
“You mean the kind that swings back when you hit it and knocks you off your feet?”
Cuddy peered at him with mild bemusement written across her face, then broke out into a small smile. “Very cute.”
House frowned. “I'm not being cute.”
“Knocking me off my feet?” She started to head out of the kitchen, stopping by House and looking up at him. She leaned right in and he had to tuck his chin down against his chest to look down at her. “That's being cute.”
House studied her eyes. “I can be mean and nasty if you prefer,” he offered in a low voice.
“I prefer cute,” she replied, her voice just as low.
“Except for the part where I'm not cute.”
He watched Cuddy watching him, noting the amused, almost affectionate smile on her lips. She pulled back after a moment and continued out of the kitchen towards the living room. House looked over his shoulder to watch her before he turned and followed. When he reached the living room, he saw Cuddy sitting low on the couch, her bare feet kicked up on the coffee table. The way her robe parted at her knees and fell down showed off her lower legs; her toned calves and slender ankles.
House admired her legs, wondering if the robe was the only difference between her being dressed and her being naked. He tried to recall if he'd seen a panty line on her ass, when Cuddy turned her head and looked at him.
“You just going to stand there?”
He snapped out of his thoughts. “I was just checking out your coffee table.”
Cuddy glanced down at it and seemed to quickly work out what he'd actually been checking out; she made a show of flexing her feet as she looked back to him. “Which part?” she deadpanned. “The legs on my coffee table?”
“If by 'on your coffee table', you mean the ones supporting it, sure.” House moved across to the couch and sat beside her with a slump. He took a sip of his coffee and motioned to her legs. “The ones actually on your coffee table are more impressive, though.”
Cuddy sat forward and grabbed the remote control by her feet. She sat back and held it out to him. “Here. Find something more entertaining to check out.”
He gestured to her legs again. “Those are entertaining enough.”
“They're not doing anything.”
“Who says they have to do anything to be entertaining?” House asked. He pursed his lips. “Though, they would be doing something more entertaining if they were wrapped around--”
He let out a sound of surprise as Cuddy slapped the remote against his chest. “You can keep thoughts like that for your wet dreams.”
“Not as much pay off that way.”
“That's why you have your right hand.”
She let the remote go and House made a clumsy grab for it as it tumbled down onto his lap. “Oh, come on,” he protested. “Where's your Christmas spirit?”
“I'm Jewish, remember?”
“Where's your Hanukkah spirit, then?”
“Hanukkah ended almost two weeks ago.”
“Doesn't mean the fun has to end.”
“If it's fun you're after, go find your donkey girl.”
House huffed, resting his coffee on his knee while tapping the remote control on his other knee. After a moment of silence, he glanced across at Cuddy. “I have a Dreidel in my pants that you could spin.”
“Not even if you paid me gelts.”
“I gave you a present; it's only fair you give me one.”
“A book in exchange for sex,” Cuddy mused in a dry tone. “Not exactly a fair exchange.”
“It is,” House argued.
Cuddy looked across at him. “How?”
“You get to read the book I gave you, and I get to read the book between your legs.”
Cuddy almost looked offended. Or mildly astounded. Or possibly just annoyed at how persistent he was being. “Can you get any cruder?”
“I'll study it closely and thoroughly,” he offered.
She squinted at him, then rolled her eyes. “I think the reason you didn't give me 'The Joy of Jewish Foreplay' is because you've been studying it for yourself.” Cuddy reached across and snatched the remote from his hand. She aimed it at the TV and switched it on before slapping the remote back against his chest. “Shut up and watch TV, or I'm kicking you out.”
House tsked at her as he took the remote, though smiled to himself when she looked away. Nothing was more fun than riling Cuddy up. He looked to the TV while Cuddy returned to her coffee and he began channel surfing. Christmas shows, more Christmas shows, Christmas shows for kids, newsreaders with Christmas hats on. He rapidly fired through them all.
“You're making me dizzy,” Cuddy complained.
“I want as little exposure to compulsive Christmas happiness as possible,” House replied. He heard Cuddy snort just as he came across a channel showing Billy Bob Thornton dressed up as Santa and screwing a woman from behind. He dropped the remote to his lap, deciding this would do.
“What is this?” Cuddy demanded.
“A movie,” he replied, lifting his coffee to his lips for a sip. He quickly grabbed up the remote and held it out of Cuddy's reach when she dashed her hand across for it. “It's either this or sugar-coated Christmas puke.”
“Give me the remote, House.”
“It's mine now.”
“It's my TV,” Cuddy retorted.
House moved the remote further out of her reach when she made another grab for it. He then tucked it down the side of the couch cushions so she had no chance of reclaiming it unless she climbed over him. “Learn to share,” he replied.
Cuddy heaved an irritated sigh but made no further effort to get the remote back from him. House was quickly engrossed in the movie. So was Cuddy, it seemed; he glanced across at her about ten minutes into the film and saw her attention was fixed on the screen. At that same moment, she suddenly laughed at something that happened in the movie. House really wasn't sure what he expected to happen by coming around to her place. He definitely hadn't planned to come here - it had been a spur of the moment decision. But he didn't expect to find himself sitting on the couch with her, drinking coffee and watching a film.
Cuddy glanced at him, laughing again at something else on the screen, and gave him a brief smile. House tried not to smile back. He failed. He frowned, though, when Cuddy leaned in and rested her head against his shoulder.
He stiffened. “What're you doing?”
“Getting comfortable,” she replied.
House wasn't sure if he was comfortable with this or not. He may have cracked a lot of crude jokes at her and wound her up by being incessantly immature, but when it came down to it he was awkward with physical contact or affection of any kind. In fact, part of the reason why he'd been so crude was to cover up his awkwardness for showing up at her house. “That sounds dangerous.”
“It's Christmas.”
He paused, trying to work out what that meant. “That doesn't explain anything.”
“It's the silly season. You said so yourself.”
“This is your idea of being silly?”
Cuddy sipped her coffee. “Shut up,” she said. “I'm trying to watch the movie.”
“I learned how to do that years ago.”
Cuddy laughed and lightly slapped his thigh. “Smartass.”
House fell silent as Cuddy returned her attention to the film and he gradually relaxed. This beat sitting at home alone, even if he wasn't sure what to do with himself with Cuddy leaning against him. It felt strangely nice, though. Comforting. After a while, he lifted his arm and tentatively stretched it around Cuddy's shoulders. She didn't react like he expected her to; she simply nestled her head against his shoulder more comfortably. He turned back to the TV and idly rubbed his thumb in small circles on her upper arm. He stayed sitting with her like that until the film ended.
“That movie was insane,” Cuddy said as the credits rolled.
“I knew you'd like it,” he replied.
“I'm not sure if 'like' is a way I'd describe it.”
“Enjoyed?”
“It was...” She paused, seeming to struggle to find the right word. “Not your usual Christmas movie.”
“Exactly why I like it.”
“A movie about a miserable guy, living a miserable life at Christmas time? I can see why that would be right up your alley.”
“That's the story of everyone's life at Christmas time.”
Cuddy rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Thank you for that uplifting insight, Mr. Optimism.”
“Just saying it like it is.”
House looked back to the TV, absently watching the next programme that had started. After a small lull of silence, Cuddy said, “Isn't it weird how at Christmas, something in you gets so lonely for...” She paused and shrugged. “I'm don't know what exactly, but it's something you don't really miss not having at other times.”
House frowned. “It's the compulsory happiness I mentioned earlier. Makes everyone focus on how unhappy they are. You don't miss that so much when it's not in your face like it is at Christmas time.”
Cuddy sighed again, a little despondently. “I suppose you're right.” She turned her head against his shoulder, looking up at him. “So, you ever going to tell me why you're here?”
“We've been over that already.”
“You didn't give me a proper answer.”
He gave a small shrug. He doubted she'd believe any answer he gave, except the honest one. And he didn't want to give the honest one. He looked down at her. “Let's not spoil it,” he said quietly.
He watched her studying his face and stiffened in surprise when she suddenly leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek.
He stared at her uncertainly when she pulled back. “What was that for?”
Cuddy smiled. She pointed to the ceiling. “Mistletoe.”
He looked up. Nothing was there.
“Made you look,” Cuddy taunted.
House dropped his gaze back to her and gave her an annoyed look, though was unable to stay annoyed with the way she was grinning at him. He scowled nonetheless and opened his mouth to retort, but Cuddy beat him to it.
“Shut up,” she ordered. She settled her head onto his shoulder again. “Don't spoil it.”
“I was going to say--”
He was cut off mid-sentence by Cuddy's fingers pressing against his mouth. “You've said enough for one night,” she warned. “Trust me.”
He ignored her. “I can think of better places you can kiss me,” he mumbled against her fingers.
She sighed in exasperation and turned back to the TV, shaking her head against his shoulder. He felt her fingers slide down his lips and over his jaw before dropping to his chest.
He smirked. “Merry Christmas.”
pairing: House/Cuddy
words: 5,400
rating: M
summary: “So, why didn't you go to the Christmas party?” he asked.
disclaimer: When the vulture flies sideways, the moon has hair on its upper lip.
beta:
earlwyn, shutterbug_12 and _vicodin. So much love for their input, suggestions, help with some of the dialogue and with the ending. ♥♥spoilers: It's A Wonderful Lie (4x10); post-episode fic
notes: So, the lack of Cuddy in the last episode? So not cool. Concrit is of course welcome. THIS FIC IS FOR
sapphs, WHO IS AWESOME AND SENT ME X-FILES DVDS. ♥♥♥Gatecrash
by ticcy
by ticcy
House knew he was probably insane, standing on Cuddy's doorstep on Christmas Eve. Insane and possibly stupid. And maybe more than a little pathetic. But here he was, cold, shivering and covered in sleet and snow, and after a few long minutes of staring at her front door he finally worked up the nerve to knock on it; three firm, loud raps of his cane against the door panel.
He waited. He almost considered turning tail and heading back to his car instead of running the risk of making a complete idiot of himself, but when he heard footsteps approach the door, followed by the turn of the door handle, he straightened his shoulders.
Cuddy opened the door and peered at him with obvious confusion, perhaps mild concern. “House?”
"I was the last time I checked,” he greeted. He thumped his cane on the porch, the dull sound resonating hollowly in the small alcove. “Unless you'd like to double check for me? My identification is in my pants, which is probably the best place to start.”
She wrapped her arms around her middle to shield herself from the cold. She was dressed in her robe and her hair looked tussled and mildly damp, as though she'd recently got out of the shower. Her feet were bare, too, House noticed. She seemed to ignore his greeting. “What're you doing here?" she asked.
“Standing on your porch, freezing my ass off.”
Cuddy gave him an even look. “Why are you standing on my porch?” she clarified impatiently.
House knew she'd ask something like that. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes again. “Because unlike Romeo, I can't climb walls to pay you a visit in your bedroom.”
He watched Cuddy press her lips into a thin line, then noticed the corners of her mouth lifting in a slight, suppressed smile. “Flattered as I am, House, I'm not your Juliet.”
House rolled his eyes. “We can play Let's Pretend?”
“I'm not interested in playing another one of your crazy games.”
“Why would it be a game?”
Cuddy gestured mock cluelessly with her hands. “Because you're you?”
“No. The correct answer is, 'Because it's Christmas'.” Cuddy stared at him, clearly unimpressed. “It's the silly season,” he explained.
Cuddy gave him another look, a weird one this time. “Since when have you ever cared about Christmas?”
“Since I realised that spending Christmas with a Jew means I wouldn't have to celebrate it.”
“Wilson's Jewish,” she pointed out.
“He's also drunk.”
“So, get drunk with him. Isn't that what best friends do?”
“He's made friends with a moose, and I already met a girl who made friends with an ass.” House motioned impatiently past her into her house, yearning to get out of the cold. “You going to let me in?”
“What girl?” Cuddy asked.
“I swear,” House said, holding his frozen hands up in surrender, “she didn't mean anything. I'm sure the donkey will say the same thing come tomorrow morning, too."
She squinted at him. “What are you talking about?”
“It's a long, sacrilegious story."
“I... think I'm a little too scared to even ask.”
“Good,” House said. “Because I think even the priest in the confessional was a little disturbed.”
She blinked. “Priest?”
“Yeah. You know the guys; long robes, talk to God as part of their job. Like to have little boys to play with on the side.”
Of course, no such thing had happened: he'd sat and watched the Nativity play, making eyes at the woman while she acted out her role of the Virgin Mary in a manner more flirtatious than was undoubtedly appropriate. And after the service was over, he waited for her and talked to her for a little while. About this and that, nothing too compelling and nothing too important. He wasn't sure if he really intended to try and get laid with her or not. It certainly crossed his mind, more than enough times while sitting in the church. Part of him wanted to if only for some companionship. But then they'd finally parted ways and House sat alone in his car, staring out the falling snow and wondering what to do with himself or where to go. Which was how he ended up on Cuddy's doorstep; she'd been the first person he thought of.
He gestured again into her house. “You going to let me in?”
“Are you going to keep asking me that? Because it's not going to get you anywhere.”
“I'm freezing my butt off out here.”
“I'm not letting you in,” she said.
House tsked impatiently. “Why?”
“Not until you tell me why you're here.”
“Oh, come on,” he protested. “You're ruining the romantic moment.”
Cuddy shot him a flat, disbelieving look. “You hate romance.”
“You don't know that.”
“I know you hate Christmas.”
“Not when I get gifts.”
“I haven't got a gift for you,” Cuddy countered.
“Be my Secret Santa, then,” he said. “Still got time 'til Santa himself gets here.”
“It's not a secret if it's negotiated.”
House was beginning to get frustrated at how stubborn Cuddy was being. “How about that half a lap dance, then?” he suggested. “That's something we could negotiate.”
“I'm not negotiating any sexual favours with you,” she replied evenly.
House pursed his lips. “Is the fifty bucks still negotiable?”
“I'm not one of your hookers, House.”
“It's only half a lap dance.”
“No deal.”
“I'll pay you the other fifty for the other half of the lap dance when it's my birthday.”
“Not negotiable. Period.”
House threw a hand up in frustration. His face stung from the sharp bite of frost against his skin, his nose was almost as red as Rudolph's and if he stood out here much longer, his balls were going to shrivel up into his body. His leg was going to start cramping, too; his leg never fared well in this kind of weather. “What is negotiable, then?”
Cuddy leaned her shoulder against the door frame. “You telling me why you're standing on my porch on Christmas Eve, wasting my time.”
“Paying you a visit out of the kindness of my Scrooged little heart is a waste of your time?”
“It's going to be a waste of your time in about five seconds,” she warned.
“Oh, come on,” House protested.
“One,” Cuddy began counting.
“I was in the neighbourhood,” House tried.
Cuddy snorted wryly. “You're never conveniently 'in my neighbourhood' unless it's to break into my house or gatecrash my dates.” She held up two fingers, as if to demonstrate she was serious about this five second countdown. “Two.”
“I'm your Secret Santa?”
“The only gift you've ever given me is a headache.” She held up a third finger. “Three.”
“Well, now's my chance to go one better,” House replied. “Let me in.”
Cuddy ignored him. “Four.”
House gave her a frustrated look. If she really was going to be this stubborn and really didn't want him here, then maybe he was better off leaving. But he didn't want to leave. Not yet. He definitely didn't want to go home, where he'd have nothing but the TV to keep him company.
He decided to act on impulse and maybe stun Cuddy into shutting up: he quickly leaned forward and pressed his lips against her cheek, a light but lingering kiss. Her skin felt warm, almost a shock against his near-frostbitten lips. When he pulled back, Cuddy was still holding her fingers up, but had a look of surprise frozen on her face.
“Now can I come in?” he asked, ignoring the spark of nerves that kissing her on the cheek ignited.
She continued to stare at him for a long moment. “What was that for?” she finally asked.
House rolled his eyes. Just as he did, he spotted some foliage that hung above Cuddy's door. He pointed up to it. “Mistletoe.”
Cuddy followed where he was pointing with her eyes. “That's not mistletoe, that's Boston Ivy.”
“Made you look,” he taunted. He watched Cuddy settle her eyes back on him and for a moment he wasn't sure where to look. “You going to let me in?” he tried again, insistently this time. He shifted his weight to and fro on his feet, shaking his hands and arms to show just how cold he was. “Come on, Cuddy. I'm freezing out here.”
He really didn't think Cuddy was going to relent, not with the way she was still staring at him, but she did; she stepped back, holding the door open for him. He gratefully stepped inside. The warmth of her house instantly hit his iced skin, causing his extremities to almost feel like they were burning. He blew on his hands and shook his arms out again while he watched Cuddy close the door. She faced back to him, rubbing her arms.
“How'd you even know I was here?” she asked.
House gave her a questioning look. “You live here. Pretty obvious.”
“No,” she replied impatiently. “I mean I could've been at the Christmas party.”
“If you were at the Christmas party, then you wouldn't be here.”
“Wow, you think?” she asked sarcastically. Her tone then turned incredulous. “You went to the hospital Christmas party?”
“How could I miss it? It was right in the front reception area, where no one could escape it.”
“So, you walked through the party rather than actually attended it.”
“Never said I went.”
“If you had no intention of attending the party, then why would you even notice if I was there or not?”
“If Wilson was hopped up on Christmas spirits and sporting a moose, chances are you're twice as likely to have been either laughing really obnoxiously the way you do when you're drunk, or swearing like a sailor the way you do when you're really drunk.” House raised his hand to dust a few flakes of snow from his shoulder. “Pretty hard to miss. Which means I noticed you weren't there.”
Cuddy arched up onto her tiptoes with an irritated sigh and lifted her hand to his head. She started brushing away the snow that had gotten caught up in his hair. “So, you decided to come here instead to gatecrash my Christmas.”
“You're Jewish; you don't do Christmas,” House said, a little taken off guard by what Cuddy was doing. He screwed his face up as a few snowflakes fell and brushed against his nose. “Besides, what's there to gatecrash? There's no one here. Unless you're hiding someone in your bedroom.”
“I'm not hiding anybody, anywhere,” she retorted.
“What – not even any Internet boyfriends? No good catches on single-ballroom-dancing-lovers-dot-com? ”
“Shut up.”
“Whatever happened to that lube guy, anyway?”
Cuddy lowered herself to the flats of her feet and House flinched when she slapped him lightly on the chest. She then threw her hands out. “Why are you even here, House?”
“Told you.” He stamped his feet on the ground a couple of times to shake the snow off his shoes. “Because it's Christmas.”
“That's not a reason,” Cuddy argued. “That's... I don't even know what that is. A lame excuse for being here. That's not a reason.”
“Maybe I have a present for you.”
“Right.” She started waving her hands about theatrically, which House watched in amusement. “And the world's about to end and pigs have started flying and Gregory House is now known as a New Age sensitive guy.”
“You should be careful what you wish for,” he replied. He was bluffing, of course; he didn't have a present for Cuddy. He never bought gifts for anyone because he considered that a waste of time in most circumstances. Or too sentimental. He hated sentimentality; it made him feel uncomfortable. He had no problems with giving gifts just to confuse people, however. Just to confuse Cuddy, he reached into his pocket and produced a badly wrapped present. “Ta-da.”
It worked: Cuddy stared at the gift in bewilderment, then shot her eyes up towards him. “Are you drunk?” she asked suspiciously.
“Not yet, but there's still plenty of time.”
“Or high?”
House rolled his eyes. “Firing accusations is no way to accept a gift.” He waved the present impatiently at her.
Cuddy eyed it. “It looks like it's already been opened.”
“Shipping damage.”
She snatched it from his hand and House smiled innocently as she shot him another suspicious look. He watched her tear the paper off – what remained of it – and smiled again when she raised her eyes back up to him incredulously.
“Conan Doyle?”
“Sure. A well-known author who--”
“I know who he is,” Cuddy cut in.
“A 'thank you' would've sufficed.”
Cuddy ignored him. “You never give gifts.”
“You clearly don't know me very well, then.”
“You've never given me a gift,” Cuddy clarified.
“There's a first time for everything?” He shrugged and tapped his finger on the cover of the book. “It was actually a toss up between this and 'The Joy of Jewish Foreplay'.”
“Wow, you chose tamely, then,” Cuddy drawled.
“Conan Doyle was on sale.”
Cuddy snorted. “Such a cheapskate.”
“It's more polite to say 'thank you'.”
“And you'd know all about being polite,” Cuddy replied dryly. House watched her look down at the book, turning it over in her hand while her other hand scrunched up the wrapping paper. She looked back up to him, still looking suspicious but conceding at the same time. “Thank you.”
“You're not welcome.”
He smiled down at Cuddy rolling her eyes at him with fond exasperation. “Do you want a drink?” she offered, turning towards the direction of the kitchen. “A coffee? Afraid I don't have much in the alcohol department.”
House was already starting to shrug out of his coat, though he halted to give Cuddy a sceptical look. “You spent all that effort trying to keep me out of your house and now you're offering me coffee?”
“Might as well. Getting rid of you is going to be a nightmare. Besides, I could use the company.” She faced back to him and lightly tapped her finger against his chest. “But don't go getting any big ideas.”
He looked down at his chest. “Pity. Because I forgot to mention that there's a second part to the gift.”
“I knew there was a catch.”
“It's not a catch.” He looked back up to Cuddy. “Or maybe it is a catch, if you consider me a catch.”
“Thanks, but I think I'll just stick with Conan Doyle.”
“I'm sexier than he is. More alive than he is, too.”
“He's bound to be less annoying than you are.”
“Less annoying means less exciting,” House pointed out.
Cuddy crossed her arms over her chest. “Why would I want you for Christmas?”
“Ouch,” House replied. “Harsher words have never been spoken.”
She outstretched her arms, still clutching the book and wrapping paper in either hand. “You come to my house on Christmas Eve, talking about liaisons with donkeys, priests and paying me fifty dollars to give you half a lap dance, and you wonder why I might not want you for Christmas?”
House pursed his lips and thought about that for a moment. “I'll be your stress ball for Christmas. Only bigger than a stress ball. With lots of different areas to squeeze.”
“You're the reason I need a stress ball,” Cuddy argued.
“I come with two balls. Bonus.”
“I'm sure those are not the balls you'd want me to squeeze. Especially if the stress is because of you.”
“I hear sex is good stress relief,” he tried.
“In your dreams, House.”
“Particularly the wet ones,” he agreed.
Cuddy gave him a look. “I always suspected you were as adolescent as you behave.” She faced away, shaking her head, and started towards the kitchen. House knew she was smiling, though; he could tell by the way she walked with an extra sway to her hips.
He quickly tugged his coat off, shook away the excess snow and hung it up before following the direction Cuddy had gone. “So, why didn't you go to the Christmas party?” he asked.
“Why are you so concerned?”
He stopped in the doorway and watched her set the book down and put the wrapping paper in the trash. “I'm not concerned. Just curious.”
“I left early.”
“Why?”
“Because,” she began. She set two cups on the counter, then turned to face House with one hand hand braced on her hip. “I hate Christmas parties.”
“Since when?”
“Why do you need to ask so many questions?”
“'Since when' isn't a hard question to answer.”
Cuddy sighed and turned back to the coffee cups. House watched her fidget with them as though having both cup handles facing the same direction was an important part in the process of brewing instant coffee. “It's not the party I hate. It's coming home after the party.”
House waited patiently for her to continue, raising his brows at her when she threw a couple of visibly uncomfortable glances at him.
She sighed again. “People have families to go home to.”
“So?”
“So?” She headed across the kitchen to the fridge. “I don't.”
“Everybody's lonely at Christmas time,” he replied matter-of-factly.
“Not everybody. Only some of us.”
House shrugged, watching Cuddy grab the milk out. He didn't really like how close to home Cuddy's statement hit. “Christmas is overrated, anyway.”
“You think anything sentimental is overrated.”
“That's usually because it is.”
Cuddy shook her head as she walked back to the cups, milk in hand. “Being alone might not matter to you or bother you, but it just so happens that not everyone is you.”
“Who said it didn't bother me?”
House instantly wished he'd thought before he'd spoken because the curious look Cuddy gave him made him feel self-conscious. “You always make out that it doesn't bother you,” she replied.
“That's because most of the time it doesn't.”
Cuddy faced back to him, resting a hand on the counter. “But it bothers you tonight.”
House frowned. A sudden flashback of last Christmas went through his mind of how he'd woken up on the floor in his own vomit with Wilson kneeling over him. He'd been in such a dark state of desperation that he wasn't completely certain what he'd been trying to achieve that night – to forget what was happening to him, or to black out the almost unbearable pain in his leg. Maybe even kill himself. This Christmas Eve served a painful, bleak reminder of just how lonely and full of self-loathing he'd been this time last year. If it hadn't been for Cuddy perjuring herself for him in court, who knew where he'd be. It was unsettling to think about.
“House?” Cuddy asked.
He snapped out of his thoughts. Cuddy was watching him with a concerned look on her face. He opened his mouth and tried to think of a reply. He looked away when he failed to come up with anything witty.
“House, why are you really here?” Cuddy asked softly.
He darted his eyes back to her, then straightened his shoulders and thumped his cane on the floor. “Because I'm lonely,” he replied with as much sarcasm as he could muster. “That's what you want to hear, right?”
Cuddy levelled her gaze with him. “You never come here when you're lonely,” she said. “You hire hookers or go gambling or annoy Wilson.”
“Wilson's getting drunk at the Christmas party. And my poker buddies are all married or still living at home with their mom. Christmas demands them to be at home.”
“And the hookers?”
“She chose the donkey over me.”
Cuddy frowned in confusion.
“Don't ask,” he added.
“Trust me, I don't think I will.” She turned back to the cups and House watched her make the coffees. She tossed the spoon into the sink and took both cups up. “Sounds like you missed out on a good time, though,” Cuddy remarked dryly.
“She could've made fifty bucks, too,” House agreed as he took the coffee offered to him.
“Giving you half a lap dance?”
“I was thinking more the full French.”
Cuddy gave him a look that was equal parts wry and amused as she took a sip of her coffee. “Boy, you must be really hard pressed for company if your last resort was to come here. Especially seeing you're not going to get either of those things here.”
“Even though I've offered myself as a giant stress ball, as a gift to you?”
“I'd probably accept if you'd offered yourself as a giant punching bag instead.”
House sipped his coffee. “What kind of punching bag?”
“There are different kinds?” Cuddy asked.
“Well, what kind are you thinking of?”
“The kind I'd be able to hit when I wanted to.”
“You mean the kind that swings back when you hit it and knocks you off your feet?”
Cuddy peered at him with mild bemusement written across her face, then broke out into a small smile. “Very cute.”
House frowned. “I'm not being cute.”
“Knocking me off my feet?” She started to head out of the kitchen, stopping by House and looking up at him. She leaned right in and he had to tuck his chin down against his chest to look down at her. “That's being cute.”
House studied her eyes. “I can be mean and nasty if you prefer,” he offered in a low voice.
“I prefer cute,” she replied, her voice just as low.
“Except for the part where I'm not cute.”
He watched Cuddy watching him, noting the amused, almost affectionate smile on her lips. She pulled back after a moment and continued out of the kitchen towards the living room. House looked over his shoulder to watch her before he turned and followed. When he reached the living room, he saw Cuddy sitting low on the couch, her bare feet kicked up on the coffee table. The way her robe parted at her knees and fell down showed off her lower legs; her toned calves and slender ankles.
House admired her legs, wondering if the robe was the only difference between her being dressed and her being naked. He tried to recall if he'd seen a panty line on her ass, when Cuddy turned her head and looked at him.
“You just going to stand there?”
He snapped out of his thoughts. “I was just checking out your coffee table.”
Cuddy glanced down at it and seemed to quickly work out what he'd actually been checking out; she made a show of flexing her feet as she looked back to him. “Which part?” she deadpanned. “The legs on my coffee table?”
“If by 'on your coffee table', you mean the ones supporting it, sure.” House moved across to the couch and sat beside her with a slump. He took a sip of his coffee and motioned to her legs. “The ones actually on your coffee table are more impressive, though.”
Cuddy sat forward and grabbed the remote control by her feet. She sat back and held it out to him. “Here. Find something more entertaining to check out.”
He gestured to her legs again. “Those are entertaining enough.”
“They're not doing anything.”
“Who says they have to do anything to be entertaining?” House asked. He pursed his lips. “Though, they would be doing something more entertaining if they were wrapped around--”
He let out a sound of surprise as Cuddy slapped the remote against his chest. “You can keep thoughts like that for your wet dreams.”
“Not as much pay off that way.”
“That's why you have your right hand.”
She let the remote go and House made a clumsy grab for it as it tumbled down onto his lap. “Oh, come on,” he protested. “Where's your Christmas spirit?”
“I'm Jewish, remember?”
“Where's your Hanukkah spirit, then?”
“Hanukkah ended almost two weeks ago.”
“Doesn't mean the fun has to end.”
“If it's fun you're after, go find your donkey girl.”
House huffed, resting his coffee on his knee while tapping the remote control on his other knee. After a moment of silence, he glanced across at Cuddy. “I have a Dreidel in my pants that you could spin.”
“Not even if you paid me gelts.”
“I gave you a present; it's only fair you give me one.”
“A book in exchange for sex,” Cuddy mused in a dry tone. “Not exactly a fair exchange.”
“It is,” House argued.
Cuddy looked across at him. “How?”
“You get to read the book I gave you, and I get to read the book between your legs.”
Cuddy almost looked offended. Or mildly astounded. Or possibly just annoyed at how persistent he was being. “Can you get any cruder?”
“I'll study it closely and thoroughly,” he offered.
She squinted at him, then rolled her eyes. “I think the reason you didn't give me 'The Joy of Jewish Foreplay' is because you've been studying it for yourself.” Cuddy reached across and snatched the remote from his hand. She aimed it at the TV and switched it on before slapping the remote back against his chest. “Shut up and watch TV, or I'm kicking you out.”
House tsked at her as he took the remote, though smiled to himself when she looked away. Nothing was more fun than riling Cuddy up. He looked to the TV while Cuddy returned to her coffee and he began channel surfing. Christmas shows, more Christmas shows, Christmas shows for kids, newsreaders with Christmas hats on. He rapidly fired through them all.
“You're making me dizzy,” Cuddy complained.
“I want as little exposure to compulsive Christmas happiness as possible,” House replied. He heard Cuddy snort just as he came across a channel showing Billy Bob Thornton dressed up as Santa and screwing a woman from behind. He dropped the remote to his lap, deciding this would do.
“What is this?” Cuddy demanded.
“A movie,” he replied, lifting his coffee to his lips for a sip. He quickly grabbed up the remote and held it out of Cuddy's reach when she dashed her hand across for it. “It's either this or sugar-coated Christmas puke.”
“Give me the remote, House.”
“It's mine now.”
“It's my TV,” Cuddy retorted.
House moved the remote further out of her reach when she made another grab for it. He then tucked it down the side of the couch cushions so she had no chance of reclaiming it unless she climbed over him. “Learn to share,” he replied.
Cuddy heaved an irritated sigh but made no further effort to get the remote back from him. House was quickly engrossed in the movie. So was Cuddy, it seemed; he glanced across at her about ten minutes into the film and saw her attention was fixed on the screen. At that same moment, she suddenly laughed at something that happened in the movie. House really wasn't sure what he expected to happen by coming around to her place. He definitely hadn't planned to come here - it had been a spur of the moment decision. But he didn't expect to find himself sitting on the couch with her, drinking coffee and watching a film.
Cuddy glanced at him, laughing again at something else on the screen, and gave him a brief smile. House tried not to smile back. He failed. He frowned, though, when Cuddy leaned in and rested her head against his shoulder.
He stiffened. “What're you doing?”
“Getting comfortable,” she replied.
House wasn't sure if he was comfortable with this or not. He may have cracked a lot of crude jokes at her and wound her up by being incessantly immature, but when it came down to it he was awkward with physical contact or affection of any kind. In fact, part of the reason why he'd been so crude was to cover up his awkwardness for showing up at her house. “That sounds dangerous.”
“It's Christmas.”
He paused, trying to work out what that meant. “That doesn't explain anything.”
“It's the silly season. You said so yourself.”
“This is your idea of being silly?”
Cuddy sipped her coffee. “Shut up,” she said. “I'm trying to watch the movie.”
“I learned how to do that years ago.”
Cuddy laughed and lightly slapped his thigh. “Smartass.”
House fell silent as Cuddy returned her attention to the film and he gradually relaxed. This beat sitting at home alone, even if he wasn't sure what to do with himself with Cuddy leaning against him. It felt strangely nice, though. Comforting. After a while, he lifted his arm and tentatively stretched it around Cuddy's shoulders. She didn't react like he expected her to; she simply nestled her head against his shoulder more comfortably. He turned back to the TV and idly rubbed his thumb in small circles on her upper arm. He stayed sitting with her like that until the film ended.
“That movie was insane,” Cuddy said as the credits rolled.
“I knew you'd like it,” he replied.
“I'm not sure if 'like' is a way I'd describe it.”
“Enjoyed?”
“It was...” She paused, seeming to struggle to find the right word. “Not your usual Christmas movie.”
“Exactly why I like it.”
“A movie about a miserable guy, living a miserable life at Christmas time? I can see why that would be right up your alley.”
“That's the story of everyone's life at Christmas time.”
Cuddy rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Thank you for that uplifting insight, Mr. Optimism.”
“Just saying it like it is.”
House looked back to the TV, absently watching the next programme that had started. After a small lull of silence, Cuddy said, “Isn't it weird how at Christmas, something in you gets so lonely for...” She paused and shrugged. “I'm don't know what exactly, but it's something you don't really miss not having at other times.”
House frowned. “It's the compulsory happiness I mentioned earlier. Makes everyone focus on how unhappy they are. You don't miss that so much when it's not in your face like it is at Christmas time.”
Cuddy sighed again, a little despondently. “I suppose you're right.” She turned her head against his shoulder, looking up at him. “So, you ever going to tell me why you're here?”
“We've been over that already.”
“You didn't give me a proper answer.”
He gave a small shrug. He doubted she'd believe any answer he gave, except the honest one. And he didn't want to give the honest one. He looked down at her. “Let's not spoil it,” he said quietly.
He watched her studying his face and stiffened in surprise when she suddenly leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek.
He stared at her uncertainly when she pulled back. “What was that for?”
Cuddy smiled. She pointed to the ceiling. “Mistletoe.”
He looked up. Nothing was there.
“Made you look,” Cuddy taunted.
House dropped his gaze back to her and gave her an annoyed look, though was unable to stay annoyed with the way she was grinning at him. He scowled nonetheless and opened his mouth to retort, but Cuddy beat him to it.
“Shut up,” she ordered. She settled her head onto his shoulder again. “Don't spoil it.”
“I was going to say--”
He was cut off mid-sentence by Cuddy's fingers pressing against his mouth. “You've said enough for one night,” she warned. “Trust me.”
He ignored her. “I can think of better places you can kiss me,” he mumbled against her fingers.
She sighed in exasperation and turned back to the TV, shaking her head against his shoulder. He felt her fingers slide down his lips and over his jaw before dropping to his chest.
He smirked. “Merry Christmas.”
end