A Prank Too Far

Okies, just sat and written this right here and now so it’s a bit rough and ready but I know y’all love that.

AND WHERE ARE MY REVIEWS BTW!!??

I know it’s a rewrite, kiddies, but the plot has quite firmly departed from the original and is going in new and interesting directions. So there is no excuse.

Yet again, this chapter was truncated because it went in a way I hadn’t intended and I didn’t have the heart to delete it all only to try and force it and see it all go skew-whiff (and, yes, that is the technical term for it).

So, House is pissed, Tawny is roughed up and partially explained and Cuddy just gets crapped on from all sides really.

You know you love it.

Read and review!!!

Chapter 17: A Hesitant Diagnosis


House stepped into the bar and blinked a few times to let his eyes adjust to the dim interior. The place was a dive. Even as dives went, this place was more dively than most. It was a little after two and now the locals were slumped over the bar, drunk and wasted on alcohol among other things he was sure. He stepped into the smoky interior and hobbled to the bar, he ordered himself a double scotch and a brew to wash it down. He settled himself at the nearest and cleanest looking stool and took a swig of his scotch. The beer chaser mellowed the burn a little.

He looked down at the print out in front of him and scraped his fingernails over his jaw. His brow furrowed in deep thought. The letterhead at the top of the printout bore the same caduceus symbol that Cuddy’s information pack had. He stared at it. Swirled the whisky in his glass and stared at it. It was a fertility clinic. A clinic for in-vitro, for helping women conceive.

For sperm donors.

This time the whisky had an even harsher burn and he didn’t swallow some beer to lessen it.

She’d been…using him.

He gazed at the paper until the letters swam out of focus. Until the only thing that was left was a burning thought in his brain that he’d been tricked by her. He was under no illusion that he had been entirely selfless in his…treatment of her, but he’d at least thought they’d been honest about it. Sure, she was pissed at him for ‘reading’ her mail. Who wouldn’t be pissed once their secret was blown? He swirled his bottle of suds and downed half of it in a deep pull. Then he finished his scotch and ordered another one. He told the good barkeep to keep the liquor coming. He crumpled the paper in his hand. His fist eating the unblemished sheet hungrily before he shot it over the bar in a perfect two point shot into the trash can.

It would have been a fair assessment to say that House would have quite happily sat there and gotten completely plastered on whisky and beer with his empty stomach, maybe wash it all down with an almost dangerous number of vicodin pills, staggered home with the aid of a ludicrously expensive taxi and crashed in his bed, none the worse for the wear. Aside for the force five hangover the next morning.

He would have done exactly that…had he not seen her in the back of the bar.

More accurately, he spotted her reflection first, before spinning with more than a little wobble to look with his own eyes and properly identify the woman bending over the pool table much to the enjoyment of several of the nearby reprobates. His diagnosis was confirmed when one very long legged, wild haired surgeon stood up with a flick of her tiger coloured curls and smirked down at the smelly biker type over the top of her pool cue. She said something to him on a smirk that he obviously did not enjoy judging by the way his knuckles whitened to fists at his sides and the way his friends laughed and jeered at him around the pool table. Tawny compounded Large-and-Hairy’s irritation by reaching over and plucking his cigar from the ashtray and blowing a smoke ring in his face.

“What the hell is she doing?” House asked himself. Tawny was dressed…differently today. Yeah, different was a word for it. Her long legs were completely bare, her skirt really just a belt with delusions of grandeur, she was dressed in a black leather and Chinese embroidered silk corset with a white shirt tied under the valley of her cleavage just to make sure every man in the bar was definitely looking at her.

“I dunno, but she better watch herself.” House looked around to see the barman polishing a glass, the tattoos covering his arm rippling while he watched Tawny with a stony gaze. “Larry’s not so gentle with the lady’s, if you catch my drift.”

Larry had apparently been pushed far enough, because when Tawny turned away to take her next shot, bending over to line up her sights, Larry smacked her hard.

On the ass.

Tawny jack-knifed upright, whirling on Larry, eyes flaring over the rims of her black wraparound sunglasses. The cue whirled in her hand, the tip coming to rest under Larry’s chin like it was a blade and a snarl issued from between her lips.

“Aw, hell.” House was already on his feet, hobbling full pelt across the room.

Too late. All hell broke loose. Larry apparently didn’t like a mere female getting uppity with him. He grabbed Tawny’s wrist and twisted viciously in a move that should have shattered the delicate bones in her arm and it would have if Tawny hadn’t lunged forward in a jabbing motion with her elbow. The hard corner of bone smashed into Larry’s windpipe. Larry shortly became acquainted with the pine nut shells on the floor. Thug number two picked up a spare cue and lashed it across Tawny’s shoulder blades. She snarled in pain and whirled. A harsh upper-cut to the jaw, a head-butt to the nose and a knee to the groin had the next charming gent joining Larry on the floor for tea and crumpets.

Now Larry’s crew were really pissed. They leapt at Tawny as one and she turned to meet them with her teeth bared in a savage grin.

House paused for a fraction of a second, she was enjoying this.

But then Larry’s friend smashed a bottle over the edge of the table and lunged for Tawny’s kidneys. Tawny was somewhat occupied with the thug she had in a headlock and the other one she was introducing to the business end of her Prada heel. House didn’t hesitate. He pulled back on his good leg, flipped his cane until he was holding the rubber tipped end and swung out in a perfect striker shot. Years of lacrosse flooding back in that one perfect swing, the clack of the wooden ball being shot from the tiny net was replaced with the wet smacking sound of his cane crook meeting a glass jaw. Bottle breaker tumbled to the ground like a sack of shit.

This of course, earned him a smack to the face himself.

House staggered, but didn’t fall. He might have been skinny, but you didn’t get to be as big as he was without acquiring some strength to go with it. He spun around his movement swallowing the momentum of the shot to the jaw and then delivering it back to the charming gent that had given it to him in the first place.

Then it really did degenerate into an all out mêlée.

House reached for Tawny, he had to get them out of here. She was already bleeding from a head wound, her shirt was ripped and hanging off one shoulder. She had a hold of a guy from behind, her forearm wrapped over his throat. His face was a charming shade of puce. She released one arm long enough to sucker punch a guy and send him to the floor before mule kicking a guy in the gut and leaving him gasping. House had been in enough brawls to recognise when somebody was used to being in the bull-ring and Tawny was thriving on it. She actually laughed when a guy pulled a knife.

House grabbed hold of her elbow, now it really was time to be leaving.

She spun on him, fist raised, a look of fury in her eyes that wasn’t entirely sane. She blinked at him, shuddering to a halt, her brain stalling at this new anomaly.

“We gotta go.” He pulled her towards the door.

“House?”

Luckily the brawlers seemed to have forgotten who exactly had started the fight and were just content to beat the crap out of each other. House yanked Tawny closer and tried to hustle her towards the door. He thought he could already hear sirens in the distance and he really didn’t need a run in with the cops right now. He tended to have a general distaste for them.

“What are you doing?” Tawny stumbled against him, she seemed dazed, her eyes glassy behind her wraparounds. She touched a hand to her head and blinked at the crimson stain on her fingers. “I’m bleeding.”

House yanked her through the crowd, avoiding flying glasses, fists and kicks as deftly as he could. He glanced at her. Was she concussed?

“House, I’m bleeding, I’m really bleeding.” She laughed then, a high pitched hysterical sound. They tumbled out of the bar and onto the sidewalk, drawing glances from the passers-by. House ignored them and hailed a cab, he gripped Tawny’s hand in his and pulled her with him, hearing the uneven clip of her shoes against the concrete. He turned as the cab pulled up, her fingers had gone slack. She was staring at her hand, the blood on it seeming to fascinate her. She stared at it like she had never seen it before.

“Tawny?”

“That’s my blood.” She whispered. “I’m bleeding.”

Then her eyes rolled back in her head and House had to lunge to catch her before she hit the street.


Sinister Scribe


Cuddy glared at the phone as it rang. She knew who it was. The blessing of caller ID had his name scrawled across the tiny screen of her cell. She wasn’t going to answer. She didn’t care what he had to say.

She wanted nothing more to do with him.

The cellphone fell silent.

Cuddy smirked at it in triumph and turned back to gluing the leg back onto her hallway table. Her skin flushed at the memory of the act of breaking the table but she told herself it was nothing to do with her it was all the drugs. She was not to blame. Even if she still ached from the memory of him deep inside her. He had invaded her privacy. Crossed the wrong line for the final time. Cuddy picked up the pile of mail on the floor and stilled at the glint of blue on her ring finger. The huge rose shaped sapphire glinted cheerfully at her. Her jaw tightened at the charade that was hers and House’s ‘engagement’. What a farce, she was going to go to the surgical department tomorrow and cut it off herself if she had to. Doctor Taylor had said that the safest thing to do would be to just let the glue dissolve from wear and tear and let the ring come off by itself, but the very thought of keeping it on her was suddenly repugnant. She could not be in a relationship with House. False or otherwise.

Right?

Cuddy sighed in frustration at the ever spinning whirl of her thoughts and looked down at the package in her hands. The one that house had read. The one she had rather he had never even known was in her House. She turned it over and looked at the seal. It was ripped in one corner and…unopened.

He hadn’t opened it.

He hadn’t read it.

Cuddy jumped when the cellphone bleated insistently again. She stared at it for a moment and swallowed hard.

She had pushed him away. Out of her bed and her home if not out of her life. She had succeeded in will power even if she was still drugged and pining for him.

No, she denied, not pining for him, pining for what he could do to her body. He was a fix and she was suffering a temporary addiction. Nothing more.

Denial could be a beautiful thing sometimes.

The phone fell silent once more.

Cuddy let out a long sigh. Recognising the disappointment rolling through her chest and couldn’t help but feel she somehow deserved it. She had thrown him out without giving him a proper chance to explain himself and she felt bad for that. It was odd how she could trust him with a patient over all other things. She had thrown away a hundred grand just to keep the man on her staff because she had known that he wouldn’t get work anywhere else. They were tied to each other. He needed her to let him do his thing his way and she needed him to keep her on her toes. To stop her going insane from the boring monotony of hospital administration.

How odd that she would let him literally hold the heart of a complete stranger in his slightly megalomaniacal hands but she wouldn’t let him anywhere near her own heart.

Cuddy nearly leapt out of her skin when a heavy fist hammered on the door. She frowned, knowing that knock but hoping that it wasn’t him anyway. Getting to her feet and padding to the front door, she drew it open cautiously, prepared to send him away with a harsh glare and terse words, before she threw it open all the way, her face reflecting shock rather than outrage.

“My God, what happened?”

“Tawny had a disagreement with a bar.” House ground out from between gritted teeth and staggered in, Tawny leaning heavily on him not appearing to be fully conscious.

“Bar of what?” Cuddy asked, her hand going up to cover the bleeding head wound over Tawny’s left eye, and her shoulder going under the taller woman’s to offer further support.

“A bar full of people.” House spat and lurched into the living room. The two of them somehow managed to get Tawny to the couch without both her and House crashing to the floor in a pain ridden heap. Tawny slid onto the couch and melted onto her side, legs sprawled and her eyes open but unfocused. House lowered himself onto the coffee table with a grunt. A sheen of sweat on his brow and his hand white knuckled gripping his thigh.

“Good God.” Cuddy breathed, rolling Tawny so she could examine the wound more closely. “I’ll get my kit.” She half glanced at House. “You need anything?”

“Another shot of whisky would be great.” He deadpanned and swallowed two vicodin. Tawny was neither small nor light and he’d had to carry her from the cab to the front door by himself. Cuddy ignored him and fetched a glass of water for him instead when she grabbed her first aid kit from the closet and headed back to the living room. House was leaning over Tawny, speaking gently to her, trying to get a response. Cuddy was rocked by the sudden lance of jealousy that speared her belly. She shook it off as irrational and padded over to kneel beside the French woman. She pulled a penlight from her kit and tested her reflexes first. Tawny looked comatose and that worried Cuddy.

“Tawny?” Cuddy shone the light in and out of her field of vision. “Tawny, can you hear me?” Tawny didn’t say a word. She didn’t even blink. “Pupils are responsive. How hard was she hit?”

“I don’t think it was the blow to her head. That was glancing at most.” House rumbled from behind her and Cuddy ignored the heavy tension in his voice and the way her skin prickled in response to it. Cuddy heard it in his voice. The thinking tone. He’d seen something in his colleague that didn’t add up in his ever-ticking brain and he needed to figure it out. Cuddy rotated slowly on her knees, rummaging through her kit for the materials she needed to clean Tawny’s head. She pulled out some sanitary wipes and needle and thread. The gash was small, but deep enough to require stitches.

“What have you seen?” She enquired. It amazed her steady her voice sounded when inside she was roiling.

“Blood.” House propped his chin on the crook of his cane. Cuddy gave him an ‘obviously’ look and handed a little trash bag to him for her to dispose of the blood soiled wipes in.

“She’s a surgeon, but she freaks at the sight of blood. Especially when it’s on her clothes.” He fell silent for a moment and Cuddy sorted some anaesthetic for the wound in prep for stitching it neatly closed. She threaded the hooked needle with sure movements of long practice and held tweezers in her other hand. She exhaled slowly and then went to work, careful to keep Tawny’s long, now blood soaked hair out of the way. She moved in silence, waiting for House to finish his thought process. She was intensely aware of him sitting right behind her. His knee brushing her shoulder on occasion. “Bloodshed in violence…I think she has PTSD.” He finally decided and Cuddy turned to look at him with a frown.

“Post Traumatic Stress Disorder?”

“It fits. Irrational unstable behaviour, nightmares, lack of sleep, lying to her family about it and she does have a background in the armed forces. Some people tend to think that war zones are a little traumatic and there’s a long gap between her last job with the French Legionnaires, or whatever, and her signing on at Princeton-Plainsboro. She could have been in recovery for that time.”

“What triggered it?” Cuddy was pulling Tawny from her shirt, considering House’s observations about Tawny and blood, Cuddy didn’t think it was necessarily a good idea for her to wake up in a bloody shirt. Even if it was Dolce.

“Triggered it?” House said and Cuddy stilled at the hedging tone in his voice.

“Yeah, I’m assuming that prolonged exposure to you wasn’t traumatic enough to send her off the deep end. So what set her off in the first place?”

“Guy in clinic bled on her shirt.” House finally said and Cuddy turned to look at him.

Their eyes met for the first time since he had come in the door and that same electrical energy that was always there zinged between them like a lightening to rod. Cuddy’s breathing hitched and his eyes darkened, though not just with arousal. Something deeper roiled in his gaze, something…annoyed.

Well, she supposed if she had been shoved out on her porch naked then she’d be a little pissed too.

“I’m sorry about this morning.” Cuddy turned back to Tawny and pulled her shoes off gently. She settled the other woman’s feet up onto the couch and then pulled the angora throw from the back of the sofa down over her supine form. Tawny’s eyes had finally closed and she seemed to have settled into a deep, if slightly fitful, sleep. She gathered her kit back together, snapped off her latex gloves and tossed them in the little trash bag he was still holding before heading for the kitchen to wash up.

“Which part?”

She jumped when his voice issued right behind her and whirled to see him. It was the first time she was close enough to him to see the gash on his lip and the bruise high on his cheekbone.

“You’re hurt.” She reached for him but his hand snapped around her wrist like a manacle and gripper her attention just as tightly.

“I said ‘which part’?” He ground out to her and Cuddy frowned. It was one thing to be embarrassed or pissy about being thrown out naked on her doorstep, but quite another for him to be this annoyed.

“For throwing you out. I should have given you a chance to explain. I…you didn’t actually read it.” She finished a little lamely.

“Damn right I didn’t.” He snapped at her, looming over her, using every advantage he had against her. He didn’t realise it right now, but that hot aching feeling swirling in his chest was hurt. Hurt and anger and something much more powerful that he didn’t even want to name. “Now, are you sorry for throwing me out because you thought your secret was blown, or because you’re not spawning yet?”

“Spaw…what?” She glared at him.

“Well, I knew there had to be some reason for you finally letting me fuck you, I just didn’t figure you for being so cold blooded about it.” He spat at her. “If you wanted a sperm donor all you had to do was ask.” At her shocked expression he elaborated. “Yeah, there is only one Miya Clinic in the greater New Jersey area and guess what they specialise in? Babies!” He told her ashen face. “But I guess now you don’t have to pay for all those expensive treatments and do any of that head standing when you’ve been drinking that nympho-whisky and spreading your legs for me. Tell me, am I the only runner or are there several--?”

Smack!

She was breathing hard, chest heaving and her expression livid. Her face was pale except for the spots of high colour flushing her cheekbones. House’s already battered face stung under the onslaught of yet another angry blow to his bone structure.

“How dare you…you…if you really want to know I was thinking about having the treatment done! I had asked for an information pack to be sent out to me, I haven’t even stopped taking the Pill yet!”

“Well, I hate to break this to you, Cuddles, but that whisky you drugged yourself with negates the effect of the Pill. So, you could already be incubating as we speak!”

Both of them fell silent at this proclamation. All colour abruptly drained from Cuddy’s face. House’s heart was hammering in his ears and his skin felt three sizes too small.

He watched her swallow in a convulsive movement.

“What?”

“You didn’t know?” He demanded incredulously. She had to have known. He had shown her the lab results. Tawny had shown him and he had…

Not.

Shown.

Cuddy.

“I’d like you to go now.” Her voice was hollow as she spoke. Her hands shook and she leant against the countertop for support. House watched her for a long moment, nodded once and then left the same way he had come in.

He walked for nearly a mile before he had the sense to call a cab to take him home. His leg ached all the way and he took another two vicodin to try and beat the sensation back. By the time he got back to his apartment and found the bulging envelope on his doormat, the now hauntingly familiar red scrawled writing strewn over the Hallmark parchment of the envelope paper, he was too damn tired to do anything about it other than throw yet another death threat straight into the trash.

Who’d want to hurt him?

House slumped onto his couch and reflected that he probably didn’t need any help in that arena he was doing just fine on his own.



TBC...