A Prank Too Far

A/N: Okay, here we are, this is probably going to be the last tamish chapter because I’ve rewritten the next one to have a little bitty smut in it (okay, a lot, but y’all hafta review for it).

Uuummm…aye, I dunno really. This is painfully old this one, but still good. Look on it as vintage fiction. The next batch is a little fresher!

Read and review, this is my only request.

Ciao!

Chapter 3: Working Under Him


Cuddy struggled out of the car, with lanky drunk diagnostician in tow, and fumbled with the key to House’s apartment. She finally got the door open and fell inside.

“Hey, not so rough, some of us have bum legs you know.” House groused slurringly as he limped with her. He had given up long ago at any semblance of using his cane.

“Where’s your bedroom?” Cuddy was strong for her size, but House felt like he’s swallowed bricks for lunch. He never ate, how could he weigh this much?

“Hah, I knew it was only a matter of time, are you going to take advantage of me Dr Cuddy?” He sounded ridiculously hopeful.

Cuddy mentally added another item to her list titled; Things To Do To House Just Before Moving To Rio. It was getting longer by the minute. “If I say yes, will you tell me where the bedroom is before I drop you on the floor?” Cuddy was more than a little breathless by this point, and had it not been for the discomfort it would cause his leg, and later her, she would have dropped him on the nearest flat surface long ago.

Hell, even the front step was looking more than good enough the way things were going.

“Okay-dokey, down the hall and to the left, sexy.” His hand slapped her ass. Actually slapped her ass. That list just grew another yard.

Cuddy ground her teeth and hauled the thorn in her side down the hall. She kicked open the bedroom door and saw the huge bed, unmade, dominating the room. “Friggin’ cave man.” Cuddy gritted as she staggered next to the mattress.

Cuddy’s sharp mind calculated that if she tipped him just right, he should fall in a fairly central position on the bed, and not chafe his leg in any way. Cuddy managed to manoeuvre the rag doll House in a more upright, and tilt-ready, position. Having accounted for the tangle of bed sheets, Cuddy sorted herself and shoved House towards the bed. What she hadn’t accounted for, however, was House’s wiry arm snagging her around her waist in his drunken stupor and hauling her under him as he hit the mattress.

Cuddy only managed an undignified; “Eep!” as she plummeted towards the mattress and was smooshed under House with a rib cracking “Oomph!”.

Cuddy, once she had finally regained her breath, looked down at House, who’s head was cushioned blissfully on her chest. She blew a ringlet of dark hair out of her eyes and shook his shoulder, there was no way she was getting him off her without his cooperation.

Nothing.

“House.” Shoulder shake.

Nada.

“House, you ingrate, wake up!” Shoulder shake and slap.

Zero. Zilch. Zip. Nil.

Cuddy’s head thumped back against the mattress as she huffed in irritation. Nothing she said or did was going to wake up House until he was damn well good and ready.

The bastard was out cold.


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The next morning.

Gregory House was having a marvellous dream. He had pain free sleep, for what his inner body clock calculated to be at least ten hours, and his pillow had apparently morphed into an extremely comfortable pair of breasts. He snuggled his face deeper into the ‘breasts’ and heaved a contented sigh.

Hold the phone…

Since when did his pillows have a heartbeat and smell of…(bury head deeper and inhale a deep sniff) vanilla musk? House abruptly opened his eyes and gathered that all was not what it seemed, when confronted with a rope of pearls and a half unbuttoned silk shirt. He arched a brow, with that underwear what was Victoria trying to keep secret? Almost dreading what he might see, House let his bedroom blue eyes travel up past the creamy cleavage and throat (sorry as he was to see them go) and let them rest on the face of one Dr Lisa Cuddy.

Aaaw, shiiiit! House closed his eyes and flinched.

Cuddy did nothing but stare at the ceiling with cold hard fury. Her jaw clenched. For a moment, House was panicked, he thought she wasn’t breathing. “Lisa, you okay?” He freed one arm that had been tightly wrapped around her and shook her.

She continued to stare at the ceiling but the only proof of life was a deep, controlling, breath and the slowly gritted words;

“House, I am going to kill you.”

House grimaced. He had fallen into bed with Lisa Cuddy, literally, and she wasn’t smiling afterwards. He was loosing his touch.


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Cuddy brushed her hair with furious strokes, fresh from the shower, and glowered at her reflection in the mirror.

She was going to kill him.

Of that she was certain.

How exactly she was going to do it was still under debate.

She moved her attention to her ruined silk shirt and scowled. His repeated nuzzlings of her chest in his sleep had resulted in some rather severe stubble burns from her bra to her collar bone and the destruction of several key pearl buttons.

No jury in the world would convict.

Besides, there was no way she could go to that board meeting sporting her red lingerie for all to see. Her suit had been crushed to within an inch of its life. Only her black pencil skirt was marginally unscathed and, though it might be appreciated, she was not going into that meeting wearing only a bra and a skirt. A meeting that she would miss if she went home to get fresh clothes. Cuddy stormed to the bathroom door, trying to remember if she had left a spare shirt at the hospital, and threw it open. She nearly shrieked an extremely un-Dean-like shriek when confronted with House on the other side of the door. At least he was fully dressed in a fresh set of jeans and tee-shirt. Her sea green eyes narrowed on him and even he had the sense not to make comment on the state of undress which he had caused. He held up a bundle of white cloth, eying her revealed cleavage with a leer.

“It shrank in the wash it should fit you.” He held out the bundle for her to take with a smug grin on his lips.

The rat was enjoying this!

Cuddy snatched the bundle and shook out a white Rolling Stones tee shirt, complete with tongue and lip logo. The sleeves had been ripped off and the neck ripped to a V, but it would have to do. Cuddy skirted House with terse instructions to shower quickly and be out at her car five minutes from yesterday. He watched her go appreciatively and then he slunk into the bathroom without a word.

Hangover, Cuddy concluded.

She went into his bedroom and removed her shirt to replace it with the Rolling Stones tee shirt. Her eyes widened when she realised how deep the V was at her neck.

Okay, so the tee-shirt was fairly demure compared to some shirts that she had worn in her time, but…damn! The tee shirt was obviously old and made of cheap material, it stretched exaggeratedly across her chest (that mouth would never be the same again) and was practically see through. Her red bra was on prominent display. It had also shrunk so much that any of the board members would be able to tell if she had an innie or an outtie.

She was going to kill House.

And the stubble burns, that the bastard had so charmingly given her, had been irritated by the hot water she had showered in. They were practically luminous now. Speaking of the bastard of the day, he had appeared at the door with damp hair and a lecherous smile on his face. He popped a vicodin.

Definitely hung over.

Cuddy scowled again and slung her crumpled jacket over one shoulder. She threw back her wildly curling hair (this was why God invented straighteners) and stalked past him.

They got into her car and, in an uncharacteristic fit of temper, Cuddy floored it all the way to the hospital.

She was really going to kill him.


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House had a rather charming view of Cuddy’s back as he limped into the hospital after her. Her hips swung furiously with every irritated step and she power-housed past the lobby.

Brenda, the receptionist looked up with a smile that turned to shock as she greeted the oddly attired Dean of Medicine. “Good morning Dr CUDDY!?”

At Brenda’s gaping outburst, several more nurses turned to see the new improved, and prominently displayed, Dr Cuddy sashay past them with a stony scowl. She swept into an elevator that appeared to have been waiting for her and disappeared into the grasp of the God of Lifts.

House grimaced his way into his own elevator and pressed the button for his floor. His doctor senses were telling him this was going to be a bad day. He smiled at the thought of the tee shirt he had given Cuddy. It really did show her in her best light, he thought.

He was feeling quite shitty so someone else might as well feel crappy too.


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As usual, the irascible Dr House turned out to be right (well, he was only good at one thing) and his day not so much crashed and burned, but exploded in the hangar.

Cuddy had been in a bad mood, this mood had gradually grown worse as the board meeting had come to pass and Cuddy found herself on the receiving end of several middle aged oglings.

Saying Cuddy’s mood was bad now was like saying Hurricane Katrina was a spot of rain.

The hospital of PPTH had collectively buried its head in the sand and cowered in fear as she had galloped through the halls on those precarious but ever sexy heels.

House briefly shut his eyes and pictured Cuddy. He rubbed his leg absently, it was getting worse, but he focused on the imaginary Cuddy in a Playboy bunny suit, to distract himself. Wilson may be convinced that the worsening pain was in direct ratio to his angst over Stacy, but House didn’t much care for the Southern lawyer anymore. True; she had been a big part of his life, but even when they had been together she had tried to change him to conform with her code of behaviour. He had chosen to be apart from her, it had been his decision and he was fine with that.

House brightened fractionally as the ducklings announced they had a case. He hobbled from the room and froze as he heard a now familiar cry of terror. House pressed himself against the wall, as a rail worker might do when hearing a train in a tunnel, and waited for the locomotive of trouble to bypass him.

Sure enough, the same prankster that had gotten House and Cameron, came tearing around the corner in her now familiar hobbling gait. She sidled up to a wall and pulled on a doctor’s jacket that she had tucked under her arm. House had to smile at her forethought. His smile wavered when she pulled a Polaroid camera out of one of the lab coat’s pockets, took aim, and waited.

A terrified young man, identifiable as a resident only because of his askew lab coat and nametag (and definitely not his professional manner) rounded the corridor, arms flailing above his head and screaming at the top of his lungs;

“Monster in the toilet! MONSTER IN THE TOILET!!”

He proceeded to sprint around the next corner, un-minding of the flash of a camera capturing his moment of terror, hollering mindless fear all the while.

House frowned at the young man’s actions.

Sure, flailing your arms like that looked good but it couldn’t be a very aerodynamic way of perambulating.

Heaving a sigh, House continued on his way.

Cuddy was going to find a way to blame this on him no matter what.

Wilson joined him in the corridor and smiled. “Good morning.”

“Depends on your myopic point of view, I guess.” House growled back.

House rounded the corner and nearly knocked Cuddy flat on her ass as he ploughed into her. He snagged her around the waist to prevent broken bones and hurriedly put her away from him when he saw Wilson looking between the pair of them.

Wilson frowned as he looked at Cuddy’s chest.

“They’re breasts, Wilson.” House stated with more venom than was strictly necessary.

Wilson shot him a look and shook his head. “That’s not what I was staring at. That’s your tee shirt, House.” The younger doctor pointed just in case anyone in the hallway had any confusion as to which tee shirt was under discussion.

Cuddy scowled at the same time as her cheeks flamed.

“And are those stubble burns?!” Wilson pointed again as House slapped a hand to his forehead.

Bad, bad, BAD day.


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Cuddy stormed into the elevator and attacked the panel until her finger jabbed the button for her office. She lent back against the wall of the elevator, figuring she had finally escaped the madness.

But no.

A familiar cane slapped between the doors of the elevator and House slunk inside. Cuddy straightened abruptly and readied herself to face him.

He simply stood there looking at her for a moment before he spoke.

“In my defence, Wilson wouldn’t shut up about the tee.”

Cuddy snapped. She was wearing a tee shirt that was three sized too small for her, her hair looked, quite rightly, like she had just rolled out of someone’s bed, she had stubble burns all over her chest that no amount of concealer was going to, well, conceal and on top of that she’d had next to no sleep.

“Your defence?” Cuddy said slowly, carefully, dangerously. House had the sense to back away from her. He had never heard this particular tone from his boss.

“YOUR DEFENCE!?” Cuddy spasmed in rage as she yelled at him. “Defence of what, House? Could it be the getting drunk with a stranger on the roof? Are you defending the fact that I not only had to drive you home, but put you to god-damned bed as well?! No, no, no, it couldn’t be that because the story gets better! Oh yes, not only did you force me to drag your sorry ass to bed but you pulled me down with you.”

House’s gaze flickered over her shoulder. “Cuddy…”

She continued on as if she hadn’t heard him. “So I spend all of last night stuck under your crippled self while you systematically manage to ruin one of my favourite shirts, crush my suit jacket…”

“Cuddy…” House tried again.

“And SAND BLAST MY TORSO WITH YOUR STUPID WEEK AGO SHADOW!” Cuddy was in full flow now and nothing short of the second coming was going to stop her.

“LISA THE DAMN DOORS ARE OPEN!” House finally yelled, gesturing behind her wildly.

Well, either the second coming or half of the hospital finding out she had spent the night at her Head Diagnostician’s house and that same Diagnostician had been circulating rumours about them sleeping together for years.

Yeah, that’d stop her too.

Cuddy slowly turned on one heel, and saw the entire lobby of PPTH staring in slack jawed wonderment at what had just come out of the Dean of Medicine’s mouth. If House had said anything, they would have dismissed it as purely House, but it had come from the horse’s mouth, so to speak.

Utter silence except for Cuddy trying to regain her breath. A folder clattered to the floor and slid away from its holder. Cuddy smoothed down the fabric of her tee shirt and cleared her throat as she pushed the button for her office.

“Go about your business people.” Cuddy murmured in a strange kind of daze as the doors slid shut.


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Several hours later, the hospital was dark and Cuddy was still recovering from her outburst. The rumour mill had practically caught fire after the elevator incident and Cuddy, after careful thought and consideration had decide on hit and run for House.

Maybe she could reverse a couple of times in her Lexus, and really mash the treads in.

Cuddy yawned and stretched her neck. Damn, she was tired. She slipped her feet from her heels and wiggled her toes in the thick carpet, relaxing marginally. Her palace was quiet. No one was here but her. It wouldn’t hurt to rest five minutes on the couch.

Cuddy rose to her feet and stretched her arms up behind her head and a languorous full body pretzel stretch. Cuddy heard the creak and pop of bones reasserting themselves, on top of the distinctive sound of cheap tee shirt fabric ripping.

Cuddy looked down to see the damn thing had ripped nearly to her navel.

“Well, fuck.” Was all she could think to say.

Now thoroughly disgusted, Cuddy shuffled to the couch and swore again when her toe hit something. She collapsed onto the couch and rubbed her foot as she looked to see what she had stepped on. She lifted a long thin box from half under her desk. Her brow furrowed as she pulled apart the red ribbon and opened the box to reveal an incredibly ornate bottle nestled in tissue paper. Cuddy reached over and snapped on the lamp at the couch to throw some light on the subject. The light blinked on to show a bottle of red liquid sloshing in her hand. Cuddy’s frown deepened as she noticed the various fruits and flowers floating in the bottle. The highly sanitary scientist in her wrinkled her nose, but the curious side perked up considerably.

The liquid had two parts. The heavier part was deep passionate pink/red and the top liquid was a silky golden colour. Cuddy had never seen anything like it. There was a label tied to the heart shaped bottle neck and Cuddy flipped it over to read a flowing script that proclaimed;

Irish Love Liquor
Guaranteed to brighten any mood and open the eyes to love.
Made with honey, whisky and strawberries, this whisky is one of
Ireland’s best kept secrets.
Take a drink and open yourself to the possibilities.

Cuddy snorted. She didn’t know about opening her eyes to love, she’d given up on that a long time ago, but she was definitely up for a drink. Cuddy searched for a glass and eventually found a tumbler in her desk drawer. With a small laugh of triumph, Cuddy wrestled the bottle open and looked down the neck to see a fine mesh stretched inside the opening. She heaved a relieved sigh. She didn’t want to be pulling strawberry seeds and petals out of her shot.

It sort of ruined the fluidity of the drinking process.

She poured herself a double and giggled when the red and gold of the drink mixed. The stuff smelled wonderful. It had the sweet smell of Irish whisky, but the mellower smell of honey and the spice of cinnamon over that and something else that she couldn’t identify. She inhaled deeply as the smell permeated her office.

She was feeling better already.

Cuddy took a sip, knowing better than to knock the stuff straight back and groaned as the explosion of taste took place on her tongue.

Why the hell were the Irish keeping this a secret? It tasted great!

Cuddy settled back on the couch after turning on the stereo. Not many people knew she had one secreted under her coffee table, and she intended to keep it that way. She relaxed to the soothing sounds of Barry White and swirled her drink as she let her mind drift.

House found her like that. Curled up on her couch, drink in one hand, staring off into space. He pushed open the door to her office lightly and froze when he saw that the tee shirt had finally given up the ghost and split asunder.

He didn’t know how long he was standing there but Cuddy’s voice snapped him out of it like a bucket of cold water.

“Its nothing you haven’t seen before.”

House inhaled sharply in surprise, then stopped, and then sniffed again. What was that delicious smell? House plopped down on the couch next to her and sniffed closer to her. “Is that you?”

Cuddy took another sip of her drink and tilted her chin at her foot, which pointed to the bottle on the table.

“What is it?”

Cuddy laughed a throaty chuckle and swirled her drink. “Irish Love Liquor.”

House arched a brow, as much at the name of the drink as to the playful attitude Cuddy was exhibiting. “Really? Willing to share?” House was always up for a drink.

Cuddy shook her head too vigorously, a playful grin on her lips. “Nope, s’all mine. Mwaha!”

House bobbed his eyebrows. He was feeling rather playful himself. That drink really did smell good. “About the bed incident…” Cuddy turned to look at him in amazement, he sounded almost apologetic. “I was disappointed you had to leave so soon.” His voice took on a growling teasing tone and he mock purred for her.

See, he could be perfectly charming, but then he opened that mouth.

Cuddy laughed that same throaty sound again that did marvellous things to House’s insides and replied in a sweet tone. “Not nearly as disappointed as I was. I’m used to being less…tense, when I leave a man’s bed.” She wiggled her eyebrows at him in a mocking mimicry of his own gesture.

House froze, dumbfounded as Cuddy threw back her head and laughed throatily at his expression. Her drink sloshed onto her hand and House was transfixed as her tongue swept out to lave the droplets from her skin. She eyed him as she swirled her tongue around one finger and sucked at it. A smile spread across her face as she looked at him through half lidded eyes, her thumb twirled the ring she had on her wet finger.

“I think I’ll have some of that drink actually.” House moved to take the bottle and Cuddy shot out a hand to stop him. She gave a yelp as her ring slid from her wet finger. It bounced once on the table and fell underneath it. Cuddy cursed under her breath and moved to get it before House forestalled her.

“If I return the lady’s ring will it earn me a drink?” He was already kneeling on the floor, not an easy feat with a bum leg.

Cuddy grudgingly agreed and waited for the return of her jewellery. House stretched a long limb under the desk to find the ring as Cuddy rose to find another glass. She arrived back at the table and plonked the glass down on it.

House reappeared from his brief adventure, ring in his grip. He held it out to her, raised on one knee and took her left hand to help him to his feet. He pushed the ring onto her finger with exaggerated care but didn’t let go of her hand.

Cuddy pushed a stray strand of hair out of her face as she looked up at him. He smiled at her hair and hooked a finger around another wild tress.

“This is a good look for you, wild and mussed. It’s kinda sexy.” He breathed out a sigh and Cuddy felt the warmth on her face, she hadn’t realised how close he was until that moment. She licked her lips, drawing his attention to them again.

She laughed uneasily in belated reply to his comment. “Well, I think I’ll leave sexy for the weekends, professional does it for me at work.”

House said nothing but continues to look at her mouth. He was really, really close. The sweet smell of the whisky enveloped them like a cloud and Cuddy felt light headed. She swayed towards him without meaning to and her chest brushed his, he didn’t seem to mind the contact. They were only inches apart now and Cuddy blinked rapidly, coming back to herself. She looked down where his hand still gripped hers and carefully removed it. “Do you want that drink or not?”

House looked down at her for a moment, his face was in shadow and Cuddy couldn’t properly read him as he silently regarded her. “No, I think I’ll leave it until the weekend.”

He smiled at her one last time and left the office.

Cuddy smoothed her tee shirt and pulled the ripped halves together as best she could. She shook her head, stashed the whisky and left the office. Her entire body throbbed but she ignored it as she called a cab while riding the elevator.

She didn’t see the small body crouched behind the potted plant outside her office, camera in hand and sly smile on their face.

TBC...