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rwryterTitle: Like That’s Gonna Happen
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
hawkeyecat
Community:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
santahouse_md
Pairing: House/Chase; Wilson/Cuddy
Rating: Older kids
Word Count: 1,008
Author's Notes: Written forquackaquacka.
“You can’t be harder on Chase just because he’s sleeping with you,” Cuddy informs House one icy Tuesday in December as he’s lounging in his office. She’s barged in, like always, and House wonders if he should lock his door more. No, that wouldn’t work—she has a key.
“I’m sleeping with Chase? Someone should’ve told me. That ups my cool quotient by a thousand percent. Improvement over even the rumors about Wilson.” House doesn’t even bother looking up from his game. Cuddy might think it’s because he’d lose otherwise, but House has a theory that she’ll leave faster if he doesn’t look at her.
“Wilson,” she reminds him, “is straighter than anyone else in this hospital.”
“Or so his track record with the ladies would have you believe,” House retorts. “You never know. He could be staying at my place because…” He trails off, glancing up momentarily. A smirk is spreading across Cuddy’s face. This is always a bad sign. House’s eyes narrow. “Then why isn’t he staying with you?”
“Divorce isn’t finalized,” Cuddy replies sweetly. “It would screw with the settlement, not to mention how it would look. And Julie would expect him to stay with you.”
“At least you’re not lecturing me about theoretically sleeping with an employee,” House grumbles. “Or wait. That was you.”
“Noooo.” Cuddy draws it out with a long-suffering sigh. “That would be hypocritical.”
“And that would be just so wrong,” House interrupts. His game beeps, and he finally puts it down to meet Cuddy’s eyes.
She continues as though he hasn’t said anything, but does quirk an eyebrow when he sets down the handheld. “You just can’t be harder on him.”
“Just his friends—if we’re actually involved.”
“That’s different. Your work ethic is nonexistent.”
“How’d I get involved?”
Cuddy rolls her eyes. “There have been complaints—”
House frowns. “Don’t tell me Chase ran to you. That’d screw with his daddy issues, unless he believes those vicious rum—”
“Not Chase,” Cuddy says firmly. “He’d only complain if he thought he’d lose his job.”
“More than aware of that. The running to Vogler thing made it a little obvious.”
“The concerned party—”
“Not even specifying sex? Clever,” House interrupts, wondering exactly how pissed she’ll be if he finds his handheld TV. Probably not as pissed as if he turns it on, he decides.
“—thinks you’re landing on Chase—” House snickers at her word choice, and Cuddy glares at him. “Try being a grownup for the duration of this conversation.”
“You talking and me pretending to listen isn’t a conversation,” House points out. He’s tempted to restart his game.
Cuddy glares at him. “Then just listen.”
“Was something unclear about ‘pretend to listen’? I thought it was pretty specific.”
She plants her fists on his desk, one right atop the game. It somehow reminds House of a chimpanzee, and he makes a mental note to examine the thought in-depth later, then find an appropriately inappropriate time to bring it up. “Chase is bound to be affected by this case. If his conduct is detrimental to the patient, take him off the case. It’s that simple.”
House rolls his eyes. “The patient is an alcoholic. Chase is an intensivist. If he can’t deal with treating alcoholic patients, he’s going to be useless in the ICU. It’s not my job to baby him through it,” he snaps. “And it’s not his job to fall apart because of a case that vaguely resembles his mother’s. What’s next, having issues with lung cancer?”
“There’s that compassionate side.” Cuddy’s voice fairly drips with sarcasm. “How can anyone possibly resist your charms?”
“Ask Foreman.” House is tempted to bat Cuddy’s hand away and retrieve his console, but resists for the moment. “Apparently, he’s the only one of the three who hasn’t been led astray.”
Cuddy practically rubs her hands together in delight. “So you are sleeping with Chase?”
“About as much as you’re currently sleeping with Wilson.” House finally does push her hand away and reach for his game. “Though a word of advice—impressive as your rack may be, he’s gonna want more. You could get a discount on the surgery.”
She looks like she wants to hit him. Instead, she gives him a hard look that’s probably meant to be warning. “Back off of Chase.”
“Not gonna happen,” House says in a sing-song tone. “That’d be favoritism, and favoritism is wrong.”
Cuddy throws her hands in the air. “Why bother talking to you? It’s not like it has an effect. That would make you normal.”
“You’re learning,” House comments approvingly. “Was there actually something I might be interested in talking about? Probably not, given your usual topics.”
The game is suddenly snatched from his hands. “Clinic. Go.”
House glowers at her. “I knew it. Not for two hours.”
“Ah, but you cut out after ten minutes last week,” she counters.
“To work on my patient. Or are you one of those weird administrative types who like high mortality rates?”
“You can make up the time now. Shoo.”
House swings himself to his feet, shooting Cuddy a nasty look she seems immune to. “I’ll remember this,” he says ominously.
“What, that I want you to work? Shocking, I know.”
“No, that you stole my PSP to coerce me into working.” He glares at her.
A brief, barely-there flash of concern passes over Cuddy’s face, and House decides that’s enough to get him through the shift. Well, that and thoughts of what he’ll say to Wilson once he gets Chase to agree to be his ride home. Really, sleeping with Cuddy?
Or, rather, it’s enough to get him through the shift until he sees the packed clinic and, the worst part, the half-panicky mothers. Groaning inwardly, he asks the harried nurse for an interesting case and decides the look she shoots him is one Cuddy could learn from. Or maybe he could use it, get her to lay off.
Yeah, and Wilson would stop chasing skirts, and Chase’s oral fixation would cease. Right.
Author:
hawkeyecatCommunity:
santahouse_mdPairing: House/Chase; Wilson/Cuddy
Rating: Older kids
Word Count: 1,008
Author's Notes: Written for
quackaquacka.“You can’t be harder on Chase just because he’s sleeping with you,” Cuddy informs House one icy Tuesday in December as he’s lounging in his office. She’s barged in, like always, and House wonders if he should lock his door more. No, that wouldn’t work—she has a key.
“I’m sleeping with Chase? Someone should’ve told me. That ups my cool quotient by a thousand percent. Improvement over even the rumors about Wilson.” House doesn’t even bother looking up from his game. Cuddy might think it’s because he’d lose otherwise, but House has a theory that she’ll leave faster if he doesn’t look at her.
“Wilson,” she reminds him, “is straighter than anyone else in this hospital.”
“Or so his track record with the ladies would have you believe,” House retorts. “You never know. He could be staying at my place because…” He trails off, glancing up momentarily. A smirk is spreading across Cuddy’s face. This is always a bad sign. House’s eyes narrow. “Then why isn’t he staying with you?”
“Divorce isn’t finalized,” Cuddy replies sweetly. “It would screw with the settlement, not to mention how it would look. And Julie would expect him to stay with you.”
“At least you’re not lecturing me about theoretically sleeping with an employee,” House grumbles. “Or wait. That was you.”
“Noooo.” Cuddy draws it out with a long-suffering sigh. “That would be hypocritical.”
“And that would be just so wrong,” House interrupts. His game beeps, and he finally puts it down to meet Cuddy’s eyes.
She continues as though he hasn’t said anything, but does quirk an eyebrow when he sets down the handheld. “You just can’t be harder on him.”
“Just his friends—if we’re actually involved.”
“That’s different. Your work ethic is nonexistent.”
“How’d I get involved?”
Cuddy rolls her eyes. “There have been complaints—”
House frowns. “Don’t tell me Chase ran to you. That’d screw with his daddy issues, unless he believes those vicious rum—”
“Not Chase,” Cuddy says firmly. “He’d only complain if he thought he’d lose his job.”
“More than aware of that. The running to Vogler thing made it a little obvious.”
“The concerned party—”
“Not even specifying sex? Clever,” House interrupts, wondering exactly how pissed she’ll be if he finds his handheld TV. Probably not as pissed as if he turns it on, he decides.
“—thinks you’re landing on Chase—” House snickers at her word choice, and Cuddy glares at him. “Try being a grownup for the duration of this conversation.”
“You talking and me pretending to listen isn’t a conversation,” House points out. He’s tempted to restart his game.
Cuddy glares at him. “Then just listen.”
“Was something unclear about ‘pretend to listen’? I thought it was pretty specific.”
She plants her fists on his desk, one right atop the game. It somehow reminds House of a chimpanzee, and he makes a mental note to examine the thought in-depth later, then find an appropriately inappropriate time to bring it up. “Chase is bound to be affected by this case. If his conduct is detrimental to the patient, take him off the case. It’s that simple.”
House rolls his eyes. “The patient is an alcoholic. Chase is an intensivist. If he can’t deal with treating alcoholic patients, he’s going to be useless in the ICU. It’s not my job to baby him through it,” he snaps. “And it’s not his job to fall apart because of a case that vaguely resembles his mother’s. What’s next, having issues with lung cancer?”
“There’s that compassionate side.” Cuddy’s voice fairly drips with sarcasm. “How can anyone possibly resist your charms?”
“Ask Foreman.” House is tempted to bat Cuddy’s hand away and retrieve his console, but resists for the moment. “Apparently, he’s the only one of the three who hasn’t been led astray.”
Cuddy practically rubs her hands together in delight. “So you are sleeping with Chase?”
“About as much as you’re currently sleeping with Wilson.” House finally does push her hand away and reach for his game. “Though a word of advice—impressive as your rack may be, he’s gonna want more. You could get a discount on the surgery.”
She looks like she wants to hit him. Instead, she gives him a hard look that’s probably meant to be warning. “Back off of Chase.”
“Not gonna happen,” House says in a sing-song tone. “That’d be favoritism, and favoritism is wrong.”
Cuddy throws her hands in the air. “Why bother talking to you? It’s not like it has an effect. That would make you normal.”
“You’re learning,” House comments approvingly. “Was there actually something I might be interested in talking about? Probably not, given your usual topics.”
The game is suddenly snatched from his hands. “Clinic. Go.”
House glowers at her. “I knew it. Not for two hours.”
“Ah, but you cut out after ten minutes last week,” she counters.
“To work on my patient. Or are you one of those weird administrative types who like high mortality rates?”
“You can make up the time now. Shoo.”
House swings himself to his feet, shooting Cuddy a nasty look she seems immune to. “I’ll remember this,” he says ominously.
“What, that I want you to work? Shocking, I know.”
“No, that you stole my PSP to coerce me into working.” He glares at her.
A brief, barely-there flash of concern passes over Cuddy’s face, and House decides that’s enough to get him through the shift. Well, that and thoughts of what he’ll say to Wilson once he gets Chase to agree to be his ride home. Really, sleeping with Cuddy?
Or, rather, it’s enough to get him through the shift until he sees the packed clinic and, the worst part, the half-panicky mothers. Groaning inwardly, he asks the harried nurse for an interesting case and decides the look she shoots him is one Cuddy could learn from. Or maybe he could use it, get her to lay off.
Yeah, and Wilson would stop chasing skirts, and Chase’s oral fixation would cease. Right.
