A/N: No pitchforks please. I made this a one-shot because I feel SO bad about leaving you all hanging with my other (multi-chapter) fics, which I STILL don't know if I'll continue or not. This piece here has been rattling around in my brain for a bit…and I hope you enjoy it!
Disclaimer: I own Cuddy. REALLY. Santa promised me her for Christmas. ;)
Taste of a Memory
Like an eagle honed in on a mouse, or a sniper locking in on its victim, or even a child with his faced pressed against the window of a store, eyeing up a new toy he just HAD to have, House eyed up his intended prey. She was just sitting there, taunting him, waiting for him to come and take her. Even from a distance he could practically hear her screaming his name, coming apart around him. As much as he wanted to resist, he knew it was in vain. He would give in; he ALWAYS gave in. For him, the promise of sucking softly on her, lolling her sweet taste around in his mouth was just too intense to be ignored.
So, crossing the threshold of the clinic doors, House tried to covertly make his way over to her. After a few furtive glances his way, he realized that trying to be sneaky would just draw more attention to his already attention-getting self. After all, who wouldn't be naturally attracted to his sparkling wit and charm or his fascinating good looks?
Shooting a quick glance over his shoulder and noticing the Devil was in her lair, with her face buried in paperwork, he finally dropped the act. He crossed the distance quickly, walking as fast as his bum leg would allow, but mere feet away from reaching his intended goal, he was forced to stop short. Right before his eyes, his one reason for living—the last red lollipop—was stolen from the candy bowl.
House halted his lover's kidnapper with a cane to the boy's retreating hand. So focused was he on rescuing her from the clutches of that grimy hand, that he only vaguely discerned the opening and closing of a door, and the muted click clack of heels against the cold marble floor. "Hey rugrat. That—" he pointed to the lollipop held firmly in the boy's grimy hand, "is mine. Gimmie." He held out his hand expectantly. After all, this was just a little twerp; intimidation should be enough.
Apparently he was wrong. The brat just stuck his tongue out at him, declaring, "You snooze you lose," with a distinctive lisp. Just as House was about to give a smart thwack to the kid's knee, the boy's parents came up to the desk. "Is there a problem here?" the mother asked, putting her arm around her son protectively.
House, of course, ignored her. "How old are you?" he asked the dark-haired, green-eyed boy. "Two? Three?"
The boy glared at him. "Six."
"Wanna live to be seven?"
Just as the mother began pulling her son away and the father began looming closer with a glare in his eye, a hand was placed on his shoulder.
"Doctor House," the cool voice warned.
"Hm?" He wasn't really paying attention to her, but rather, was focused on staring the boy down.
She gave his shoulder a small squeeze. "Don't you have clinic hours to do?" There was no response, not that she expected there to be. "Why don't you head to exam room three while I take care of Mr. and Mrs…"
"Johnston," the father prompted.
"—Mr. and Mrs. Johnston." With that, she gave him a small shove in the right direction.
Truth be told, she was quite impressed. He went on his way to the exam room willingly and only turned around to glare at the kid once, mumbling something about how rude the youth of America had become. HA! Yeah, they were the rude ones!
Once she'd seen the door of the exam room close behind him, without him first grabbing a patient's folder—go figure, she turned her focus to the Johnston family and prepared to bullshit another apology on House's behalf. She sighed heavily. It was just another day at PPTH.
As Cuddy was making her apologies for him, House rooted around the room for his PSP. "Damn it!" he exclaimed, slamming the last drawer shut. "She found it again!" He really had to find a better hiding spot for his toys. With a disgusted sigh he decided he might as well get something done; so, plopping himself on the examination table, he prepared to catch up on some much needed sleep. However, instead of drifting off to sleep like he had hoped, he found his mind wandering—wandering way back to that fateful day which changed his life forever.
Leaning casually against the cold stone fireplace at whoever the hell's house it was, House saw her. It wasn't the first time he'd ever seen her—no—but it was the first time that she hadn't had her nose in a book or a sweater covering up what turned out to be what he would dub a "stellar bod," never mind that it was the middle of winter. Tonight, she'd be a challenge for nature itself. He was sure that the instant she walked outside, all the snow would melt around her and the temperature would rise ten degrees. She was just that damn hot.
Over the course of the party he watched her, seeing her deftly avoiding being groped by drunken frat boys, refilling her and her friends' drinks, and finally chatting up whom he had supposed was the host of this post-finals party. Just as he was about to make his move, an arm was thrown over his shoulder.
"GREG!" the voice yelled, although he was mere inches away. "What the fuck have you been staring at all night?! You're down—" he started counting on his fingers, "—3 shots…4 shots…8 shots…well, the hell if I know how many. You're behind though, so drink up buddy!" With that, a shot was forcefully slammed into his hand. House downed it quickly and followed it with another, and another, and so many that he lost count. Never once did he take his eyes off her though.
An hour later, he knew he was trashed. Everything was blurry. Well, everything except for her. He saw her with clarity; her raven hair caught the light, perfectly highlighting her face in all its glory. He knew by that strong jaw line and the way she had deterred the other guys that she'd be a challenge, but hey, he was Greg fucking House, lacrosse star and brilliant (evil) genius. Who wouldn't want him?
So, in a drunken confidence, he crossed the room, stumbling only slightly, not knowing that he'd be doing it almost daily a decade later.
When he reached her, she was laughing at a corny joke one of her friends had just told, something about a limping doctor. Staring at her intensely, he couldn't believe that this was the same girl whom he'd seen in the library hour after hour, day after day. No, he wasn't the type to study, but it was an easy place to pick up chicks. Apparently he was gawking, because, with the smile leaving her face, she glared at him and said, "Maybe if you had introduced yourself in the library you wouldn't have had to stare at me all night before getting drunk enough to come over here and trying to get into my pants." His jaw dropped. "Woulda saved a lot of time," she added thoughtfully.
"I don't know what you're talking about," he slurred, recovering quickly. "Besides, I wasn't looking at getting to know you; I was aiming at getting to know them." He leered at her breasts, motioning to them crudely.
A look of consternation appeared on her face; she wanted this moron gone. "Insulting me really isn't gonna get anywhere, ya know."
"It wasn't an insult. I was complimenting them. They make up for your—" he began, but the insult was cut off by a drunk guy stumbling into him, causing him to fall gracelessly to the floor. "FUCK TOM!" House yelled from underneath the body.
"Sorrrrry, Greeeeeg," Tom slurred before passing out on top of him, crushing House's legs beneath his massive body.
Torn between laughing evilly at him and helping him, Lisa chose to just stand there, glaring. Eventually, seeing his pained expression, she bent down and clasped his hand in hers, her glare softening a bit. "Come on…Greg," she said, tugging on him. "It's time to get up now."
He grumbled incoherently for a moment before shifting his body, rolling Tom off, and standing up. Groaning in pain, he almost crumpled back to the floor. His right leg was KILLING him. Luckily, Lisa was there with an arm around his waist, supporting him. He made sure to lean a little more heavily on her than necessary. Making small talk as they tottered their way to the door, he exclaimed, "Well you obviously know my name. What's yours?"
"Did you drive?"
"Huh, now THAT's a funny name."
"Yeah, almost as funny as Greg sounds. Did you drive?"
"Nope."
"Ride with a friend?" she questioned.
"Yup…gonna tell me your name?"
"Nope."
"Well then," he said before quickly slapping her ass, "Partypants it is! Don't think I didn't notice you putting 'em away, dancing on top of that table!" He winked at her.
She halted and looked at him severely, a look which he'd eventually come to intentionally evoke from her, just "for old time's sake." "I don't drink—it was water. …and do that again and I'll ensure you fall on your drunken ass in a snow bank where no one will find you."
"You wouldn't kill me," he stated, feigning a wary look at the feisty woman.
"Don't put money on it," she retorted. "And anyway, it wouldn't be murder. " She put on her best breathy voice, "Oh officer! I don't know what happened! I took him home and tucked him into bed. I have NO idea how he ended up in that ditch on the other side of town! How trag—"
He cut her off, "Point taken."
She smirked at him. "Who'd you ride with?"
Halting their progress, he forced her to turn a little and jabbed his finger in the direction of his fallen comrade.
"Tom—seriously? He was your designated driver?"
House just grinned at her, "Well he wasn't supposed to get drunk…"
"Obviously, hence the 'designated driver' part." She rolled her eyes.
He looked down at her and winked, "So does this mean you're gonna take me home?"
Lisa shifted uncomfortably for a moment. She couldn't leave him here because he'd be sure to do something stupid. That wouldn't bother her, except for the fact that he could hurt someone else. Would she take the risk of being the cause of someone else's pain, just because she refused to drive some jerk home? No; she was not willing to have that on her conscience.
"I guess so," she grumbled. Looking over her shoulder, she called to one of her friends, "JILL!" The woman turned towards the sound of her voice. "I have to take this moron home. Can you find a ride?" After her friend responded in the affirmative, Lisa began to tug on him. "Let's go big boy."
"If only you knew," he whispered lasciviously, as they walked out the door.
She rolled her eyes again. "Man, you have some ego," she said, leading him down the stoop.
"I know. Actually, a LOT of women have said that. Maybe you would like to join the club?" he grinned.
With a huff, she ducked out from under him and watched as he fell into a large snow bank.
"What the fuck?!" he yelled upon impact.
Putting her hands on her hips, she glared at him. "Listen House—"
"You can call me Greg," he smirked, making himself comfortable.
She continued as if she hadn't been interrupted. "I don't know who the hell you think you are, but--"
"—well I don't know who you are in general." He frowned, looking somewhat hurt that she hadn't told him her name.
Mid-rant, she paused and said more softly than intended, "I'm…Lisa, Lisa Cuddy."
He looked at her and held out his hand, a gesture of peace, and she took it hesitantly. "Nice to meet you…Lisa." He shook her hand and smiled. Wait. No, that was a GRIN, not a smile. Shit!
Before she knew it, he had pulled her down into the snow bank next to him and turned her on her back. "Aaaargh!" she yelled. "I CANNOT believe you just did that!" She struggled to stand back up, but he had put the full weight of his body on her. "Do you KNOW how much this outfit cost?!" she yelled as she felt the cold water penetrate through her clothing.
"You can always take it off," he said hopefully as she struggled against him.
"Seriously. If you don't get the hell off," she shivered, "I'm going to…going to…" she trailed off, looking anywhere but in his eyes.
"Get wet?" he questioned, grinning at her in such a way that caused her to stare at him in shock.
"No! I mean, yes! I mean…" she paused again, before screwing up her face and yelling, "JIIIIIIIIIIIILLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL!"
"I didn't know you swing that way," he grinned, "but my name is GREG. G-R-E-G. You ought to know the name you're going to be screaming later."
Luckily his monologue ended, as her friend had heard her and came rushing out the door. "Lise…" She cut herself off at the sight before her before she began laughing. "Oh, LISA! This is TOO good!" She pulled out her camera. "You don't mind if I…" she let herself trail off as she clicked away.
"Jill!" she yelled again, glaring at her friend. "Come on. Get him off me!" She shoved against body as he tightened his hold on her.
"Oh, Lise—I would. Really, I would, but you see, I'm in the middle of an intense game of beer pong…so, uh…toodles!" she yelled cheerily, springing back into the house and slamming the door shut.
Lisa sighed. "A fat lot of help THAT was," she grumbled.
"You know," he said, staring into her eyes, "maybe, just maybe if you asked me nicely, I might get off you." She glared at him and pursed her mouth. "Well," he scoffed, "if you're going to have THAT attitude…" he began to pull in more snow around them.
"You…you ASSHOLE," she spat. "I don't have a fucking jacket on. Are you trying to kill me?!"
"I wouldn't worry," he grinned, before putting his lips to her throat. "Hm…you seem pretty…worked up to me. Should keep you…hot."
He pulled his head up and looking into her eyes, began to lower his face to hers until…THWACK!
"SHIT!" he yelled, rolling off her and trying to get the snow out of his eyes and off his face. "What the hell was THAT for?!"
"You really need to ask?" she frowned as she stood up.
He grumbled for a moment. "Do I still get a ride home?" he asked innocently.
"Are you KIDDING me?!" she laughed.
"Hey," he pointed his finger at her, "YOU started it."
"Yeah, because you DESERVED it."
"That's a matter on which we'll have to disagree on," he glared.
Fuming, Lisa turned around and began to stride away. She was stopped as a hand grabbed her yet again and turned her around gently.
"Listen…I—" he began.
"Are not as drunk as you appear," she interrupted.
"That could be debated," he slurred.
She pulled out of his grasp and walked over to her car. "Get in," she said, looking slightly amused. Who was he to argue? Opening the door of the Camry, he plopped down in the seat. "Where do you live?" she asked, sliding into the driver's seat.
"I dunno."
"Seriously. Not in the mood. Where?"
She waited for a response, but there was nothing. Turning her head to look at him, her brow furrowed. "Shit! Don't pass out now you moron! I need to know where you live!" She shook his shoulder vigorously, but he was out for the count.
Grumbling, she turned on the ignition and headed to her house.
She was tired, that much was evident. After getting home, she was forced to drag the tall athlete, who was still in a drunken stupor, up a flight of stairs, only to plop him ungraciously onto her bed. If she had known that Jill wasn't planning on coming home, she probably would've let him sleep in her room on the first floor, but whatever; she wasn't psychic.
With the impersonal motions of a doctor, she began to carefully strip him of everything but his boxers, which she was eternally grateful that he wore, while he made snide comments about her wanting his body and began brushing up against her, offering to take off HER wet clothing. He started to put up a fight when she tried to get him tucked in, so in her frustration, she grabbed a red lollipop out of the candy dish on her dresser and began to gnaw on if ferociously. SHE didn't have to help him or put up with this shit. It was out of the goodness of her own heart that she didn't leave his sorry ass at the party. Finishing off her sucker, she decided that with this man, she would have to make a compromise, or else he'd surely stay up and annoy her the entire night.
So, with a deal struck, she walked to her dresser and turned her back to him, slowly stripping off everything but her boy shorts and slipping on an almost see-through nightgown. Turning around, she wasn't entirely surprised to see that he hadn't held up his end of the bargain, but rather, had tottered over to where she was, hesitantly reaching out a hand to her waist. She let him touch her, enjoying the feeling of the circular motion of his thumb caressing her. He took a tentative step forward, slowly entwining his other hand in her hair and pulling her towards him. "This wasn't part…" she began breathlessly, watching the waves of emotion filling his eyes, and feeling heat pool into her belly, but couldn't finish. Tilting her face up to him, he lowered his to her, his eyes never leaving hers. At first, the kiss was simple, two sets of lips pressing together, testing. He could only test so long though. Increasing the pressure and pulling her flush against him, he parted her lips gently with his tongue and tasted her. She tasted, oh god, she tasted like cherry suckers. It was a taste he hoped he'd never forget.
The click of the door opening and closing pulled him from his reverie. Of course she had to interrupt…just when it was getting good! House hadn't known how right he was going to be when he told her she'd be screaming his name that night. Looking at the figure approaching him in the darkened room, he couldn't help but smile softly.
"I took care of the Johnstons," she said quietly, walking up to the examination table. "Really, House." She frowned slightly.
He had no response, so he just stared at her, waiting. She sighed slowly, before reaching into the pocket of her lab coat and withdrawing a single red lollipop.
"Secret stash?" he inquired without malice as she handed it to him, their fingertips brushing.
She just smiled knowingly at him before turning around and exiting the room.
Ripping open the plastic and sucking on the lollipop, he was at last content. What did a memory taste like?
It tasted like…her.