#this is from when cameron was in cuddys position and she stood up to him effortlessly like the absolute queen she is

[sideblog-9000]

his face here is killing me

[imzadi-caskett-huddy]

House, M.D. Fanfic (12/?)

Thank you to everyone who has taken time to leave a note on my story.  I hope you continue to enjoy my rewrite of particular scenes and episodes with regards to Huddy. As always, I don't own House. If I did, Lisa Edelstein would have been offered the world to stay and be a major part of season 8.

As stated in previous chapters, the story follows the big picture laid out on the show, but with my own take on things. I do sometimes use dialogue from episodes... but there are slight changes and adaptations, as well as additions to fit what I need. We just have to grit our teeth and bear this revisit of the Tritter era. I'm not sure if I hated him or Vogler more... but I wanted to kill both.

Thanks to @love-hope-faith-feels-like-a-lie on Tumblr for reading my ideas and providing positive feedback! I love feedback... good, bad or ugly. Seriously. It's like my Vicodin. So please enable me! Enjoy!

xxxxx

"I need a script for Vicodin."

Cuddy looked up from the medical journal she was reading. "How many days do you have left?"

"I can probably get through the next few minutes or so."

She was honestly surprised he was there. After everything that had happened between them, she knew how hard it must have been for him to come to her and ask. "You're coming to me, which means your lackeys actually stood up to you. I'm impressed, good for them," she stood and moved to her desk.

"Yes, their cowardice is inspiring."

"You should be thanking them. If they caved, it would give the cops evidence that you intimidated underlings to feed your addiction," she stated, pulling out her prescription pad from her desk.

"I hate writing thank you notes. Would it be weird if I asked Cameron to write them?" He watched as she grabbed a pen. "You're hooking me up?" That was surprising, considering everything between them. He'd come to her as a very last resort, but he had never expected her to actually give him a script.

"Unfortunately if I cut you off, it would give the cops evidence that you don't really need the pain medicine."

"I knew that cleavage was a smoke screen! You're a genius."

She watched as he reached for the paper, and had trouble lifting his arm. Pulling it just out of his reach, she commented, "You can't lift your arm."

"You can't pee standing up. Gimme."

"You've been doing physio? Maybe you pulled something?"

"Yeah, been training for Pants Off Dance Off. Give me the script."

"Your shoulder problem isn't physical. What's new? What's different? Any big changes in your life recently? Fight with the wife, maybe?"

"Right, my shoulder hurts because you stopped having sex with me. It's your fault. Good thing you're hooking me up with the good stuff."

She was quiet for a moment. That dig at her had hurt a little more than she'd expected. "It's good. It means that your shoulder is a human being. It's a start."

He just stared at her. Maybe it really was because they'd stopped sleeping together. He wouldn't let himself say that they broke up... they hadn't been together to begin with. It had all been based on sex because she wanted a baby. That option was no longer on the table, so there was no reason to keep seeing each other.

"I'm right, right?"

"Yeah. Just not about me," he said, turning to leave after her words gave him an epiphany about his patient. He turned a moment later and snatched the paper from her fingers before leaving for good.

xxxxx

The mobile red dot that was distracting her benefactors caused her to stand. "Excuse me. I have a toddler to put in time out," she said, heading for the door. More like she had a doctor she wanted to kill. "House!" She barked firmly, holding her hands out to the side in a 'what the hell' gesture.

"Need my pills!"

She rolled her eyes. "Right, and there was no other way to get my attention. Knocking on the door would never work."

He shrugged. "If I knocked on the door, I'd be forced to talk to your benefactors. I don't think you really want that," he smirked. Which was true... he didn't have the best history at schmoozing anyone. "If you'd given them to me when I asked half an hour ago, I wouldn't have had to interrupt your meeting."

"It wasn't time for a dose half an hour ago," she stated, moving to the clinic pharmacy and asking for his pills. Taking them, she offered the cup with a single pill to him.

"You seem to be missing the rest of the bottle."

She gave a smile. "No more free floating prescriptions.... reasonable doses at reasonable times."

He just stared at her. Was she serious? "Who decides what is reasonable?"

"The only doctor in this building who is willing to write you a script for pain meds," she answered smugly, shaking the cup at him.

He scowled, but took the cup. "You spent the last six months trying to have a baby with me. Are you sure you're really the best judge of what's reasonable?"

She froze slightly at his words, but simply kept walking back toward her office. "Reasonable doses," she repeated back to him before opening the door.

He watched the door close behind her before heaving a sigh and taking the pill she given him. It was better than nothing.

xxxxx

She walked into the empty room she had allowed Detective Tritter to occupy to look through the hospital files that she had supplied only after he had given her a court order. "Seems like a waste of taxpayer dollars. You should be out arresting real criminals."

"I'm on vacation this week. And Dr. House is a real criminal."

"He's not a Colombian drug lord, he's a pain patient. And you're not going to find anything."

He smirked smugly. "I've found plenty."

Cuddy narrowed her eyes. "You act like you're doing the world a huge favor, protecting everyone from House, but who protects the world from you?" She asked him then. "House may be an ass, but you're a bully. You've bullied my head of oncology to quit, my entire hospital staff is afraid to do... anything, really. He's probably the world's biggest jerk, but there's always a reason behind it. But you... you're going after innocent people because you've got a grudge against one person."

"Not one of you are innocent!" Tritter responded angrily. "Not one of you have told me the truth about him!"

Cuddy stood her ground, toeing the line with him. "Where's your proof? Not a single person is going to say anything against him to you," she responded confidently.

Tritter studied her. "I don't expect it from Dr. Cameron... or from you. Like I told her, women don't give up the men they're in love with. And for whatever reason, both of you are a little in love with him... maybe even a lot in love with him. I don't expect it from Dr. Foreman... he isn't a fan of police officers. But Dr. Chase or Dr. Wilson? One of them will flip. Or someone else will. Or Dr. House will do something every addict does. Eventually I will get what I want. And then everyone who lied to me is going down with Dr. House."

Cuddy just stared daggers at him, still more than capable and more than willing to square off with him. "Even if Dr. House has a problem... it's a medical problem. One that should be dealt with by doctors, not police detectives with a grudge."

"Except that none of you are dealing with it!"

"You don't know that, because you're not a doctor! You're a bully with a badge!"

Tritter clenched his jaw for a moment, working the nicotine gum around in his mouth. "He's going to jail. Like I said, I always get what I want." With that, he grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair and left.

(Gif done by @gabrielokun and I will remove it if they ask. I just didn't know how to reblog their original post onto my story because it fit)

[joaquinbumblebee24]

Onslaught 3/11

A week and a half later, June 23, House packed his bag with Wilson’s help. They had been packing all day yesterday; their backpacks were brought to the brim.  Wilson overpacked; he wanted to make House comfortable. He and House had wanted to treat this trip as a vacation. While away for five weeks in the Philippines,  one week they would spend in the city of Clark in the province of Pampanga, two hours drive from the capital Manila. Then after the conference, the plan was to go backpacking across Luzon, one of the three main islands of the country.  

After the incident with his birthday House told Cameron that he was on the spectrum. The woman was on a hissy, half pitying and half freak out. She had almost blurted to a patient's father that Dr. House was autistic. Chase just removed her from the potential disaster on time.  

House was furious, and stress out. He finagled a five-week vacation from Cuddy. He told her about an offer for a research position at UCLA, and he was ready to take it. Wilson was willing to go with him. Cuddy was taken aback; she gave in without any fuss.

They took an Uber to the John F. Kennedy Airport in New York City. As soon as they were there, House’s nerves were shot to hell. He had taken his Luvox, which he only takes when extremely anxious.

“Greg, You okay?” Wilson asked while they walked to their gate. House put a hand on his ears, even though he has his noise-canceling headphones on. The airport was busy;  people were rubbing against him. House was on the brink of a meltdown. “Okay, Greg,” Wilson said dragging him to go to a bathroom.

As soon as the bathroom open House went inside a cubicle. Wilson followed him in; his partner was rocking back and forth. The oncologist slid down next to House and hugged him. The noise overwhelmed him, and too many people. Wilson knew this; He just stayed in the bathroom for thirty minutes. Luckily for them, they were an hour early.

After the meltdown ended, House felt humiliated. Wilson sensed this. “Hey?” Wilson said. “You don’t need to feel embarrassed, Greg. I love you.”

House huffed; he lost his words. As a child, whenever he had a meltdown, his Oma would know how to coax him, hugging him tightly.  “Jimmy, I’m fine,” House said, regaining his barrings.

Wilson blinked and handed House the cane.  He used a cane whenever they would walk far. His legs were easily fatigued due to hypotonia, which was related to the  Autism. They walked hand and hand; Wilson kept House’s guitar bag, it was the Martin LX1.

The next hurdle of this trip was the pat-down search. House past thru a metal detector fine; an agent stopped him. “Mister, where do you think you’re going?” The TSA agent asked.

House; oblivious to the sarcasm said. “To a medical conference in the Philippines, I’m a doctor.”

Wilson frowned. “Sir, please forgive him, he has Autism,” He said. The glare from House didn’t stop him. “He doesn’t understand sarcasm.” The statement was half correct. House could understand sarcasm when he knew the person speaking.

The TSA agent, a man asked. Are you his brother?”

Wilson glowered at him. “He's my husband.”

The TSA agent looked at House with disgust. Wilson sighed. “Where the hell is your supervisor? Because I won’t let you harass us for being gay. Being gay is not a crime.  I don’t know what you saw on him, but you are looking at the wrong person here. As he said, he is a doctor, not a terrorist. “ The agent looked humiliated.  

Wilson led House out to their gates. They sat at a frequent flyer lounge, Wilson and House were both frequent flyers. They flew at least once a month to go visit House’s 86-year-old Oma in Portland. While his parents settled in Eugine.

“Greg? You doing okay?” Wilson asked while they drink coffee.

House looked at him. "What do you think? You called me autistic in front of a bear;  I have no choice but to give a speech." He said, and his voice was bitter.

Wilson knew House. His spouse didn’t like it when people questioned their relationship, saying that because he had autism he didn’t know how to Love, romantically. “I’m sorry, I just need to get him off your back.”

House sighed. “I don’t want you to tell people I’m on the spectrum, James. It’s my business. “ He knew that House was upset when he uses his first name, not his nickname, ninety-nine percent of the time he was Jimmy to House or (Wilson at work.)

He knew not to argue with him; he was right. “Okay, I am sorry again.”

The overhead speakers announced their flight. They both got their backpacks, Wilson took the guitar, while House took his cane. They boarded the flight without any difficulties.

As they sat at first-class, House opened his laptop sleeve and got his MacBook Pro;  and began editing the speech, that Wilson wrote. While Wilson got to sleep.

The fifteen-hour flight was a success.

During the flight,  House played on his phone and iPad. While awake, Wilson researched  LGBT issues in the Philippines. Although there are no laws on the criminalization of homosexuality;  the country has no protection for being a gay man. According to his source, a nurse back in Princeton; "The Philippines is like the US in the ’90s. People in the country were more tolerant and accepting, though."

The plane touched down at Clark-Diosdado Macapagal International Airport. This was Wilson’s first time here in Asia; He and House had vacationed in Europe a bit.  They had avoided Asia and Africa for safety reasons.

“Jimmy, welcome to my home for five years.” Said House as he ordered a (Grab car) an Uber-like service in the country.

The Grab CAr arrived. As soon as they were in the got inside the car, House slumped in a seat. “Mabuhay, Welcome to the Philippines, My name is Carlos.”

Wilson looked at his partner for cultural guidance. “People in the country understands English pretty well, they had been learning it for years since Pre-School,” House told Wilson while slumping next to him in exhaustion.

“Okay, Carlos,” Wilson said. “What are the best places for food?”

The driver smiled. “There is the mall;  you can eat at some of our restaurants. First timer?”

Wilson smiled despite his exhaustion. “Yes, but my partner lived here when he was a teenager.”  

The driver’s smile was never faltered. “Where are you from?”

“We are from New Jersey.”

They arrived at their hotel. “If you want a ride, call me,” Carlos told Wilson in parting, giving him his personal number.  

Wilson booked a suite; at the Clark Marriott hotel. As soon as House saw their bed, he removed his blue Hershel & Co backpack and slumped to sleep. Wilson followed after a quick shower.

GH/JW

Hours later, It was ten in the morning they had arrived at 4AM. House woke up.  They needed to buy OTC medications.  They didn’t usually bring so many things, because he and that conveyor belt don’t mix. “Jimmy? You awake?” House asked, shaking Wilson. “Am hungry.”

Wilson  mumbled, “Greg, what time is it?”

House looked at the alarm clock. “ten-thirty. I‘m hungry.”

Wilson stood up and got his jeans from underneath the bed.

“Can we call for room service instead of going outside?” House asked,  getting his laptop from his bag.

Wilson most defiantly wanted to say no; Let's go outside and mingle in with the locals at the mall, but no, House needed to rest, for lunch, he would urge. “Okay." Wilson got the hotel phone. Then he asked as though forgotten. “What kinds of Filipino food do you eat when you were younger?”

House remembered the taste of one of the handfuls of mushy food he would eat, Kaldereta. Kaldereta was made of goat or sometimes beef with liver paste and tomato sauce. He’d love the beef version. “Kal- De- Re- Ta. Kaldereta.” When Wilson gave him a questioning look. “or Adobo.” He said the words with the correct accent.

“You call them yourself,” Wilson suggested. House looked at Wilson as if Wilson killed his puppy. Right, social anxiety, he thought. House swallowed nervously. “I won’t let you call them, okay?” Wilson was reminded; how House was in many ways a kid.

He dialed the number, “Do you have, Kaldereta or Adobo?” The staff on the other line answered an affirmative, “An order of adobo and kaldereta, please,  Rice?" House gave a big nod, he ordered rice too. “So what are we going to do today?” Wilson asked; when the phone call ended.

“Do some touristy things with you?” House said, peering from playing on his iPad.

They have watched CNN Philippines on the hotel’s flat-screen TV. It was an English channel but was geared towards Filipinos and what was happening in the country. “There is a freaking Typhoon,” House commented as he saw what was on the TV screen.

“Where is it headed?” Wilson asked.

“We don’t know yet,” House said, as he peered towards a half-opened window. Meteorology had been one of his obsessions growing up.

Their food arrived fifteen minutes later. House looked at his food, and the Kaldereta looked and smelled lovely. House tasted it; as soon as he tasted his food. He was brought back almost 30 years ago; in the same town, that was previously a military base.

Wilson was delighted to see him eat; House regularly didn’t eat, he didn’t like the texture, or the smell or its high caloric. His partner was closed to being too thin. “Greg, you really love it here?” He asked as he took a bit off his chicken adobo; it was really good.

House looked at everything, but not at Wilson. He is gearing up for a speech. “When I was eight, I was homeschooled because of autism. I was bullied. I was with Oma Abbigail in California, while mom joined father somewhere in South America. I didn’t come; it's too dangerous. When I got here, in Clark, knowing a few words of Tagalog.  I started in the third grade. They just put me on the fourth grade a month into it, After that school year I was entering the sixth grade.”

“Where I went to school was an international school, but 80 percent are Filipinos. Kids didn’t bully me, unlike that back in the states. They liked me, Here I was a Kano-puti or white American.” House said, touching the keyboard of his laptop repetitively.

Wilson didn’t know what to say. “I am sorry you went through that, babe.”

“Don’t be,” House said, making eye contact for the first time since the question started.

End of Chapter 3

[imzadi-caskett-huddy]

House, M.D. Fanfic (8/?)

Thank you to everyone who has taken time to leave a note on my story. I hope you continue to enjoy my kind of rewrite and/or additions to certain episodes! As always, I don't own House. If I did, Lisa Edelstein would have gotten the respect she deserved contact wise for a season 8.

As stated in previous chapters, the story follows the big picture laid out on the show, but with my own take on things. This chapter starts with Cuddy's struggle to keep it a secret from House about his previous diagnosis being correct. I should say that I REALLY don't care much for early season 3 Wilson, and I'm going to do my best not to let that affect the storytelling. This chapter is longer... lots of story development to get through.

Thanks to @love-hope-faith-feels-like-a-lie on Tumblr for reading my ideas and providing positive feedback! Anything in the way of feedback is always appreciated! Enjoy!

xxxxx

She was definitely not comfortable lying to House about this. He deserved to know he was right. She didn't know why Wilson suddenly thought he needed to teach House a lesson on humility and make her a party to it. "I have to tell him. I see him every day. I..."

"Everybody lies."

Wilson's words echo through her head that night as her head lay on his shoulder, her fingers tracing lines across his chest. "You were right."

He turned his head slightly to see her better. "I'm right about a lot of things. You're going to have to be a little more specific."

She pushed up slightly on her elbow, the sheet sliding down her chest a bit. "Your patient. In the wheelchair," she started.

He smiled slowly. "You gave him the shot."

She sighed, dropping her head back to his shoulder. "I gave him the shot."

"Why?"

"Because I know you. Because you see things the rest of us don't see. Because as infuriating as it is, you're never wrong about the medicine."

He smiled smugly. "I was right."

"Yes," she sighed, rubbing her face. "You're always right. The man stood up from his wheelchair and hugged his son."

"You weren't going to tell me..."

She looked up at him then. "Wilson thought it was a bad idea..."

"Wilson would think this is a bad idea too. That mean you're going to stop sleeping with me to get pregnant?"

"No, of course not..."

"Then why are you suddenly listening to him?"

She was quiet a moment. "You like the high. The night you showed up outside my window with your diagnosis, you were higher than I've ever seen you on Vicodin. We just worry about you."

"And yet you told me anyway," he pointed out, shifting to get up and grab his boxer briefs. He needed to walk. He needed to think.

She made a grab for his shirt and slipped it on. There was an argument brewing. "You're an addict, House. You're always looking for a fix. If it's not Vicodin, it's a medical mystery that only you can solve. If you don't have the puzzle, you get your high in my bed. Its all just a fix for you."

"That's what you think this is? That's all you think you are? A fix because I don't use Vicodin anymore and you told me no at work?" He spun around to face her. The look in her eyes said it all... she did think that's all she was to him. "I'm going home," he started pulling on his clothes.

"House, that's not what I said..."

"You said enough. I got my 'fix.' Keep the shirt." He headed for the front door.

"House!" She called after him. But it was too late as she heard the front door slam. She sighed and for back into bed. She should have said something. She should have told him him she knew she wasn't just a fix...because she did know. This had been going on for months... it was way past just sleeping together to get a fix or to get pregnant.

Her hand moved over the place he'd occupied in her bed not even ten minutes before. How had this even spiraled out of control that quickly? Sliding closer to his pillow, she inhaled his scent. She could hear his bike engine revving as he tore down the street, and she knew sleep was not going to come easy now in her empty bed.

xxxxx

"How's the leg?" she asked cautiously as she opened his door. She wasn't going to push too much since they were at work, but she was trying to judge his mood. Especially since he hadn't bothered to tell her that his leg was starting to hurt again.

He looked up from his desk and saw her entering his office. "My leg is fine."

"You're limping. Cameron thinks it's because we lied to you. We both know that I already told you, so that's not it. Is it because we had a fight?"

"Your breasts are different," he studied her closely, completely ignoring her attempt to talk about him.

She continued unfazed. "Wilson thinks I haven't told you, and that I'm feeling guilty and want to coddle you."

He shook his head. "You're pregnant."

"I'm not pregnant. How badly does your leg hurt?"

"Your breasts are firmer. As someone who had intimate knowledge with the girls, I would know," he stated. "You're pregnant."

"It's called an underwire. Tell me about your damn leg." She was not going to let him deflect by turning the tables on her.

"My leg is fine."

"Let me do a scan on your brain. If the Ketamine is wearing off..."

"Let me do a pregnancy test." They each wanted to test the other. Fair was fair, after all.

"House, I'm not pregnant!" she dropped her voice at the end, not wanting that word to escape the walls of his office.

"You've been taking fertility drugs. You've been getting laid on a regular basis, without protection. Your breasts have enlarged. You're doing crazy things, because I can't think of any other reason why you would ever listen to Wilson about lying to me. You're pregnant."

"You're not always right, you know."

"Actually I am. You said so yourself. I'm never wrong about the medicine. But you and Wilson would just have me think I'm wrong. You'd rather have me doubt myself and lie to me about it than tell me the truth and prove I'm right," he said lowly, massaging his thigh.

"House, let me look at your leg."

"My leg is fine!" After a moment, he dropped his head slightly. "Don't you think if I thought the treatment wasn't working that I'd do something to try to fix it?"

She sighed softly. "If it gets worse, call me." She knew she wasn't getting anywhere with him then, so pushing further was futile. He was still pissed at her for not telling him he was right. She was pissed at herself for going against her better judgement on this and actually listening to Wilson.

xxxxx

He hated that he'd had to grab his cane. He hated that he had taken the pills. He hated that he was now standing on her front porch, leaning against his cane, knocking on her door.

"Tell me the truth. Are you pregnant?"

She wasn't surprised to see him, not really. Not after the way they left things. She was, however, surprised to see him with his cane. "Why do you keep insisting I'm pregnant?" She moved to let him in.

"Why do you keep insisting you're not?" He studied her. That had, afterall, been the purpose of them sleeping together to begin with. She had been very actively trying to get pregnant. So why was she now suddenly opposed to taking a pregnancy test to try to confirm it when he suspected it?

"You're walking with your cane. That means the Ketamine wore off." Now she was deflecting.

"Or it just means I need my next fix. That's what you and Wilson expect of me anyway, right? No puzzle to take my mind off it. Time to give sex a whirl."

She crossed her arms. "That's why you're here?"

"Why not? You have been so eager to welcome me into your bed. Figure I'll get high on endorphins from mind blowing sex and walk out of here without my cane," he said sarcastically. He caught the hurt look on her face at his comment and looked away.

"Call one of your hookers if you want mind blowing sex. I'm not in the mood," she turned to walk away.

"Hookers can do the distraction. They can't do the mind blowing sex. They don't do what you do..." He took a deep breath, releasing it slowly. He'd crossed a line with that last insult, and he knew it. He'd tried to hurt her with it... knew just what button to push to get the desired reaction. "I took the Vicodin. My leg hurts," he admitted quietly.

She took a step closer then, resting a hand on his arm. "We can figure something out."

He shook his head. "Nope. Tried Ketamine. It didn't work. House the cripple is back for good," he told her simply. He'd gotten a beautiful glimpse into a pain free life, had allowed himself to hope, only to have it yanked away. "Probably for the best. I do my best work this way. Less likely to screw up diagnosing patients when I'm in pain. More likely to be an insensitive ass, but less likely to miss something and screw up the medicine."

"House..."

"Are. You. Pregnant?" his voice low, his eyes dark as he closed down any chance of continuing to talk about himself.

"No," she pulled her hand away and crossed her arms once more.

"Take a test?"

"No. It's not time y..."

"Then how do you know?" He interrupted her, moving closer.

"It's too early to..."

"Better to have another go then. Just to make sure it takes," he murmured lowly, pulling her against him in a kiss then. He was ready to lose himself in her and the way she could make him forget everything else.

At first she was going to push him away, but after a moment, her body melted against his, not bothering to stop him as he pushed her shirt up and over her head. He was in pain. He needed the distraction. Maybe she did too. Maybe she needed the high of sex with him even more than he did. Biting his lower lip as she deepened the kiss, she shoved him back against the wall hard.

He growled when his back hit the wall, his eyes darkening with lust, fingers digging into her skin as he pulled her roughly against him. His mouth moved to her neck, biting her pulse point hard and causing her to hiss, before soothing the spot with his tongue. She'd have to cover that with makeup tomorrow.

Her hands started pulling at his clothes as they worked their way to her bedroom. He closed the door with her body, pushing her back against it as his hands slid to her thighs and lifted her up, using the door to support the added weight so it didn't mess with his leg.

xxxxx

They finally both fell into her bed, breathless and in better moods. "Does that count as makeup sex? Or is that still angry sex?" He asked a moment later.

She lifted her head and couldn't help but smile slightly. "Shut up, House."

"I just need to know if I'm going to be expected to go another round for makeup sex, or if that was already covered..."

She grabbed her pillow from where it had landed on the floor earlier and smacked him lightly with it before shifting to get more comfortable in bed. "Shut up, House." But she did giggle softly to take the bite out of her words. She wasn't mad anymore. He didn't seem to be either. "Go to sleep."

[imzadi-caskett-huddy]

House, M.D. Fanfic (4/?)

Thank you to everyone who has taken time to leave a note on my story. I hope you continue to enjoy my kind of rewrite our additions to certain episodes! As always, I don't own House. If I did, there would have been huge differences in season 8.

As stated in previous chapters, the story follows the big picture laid out on the show, but with my own take on things. This chapter deals with House being shot. I felt we were robbed of Cuddy's reaction and the aftermath.

Thanks to @love-hope-faith-feels-like-a-lie for reading my ideas and providing positive feedback! Anything in the way of feedback is always appreciated! Enjoy!

"It's House..." Those words replayed in her head. She'd heard about the shooting and was on her way to ream security about letting someone with a gun just walk around her hospital. That's when she was intercepted with those words. They immediately stopped her in her tracks. She spun on her heel in one fluid motion to divert her path to the ER trauma room where they were taking him.

Upon seeing him, she immediately called to get an OR and a surgical team before helping to stabilize and treat him. Once they wheeled him into the OR, she had a chance to breathe. Everything hit her at once as she took her gloves off to throw them away... gloves that were covered in blood. His blood. And she realized just how close she'd come to losing him.

Cuddy stood in the observation room of the OR, watching as they worked on House. She'd given them the direction to use Ketamine, as Chase had told her that's the last thing House said before losing consciousness. But she stayed out of the surgery. She told herself, and anyone else who asked, that she was his doctor, but she wasn't a surgeon. She didn't want to be in the way, but she would be watching. Truthfully, she wasn't sure what she would do if he didn't make it through the surgery, and she would prefer not to find out in a room full of people.

"He's going to be fine, you know," Wilson's voice came from the doorway. "The man is too stubborn to go out this way. It's not flashy enough," he tried to lighten the mood.

Cuddy shifted, but her eyes never left the surgery going on below her. "Thankfully he hadn't sent his team out to do any tests on the patient. If he hadn't been surrounded by doctors, he would have bled out," she commented. "How's Cameron?"

"She's understandably shaken up. They all are. Their boss was shot in front of them," he pointed out.

Cuddy sighed and nodded. "Chase is down there helping with the surgery. Do me a favor and keep an eye on Cameron. Let me know if she needs anything." She wasn't really as concerned about the men, but Cameron had shown interest in House. And she wanted to make sure the other woman really was okay. "Better yet, send Foreman and Cameron home. If they don't want to go home, they can wait for an update on House, but they aren't seeing patients today. I'll send Chase after he finishes in the OR and monitor their patient myself. I'll have them paged if anything drastic changes today," she instructed.

"You really think you should be seeing patients today?" He countered.

Cuddy looked at him then for the first time since he came in the room. "No. But it's my hospital. So my rules," she responded before turning back to the surgery. "And I'm only monitoring their patient. I also plan on interviewing every security guard here to see how the hell that son of a bitch walked right into my hospital and shot him... and then got away," she said lowly. The way she was feeling, the entire security department was liable to find themselves searching for a new job."

Wilson held his hands up in self defense to make sure she didn't take any of her anger at the situation out on him. "I'll go talk to Cameron and Foreman," he said, heading back out the door.

It was two days later before House finally woke up. Seeing Cuddy curled up in the chair beside his bed asleep, he had to smirk slightly. He immediately began to try to sit up to grab his chart.

"Put it back and lay down," she murmured, stretching a little as she sat up then.

"Wow. You look like crap," he told her.

"I look better than you. And I'm not peeing into a bag," she pointed out, shifting to check him over a bit. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I got shot," he responded sarcastically. "How long have I been out?"

"2 days."

He nodded, carefully feeling around on himself for his injuries. "2 days... no wonder you look like crap."

"Shut up, House," she finally took a seat again once she was satisfied everything looked ok.

He breathed deeply. "How bad are my injuries?"

"Surgeon got the bullet out of your side. The other bullet sliced through your jugular. It's lucky it happened while you were surrounded by doctors."

"My philosophy has always been if you're going to get shot, do it in a hospital."

"Funny. My philosophy has as always been don't piss off the patient so badly that they shoot you."

He raised an eyebrow. "Right. It's my fault I got shot."

"To a point, yeah. Most doctors just get sued, but not you. No... you have to brow beat them and push their buttons until they try to kill you."

"If you had real security in your hospital, I wouldn't have gotten shot."

She was quiet for a moment at that. "I'm working to correct that." Every security guard on duty that morning had already been fired.

"Did they tell you I wanted Ketamine?" He asked lowly a moment later.

She nodded. "Yeah. How does your leg feel?" She asked.

"Not bad. I thought it was because of the morphine."

She smiled slightly, reaching for his hand as she moved closer. "It's still early, but I think the Ketamine might be working."

Only time would tell. It was still too early for him to have hope.

[imzadi-caskett-huddy]

House, M.D. Fanfic (7/?)

Thank you to everyone who has taken time to leave a note on my story. I hope you continue to enjoy my kind of rewrite and/or additions to certain episodes! As always, I don't own House. If I did, Lisa Edelstein would have gotten the respect she deserved contact wise for a season 8.

As stated in previous chapters, the story follows the big picture laid out on the show, but with my own take on things. This chapter picks back up with the show storyline in the beginning of season 3. I did use a bit of dialogue from the episode, but I definitely added and rewrote some stuff too. I also left out all the medical dialogue House spouted off at Cuddy's bedroom window because I'm not a medical professional and had no idea how to spell it or write it, lol.

Thanks to @love-hope-faith-feels-like-a-lie on Tumblr for reading my ideas and providing positive feedback! Anything in the way of feedback is always appreciated! Enjoy!

xxxxx

"Did you really ask out Dr. Cameron?" Cuddy asked when he stepped into her office.

"Would you have a problem if I did?"

She just looked at him incredulously. Was he serious? "Why would you think I would be okay with that?!"

"Why wouldn't you be?" he shrugged.

"Oh, I don't know, maybe because you're already sleeping with me!" she hissed, careful to keep her voice down. The last thing she wanted was for anyone at the hospital to hear that they actually were sleeping together. She knew they were always fodder for the rumor mill, but she wasn't about to confirm it for them.

"Threesomes are sexy. And a lot of fun. You'd like it," he smirked, heading for the door since he figured that was all this conversation was about.

"House!"

"Relax. I asked her out to make a point. I'm not interested in sleeping with anyone else," he said opening the door.

"What if she'd said yes?"

He shrugged. "I wouldn't have gone. You are a slave driver in the bedroom. You think I have time or energy for another one?" He grinned smugly before leaving.

xxxxx

"I can help him."

"That's it? That's your argument?"

"Seems like a good one." Why was helping someone suddenly not a good enough reason for Cuddy? Or Wilson? Or anyone else?

"If I thought for a second that you wanted to help him, you'd have carte blanche. You're doing this because it's...fun."

"Does nobody in this hospital have anything better to talk about than my motives? My motives have nothing to do with the case."

"Your motives have everything to do with your judgement."

"For the first time in years, I've got no opiods in my body, now you question my judgement? Is this still about asking Cameron out? Because I told you, that was to prove a point. Right now, jealousy has everything to do with your judgement."

"I'm not jealous of Cameron! House, 24 times a year you come storming into my office spouting that you can help someone, only you never say those words. You say something like, 'His pancreas is going to explode because his brain is on fire.' You come here with medicine, not with platitudes."

"I didn't want to bore you with the details."

"There are no details. You have a hunch. House, you don't use hunches. You always have reasons. This hospital doesn't exist for your whims. I'm sorry. As of 7AM tomorrow morning, I'm sending your patient home."

"I can help him!" he insisted.

She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "I don't think you can. Because I don't think anything new is wrong with him. This is just you trying to make a puzzle out of something that isn't there."

He felt like he'd just been sucker punched in the gut. She didn't trust him on the medicine. She had never doubted him before. Sure, she'd said no plenty of times to procedures that were... questionable... she had argued with him when she didn't always agree with him. She'd never outright doubted him. That stung. And he couldn't help but wonder if the lack of pain in his leg, the lack of Vicodin in his system had caused him to see something that wasn't there.

xxxxx

"So yeah, his brain is on fire." He stood outside her bedroom window like a teenage boy hoping to sneak in.

She shook her head as she got him a towel, handing out to him once he climbed inside. "Next time use the front door."

"The guy will have sex with his wife again. He'll hug his kid again." He took the towel and began to wipe his face and neck.

"House, you have no proof. No scar tissue on the scans. This is some wild theory that came to you while sweating and running into the university pool."

"Fountain. And it all fits. Just inject him with cortisol. There is no risk if I'm wrong." He studied her reaction and knew she wasn't biting. "You're smiling. That's a bad sign."

She nodded. "You're high."

"I told you, I haven't had anything in three months. You've been with me most of that time. You know I haven't taken anything."

"This is as high as you get. A theory that ties your case up in a neat little bow, but you don't have a lick of substantiating proof."

"Your decision doesn't make any sense," he said, clearly frustrated. "There is no risk to a cortisol injection. If I'm wrong, big deal. He goes home a vegetable, like he already is. But if I'm right..."

"This is not about downsides or risk management. It is a big deal for you to understand the word no." She sighed softly. "I'm sorry, House."

He breathed deeply and released it slowly, moving to sit on her bed and toss his towel beside him. She frustrated him to no end, but she was right. He wouldn't admit it to her right then, but as his boss, she was right to tell him no. He really had nothing to go on. No medical reason other than it fit. He couldn't do this, couldn't be the great doctor he had been without the leg pain.

She moved to sit next to him, placing a hand lightly on his back. "Do you want to talk?" she offered.

"No."

"Do you want to stay?"

He thought about it for a moment. He didn't have his bike, and he didn't really feel like running home. "Yeah, it's late."

"You don't say," she offered a small smile, picking up the towel and dropping it into his lap. "Go shower and dry off. You're getting my bed wet. And you smell like a locker room." She gave him a gentle shove to his feet then.

He took his time on the shower, both cooling off and working through everything on his head. Did he really need the pain to be great at his job? Was he really so far off base that she didn't trust his ability anymore?

She was half asleep when he came out of her bathroom with a towel around his waist. "You've got some clothes in the top drawer," she murmured. "I washed the ones you left here, " she added, seemingly answering his question before he could even ask it.

He simply nodded and pulled them on, leaving his wet towel on the floor.

"If you want to get in this bed, the towel goes back in the bathroom." She didn't even have to open her eyes to see the towel on the floor.

He just looked at her for a moment before picking it up and tossing it toward the bathroom.

"In the hamper, House," she murmured.

Once again he just stared at her a moment. How the hell did she know without even opening her eyes? "The force is strong with you," he murmured, going to put the towel in the hamper so she would let him in bed.