Chapter
Six: Party Favors
The
Corporate dinner was being hosted at the Marriott
Riverview, and the Coral
Ballroom had been reserved for the event.
Cuddy was
pleased to be out of most of the arrangements; Tamahana Corporation was
handling almost all of it, with a few members
of the hospital trustee board
as part
of the team, and nearly every one at Princeton-
Plainsboro was quietly
pleased
with the deal. Their experiences with Vogler had left a
number of board
members
a bit gun-shy about investors, but Taro Hinoshu had made a
good
impression with
his thoroughness and appreciation of the hospital’s strengths.
The
weather had cleared up enough to give everyone a sense
of hopefulness, and
people began arriving for the cocktail hour shortly
after
seven. Gradually as more
partygoers arrived they broke into familiar
clusters,
in this case along specialty lines,
and by the time Cameron, Chase and
Foreman
showed up, most of the other attendees
were within their herd dynamics.
They
made their way to the bar and ordered.
“He’s
not here.” Chase observed with a hint of smugness. His
tux looked classically
tailored, and his shoes gleamed as he accepted
his gin
and tonic.
“---Yet.
Word is that he was supposed to bring Cuddy, and
since she’s GOT to make an appearance . . .”
Foreman pointed out, tugging on his
slightly lopsided bow tie. “It’s
worth getting into
this getup just to see THAT
moment.”
Cameron
frowned a little, staring into the depths of her Key
Lime martini. “You DO
realize he’s the only one
from Diagnostics with a date
tonight?”
“Cuddy
isn’t a date, she’s . . . an obligation.”
Chase
pointed out, as much to avoid
commenting on Cameron’s
painfully accurate
observation as anything else. “It’s escort
duty,
plain and simple.”
“So why isn’t she being escorted by the man she IS dating?” Cameron persisted softly. “Someone who wouldn’t give Cuddy as much grief, you know?”
Nobody
said anything for a moment, pondering the
self-evidence of this statement.
Finally with a little shrug, Foreman
broke the
reverie and sipped his Sidecar.
“It
could be to keep him on a short leash. We have a pretty
good idea what House can
be like in a social situation he’s
not crazy about.”
All
three of them shuddered at the memory of the fiasco of
House’s Vogler-ordered
speech; Cameron took a fortifying sip
of her martini. Around
them, other guests moved
by, and Foreman steered them to a free table
just off
the side of the room, settling down
into his chair with a sigh of
relief.
“Damn dress shoes are almost as bad at the tux.”
“Trade
you—“ Cameron tartly offered, lifting the hem of
her
dress for inspection. Chase
and Foreman took their time checking out
both her
shoes and the legs before shaking
their heads.
“No
deal.” Foreman scoffed with a small smile. Cameron
rolled her eyes, but smiled
back. Chase checked his watch as
his formalwear, fresh carnation on his lapel.
“Looks
like a full turnout . . . hope the food’s worth
it,”
he murmured by way of greeting.
The three nodded to him, motioning for
him to
sit.
watching.
“Who’s
got money on
of them.
“Heads up, people. McCleery, from Cardiology. I THINK she’s about to have a wardrobe malfunction—“
All
of them waited in anticipation, and sure enough, the
sudden flash of skin as the side
zipper of the woman’s dress
split was enough
to bring nods all around. Foreman looked
particularly smug.
“I
love the law of averages. Stands to reason that in a
crowd this size, somebody’s going
to have a zipper or strap
or hemline
problem.”
“And
you’re just grateful it isn’t YOU.”
Cameron added. He
nodded, white teeth flashing
out.
“Damn straight.”
the doors together, looking a little lost. She was stunning in
a rich
blue dress with a thin
trim of lighter blue feathery fluff, and
cut neckline.
His little sigh drew Chase’s attention; the younger doctor followed his line of vision and managed a quirky smile.
“The new psychologist. Heard you were skirting around her—“
“Oh
let it die, Chase. I’m not in the mood,”
over and placed an order, all the while glumly
keeping a
discreet eye out on Emily and
her escort.
*** *** ***
Cuddy
was miffed, to put it mildly. She circled once more,
checking her hemline, patting
her hair, doing her best to ignore House
as he
leaned against the back of her vanity
chair and watched her.
“You
were ready twenty minutes before I even showed UP, so
don’t think you can get
away with the last-minute primping.
Let’s GO already.”
He complained. Cuddy dropped
herself into the chair and reached for the
heavy
rhinestone bracelet, pulling it around
her bare wrist. It was an old
one, four-tiered, and the clasp was hard to manage.
“Cool
your jets and let me get this damned thing on—“ she
replied with a touch of frost
in her voice. That was to cover the hurt.
She’d
answered the door, delighted at the rakish look of
House in a tux. In turn he’d
looked her over, grunted, thrust
the wrist corsage
at her and stiffly walked in, pacing. No
kiss, no smile, barely even a
conversation as she slid into her heels and checked the
mirror. Her
attempts to
draw him out had come to nothing so far, and the only
conclusion she
could see
was that serious second thoughts had finally hit him.
Damn it.
Cuddy
gritted her teeth and glanced into the mirror to find
him watching her, his
expression slightly haunted. She neither smiled
nor
frowned, keeping her mouth in a
thin line.
“Don’t
worry, it will be a short evening. I’ll be happy to
leave you with
whatever alcohol the two of you want to slug down while I go do my
duty for
Princeton-Plainsboro. As usual.”
“Sorry,
I’m designated tonight. Get to stick to the Shirley
Temples while I watch Meeny,
Miney and Moe get lubricated.”
“Poor
you. I could always call us a taxi if you’re unhappy
about missing out on the
drinks.” She offered, not thrilled
to consider it.
House shook his head.
“Forget
it—all I want is to get this evening over with,” he
sighed, looking down at his
watch. Cuddy dropped her gaze, fighting the
despair
as she finally managed to snap
the clasp closed on her bracelet.
“Fine,
let’s roll then.” She muttered, rising up,
smoothing
the wrinkles out at her hips.
Cuddy was proud of the dress, a sleek
number in
charcoal grey satin. It had one long
fitted sleeve and one bare
shoulder; the
rest of it clung to her curves in a glamorously
flattering way.
She’d opted for
tiny dangling diamond earrings to go with the rhinestone bracelet.
House
frowned.
“Flowers?”
“Oh. You wanted me to wear them?” Cuddy couldn’t quite hide the surprise in her voice. House’s frown deepened.
“Well DUH. I did spring for the thing, and it goes with your dress. Sort of.”
They
did; the white roses and spray of blue-tinted Baby’s
Breath complimented the
steel tones of her dress. Cuddy slipped the
corsage on
her sleeved wrist, oddly touched,
but not completely won over. She drew
in a
breath and looked at House. He stared at
her, his eyes dark and
unreadable. He
reached out the handle of his cane and hooked
her elbow with it,
drawing her a
few steps closer as he spoke.
“Christ
I want tonight to go fast. Understand this--I can’t
touch you. Not even once.
Because if I touch you NOW oh lovely, lovely
She
Beast, I can guarantee you we’ll
never leave this bedroom
tonight. Annnnd,
considering the damn obligations and
expectations and ruminations and
insinuations that would rise up to bite us in the ass
should we NOT
show up at
the Tamahana dinner—I’m safer doing the noble
bastard
thing and avoiding you
altogether. You get it?” he growled helplessly.
Cuddy
shivered at the power in his words, the steeled
longing in them. She nodded
once, fighting back the urge to hug him,
happy in
knowing he wasn’t the only one
feeling the frustration.
Lightly she unhitched
herself from this cane and reached for her
wrap, but House beat her to
it and
held it out, a crooked smirk on his face.
“So,
let’s plot our strategy, shall we? Go in sniping, have
a fight and you can dump me
at a table somewhere?”
“Sounds
pretty typical for us. Make sure you get some
remarks in about my cleavage or
my castrating ways while
you’re at it.” Cuddy
smiled.
He
winced a little, and looked thoughtful as he followed her
out of the house, leaning on
his cane. “A bit harsh,
don’t you think?
Personally I find that a label like dominatrix has
such a more positive
spin to
it—“
*** *** ***
across it from Emily in a perverse self-torturing dance of
avoidance
for the first half hour
of the party. It wasn’t easy; twice
she’d looked up,
searching and he felt a pang at the
thought that she was seeking him out,
but the
man at her shoulder kept bringing her
back into whatever conversation
he was
making with other people and she’d politely join
in.
It
wasn’t fair, he complained inwardly. There were dozens of
women here; most quite
pretty, several of them on their own tonight and
yet the
ONLY one he wanted to flirt with
was with a date.
desk beyond a triptych of nieces and nephews, and
she’d never
mentioned anyone in
the conversations they’d had either in
the past or
currently at work. Gloomily he
wondered if this was why the nurses all
seemed
so amused; they were in on some
back-story of her life he was yet to
learn.
In
a moment of weakness he finally let himself be spotted;
Emily beamed at him and
sailed over, looking pleased to see him. A tiny
splinter of petulance wondered why, but
a larger part of him felt a
surge of
pleasure, particularly when she took his hands and squeezed them.
“Giving Cary Grant a run for his money? James you look amazing in a tux. Amazing.”
“Sure,
flatter me now, after the tie’s gone crooked and
I’ve
lost a shirt stud.” He
responded, but smiled anyway. Emily
shrugged elegantly,
the gesture making the little feathery trim fluff a bit. In a sudden
impulse,
“Yeah, well we could trade if you like. I’m sure you can carry off the heels in your own self-assured way, but I could never do justice to the Marlene Dietrich look.”
“Nor
I the Dame Edna one. Trust me, I look terrible in
drag—House can vouch for that.”
Wilson
“Oh
God, you’re not a transvestite, are you? That would
seriously alter SO many
fantasies I have of you.”
“I’m
not, but for you--I could be,” he quoted earnestly.
Emily chortled, but before she
could say anything more, her escort came
up,
looking apologetic.
“Em, I have to go. Mariette’s just starting labor.”
“So
I win the bet—“ she replied, but with good humor.
“Go—I’ll get a cab and you can
call me
later and tell me how it went.”
“I’ll
get you home—“
and held out a
hand.
“Terrific! I’m
sorry,
I didn’t introduce myself—I’m Ned
Anderson, Em’s . . . well, I guess
you could
call me Em’s ex.”
Startled,
but polite,
were engaged for
all of a month, Ned when we realized it wasn’t
right—I’d hardly call
that basis
for making you my ex, okay?”
He
flashed a teasing grin at her, and in an instant
between them. To further cement the image, Ned made a
quick
face at her.
“Always
so quick with the labels—still, I have to get going.
Sure you’ll be all right?” he
asked gently. Emily
nodded, lightly punching his
shoulder.
“I’ll
be fine. This pays me back perfectly. Go take care of
your bitch and let me know
how it goes. And
thanks—“ She leaned and kissed him
lightly on one cheek,
noted. Ned gave her a one-armed hug back and moved off, already pulling
a cell
phone
out. They both watched him go for a long moment.
“Nice
guy,” Wilson ventured, part of his mind on the idea
that Emily had fantasies
involving himself, and part of it on the idea
that she
had an ex. Emily shrugged, smiling
gently.
“One of the best, but not for me. Ned and I are both a little too set in our ways to mesh completely, and don’t ever get us started on politics, sports or religion. For a vet, he’s remarkably opinioned on EVERYTHING.”
“As
in veterinarian, not veteran, right?”
of champagne from a passing waiter.
“Yep.
We go back to high school in fact, and even then he
was dedicated to animals.
Right now he’s working with a very
nervous Great
Dane.”
“Mariette?”
“The
same. Hey, you have a dog, don’t you, James? That would
have put you in good
with Ned.” Emily remarked after a sip.
smile.
“Ah
yes, I have Oliver. An ancient retriever—“ he
didn’t get
to finish the response
because Emily pointed with surprise to the door.
“Oh look, it’s your friend, House. Did he just deliberately trip that man with his cane?”
*** *** ***
House
glowered. He was very good at it; master of both the
withering stare and
unwelcoming glare. Consequently, nobody was
currently
sitting at the table he occupied
near the front of the room, close to
the dais.
He had his bad leg discreetly propped up
under the table and was
watching the
party going on with a sneer worthy of a gargoyle.
There was plenty to
see, just
as there usually was at events like this: various doctors
dancing,
schmoozing
and boozing, significant others checking each other out, the
investment
group
trying to blend in and not always succeeding, and of course, the
individual here and there completely wasted and on the verge
of self-disgrace.
Right
now
it looked like a tie between Henderson and a thin little pharmacist
House
suspected
of sampling a few of her own wares. He made it a point not to
look at
Cuddy, who was
serenely holding court over in one corner, with Hinoshu
and a
gaggle of board members
and doctors around her.
God
she was gorgeous, he despaired. Insecurity gnawed at
him, and he grimly wished
he were drinking to drown it, instead of
nursing a
tepid ice and tonic and trying to let his Vicodin work. Cuddy always
had style;
a little old-fashioned at times, but you never
missed she was a woman
despite
the sharp edges on her personality. And tonight, well—House
could see that the
impression she was making was going well beyond the
surface of things.
Judging
by the way Hinoshu was eyeing her again, House wondered
if
he’d have to
strangle the old goat with a stethoscope.
The
team had wandered by, but House had groused enough to
drive them off again;
currently Chase and Cameron were laughing over
something
with one of the
pediatricians over by the canapé table while
Foreman was
chatting up a curvy little
woman who hung on his every word. And
common sense and discretion.
With
a sigh, he shifted and rose to his feet, planting his
cane firmly and moving around
the edge of the room, working his way to
the
exit. In a crowd this size he expected to be
jostled a bit, but most
people got
out of his way—reputation played a big part in it.
That,
and
occasionally
swinging his cane in a trajectory that hurt the slow and unwary.
He
slipped out
into the hotel hallway, glad of the cooler air and the drop in noise
from the
band at the back of the room.
House
strolled in his lurching amble up the hall, noting the
names of the other, smaller ballrooms. The Colonial Room. The
Tradewinds Room.
The Riverview Room—That one
was open, and he peeked in
curiously. It was
unoccupied, with dustcovers on the stacks
of chairs and the melancholy
look of
a place between engagements. Someone from the cleaning staff had left a
vacuum
here, and House noted that just a few steps away to his
left was a
gleaming
black Steinway, practically beckoning him. He gave a little sigh.
Carefully
he stepped in and pulled the door closed behind
him, leaving a small gap,
and made his way to the bench. He hooked his
cane
along the keyboard ridge at the
right, and flexed his fingers. He hit C
and was
rewarded with the exact note, strong and well-tuned.
House managed a soft smile.
Fifteen
minutes later, Cuddy made her way down the hotel
hallway, slightly worried.
She’d seen him leave and assumed
it was just a
restroom trip, but when House hadn’t returned—she
looked up and down, and
faintly, the chords of a lone piano reached her
ears. Relief made her
smile
ruefully, and when she peeked into the Riverview, House
was there,
lightly
rolling out a Strauss waltz, his expression mild.
He
looked up at her for a moment, his eyes warm, and
then he glanced back to his
keyboard.
Cuddy stepped into the room, and pulled the door closed behind her.
She
leaned
on them, sighing a little.
“You worried me, disappearing like that.”
“Sorry.”
He replied in a tone that wasn’t. Miffed, Cuddy
moved over to him, sliding onto
the piano bench on his left. He shifted
reluctantly to give her room, trying to fight the
welling of desire her
proximity caused. He kept his long hands on the keyboard,
playing
gently. Cuddy
leaned on his shoulder and he drew in a contented breath.
“Wanna
play Chopsticks?” she offered in a low voice. He
turned and flashed her a lofty
look.
“Heart
and Soul is the rinky tink of choice HERE, baby.
Hoagy
want to lick
your cleavage by the way.”
“Looking
forward to it,” Cuddy shot back absently, settling
her hands on the keyboards.
House looked amused.
“You play?”
“Not
according to my dad.” She murmured in a flat little
voice. Sensing a tender spot,
House debated probing further or letting
it go.
Cuddy quickly stretched her fingers and pressed a perfect D minor
chord, sharp
and firm. House smiled.
“Good enough for me. Let’s do it.”
They
started, tentatively, but House was careful to
deliberately slip up a bit himself, and
by the time they were on their
third
attempt, Heart and Soul sounded almost perfect,
rolling out with a
snappy
bounce to it, and filling the empty spaces of the Riverview.
Cuddy
laughed,
trying to match House’s finger flares and failing. He flashed
a rare grin
at
her and rattled off a quick few bars of lively ragtime, strong hands
crossing
over hers
to fly back again to the rhythm. She squealed a little,
delighted.
“Hidden talents, House—“
“I
have a million of them—“ he responded, playing a
few
measures more, and then
shifting into a lush rendition of As Time Goes
By.
Cuddy hummed. House slowed the pace, and nudged her with his shoulder, the bump encouraging.
“A
sigh is but a sigh . . . the fundamental things apply, as
time goes by . . .” Cuddy sang
just under her breath, her
contralto low and
sweet. House let his dimples deepen.
“You
have a day job, right?” he teased. In return Cuddy shot
him a withering glare she
couldn’t quite stick with as it
turned into a snort
of amusement.
“Yeah, but keep that up and you might NOT.”
“I’m
seriously worried now. I’ll have to fall back on my
illustrious career of easy-listening
piano bar gigs. I wonder if I have
my big
brandy snifter for tips still at home? Better yet,
we’d make
a killing if you
could get up on top of the piano and loll around like Michelle
Pfeiffer—“ he
shot her a hopeful look. Cuddy firmly shook her head.
“Let’s
not stereotype here; YOU slither around on the piano.
Preferably in a red dress. I
would tip lavishly to see THAT Greg, trust
me.”
“Nah. Red’s not my color.”
For
a warm, intimate moment they both smirked, and then
Cuddy sighed. She squared
her shoulders, and watching at her, House let
his
smile fade away.
“Back
to business. Almost time for chicken or pork loin. I
was told Hinoshu’s got some
awards to hand out after dinner,
so we better get
back.”
Stiffly
they rose, and House gently set the lid down over
the keyboard before they left
the Riverview room.
*** *** ***
“Pay
UP, Foreman—his pants are off, a bet’s a bet so you
OWE
us!” Cameron
demanded in giggly tones. Affronted, Foreman
thrust his chin out
and shook his head.
“Being
treated by paramedics who deliberately CUT the pants
off is NOT part of the bet.
And how were any of us to know
“Judging
by the alcohol consumption he’s managed tonight
it’s a wonder he didn’t just
go up in one enormous
fireball,” Chase observed
with the exaggerated dignity of a man
with just one too many under his
own
belt. Cameron fought not to giggle at that, but it
was too darned hard
not to.
The Key Lime martinis had been SO good, and now this
lovely mellowness
was just
right. She batted her eyes at Foreman, who gave in with a
grin and
fished out
his wallet.
“Speaking
of consumption, you two are SO stewed. It’s a damn
good thing neither of
you are driving tonight.”
“Yeah.
First Hennerdesn, Hendersnon,
You are just not a lucky guy, Foreman.” Cameron giggled at
him sweetly. He
shook his
head and laughed.
“Yeah, tell me that tomorrow when you’re driving the porcelain bus.”
Chase
grinned, his hair falling into his eyes. He reached up
to loosen his tie and
glanced at the dais, where someone was giving a
speech
about international
cooperation. Casually he slung an arm around the
back of
Cameron’s chair, letting his
fingers stroke her ribs slightly
along her bare
back. She didn’t object, and he felt good
about that.
“Anybody
know what that guy’s droning on abaht?” he mumbled,
his accent thickening
slightly. Foreman sighed, clapping when the
speech ended.
“Something
about a new era of global medicine. Last speaker
of the night, guys. The
Head honcho of Tamahana. What’s that
he’s got in his
hands?” Foreman asked
curiously. Up on the dais, Hinoshu
carried what looked
like a thick book tied with a wide
red silk ribbon. He placed it on the
podium
and waited as his young translator stepped
up.
“Thank
you all for this evening. Mr. Hinoshu, the CEO of
Tamahana Corporation extends
his sincere appreciation for the marvelous
spirit
of cooperation between science and
medicine as demonstrated by this
merger.”
Polite
applause greeted this; the translator glanced over at
his boss and swallowed
before speaking up again.
“Last
of all, Mr. Hinoshu has a gift he wishes to present to
two individuals he has come
to know and admire during his visit here.
He would
like Doctors Lisa Cuddy and Gregory
House to come up.”
Cuddy
shot a panicked look at House, who mirrored it for a
moment, then grimly began
to rise. Cuddy followed him after a second as
the
crowd stirred a bit, interested in this
new development. It took House
an
awkward minute to negotiate the dais, but he grimly persevered, moving
forward
in his slow off-kilter stride; Cuddy glided behind him, her
gaze firmly
on his
back. They reached the podium, and House glared out at the
crowd.
They
settled
down, and the translator spoke up again.
“Each
of us has sacrificed much of our personal lives by
following the work we have
chosen to do. Before you stand two
individuals who
personify that commitment, your
hospital’s commitment, to the
greater good. It
is unfortunate that the price of that
dedication has been their own
merger, so
in the spirit of personal support and
admiration, Mr. Hinoshu presents
them
with this rare collection of Shunga in hopes that
it will bring a
special form
of good luck to their private lives.”
This
puzzling speech left the crowd buzzing a bit. The
translator stepped back and
waved at the book on the podium, and
shrugging,
House lurched forward, looking back
over his shoulder at Cuddy, who
stepped
fearfully forward, as if the book might bite her.
He flicked the
microphone
experimentally, sending a little ‘thunk’ through
the room.
“How
very generous. Doctor Cuddy and I didn’t get YOU
anything. Well, we did save
your life and open up this great big
hospital for
you to play with—“ House muttered.
Cuddy shot him
an exasperated look that
brought some laughs and she tugged the
ribbon as he continued.
“—However
we have good manners and on behalf of
Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching
Hospital we’d just like to
say—Holy CRAP!” House
blurted, eyes wide as Cuddy flipped
the
book open. Under the lights of the podium her face went bright red, her
gasp
audible through the microphone. House snorted, running a hand over the
open
pages
of the book as the crowd laughed and murmured. Some people were
rising
out of their
seats for a better look.
“Wow.
I think I can speak for both of us when I say we were
NOT expecting this,” House managed absently. “Ohhh
yeah, definitely not a
coffee table book to leave out when the
kids are around.”
Cuddy
covered her burning face with one hand, mortified as
House looked up at the
crowd, his gaze amused but slightly stern.
“Thank
you, Mr. Hinoshu. On behalf of Doctor Cuddy and
myself I’d like to thank you for
this .
. . rare and certainly one
of a
kind
gift. And I can see EXACTLY what you mean
about mergers now. Yes
indeedy.”
Taking a deep breath, Cuddy leaned forward and spoke a little breathlessly into the microphone as she slammed the book shut, catching House’s fingers in it.
“ThankyouSomuchMr.HinoshuandallthemembersoftheTamahanInvestmentgroupon-
behalfofPrincetonPlainsboroTeachingHospitalladiesandgentlementhebarisopenplease-
drinkresponsiblyandgoodNIGHT.”
She
rattled off all in one long string as House sucked his
wounded digits in a show of annoyance. Cuddy then scooped the book up
and
clutched it tightly, turning to the
translator, who backed up at her
fierce
expression.
Hinoshu
stepped forward, bowing. He held out one strong
hand, indicating he would like
the book, and Cuddy hesitated a moment.
Out in
the audience people were rising and
milling about once more, moving to
the
bathrooms and the bar, stretching and focusing
their attention
elsewhere.
Hinoshu murmured something. The translator coughed and spoke softly.
“Doctor
Cuddy, Mr. Hinoshu regrets the embarrassment he has
caused you. He did not
intend for either of you to open the book in
public.”
“Fine.
That’s fine but what in God’s name was he THINKING
in
giving us a book of . . .
of antique PORN?” she hissed,
handing it back to
Hinoshu. He muttered something and
the translator nodded a moment.
“Shunga
is not porn, Doctor Cuddy. It is a type of art
revered and admired. Pillow Books
such as this—“
“—Are
only given to couples by respected elders,” House
finished softly. “Sort of a sex
manual and wedding gift all
in one, and this
particular one’s probably worth a pretty
penny.”
Everyone looked at him and he
shrugged. Cuddy remembered his mother’s profession. Hinoshu
nodded and spoke
again, flipping the book open to the back
endpapers, pointing to a
particular
seal there.
“Correct,
Doctor House. Mr. Hinoshu chose this collection
because it shows the
countryside where he was born in many of the
backgrounds,
and this particular artist
was a local favorite.”
Cuddy
bit her lips, and looked down. Hinoshu laughed kindly.
He handed her back the
book, made another little bow and looked at
House for a
long moment before speaking.
“Mr.
Hinoshu says he hopes the book will bring you the same
joy and luck it brought him
and his late wife. He says he too faced a
formidable father-in-law, and bids you gird your
loins well, Doctor
House.”
Involuntarily
House winced. Cuddy gave a little disbelieving
shake of her head and
clutched the book to her chest, a little whimper
escaping
her.
“Oh God, he really DOES think we’re engaged—“ she wailed in an undertone to House.
“Holy crap.”
