Fic: Between Walls (Cuddy, gen)
Sep. 10th, 2007 03:27 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
swatkatThe after-effects of drunken all-night revelry aren't nearly as much fun as the said revelry. It was some revelry, though. My head, it still spins.
*
This is entry #1 for the![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
cuddy_fest. No, I have no other prompt to finish. None at all. Why do you ask?
Title: Between Walls
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
swatkat24
Fandom: House, M.D
Pairing: Gen
Rating: PG, I guess
Words: 1610
Summary: She's not a vapid celebrity and she doesn't care to play God, doesn't have delusions of saving the world – no matter what House likes to think. But it's an idea.
A/N: Set after 3.18, ‘Airborne’; spoilers through S3. Title from this poem by William Carlos Williams. Despite Coherence Issues, this was not actually written under intoxication. Your thoughts would be cherished.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Playing.
*
It comes to her one afternoon while watching television.
It's a rare lazy Sunday afternoon, lazy and warm, free of hospital or House-related emergencies. Cuddy's on her couch, idly flipping through channels and there's 'Brangelina' on-screen, enlightening the world on the joys of parenthood. It's inane and pointless but she keeps watching anyway, marveling at her own masochism.
The scene shifts to London, then: a brief interview with Madonna. The anchor speaks gravely of immigration laws.
Footage of Meg Ryan in China, and then back to 'Brangelina' again.
She finds herself thinking about it, suddenly; going over the pros and cons in her head.
The anchor flashes a smile and says something about bandwagons: celebrity trends.
She's not a vapid celebrity and she doesn't care to play God, doesn't have delusions of saving the world – no matter what House likes to think. But it's an idea.
*
The rounds are her favorite part.
Cuddy walks past the busy classrooms and the laboratories, savoring (just a little) the way voices fall silent when she passes by. She signs the pharmacy logs and discusses consignments with Marco. Checks patient charts; chats with the nurses and the attendings and catches up with the interns. There's always so much to do at the hospital.
She often spends a little longer than usual at Pediatrics, assisting in procedures and patiently listening to her Department Head complain about missing candy jars.
*
When Lisa was eight, her father bought her a globe.
Sometimes, on Sunday afternoons, they would sit together in her father's book-lined study and her father would set the globe spinning, asking her to pick a spot, any spot. Lisa would comply, giggling in anticipation.
There are many things from her childhood she has lost or broken or simply given away, but this she has kept: a toy globe; dreamy Sunday afternoons and her father's warm, deep voice, telling her stories about the Russian revolution, or Marco Polo in China.
*
'You know, some people would call it masochism,' says a familiar voice from somewhere behind her. Gently, lightly, just the way it should be said, and Cuddy doesn't bother to turn around, focusing instead on Baby Evan's chart because of course Wilson has managed to track her down here.
'I call it doing my job,' she says, putting down the chart and smoothing down Evan's (warm, babysoft) blanket. She moves to the next crib, and picks up the chart: Baby Lee, 7.5 lbs.
'You could try again,' Wilson says softly.
This time she does turn, and Wilson looks away.
*
Singapore turns out to be a perfect opportunity.
She sneaks out of the hotel one evening while House is happily engaged in downing a $300 bottle of wine (to be paid for by the hospital) and watching kung-fu movies (rented, also to be paid for by the hospital). Stops by at a posh shoe-store nearby and buys herself a pair of shoes for alibi.
The officials at the adoption agency are polite and helpful. A charming young man in a dark blue suit introduces himself as James, and tells her about procedures and regulations; paperwork (always paperwork).
When he offers her a tour around the facility, she declines.
On her way back, in the taxi, she thinks of Ellen; the quiet determination in her eyes when she nodded her consent to the surgery.
Outside, the city has come alive at this hour. The taxi moves slowly in the traffic and Cuddy stares out of her window, taking in the bustle and the bright lights. The driver puts on the radio and hums along with a peppy pop song.
Cuddy thinks of celebrities and celebrity trends.
It's an idea.
House is unusually mellow at dinner. A bottle of extremely expensive wine (to be paid for by their workplace) tends to have that effect on people, Cuddy thinks with growing irritation.
'Where were you all evening?' House says, stealing a shrimp from her plate. She watches him wolf it down like a greedy adolescent, and says,
'I went shopping.'
*
'He's in the park,' Brenda reports dutifully, 'lying on a bench.'
'I see.'
'Should I – ' Brenda says. She does enjoy her skirmishes with House, Cuddy knows.
Not this one, though.
'I'll see to it,' she tells Brenda, and flips her file shut.
She doesn't expect the sudden glare of the sun as she steps outside; the way it makes her pause and blink, feeling strangely disoriented.
For a moment, almost, she's tempted to head back inside, into the cool shade of the hospital. Head back and send Brenda instead, for the scuffle she so clearly wanted. The only reason she presses on is because it gives too much basis to House's countless vampirism jokes.
*
The hospital is quiet at night. Too quiet, Cuddy thinks, walking past the empty classrooms and laboratories.
The lights are on in some of the classrooms. She switches them off and makes a mental note to draw up a notice.
She checks patient charts; chats with the nurses and the attendings and catches up on the interns. There's always so much to do at the hospital.
The pharmacy, when she passes by, is empty, and her first instinct is to stop, look around for House, lurking in the shadows somewhere. She checks the pharmacy register, and makes another mental note to have a chat with Evans, whose shift this is supposed to be.
The click-tap of her heels echo across the corridors and earn her curious looks from the night janitor.
At the pediatric oncology ward she runs into Wilson, engrossed in conversation with one of his patients, a pale little girl no older than ten.
'You're in late,' Wilson says, and she does not retort: so are you. His patient clutches her tattered toy bear closer to herself and watches them with curious owl eyes.
'You should go home. Trial's in the morning,' Wilson continues. There are rings under his eyes and he looks… unusually unkempt. He looks like he hasn't slept in a few days.
'I'll make it in time,' she tells him, and he doesn't argue.
She heads for her office, then. Unlocks a file cabinet and brings out that very familiar envelope with the CONFIDENTIAL stamp on it. There are documents inside (blood reports, ultrasounds, prescriptions) and she knows them all, knows them all by heart.
She puts them in the shredder, one by one.
The next morning, she goes to the court and calmly tells the judge that House never got the Oxycodone.
*
China, she types in, and hits the search button. Educational qualification, health history, positive net worth, criminal history…
Families are not eligible to adopt if any of the following apply:
• Any felony
She grins a little at that. Russia, Cuddy types again.
Ireland. Ethiopia. Malaysia. There are so many places, so many names and she feels giddy, she feels light-headed and reckless.
'Dr. Cuddy?' A nurse peeps in and the spell breaks.
‘Yes?’ Cuddy snaps.
'You asked me to come back in an hour?'
The memos. Of course.
'I'm so sorry,' Cuddy says, improvising, 'could you come back after another thirty minutes? I just need to finish this…' She smiles apologetically, and the nurse departs in acquiescence.
She turns the computer off after that, because she's written a thousand memos on improper internet usage, because this is stupid and insane. But it's an idea.
*
In third grade, their English teacher asked them to write an essay on what they wanted to do when they grew up.
'I want to be a traveller,' Lisa wrote, 'and see the whole world.'
Mrs. Simmons gave her an A and read it out loud in class afterwards.
She will not remember this: only feel a twinge of wistfulness when sometimes House will say, in the course of conversation, 'I picked it up in Egypt', or 'I spent a year in Japan.'
*
'The hospital is her baby,' House likes to tell people.
She has never once cared to contradict him.
*
'You have a choice. Maybe the last real one you'll have in here,' Cuddy tells them, and walks out of the suffocating boardroom. Walks out, gait steady and her head held high; walks all the way to her office, nodding at people on her way. A nurse thrusts a form under her nose and she signs it, swiftly. Her hand does not shake.
The couch is tempting. Inviting, as is the bottle of scotch in her drawer. She settles instead for finishing off the day's paperwork: signs off the paychecks, and her hand does not shake at all.
She thinks of Vogler, inside, in that boardroom. She thinks of Wilson: the faint trembling of his hands as he pushed the chair away.
She should have known.
The office is as suffocating as the boardroom and so she puts down her pen and walks outside, to the empty clinic. The click-tap of her footsteps echo across the corridors.
There are files scattered on the nurse's workstation, probably left by Brenda for another day. Cuddy sets herself to organising them, one by one.
The logo on the cover reads 'PRINCETON-PLAINSBORO TEACHING HOSPITAL' and she traces her fingertips along the words: almost a caress. Her fingers tremble oh-so-slightly.
*
The toy globe on her mantelpiece is dusty, colors slightly mottled in places. She wipes the dust off the surface and places it on the coffee table.
If she closes her eyes she can smell her father's books; hear the smile in his voice as he says, 'Are you ready?'
Cuddy takes a deep breath and sets the globe spinning.
*
End
A/N: Prompt #42: Cuddy tries to adopt a child from a foreign country.
*
This is entry #1 for the
cuddy_fest. No, I have no other prompt to finish. None at all. Why do you ask? Title: Between Walls
Author:
swatkat24Fandom: House, M.D
Pairing: Gen
Rating: PG, I guess
Words: 1610
Summary: She's not a vapid celebrity and she doesn't care to play God, doesn't have delusions of saving the world – no matter what House likes to think. But it's an idea.
A/N: Set after 3.18, ‘Airborne’; spoilers through S3. Title from this poem by William Carlos Williams. Despite Coherence Issues, this was not actually written under intoxication. Your thoughts would be cherished.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Playing.
*
It comes to her one afternoon while watching television.
It's a rare lazy Sunday afternoon, lazy and warm, free of hospital or House-related emergencies. Cuddy's on her couch, idly flipping through channels and there's 'Brangelina' on-screen, enlightening the world on the joys of parenthood. It's inane and pointless but she keeps watching anyway, marveling at her own masochism.
The scene shifts to London, then: a brief interview with Madonna. The anchor speaks gravely of immigration laws.
Footage of Meg Ryan in China, and then back to 'Brangelina' again.
She finds herself thinking about it, suddenly; going over the pros and cons in her head.
The anchor flashes a smile and says something about bandwagons: celebrity trends.
She's not a vapid celebrity and she doesn't care to play God, doesn't have delusions of saving the world – no matter what House likes to think. But it's an idea.
*
The rounds are her favorite part.
Cuddy walks past the busy classrooms and the laboratories, savoring (just a little) the way voices fall silent when she passes by. She signs the pharmacy logs and discusses consignments with Marco. Checks patient charts; chats with the nurses and the attendings and catches up with the interns. There's always so much to do at the hospital.
She often spends a little longer than usual at Pediatrics, assisting in procedures and patiently listening to her Department Head complain about missing candy jars.
*
When Lisa was eight, her father bought her a globe.
Sometimes, on Sunday afternoons, they would sit together in her father's book-lined study and her father would set the globe spinning, asking her to pick a spot, any spot. Lisa would comply, giggling in anticipation.
There are many things from her childhood she has lost or broken or simply given away, but this she has kept: a toy globe; dreamy Sunday afternoons and her father's warm, deep voice, telling her stories about the Russian revolution, or Marco Polo in China.
*
'You know, some people would call it masochism,' says a familiar voice from somewhere behind her. Gently, lightly, just the way it should be said, and Cuddy doesn't bother to turn around, focusing instead on Baby Evan's chart because of course Wilson has managed to track her down here.
'I call it doing my job,' she says, putting down the chart and smoothing down Evan's (warm, babysoft) blanket. She moves to the next crib, and picks up the chart: Baby Lee, 7.5 lbs.
'You could try again,' Wilson says softly.
This time she does turn, and Wilson looks away.
*
Singapore turns out to be a perfect opportunity.
She sneaks out of the hotel one evening while House is happily engaged in downing a $300 bottle of wine (to be paid for by the hospital) and watching kung-fu movies (rented, also to be paid for by the hospital). Stops by at a posh shoe-store nearby and buys herself a pair of shoes for alibi.
The officials at the adoption agency are polite and helpful. A charming young man in a dark blue suit introduces himself as James, and tells her about procedures and regulations; paperwork (always paperwork).
When he offers her a tour around the facility, she declines.
On her way back, in the taxi, she thinks of Ellen; the quiet determination in her eyes when she nodded her consent to the surgery.
Outside, the city has come alive at this hour. The taxi moves slowly in the traffic and Cuddy stares out of her window, taking in the bustle and the bright lights. The driver puts on the radio and hums along with a peppy pop song.
Cuddy thinks of celebrities and celebrity trends.
It's an idea.
House is unusually mellow at dinner. A bottle of extremely expensive wine (to be paid for by their workplace) tends to have that effect on people, Cuddy thinks with growing irritation.
'Where were you all evening?' House says, stealing a shrimp from her plate. She watches him wolf it down like a greedy adolescent, and says,
'I went shopping.'
*
'He's in the park,' Brenda reports dutifully, 'lying on a bench.'
'I see.'
'Should I – ' Brenda says. She does enjoy her skirmishes with House, Cuddy knows.
Not this one, though.
'I'll see to it,' she tells Brenda, and flips her file shut.
She doesn't expect the sudden glare of the sun as she steps outside; the way it makes her pause and blink, feeling strangely disoriented.
For a moment, almost, she's tempted to head back inside, into the cool shade of the hospital. Head back and send Brenda instead, for the scuffle she so clearly wanted. The only reason she presses on is because it gives too much basis to House's countless vampirism jokes.
*
The hospital is quiet at night. Too quiet, Cuddy thinks, walking past the empty classrooms and laboratories.
The lights are on in some of the classrooms. She switches them off and makes a mental note to draw up a notice.
She checks patient charts; chats with the nurses and the attendings and catches up on the interns. There's always so much to do at the hospital.
The pharmacy, when she passes by, is empty, and her first instinct is to stop, look around for House, lurking in the shadows somewhere. She checks the pharmacy register, and makes another mental note to have a chat with Evans, whose shift this is supposed to be.
The click-tap of her heels echo across the corridors and earn her curious looks from the night janitor.
At the pediatric oncology ward she runs into Wilson, engrossed in conversation with one of his patients, a pale little girl no older than ten.
'You're in late,' Wilson says, and she does not retort: so are you. His patient clutches her tattered toy bear closer to herself and watches them with curious owl eyes.
'You should go home. Trial's in the morning,' Wilson continues. There are rings under his eyes and he looks… unusually unkempt. He looks like he hasn't slept in a few days.
'I'll make it in time,' she tells him, and he doesn't argue.
She heads for her office, then. Unlocks a file cabinet and brings out that very familiar envelope with the CONFIDENTIAL stamp on it. There are documents inside (blood reports, ultrasounds, prescriptions) and she knows them all, knows them all by heart.
She puts them in the shredder, one by one.
The next morning, she goes to the court and calmly tells the judge that House never got the Oxycodone.
*
China, she types in, and hits the search button. Educational qualification, health history, positive net worth, criminal history…
Families are not eligible to adopt if any of the following apply:
• Any felony
She grins a little at that. Russia, Cuddy types again.
Ireland. Ethiopia. Malaysia. There are so many places, so many names and she feels giddy, she feels light-headed and reckless.
'Dr. Cuddy?' A nurse peeps in and the spell breaks.
‘Yes?’ Cuddy snaps.
'You asked me to come back in an hour?'
The memos. Of course.
'I'm so sorry,' Cuddy says, improvising, 'could you come back after another thirty minutes? I just need to finish this…' She smiles apologetically, and the nurse departs in acquiescence.
She turns the computer off after that, because she's written a thousand memos on improper internet usage, because this is stupid and insane. But it's an idea.
*
In third grade, their English teacher asked them to write an essay on what they wanted to do when they grew up.
'I want to be a traveller,' Lisa wrote, 'and see the whole world.'
Mrs. Simmons gave her an A and read it out loud in class afterwards.
She will not remember this: only feel a twinge of wistfulness when sometimes House will say, in the course of conversation, 'I picked it up in Egypt', or 'I spent a year in Japan.'
*
'The hospital is her baby,' House likes to tell people.
She has never once cared to contradict him.
*
'You have a choice. Maybe the last real one you'll have in here,' Cuddy tells them, and walks out of the suffocating boardroom. Walks out, gait steady and her head held high; walks all the way to her office, nodding at people on her way. A nurse thrusts a form under her nose and she signs it, swiftly. Her hand does not shake.
The couch is tempting. Inviting, as is the bottle of scotch in her drawer. She settles instead for finishing off the day's paperwork: signs off the paychecks, and her hand does not shake at all.
She thinks of Vogler, inside, in that boardroom. She thinks of Wilson: the faint trembling of his hands as he pushed the chair away.
She should have known.
The office is as suffocating as the boardroom and so she puts down her pen and walks outside, to the empty clinic. The click-tap of her footsteps echo across the corridors.
There are files scattered on the nurse's workstation, probably left by Brenda for another day. Cuddy sets herself to organising them, one by one.
The logo on the cover reads 'PRINCETON-PLAINSBORO TEACHING HOSPITAL' and she traces her fingertips along the words: almost a caress. Her fingers tremble oh-so-slightly.
*
The toy globe on her mantelpiece is dusty, colors slightly mottled in places. She wipes the dust off the surface and places it on the coffee table.
If she closes her eyes she can smell her father's books; hear the smile in his voice as he says, 'Are you ready?'
Cuddy takes a deep breath and sets the globe spinning.
*
End
A/N: Prompt #42: Cuddy tries to adopt a child from a foreign country.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2007-09-10 03:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-09-10 05:48 pm (UTC)'The hospital is her baby,' House likes to tell people.
Aww. Poor Cuddy!
no subject
Date: 2007-09-10 06:02 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-09-10 10:46 pm (UTC)I love the theme of traveling/the globe, especially this line: The toy globe on her mantelpiece is dusty, colors slightly mottled in places. She wipes the dust off the surface and places it on the coffee table.
Really, really great job! :D
no subject
Date: 2007-09-11 12:03 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-09-11 02:40 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-09-11 04:45 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-09-12 10:22 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-09-12 09:17 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-09-12 10:20 am (UTC)