swatkat

I haven't written anything but term papers in *days*. I can't begin to explain how incredibly rusty I feel.

Title: House of Cards
Fandom: House
Pairing: Cuddy/Amber
Rating: R
Words: 557
Summary: "I'm not going to tell him to hire you," she tells Amber, holding her gaze.
A/N: For

cryptictac's House/Wilson/Amber/Cuddy drabble-a-thon: originally posted here. The prompt was 'difficult decision'. Spoilers till 4.9, "Games". Your comments are welcome.

'It's over,' Foreman tells her, a smile of what looks like relief on his face. 'He hired Taub and Kutner.'

The numbers in her head stop making sense.

*

'For the record, sucking up to me won't get you anywhere.'

'It's a matter of perspective, don't you think?'

'Not what I meant, ah – ' She thrusts up, then, and focuses on other things: the hot press of Amber's tongue and her long, long fingers. Bites her lip and grips the exam bed a little harder.

Afterwards, Amber looks satisfied, no, inordinately smug, and Cuddy has to say, 'I'm not going to tell him to hire you.' Half-undressed and panting, here in the Clinic in the middle of a working day - she must be a sight.

This is still her show.

'I'm not asking you to.' Amber is all innocence.

*

'You managed to get rid of all of them. I guess congratulations are in order?'

The lounge is very quiet. Eerie, and all too familiar.

'It's a gift,' House says modestly. Cuddy thinks of numbers; how it always comes down to scratch.

He looks expectant, and she is supposed to rebuke him now, but all she manages to feel is weary.

*

There are hordes of people running about her hospital wearing numbers.

When she asks Wilson about it he says, 'I believe you told him you didn't care how it got done.' He is, she realises, trying very hard not to smile.

*

The next time it's in the fourth floor ladies' room, rushed and insane.

Even Cuddy's glare afterwards doesn't wipe the smug look off Amber's face.

Cuddy briefly considers pounding her head against the nearest wall, but people are watching.

*

She stays up late, handpicking the resumes, carefully calculating the pros and cons, rehearsing every argument with House in her head. She reaches work the next day exhausted and bleary-eyed.

The Diagnostics office is empty when she passes by.

*

'You tried to get me fired.'

'You have astonishing faith in Cole,' Cuddy says, surprisingly coherent given that Amber has two fingers working steadily between her thighs.

'Cole wouldn't pick Kutner. You would,' Amber says, matter-of-fact.

'I'm not going to tell him to hire you,' she tells Amber, holding her gaze. Her eyes, Cuddy thinks, are impossibly blue.

Amber inserts another finger in response, and Cuddy gasps.

*
'What's this?' Cuddy stares at cup of coffee on her table.

'It's not poisoned,' Amber says with a small smile.

'You got me coffee.'

Amber shrugs. 'You looked tired.'

She picks it up, in spite of herself, and takes a small sip. 'You found out how I like my coffee.'

'I didn't have to. I just told the cafeteria that it was for you,' Amber says.

'You're persistent,' Cuddy says, taking another sip. It's what she needed. It's perfect.

Amber shrugs again, and settles herself on the couch. Her face is impassive, except for that familiar gleam in her eyes.

*

Soon after he cures Rebecca Adler, House takes in another patient. And then another one. And another.

The Board looks sour when she brandishes numbers: cured patients and new donors, intrigued by the great Gregory House. Cuddy doesn't care.

There's a spring in her step when she passes by Diagnostics, just in time to witness House's new fellows scuttle away in different directions.

*

She tells House to hire Thirteen.

*