I Want to Hold Your Hand
A/n: This is my first House fic, so please be kind when you R/R...
Just a short fic about what should have happened outside Cuddy's house in "The Itch"… I don't own anything it all belongs in the amazing mind of David Shore and Fox network.
The room around her was lit only by the faint glow of the small desk lamp beside her. A classical symphony was softly playing from the stereo across the room. She had received the record from her mother as a Christmas gift a few years back. She told her it was to help her relax. She tried to convince her mother that her work wasn't as stressful as she made it out to be. It might have had something to do with the fact that she would complain about it every time she went to dinner with her parents. It wasn't her work that was bothering her at the moment. It was more like her life in general. She took a giant gulp of her highly caffeinated tea as she wrote vigorously in the small notebook in her lap.
When she started Junior high her guidance counselor suggested that she start keeping a journal to manage all of her stresses. She first thought it was a dumb concept. Why write about her life? Her life wasn't exciting enough to even fill a page let alone a whole notebook. She soon discovered she obviously had something to write about when she had filled five notebooks by the end of eighth grade. She had been writing everyday since then; whether she had an exciting day or there was someone making her angry. That's what she was doing at that very moment, ranting about the one man who had been the main topic of most of her entries and had been pissing her off for the past twenty years, Dr. Gregory House.
Not only was she trying to understand the male species in general, but she was trying to figure out one of the most complicated men on the planet. She had been convincing herself that she had gotten caught up in the moment. House was actually feeling guilty for the rude comments he had been making during the week and she knew he was being sincere when he had told her that she would have made a great mother.
She was lying to Wilson when she had told him that she had never thought about House in that way before. She could picture Wilson using air quotes around the word way as he relayed the specifics of their conversation to House. The thought made her smile. Of course she had thought about dating House, but every scenario she played in her head ended terribly. She finally decided her only solution was to let him approach her, even if is took another several years. She assumed Wilson was pushing House as much as he was pushing her. Maybe it would be sooner. She didn't know anything anymore. She wanted to stop thinking about it. It was then when she could have sworn she heard the loud roar of a motorcycle engine. She shook her head at the silly notion that House may actually be outside her door.
She set down her beverage on the cork woven coaster on the side table with the lamp. Being picky about water stains on the furniture was another thing she adapted from her mother. She closed her notebook and slid her pen into the spiral spine. She walked back to her bedroom and placed her journal into the small drawer of her bedside table. As she wandered back to the living room, she glanced out the window. She had to do a double take when she noticed an outline of a figure on the steps leading to her walkway. She leaned forward into her window and squinted slightly trying to identify the mysterious stranger. She soon recognized the slightly balding head of grey hair and the smooth leather jacket. She didn't want to believe it. Why was he here?
She grabbed her coat from the closet in the entryway and slipped on her flip-flops she had available in the hallway. She forced herself to breathe in deeply and then exhale loudly to calm herself. House had never made her this nervous before. Her butterflies were coming with the thought of possibilities. She slowly turned the doorknob and stepped outside. The wind caused her front door to slam shut, but he didn't turn, he didn't move at all. She stepped little by little towards him. She stopped halfway down her walk, debating with herself. She wanted to turn back and hope he didn't notice her. She figured he knew she was out here and wanted to her to confront him. Her frustration made her want to groan out loud, but she didn't. Instead she threw her arms up into the air and let them fall back at her sides. She might as well talk to the guy.
She made what seemed like a long trek towards the man at the end of the walk. She stood behind him a moment. He still didn't acknowledge her presence. She stepped onto the level he was at and sat down on the step behind her. They sat in silence. He stared forward at the house across the street. She was shivering. She tightened her jaw to prevent her teeth from chattering. The silence was oddly comforting. She figured if neither one of them said anything, the whole situation wouldn't get awkward. But he was here and she came out here. Something needed to happen. They couldn't just sit here saying nothing for the rest of the night. They would have to sit here for the rest of their lives if they wanted to avoid the weird vibe. He came to her, he should have to say something first. She could see their breath. She shoved her hands into the pockets of her coat.
"Do you want to come inside?" She whispered. He didn't say anything. She wasn't sure if he had heard her. She was about to repeat the question when he nodded quickly. She gradually stood up. She then offered her hand to help him up. He took the contribution and held on to her as he stood up, clutching his leg with the other hand. He then let go of her hand and placed his on her shoulder. He used her for support to walk up to her house. They still didn't say anything.
Once they entered her house, she helped him to a chair in her living room. She went back to the closet to hang her coat back up. She walked back to him. She could feel him watching her as she picked up her mug off the table.
"Do you want something to drink?" She asked casually.
He shook his head no and she wandered off to the kitchen.
"So where's your cane?" She shouted to him from the other room. She thought maybe this conversation wouldn't be so bad if she didn't have to look at him. He didn't say anything. She waited a minute. There was still nothing. Then she looked up at the dark window in front of her to see him limping his way into the kitchen. She turned from the sink to look at him.
"If I'm going to talk to you, I want to be able to look at you." He explained, taking a seat at the dining table. "I wasn't thinking about it."
"What?" She asked, forgetting the question.
"My cane, I wasn't thinking about it." He reminded her.
"Yeah, I'm sorry." She turned back to the kettle she was filling up in the sink. "What were you thinking about?" She asked quietly.
He thought about the question for a moment. "I was thinking about how Wilson always ends up being right."
She smiled to herself as she placed the kettle on the stove. She walked past him to get more tea from the cupboard and he reached out and grabbed her forearm. He pulled her back and she fell on to his lap. He winced at the pain of her weight on his leg. She turned a deep shade of red and stood up quickly. She noticed the pain on his face and immediately began apologizing.
"I'm so sorry." She repeated over and over.
He stopped her. "No, it was my fault. I was trying to be smooth and I didn't think about my leg."
"Smooth, huh? Yeah, that was really smooth."
He chuckled. "Now that I admit it's my fault, you make fun of me for it?"
She laughed as she nodded to him. He sighed loudly.
"What are we doing?" He asked as he stood up. He moved to lean on her countertop.
"We're standing in my kitchen." She replied seriously.
"No, I mean what are WE doing?" He asked again, pointing at her and then back at himself.
She sighed. "I don't know."
"Do we want to be doing something?"
She figured because he was asking, he was implying that he wanted to be doing something. The question was, did she? She thought about it a moment.
"I guess we could try it out. If it doesn't work out, we'll still have to work together."
"And go back to hating each other, I can handle that." He replied, finishing her thought.
"Okay," She thought, "How about we have dinner on Friday?"
"Sure, but you have to promise to tell Wilson I asked you out." He accepted.
"I can do that." She laughed.
He rocked back and fourth on his foot. "So…I guess I'll see you at work tomorrow?"
She nodded. He leaned forward and wrapped an arm around her back and gave her a gentle hug.
"Good bye, House."
He gave a slight wave as he walked out the door.