A/N: Again, this is a Cuddy drabble. It's a little bit of internal conflict going on. Set post JTTW. Another Oneshot unless you guys want to read some more then i could be tempted.....Please Read and Review.
She was crushed. No, she wasn't. She refused to be, instead channelling it into anger. Anger she could deal with: she could yell and shout and she would not break down in front of him, she would not allow him the satisfaction. She knew she had to stop torturing herself but every time her mind wandered to him she remembered the taste of him, the feel of him, his slightly musky scent. But then came the image of him with that hooker, and her mind conjured images of him kissing her, kissing her like they had not long ago. These fake images were now imbedded in her reminisces of their kiss, taunting her, crushing her.
She was incensed. He had already hurt her with his sarcastic remarks and childish moves, but he had remedied this with the appearance of the desk and her heart had swelled. Only to be burst again by him and the 'woman of the night' as he so often referred to them. What hurt her the most was that she had always thought he had been joking when he talked casually of his many nights with hookers, but seeing him with the blonde had made her doubt that and she was crushed, she assumed that they had slept together and she didn't like that one bit. In truth it was jealousy, but it was heavily laden with hurt at his stupidity. She fumed silently in the dark of her office, trying so desperately to stay in control, tears threatening to fall from her eyes.
He's an ass. He can't seem to do anything nice.
Except he has: the kiss and then the desk. A small voice in her mind argued.
But then he fucked it up - again.
He can't help it. The wee voice again.
Yes, he can and it would make a lot of things different if he just made it so much easier.
But do you really want it if it was easy to get? You've had plenty of easy relationships that didn't work out, maybe this way is different, better somehow.
"I'm going insane, having a conversation with myself in my own head." She wihispered aloud, her soft voice falling on an empty room. Her eyes wer glued to the desk.
Maybe he's not all bad. There's still those little glimpses of the Greg you know in that rough exterior, and he's shown theese to you on more than one occasion recently. He's just scared. So are you.
But I came out and told him how I felt and all he had to do was agree.
That's not quite true, you insinuated that you liked him, but come on, it's Geg, he's a genious, but he doesn't do subtulty when it comes to feelings.
He does, he was just being difficult. Just trying to make me say it first. It's like a game to him.
Yeah, but you love it really. Yes it hurts sometimes, but you know it would be worth it. And you don't do easy, you fight against easy. You defy easy, you always strive for more, the next step, why not now? You've got nothing else left to lose, he already knows you have the hots for him?
My head hurts. This is almost as bad as an arguement with him...almost. Those take far too much toll me than they should.
They bring fire to your eyes and passion to your belly. It's exciting and thrilling and you know it sets your heart racing. And that's not just the shouting, it's just the fact he's there.
No. It's not. He's an ass and that's all there is to it.
Oh, shut up. Stop pretending. You need to think about this, you need to be serious. You need to think things through before you throw in the towel. He did a nice thing, a great thing.
Yeah, just as i was about to say 'screw it' and forget the kiss ever happened and go on pretending the tension is just tension and not more he goes and gives me this desk, my desk, my desk that he remembered I loved. He gave me hope that he was ready to admit his feelings. It's not like I expected to have a 'running into each others' arms' moment. I don't know what I expected, but it sure as hell wasn't him looking very cosy with that hooker. He fucked it up. Him, not me. I don't have to fix it. He does.
But he finds it hard enough to say what he feels normally, never mind with this much at stake: his heart, your heart.
His fault. His mess. He has to fix it.
What if he can't? What if he's too scared?
He's a grown man - although he hardly acts like it - but he is. He will just have to suck it up. His turn now, his trun to put himself out there. All I can do now is wait.
The desk was his next move, his way of saying everything he can't find the words for...
His fault he was with the hooker, his fault he messed it up. The desk means a lot, yes, but ift obviously doesn't mean that much to him if he was with her.
He didn't see you. He doesn't know that you saw him. It won't have been what it seemed like. Yeah, he's an ass but he likes you. you know he does.
Him with the hooker. He has to move again.
What if he doesn't? What if he thinks you don't like the desk or don't get why he gave it to you? He'll get confused and that will make it even harder for him to work it out.
She chose to ignore the pestering voice and took at seat at the desk, trying to get her mind to concentrate on work, but this was a very tricky task as the desk reminded her taht he had done something nice and then fucked it up, and it also brought back some memories from Michigan . Some that were not going to help her get him out of her mind. It was going to be very difficult for her not to make another move now as the combination of his grand gesture and the memories of her and House, past and present, were intertwining and playing in a constant loop in her head.