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sabinetzinTitle: Ouroboros
Summary: Bad habits are hard to break.
Fandom: House
Word Count: 807
Rating/Warnings: R
Pairing: House/Cuddy, House/Stacy
A/N: For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
house_fest. A note on timelines: This story takes place after House and Stacy moved in together, before the infarction, after Wilson cheated on Bonnie but before their divorce. Not that you couldn't have told from the story, but anyway.
There comes a point in all of Greg's relationships. He's well acquainted with this point, sees it coming from a mile away, knows all its favorite TV shows and which side of the bed it likes.
The reasoning goes like this: love is like a rollercoaster (not in the Ohio Players sense, just stay with him here). There's the hill, which is hard and boring and only entertaining because of the clacking noise that the train makes; and then there's the ride proper, which is fun, even if it occasionally seems like the whole thing is going to go flying off the tracks.
And in the middle, for that instant, that fraction of a second, there's doubt. It's too late to stop, but it's too early to throw your hands up, and for the briefest moment there's a point where there's no telling what's about to happen.
And when that point arrives, Greg sleeps with Cuddy.
Once was fine, twice was kind of sad, but three is just unsettling. It would be so much better if it was just some bar slut in a tube top whose name he didn't know, but it never is. It's always Cuddy, a colleague, a friend, someone he actually respects, someone he'll have to make awkward conversation with in the morning.
He's not freaking out, because that's not really something he's prone to doing; but he is as close as he ever gets, pacing back and forth, smoking a stale cigarette Stacy (his girlfriend, Cuddy's friend, all around good person, crosswalk escort of old ladies and cripples) left in a kitchen drawer.
After about ten minutes of this show, he goes back to bed. If he's already fucked, why not get his money's worth?
As it happens, there's no morning conversation, because she's gone long before he wakes up. The only positive in the whole situation is that he doesn't have to go to work, so he calls a guy who knows a guy and gets blazed out of his brain with Wilson. It seems like the only thing to do- it's reliable, like a manlier replacement for Ben and Jerry's.
"You're not allowed to talk about Bonnie and Susan anymore, I hope you know that," Wilson tells him, exhaling. "You're one up on me now."
"Technically, we're even," Greg reminds him, pausing to take a hit. "I wasn't actually dating Sam at the time."
Wilson rolls his eyes. "Telling somebody, 'Maybe this is moving too fast,' is not the same thing as breaking up with them, especially because she thought you were talking about the car."
"She never was very bright."
"House, why don't you just give it up and date her?"
"Sam? She already broke up with me once."
"House."
Greg lays back and blows smoke rings, in lieu of an answer. Truth be told, there isn't a good answer, and all signs pointed to there never being one. In a situation like that, what kind of response is, "I don't wanna"?
He goes home alone that night, to sheets that smell like Cuddy and Stacy and pot, and tosses and turns until morning.
He's professional at the hospital the next morning, or as professional as he ever gets, masochistically doing his clinic hours without complaint (because self-flagellation is not allowed in the corridors).
"Doctor House," a familiar voice says from behind him, and, as if to complete the scene, Cuddy picks that moment to walk out of her office.
He turns to see Stacy standing there, looking at him like a not a thing in her world is wrong. "I got an early flight," she says, with a sly smile, "so I'm busting you out of here."
He gives her the biggest smile he can muster, which must not be too impressive, since she takes it as her cue to tell him how tired he looks and how much he needs a break. He just nods, and she puts her cool hands on the sides of his head, kissing him sweetly. For just an instant, he thinks she's figured him out, but she takes him by the hand and walks him toward the door.
He turns back as they leave, as if he can do anything to help the situation. Cuddy gives him a tight, almost sad smile, and shakes her head. She doesn't even have the decency to look pissed- she just looks disappointed, and he knows then that he's fucked. It's not that Stacy's going to know, or that Cuddy's going to tell her, because neither of those things is going to happen. It's because there is no justice in the universe, and he, who should be flogged in public, is going to get off scot free, again.
Because that's what his life's been reduced to- just a big fucking circle, with no change in sight.
Summary: Bad habits are hard to break.
Fandom: House
Word Count: 807
Rating/Warnings: R
Pairing: House/Cuddy, House/Stacy
A/N: For
house_fest. A note on timelines: This story takes place after House and Stacy moved in together, before the infarction, after Wilson cheated on Bonnie but before their divorce. Not that you couldn't have told from the story, but anyway.There comes a point in all of Greg's relationships. He's well acquainted with this point, sees it coming from a mile away, knows all its favorite TV shows and which side of the bed it likes.
The reasoning goes like this: love is like a rollercoaster (not in the Ohio Players sense, just stay with him here). There's the hill, which is hard and boring and only entertaining because of the clacking noise that the train makes; and then there's the ride proper, which is fun, even if it occasionally seems like the whole thing is going to go flying off the tracks.
And in the middle, for that instant, that fraction of a second, there's doubt. It's too late to stop, but it's too early to throw your hands up, and for the briefest moment there's a point where there's no telling what's about to happen.
And when that point arrives, Greg sleeps with Cuddy.
Once was fine, twice was kind of sad, but three is just unsettling. It would be so much better if it was just some bar slut in a tube top whose name he didn't know, but it never is. It's always Cuddy, a colleague, a friend, someone he actually respects, someone he'll have to make awkward conversation with in the morning.
He's not freaking out, because that's not really something he's prone to doing; but he is as close as he ever gets, pacing back and forth, smoking a stale cigarette Stacy (his girlfriend, Cuddy's friend, all around good person, crosswalk escort of old ladies and cripples) left in a kitchen drawer.
After about ten minutes of this show, he goes back to bed. If he's already fucked, why not get his money's worth?
As it happens, there's no morning conversation, because she's gone long before he wakes up. The only positive in the whole situation is that he doesn't have to go to work, so he calls a guy who knows a guy and gets blazed out of his brain with Wilson. It seems like the only thing to do- it's reliable, like a manlier replacement for Ben and Jerry's.
"You're not allowed to talk about Bonnie and Susan anymore, I hope you know that," Wilson tells him, exhaling. "You're one up on me now."
"Technically, we're even," Greg reminds him, pausing to take a hit. "I wasn't actually dating Sam at the time."
Wilson rolls his eyes. "Telling somebody, 'Maybe this is moving too fast,' is not the same thing as breaking up with them, especially because she thought you were talking about the car."
"She never was very bright."
"House, why don't you just give it up and date her?"
"Sam? She already broke up with me once."
"House."
Greg lays back and blows smoke rings, in lieu of an answer. Truth be told, there isn't a good answer, and all signs pointed to there never being one. In a situation like that, what kind of response is, "I don't wanna"?
He goes home alone that night, to sheets that smell like Cuddy and Stacy and pot, and tosses and turns until morning.
He's professional at the hospital the next morning, or as professional as he ever gets, masochistically doing his clinic hours without complaint (because self-flagellation is not allowed in the corridors).
"Doctor House," a familiar voice says from behind him, and, as if to complete the scene, Cuddy picks that moment to walk out of her office.
He turns to see Stacy standing there, looking at him like a not a thing in her world is wrong. "I got an early flight," she says, with a sly smile, "so I'm busting you out of here."
He gives her the biggest smile he can muster, which must not be too impressive, since she takes it as her cue to tell him how tired he looks and how much he needs a break. He just nods, and she puts her cool hands on the sides of his head, kissing him sweetly. For just an instant, he thinks she's figured him out, but she takes him by the hand and walks him toward the door.
He turns back as they leave, as if he can do anything to help the situation. Cuddy gives him a tight, almost sad smile, and shakes her head. She doesn't even have the decency to look pissed- she just looks disappointed, and he knows then that he's fucked. It's not that Stacy's going to know, or that Cuddy's going to tell her, because neither of those things is going to happen. It's because there is no justice in the universe, and he, who should be flogged in public, is going to get off scot free, again.
Because that's what his life's been reduced to- just a big fucking circle, with no change in sight.
