Summary: Err… tricky, can I just say Huddy and go from there?
Disclaimer: yeah, right, I have the talent and skill to create such complete and rounded characters wrapped up in intelligent, often thought provoking scripts. I'm just playing your toys because it's fun. But just in case TPTB are reading genuflects saying 'Please do not sue. Please do not sue. The voices make me do it.'
Also, I'm a Brit please forgive me my spelling, grammar, phraseology. Started at the beginning of last year, so consider AU from JTTW.
Finally, first time posting here, first House fic – be gentle with me! First posted at Fox Forums but rating heading higher than PG-13.
I think that's it, please read and enjoy. Reviews are cherished.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. The grandfather clock marks the passage of time in a deep, regular rhythm. It swings backwards and forwards in equal amounts, finely balanced. If it were weighted differently, the balance would be wrong, the rhythm would be lost. A long, slow sweep of the pendulum and a moment passes, measuring out a life, your life. Yet, with each moment, a change could happen, the pendulum could be pushed, pulled… stopped. Change… an outside influence, affecting the balance, disrupting the rhythm, spoiling the moment, upsetting a life.
Life ticks away in moments and passes in minutes, hours, days… years. From life to death, misery to happiness, another day survived, another year of sleep, eat, work, repeat until bored or dead. As Thomas La Mance once said (by way of the philosopher Lennon) 'Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans'. Plans are made, sometimes, actions taken but the more people try to order and control their lives, the more the possibility arises that along comes chaos, with an evil laugh, to intervene. Change is introduced. Sometimes that change is welcome, sometimes not – although at the time, it is nearly always seen as a bad thing. However, the pendulum may wobble, but, if it swings on, the moment may complete, there's a chance that the balance may be re-established – that life continues.
For Dr. Lisa Cuddy life had changed with the introduction of a baby girl, with all the expectation of the joy of motherhood.
For Dr. Gregory House life had changed with the introduction of a baby girl, with all the expectation of the misery of motherhood.
So far so good, the balance was maintained – her heart full of happiness, his leg full of pain.
Lisa Cuddy had been at home for a week, bonding with her foster baby. She loved the baby, wanted so much to make a difference to the baby's future, looked forward to mother and daughter bonding, felt the joy in her heart – but her mind was aghast at the bomb site her house was, the way time disappeared with washing, cleaning, feeding, shopping and a thousand different chores she'd never had to do before. As a doctor she should be used to lack of sleep, but she couldn't find things, everything was so messy, she hated that. Lisa Cuddy did not do disorganised.
Greg House had wallowed pleasantly in her absence from work, telling Wilson, his team and any body within hailing distance how wonderful it was not to have her breathing down his neck, nagging him to do his clinic hours, yelling at him for playing his guitar. It would have to be this week that his leg was giving him so many bad pain days. Had an interesting case come his way things might have been different, but it hadn't, therefore his mind was free to wander and to find ways to entertain itself. Somehow, it kept swinging back to Cuddy.
She hadn't thought about him all week. Actually, that was a lie – she hoped he wasn't causing chaos, putting noses out of joint, treading on any toes, taking any body's head off literally or figuratively, and, just occasionally, very occasionally you understand, wondering if he would pay a visit. Not surprised when he didn't, but a little disappointed.
He considered Cuddy and the baby. He wasn't interested in the baby, not that he disliked babies per se, it was just the way they were a black hole for attention and emotions, sucking the common sense out of a room full of people who'd ohh and arhh over it and make fatuous remarks about how it had it's father's nose when it was impossible to tell at that age – and the father probably wasn't the father anyway. He'd had the conversation with Cuddy about the trials and tribulations of raising a kid, not that she listened – no, she listened, she just couldn't see the huge gap between wanting a baby and having a baby, and all the reality in between. At least this one was returnable. It wasn't that he didn't want her to have a baby, he was pleased for her in a way, he just didn't want her not to be where he wanted her. So he wondered how she was coping with the realities of motherhood, so different from the dewy eyed idealism of her dreams – and pretended his leg wasn't any more painful than usual.