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cuddys_house2008-04-23 07:51 pm
hbic-cuddy.livejournal.com) wrote in cuddys_house2008-04-23 07:51 pm
Morning, 18 September
Cuddy toweled off after her shower, giving her hair an extra rub to get the last few stray drops of water that would otherwise slide down her neck. She slipped on her robe and headed for the kitchen, wanting a shot of coffee to help her through the rest of her morning routine. Usually she could forego the caffeine fix until she reached her office but she was tired that morning. The weekend with House had been wonderful but it had really drained her batteries. She’d had to drag herself out of bed when the alarm went off. Even her morning run hadn’t energized her the way it usually did. She felt like she was running on empty and she couldn’t afford to go into work half awake.
She wrinkled her nose as she walked into the kitchen. She obviously needed to take the garbage out. Surprising she hadn’t noticed it earlier but her nose must have still been asleep. Whatever the reason, she’d make sure the garbage was out before she left for work. Distracted, she walked to the other side of the kitchen, grabbed the pot from the coffee maker…and gagged.
“Okay, not the garbage,” she said, holding her breath as she poured the pot into the sink. “Time to clean the coffee pot. Or the whole maker. Or, hell, just get a new one.”
She set the pot in the sink, her stomach rolling at the smell and turned on the hot water. Disgusting. Absolutely disgusting. She wandered back to the bathroom wondering how she’d let her housekeeping get so sloppy. Admittedly she was no Martha Stewart--never had been. She’d always been clean, though…mostly.
Spending time with House had certainly changed her priorities. She was spending less time cleaning and more time playing. That was a positive change. She needed to change her priorities if she truly wanted to make a relationship work, and she really wanted to make this one work. So she didn’t mind giving up a little cleanliness for him. There had to be limits, though. Risking condemnation by the Department of Health wouldn’t do either of them any good.
Cuddy’s stomach settled down as she concentrated on applying her make-up. She frowned at the slight dark circles under her eyes and began digging through the drawer for the concealer. Instead, her fingers stumbled across the packet of birth control pills she’d picked up the previous week. She’d promised House she’d go back on the pill and, although she was still ambivalent about the whole birth control/baby issue, she’d keep her promise. A slightly frown creased her forehead, though, as she stared at the pills. She was waiting for her next cycle to start…and that cycle should’ve started three days ago.
Okay, no big deal. She was a couple days late. Most women had fluctuations in their cycles and she was like most women. But then most women weren’t on fertility treatments. She had been which meant that she knew almost to the minute when she’d ovulated and therefore knew exactly when her period should start. She also knew she’d had unprotected sex on the day she’d ovulated.
She stared at herself in the mirror. She didn’t look any different. She didn’t feel any different. A little breast tenderness, a little fatigue, but she felt those every month when she got premenstrual. “Don’t be an idiot.” She continued staring at herself, though. Then she shook her head firmly. No point getting herself worked up over an almost impossible possibility. She pulled open another drawer and dug through the contents until she found the pregnancy test she knew was in there.
A couple of minutes later she set the stick on the corner of the counter and continued getting ready for work. She finished up her make-up and did her hair before heading into the bedroom. She pulled on a pure white, short-sleeved sweater and a deep fuscia colored skirt. She was still fumbling with the clasp of her necklace when she walked back to the bathroom to check the test.
She picked up the stick and stared at the result for a moment before she tossed it in the trash can. She walked through her bedroom, pulled a pair of high-heeled pumps from the closet and sat down on the side of the bed to slip them on.
She continued to sit there, though, one shoe dangling from her fingers. Her body felt numb, but her emotions were jumbled and confused. She should accept the facts and focus on the future. The future she wanted with House. And she should be happy about the test result. She should be relieved. And she was. She was happy and relieved but because life was never that simple she was also filled with a sense of dread, of loss and uncertainty.
She’d known right from the beginning that she could either have House or she could have a child. He’d never lied to her about that. And she’d been doing a pretty good job of convincing herself that it was okay, that she could put her maternal hopes behind her and be happy. She’d been doing a pretty good job of…well, of lying to herself, obviously. Because seeing the results of the test had driven home the fact that she really hadn’t been okay with giving up on a child.
So now she was left wondering--what was it she wanted most? What was she willing to live without? How long would it be before she could stand the smell of coffee again? But mostly, at this exact moment, she was wondering just how she was going to tell House she was pregnant.
She wrinkled her nose as she walked into the kitchen. She obviously needed to take the garbage out. Surprising she hadn’t noticed it earlier but her nose must have still been asleep. Whatever the reason, she’d make sure the garbage was out before she left for work. Distracted, she walked to the other side of the kitchen, grabbed the pot from the coffee maker…and gagged.
“Okay, not the garbage,” she said, holding her breath as she poured the pot into the sink. “Time to clean the coffee pot. Or the whole maker. Or, hell, just get a new one.”
She set the pot in the sink, her stomach rolling at the smell and turned on the hot water. Disgusting. Absolutely disgusting. She wandered back to the bathroom wondering how she’d let her housekeeping get so sloppy. Admittedly she was no Martha Stewart--never had been. She’d always been clean, though…mostly.
Spending time with House had certainly changed her priorities. She was spending less time cleaning and more time playing. That was a positive change. She needed to change her priorities if she truly wanted to make a relationship work, and she really wanted to make this one work. So she didn’t mind giving up a little cleanliness for him. There had to be limits, though. Risking condemnation by the Department of Health wouldn’t do either of them any good.
Cuddy’s stomach settled down as she concentrated on applying her make-up. She frowned at the slight dark circles under her eyes and began digging through the drawer for the concealer. Instead, her fingers stumbled across the packet of birth control pills she’d picked up the previous week. She’d promised House she’d go back on the pill and, although she was still ambivalent about the whole birth control/baby issue, she’d keep her promise. A slightly frown creased her forehead, though, as she stared at the pills. She was waiting for her next cycle to start…and that cycle should’ve started three days ago.
Okay, no big deal. She was a couple days late. Most women had fluctuations in their cycles and she was like most women. But then most women weren’t on fertility treatments. She had been which meant that she knew almost to the minute when she’d ovulated and therefore knew exactly when her period should start. She also knew she’d had unprotected sex on the day she’d ovulated.
She stared at herself in the mirror. She didn’t look any different. She didn’t feel any different. A little breast tenderness, a little fatigue, but she felt those every month when she got premenstrual. “Don’t be an idiot.” She continued staring at herself, though. Then she shook her head firmly. No point getting herself worked up over an almost impossible possibility. She pulled open another drawer and dug through the contents until she found the pregnancy test she knew was in there.
A couple of minutes later she set the stick on the corner of the counter and continued getting ready for work. She finished up her make-up and did her hair before heading into the bedroom. She pulled on a pure white, short-sleeved sweater and a deep fuscia colored skirt. She was still fumbling with the clasp of her necklace when she walked back to the bathroom to check the test.
She picked up the stick and stared at the result for a moment before she tossed it in the trash can. She walked through her bedroom, pulled a pair of high-heeled pumps from the closet and sat down on the side of the bed to slip them on.
She continued to sit there, though, one shoe dangling from her fingers. Her body felt numb, but her emotions were jumbled and confused. She should accept the facts and focus on the future. The future she wanted with House. And she should be happy about the test result. She should be relieved. And she was. She was happy and relieved but because life was never that simple she was also filled with a sense of dread, of loss and uncertainty.
She’d known right from the beginning that she could either have House or she could have a child. He’d never lied to her about that. And she’d been doing a pretty good job of convincing herself that it was okay, that she could put her maternal hopes behind her and be happy. She’d been doing a pretty good job of…well, of lying to herself, obviously. Because seeing the results of the test had driven home the fact that she really hadn’t been okay with giving up on a child.
So now she was left wondering--what was it she wanted most? What was she willing to live without? How long would it be before she could stand the smell of coffee again? But mostly, at this exact moment, she was wondering just how she was going to tell House she was pregnant.