Archive of Our Own

Cuddy wrestled the last of the papers into her already overstuffed briefcase and forced it closed. The neat and organized surface of her desk had emerged once more from under a seemingly insurmountable pile of administrative debris. Fourteen long hours ago, when her hair had still been tamed and her clothes free of creases it had seemed like she might never escape the confines of her office.

Now, as the stillness of night reigned over her hospital, Cuddy had reduced her to-do list down to a final two crucial items: a long, hot bath and a generous glass of Merlot. The clinic lay in almost-darkness outside the glass barricades that kept her from the world, only the dim emergency lighting providing illumination for her escape.

She had almost cleared the nurse's station when she saw the strip of light that was not supposed to be there. She couldn't contain the sigh that erupted in the face of even such a minor diversion, but it was justified when she heard the sudden thump and muffled cursing that came from beyond the closed door. Shifting her bags uncomfortably, Cuddy strode across the clinic floor and barged into the exam room without knocking. If someone was going to ruin her evening by getting fired for theft (from a charitably-funded clinic, no less) then politeness was the last thing the intruder deserved.

Cuddy would have struggled to say whom she did expect to find on the other side of the door, but the doctor House persisted in calling Thirteen would not have been high on her list.

"Dr. Hadley?"

The younger woman's only response was a twitch of her shoulders, refusing to be diverted from whatever she was doing over the room's tiny metal sink.

At a loss, Cuddy fumbled for words. Her only interactions with Thirteen had been limited to disciplinary ones, usually with House interfering every step of the way. Wasn't it just a few weeks ago that she'd been ready to force her into taking a drug test?

With her impatience rapidly descending into anger, Cuddy took the few small steps necessary to be at Thirteen's side. She reached out instinctively to take her employee by the elbow, determined to get the basic courtesy of eye contact before throwing her out on her ass.

Thirteen's yelp of pain sent Cuddy scurrying backwards as though burned. Only then did Cuddy take in the scene fully: Thirteen's jacket and shoes discarded haphazardly on the floor, one heel broken off; her hair wet and stringy and tears to both her jeans and the flimsy top that she was wearing.

When Thirteen did finally turn to face Cuddy, the sinking realization made it all the way to rock bottom. The long cut across her right cheek, the hint of swelling along the eyebrow and the first dark smudges of bruises under the scrapes on her shaking hands.

"Someone did this to you?"

It was somewhere between a statement and a question; both of them knew the glaring truth of the situation by now.

With downcast eyes, Thirteen gave a slow nod in the affirmative. Cuddy deposited her bags on the floor and moved closer once more, professionalism rising to the fore.

More carefully this time, she reached for Thirteen's forearm and performed a quick, silent injury assessment. Cuddy could feel the resentment radiating towards her, but Thirteen made no move to retract her arm.

"Dr. Hadley, I have to ask: who did this?"

That did it.

Retreating towards the sink as though it offered some form of protection, Thirteen simply glared at her boss. More than familiar with recalcitrant employees, Cuddy waited her out, trying not to begrudge the intensely silent seconds that were slowly ebbing away from the night of relaxation that had been rightfully hers.

Eventually Thirteen seemed to accept that Cuddy wasn't leaving, and resumed her careless searching through the clinic's supply drawers.

"I got in a fight, okay? Now I just need to clean myself up and get out of here."

The pieces fell into place for Cuddy at that point: the shrinking posture, the extreme nervousness and snappy, defensive comments. She'd seen this before, hell, anyone who'd spent an hour or two in an ER had seen this before. The thought of domestic violence had always been a hot-button issue for Cuddy, provoking her to rage in seconds flat, but this time her blood ran cold at the realization. Whether they liked it or not, she felt responsible for her employees and their wellbeing, and letting something like this happen instantly felt like some kind of failure.

'Wait a minute, did Foreman do this? And you're hiding out in here to protect him?"

Cuddy swallowed, trying to keep the shrill combination of panic and rage out of her voice. She knew that the last thing a victim of assault needed to hear in their vulnerable state was anything that sounded like more anger, or blame, The training she'd been so enthusiastic to provide, the seminars about compassionate questioning seemed so long ago, so inadequate for the reality of the task at hand.

"You should be in the ER, Dr. Hadley. What about fractures, what about internal bleeding? You tell me what he did to you, and I will fire his ass so fast he won't know what hit him."

The flashpoint of Cuddy's anger startled Thirteen, and she watched wild-eyed until Cuddy's rant ended. Then Dr. Hadley smirked in that infuriatingly calm way of hers, as though pain and suffering were somehow cause for amusement.

"You can't fire Foreman for something that happened outside the hospital."

"Just watch me Dr. Hadley. If I can fire someone for drinking or taking drugs, I can damn well fire them for attacking another member of staff. Why don't you want him held responsible? This isn't the 1950s; it doesn't have to be like this."

Thirteen actually managed a weak laugh at that.

"Before you attack my feminist credentials, Dr. Cuddy, this has nothing to do with Eric. How did you even know we dated?"

With a shrug, Cuddy declined to reveal her sources, although the sudden need for the past tense hadn't reached her on the grapevine yet. Just because half the gossip was about the Dean herself didn't mean she wasn't privy to the most outlandish scandals and rumors floating around these less-than-hallowed halls. Admittedly, her main source of news was usually House, who liked to revel in other people's misery almost as much as he did in his own.

"Listen boss, if you want the story, you stitch me up. Do we have a deal?"

It seemed to be a reasonable request, though the undertone of sass grated on Cuddy slightly. Still, it would prevent a protracted battle over taking Thirteen to the ER, and besides, Cuddy had already decided to do a full exam to be sure. If necessary, security could extricate themselves from their cozy office for once and drag Dr. Hadley there. Actually, in this state, Cuddy was pretty sure she could handle her alone if it came down to it.

"Well, you're right about needing stitches for your face. Hop up here and I'll fix it. Then you can report whoever did do this to you."

Even as out of practice as she was, it didn't take Cuddy long to assemble the necessary items from the mess that Thirteen had already made. Washing her hands and then slipping into clammy latex gloves, Cuddy began her brisk clean-up of Thirteen's wounds.

With all minor injuries accounted for, and a few extra sweeps of the penlight to be sure about head injuries, Cuddy fetched the lidocaine and sterile stitching kit needed to finish the job. Thirteen had a dressing pressed to the wound, but released it without complaint for Cuddy to go about her work.

Despite the hours of administration that now filled her days, the art of neat stitching had never left her. After a quick numbing shot, she forced her hands to remain steady through the first brief seconds of hesitation and completed a row of neat stitches with consummate precision.

Thirteen patted the stitches suspiciously once Cuddy was finished, but didn't appear to find fault with the work. Either out of self-preservation or lack of caring, Thirteen kept her mouth shut and the lack of needless criticism was welcomed by the Dean.

Retrieving a pair of the flimsy inpatient slippers stashed in a cupboard, Cuddy handed them to her patched-up employee and looked away as Thirteen stiffly pushed them on to her bare feet. Her expression had calmed to something approaching baleful and, confident that she wouldn't now flee into the night, Cuddy felt secure enough to begin cleaning up.

"So, Dr. Hadley, spill. That was the arrangement, remember?"

Throwing the used packaging in the trash and then the sharps into their own yellow bin, Cuddy heard the long exhalation of air that warned of the story to come. Thirteen seemed to take her time in choosing her words.

"Eric and I broke up last night. Today was so awkward and crappy, I thought I'd treat myself to a night out - blow off a little steam, you know?"

Cuddy nodded as though that hadn't been news to her, and was proud of herself for not wincing at the interruption to her own, now derailed, attempt to blow off steam. Her quiet sympathy seemed to encourage Thirteen to continue.

"Then I end up getting the crap kicked out of me in an alleyway because some bitch at the club thought I was giving her girlfriend the eye."

The women in the equation registered briefly with Cuddy, but that old rumor had been pretty much established back when Thirteen had been treating her one-night stands on hospital time; it was hardly news.

"And were you? Giving her the eye, I mean? Not that anything warrants this kind of violence, of course."

Cuddy asked the question as neutrally as possible, now that she was done with her cleaning, she leant against the counter to listen to the younger woman. Thirteen squinted curiously at her boss before replying, a wicked grin on her face for the first time since Cuddy had encountered her.

"I'd already fucked her in the bathroom."

The gasp of surprise was totally involuntary, but Cuddy tried to cover it up with a fake cough.

"If the girlfriend had known that, I'd have been showing up here in a body bag."

Startled by the frank confession, Cuddy was at a loss for what to say next. She felt her cheeks flush at the overly personal information, and the crudeness reminded her too much of House. He really was a bad influence on every single one of his Fellows.

The laugh from Thirteen wasn't entirely unexpected, but it did ease some of the tension in the room.

"I guess I'm still a little drunk, Dr. Cuddy. Still, you don't seem too offended. I guess you hear a lot worse…"

Cuddy shrugged in an all-too familiar way. Of course she did. At least this particular bout of cursing wasn't aimed at her.

"Okay, Dr. Hadley. Let's get you home."

Retrieving her bags, Cuddy braced herself for confrontation, but none was forthcoming. Thirteen merely rescued her jacket from the floor and dumped the broken shoes in the trashcan. She followed without dissent as Cuddy opened the door into the deathly still clinic area.

Her Lexus was parked close to the entrance of course, and so the impractical slippers covering Thirteen's feet didn't have to endure too much. Without waiting for an invitation, Thirteen deposited herself in the passenger seat mere seconds after Cuddy unlocked the doors.

Cuddy threw her possessions casually into the backseat, the now waning pangs at the lack of child-seat not powerful enough to wreck her evening. Feeling capable, occupied by the task at hand, she slid into the driver's seat and soon had them on the move through the streets of Princeton.

1. Eventually the other woman returned, grudgingly, to the land of waking and Cuddy was free to leave the smartly-upholstered claustrophobia of her car.

It took Thirteen the whole stumbled walk to the front door to discover that the destination was not her own home. Cuddy had been too intent on getting home to find out her barely conscious companion's address, and all she knew from House's snippets of gossip was that Thirteen lived in a pretentious loft space somewhere downtown.

"Dr. Cuddy, can you call me a cab?"

In her confusion (and most likely the throes of an early-onset hangover) Thirteen had the facial expressions of a cranky toddler, the frown already formed across the smooth planes of her face.

"You can stay here tonight, Dr. Hadley. That way if your brain is about to fall out of your ears, there'll be someone to call an ambulance."

Cuddy made sure that her tone brooked no argument from the younger woman, this Friday had been quite endless enough already. Though her keys were already in her hand, Cuddy paused for a moment before opening the front door. It still chilled her slightly, even after the thousands of times she'd already done it, to walk into an empty house. She fought back the fleeting memories of Joy, the sickening reminders of that sunshine yellow room that had remained closed since the adoption fell through. On top of those, the fresh longing for the child she'd rescued from a crack den, only to have the grandparents whisk her away one afternoon. Motherhood was clearly not in Cuddy's cards, now or possibly ever. She'd just have to work through her compulsive mothering and fussing with the associated addicts and hopeless cases on her payroll.

Restless behind Cuddy on the porch, Thirteen shifted from foot to foot and her teeth were chattering in the brisk January cold. Taking the hint, Cuddy unlocked the door and pushed straight through to flip on the lights before the loneliness of the house could slap her in the face once more.

Her evening ritual took almost no time at all, and by the time Cuddy had divested herself of the trappings of work, Thirteen was still standing awkwardly in the hallway. Taking pity on her drunken but ultimately hurt employee, Cuddy offered to take her jacket.

"Okay Dr. Hadley, here's the drill - "

Thirteen sputtered out an instant correction.

"If you're letting me stay here, and you don't have to by the way, then you can call me Thirteen. Or Remy, I guess? Whatever you want."

The gesture made Cuddy smile, almost in spite of herself. She wouldn't be derailed from her plan to get Thirteen settled quickly though, not when she still had time to resurrect some of this waning evening for herself.

"The guest room is right here, Remy." Cuddy tried it out, finding she liked the way it tripped off her tongue. "If you want to take a shower I'll lay out some clothes and things you might need, okay? And then, if you don't mind, I have an overdue appointment with a bubble bath that I really can't break."

Sleepiness clearing from her eyes, Thirteen nodded in quiet understanding. Cuddy was surprised that she didn't find the younger woman's presence intrusive. Perhaps she was too used to House being her only night-time visitor, and he went out of his way to be the most unwanted intruder every time. After that, anything else was almost welcome.

True to her word, Cuddy ushered Thirteen into the guest room and pointed towards the small but functional en suite. As soon as she heard the spray start up, Cuddy set off towards her own bedroom to retrieve spare pajamas and a robe.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Remy let the shower run as she heard Cuddy's retreating footsteps in the hallway. This was pretty fucking surreal. From her break up with Foreman to the ill-advised liaison that had just cost her a hell of a lot of bruising, to letting her boss's boss take her home.

This was totally going to end in another one of those "Dr. Hadley, we need to talk about your position here at the hospital" chats on Monday, of that much she was already sure. She just couldn't summon up enough energy to care.

She prodded gingerly at her face, though the injection provided by Cuddy seemed to have numbed up the worst of it. Already, she knew things would be a lot less bearable once her various painkillers had worn off. Her still damp jeans held aching legs that wouldn't be forgiving her anytime soon, and so Remy decided to cut her damn losses and at least enjoy the nice hot shower that she had set streaming in front of her.

Removing her clothes turned out to be more of a Herculean task than she had first thought. Every muscle seemed to shriek as she tugged at uncooperative fabrics, a sure sign that the alcohol was definitely wearing off. Groaning as she finally stepped under the pounding spray, Remy promised herself quite insincerely that she was never going to do this again. The water felt great though, at least after the initial shock to her thoroughly chilled skin. The steam seemed to clear her head, and Remy peered through the condensation on the shower screen at the little trinkets of Lisa Cuddy's very lilac bathroom.

Of course, the toiletries were something designer and organic, but in full bottles that made Remy wonder exactly how often Cuddy let outsiders into her private little sanctuary. Remy supposed she ought to be embarrassed at letting the Dean know so much about her personal life but hell, the rumors were bound to circulate anyway. At least this way she wouldn't wake up next to a dumpster or in a police station. She had to admit, someone giving a crap what happened to her was kind of nice.

Of course, her dad cared about her but every conversation was laced with that sad inevitability, every cold day or sleepy expression sent him spiraling into a panic that he was losing her like he had his wife. Remy couldn't bear to be around it eventually; the constant reminder of her imminent mortality was simply too exhausting. She made a token effort around Christmas, and made sure to send an email every week or so, but not much more.

Cuddy was a pretty decent person, all things considered. Oh, Remy knew better than to risk showing up to work high again, that was a bridge already burned. But she craved that capability Cuddy brought to everything, making Remy feel reassured that there was some comforting but unknown plan to be adhered to. In the chaos of her own life, having the occasional moment where an anchor slowed her down was pretty necessary. One thing was for sure: House was going to have a field day with this when he found out. It might not be possible for him to squeeze more lesbian jokes into his daily tirade, but he would definitely try. Remy made a note to warn Cuddy about that if they spoke again before bed, but in the meantime let her brain wind down as the pulsating water worked on the worst of the tension in her muscles.

When she emerged from the steam at last, feeling at least marginally better, she wrapped herself in the decadently fluffy towels hanging on the rails. Certainly the treatment here at Casa Cuddy was a little more luxurious than the basics at her own apartment that the cleaning lady tried to make the best of. While Thirteen was aware that places like Bed, Bath and Beyond existed, she just hadn't quite made it inside of one yet; maybe one day.

Remy took her time in getting ready, due to both exhaustion and a desire not to aggravate her injuries any further. Cuddy had laid out all of the essentials, right down to a hairdryer. Perhaps she had missed her calling in the hotel industry, although Remy was increasingly of the impression that the Dean just wasn't capable of doing anything half-assed.

There was a stillness to the house as Remy stood there in deep blue silk pajamas that were just a little too short on her legs. Cuddy's typical aggressiveness made the height difference between them practically unnoticeable most of the time, and she was absolutely a black-belt in making Remy slouch like a recalcitrant student. Only standing there in the other woman's clothes did Remy remember the relative shortness of her boss. She wondered whether going in search of coffee would be considered a favor too far, and so she dallied a little while with the bottled water and aspirin that Cuddy had laid out on the bedside table. After fussing with the comfortable running clothes that Cuddy had placed on the bedspread, presumably having noticed that Remy's own clothes were simply no longer fit for purpose, Remy decided to risk a little presumption and strike out in search of hot, glorious caffeine.

She padded her way down the hallway, peering into each room as she passed. The house was a warm and welcoming place, the vibrant colors and soft furnishings far removed from the sharp lines and stark furniture of her own apartment. En route she allowed her eyes to roam over what little of Cuddy's bedroom was visible from where the door had been left ajar. Some plaintive chick rock wafted out, presumably from the master bath, but Remy didn't linger until she encountered the soft wooden finishes of the kitchen.

1. Figuring she'd come too far to stop now, she risked a gentle knock on the door.

There was a sudden flurry of splashes before Cuddy's voice rang out, the peaks of annoyance in no way disguised. Remy suddenly felt like an idiot, her decision-making no doubt still impaired by the onslaught of tequila she'd subjected her brain to.

"You, uh, left your wine Dr. Cuddy. I thought you might want it?"

The sigh could be heard from the doorway and Remy cringed.

"Sorry, I wasn't thinking. I'm an idiot. I'll leave the glass here."

Another round of soft splashes echoed against the tiles and just as she had turned to leave, Remy was stopped in her tracks by Cuddy's words.

"Okay, bring it in."

The bathroom was warm and smelled divine, making Remy feel a lot like she was walking into a spa. Steam wafted up from the oversized tub, and she tried to focus on any other part of the room but the big chunk of ceramic that contained a very naked Dean of Medicine.

"Dr. Hadley, sorry… Remy? I can't drink it from all the way over there."

Remy was honest-to-God blushing. Nothing about this night was even close to what she recognized as normal, and she was fairly sure it had just crossed over into completely fucking insane. This was turning into a plot from one of the crappy pornos in Foreman's limited collection, all they needed was a little more cheesy dialog.

"I'm covered in bubbles you know, it's perfectly safe."

In shuffling steps, she made her way towards the tub, almost missing the edge when she finally put the glass down.

"There you go, Dr. Cuddy. Um, enjoy?"

Desperate to bolt, Remy began her hasty retreat, almost going headfirst over the bath mat in the process. Just when she thought she couldn't look any more foolish, she had to go and achieve exactly that.

"Lisa," Cuddy said quietly, almost inaudible even in the room's great acoustics.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"You can call me Lisa. Not at work, but….you're in my bathroom, Remy. I stitched you up while you told me about your sexual conquests. You're sleeping here tonight, don't you think we're kind of at the first name stage by now?"

Remy shrugged, it was kind of hard to argue with that point.

"Okay, Lisa it is. Outside of the hospital."

"Sorry the pajamas don't quite fit, you're quite a bit leggier than me. How's the pain? I guess the best of your alcohol protection is pretty much wearing off by now, huh?"

There was no judgment in Cuddy's voice, just a straightforward question.

"Yeah, I'm a bit stiff. I'll definitely be paying for this in the morning."

Cuddy raised a hand to her face, letting water run over the now bare skin. Remy was more than a little impressed by how good her boss still looked with no make-up, especially after a day as long as this one must have been. Only small, dark smudges of mascara beneath each eye betrayed Cuddy's earlier, more polished, exterior.

"Take whatever painkillers you need from the cabinet over there. There's some co-codamol in the kitchen, too."

Thirteen bobbed her head in acknowledgment, waiting for Cuddy to continue. The soft light from the scented candles made the whole room feel like a dreamscape of sorts, and she wondered if any minute now she'd wake up in her own bed with a pounding headache and a thirst that made her wonder if she'd been swallowing sand.

"We should also get you down to the police station in the morning. I know there's no DNA evidence now, but you can give a description, right?"

That made Remy squirm. She had no intention of taking this any further, and she suspected Cuddy knew that. This was pretty much a guilt trip, and not a very well-disguised one.

"I'll see how I feel in the morning, but honestly, I'd rather put the whole mess behind me. Better to move on; no point in dwelling on what's already done."

Cuddy narrowed her eyes in either disapproval or suspicion, but to her credit she let Remy off without a lecture.

"I'm spoiling your relaxation, Lisa. Thank you for everything, but I'll probably just crash now."

The smile Cuddy gave her was tired, but genuine.

"Okay, well I'm treating myself to a tiny slice of chocolate cake in a little while. Call it my weekly indulgence. If you can't sleep, I'll see you in the kitchen in ten."

1. After all, wasn't it the least she could do?

Cuddy emerged from her bedroom a little while later, wrapped in soft cotton pajamas and a fluffy yellow robe that made Remy think of Easter chicks, of all the crazy, drunken ideas that could have popped into her head.

They ended up disposing of about a quarter of the sinfully rich cake between them, Remy egging Cuddy on with just a forkful more, then another, claiming the endorphins were necessary for restful sleep.

"You know, Lisa, having soy milk with a cake this good is probably some kind of crime against food."

Cuddy pouted at the slur on her dairy choices, then proceeded to drain her milk glass with something approaching defiance.

"Well, that's all I ever buy. You want full cream, you do the shopping next time."

Remy grinned at the implication.

"Oh, if you want to see a girly night in done properly, you have to put me in charge. I make martinis that you'd sell your soul for."

Cuddy skimmed her fork over her chocolate-smeared plate, capturing errant crumbs with the prongs of her fork before delicately licking the metal clean.

"I might take you up on that, if I ever have a free evening again."

Tiredness defeated them both quite quickly, after some cursory discussion about how overworked they both were, the complications of dealing with House and the evil nurse in the Cardio unit who looked like she wanted to kill everyone just for sport. With hasty goodnights, both women retreated to their respective beds and Remy was out cold within seconds of her head hitting the pillow.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Cuddy awoke in a surprisingly good mood, even though Saturday morning usually meant an extended workout and then 'working from home', which was really just as bad as being in the office. The paperwork bursting out of her briefcase was threatening to keep her occupied well past dinner that night, but she couldn't quite bring herself to care.

She had almost forgotten about her overnight guest, until she stumbled into the kitchen and found a pot of coffee already percolating. Distracted momentarily by the front page of the Times, she didn't notice Thirteen's reappearance until she was on the opposite side of the counter.

"Morning."

The bruises were in sharp relief now against Thirteen's pale skin and Cuddy made a mental note to check those injuries again properly before letting the younger woman escape into the weak February sunlight. Thirteen looked more relaxed than Cuddy had ever seen her, with Cuddy's usually tight pale green t-shirt hanging a little loose on Thirteen's incredibly slender frame. At least the running pants were a little longer than the pajamas had been.

"I got bagels. I don't know if you even like bagels, but I got some."

Cuddy smiled at the gesture, Thirteen's awkwardness was actually kind of cute. And yes, she tried not to dwell on quite how much this felt like the weirdness in the morning after a one-night stand.

"I'm Jewish, I can tolerate the occasional bagel. My personal trainer might disagree, but what the hell, right?"

Reclaiming dominion over her own kitchen, Cuddy popped the bagels in the toaster and set about retrieving some cream cheese. Without being asked, Thirteen poured two generous mugs of coffee, dousing her own with liberal amounts of cream and sugar before gulping it down with a hint of desperation.

"Hangover kicking your ass, Remy?"

Pressing her fingertips hard against her temple, Thirteen nodded in the affirmative.

"I downed a carton of OJ on the way back from the bakery, but no relief just yet. I might make another trip to that bathroom cabinet of yours."

Cuddy nodded in agreement, for once not afraid that all her decent painkillers would disappear the way they did after House's infrequent visits.

In companionable silence, they read their respective sections of the paper and consumed their breakfasts with enthusiasm. Eventually they could prolong conversation no longer, and Cuddy couldn't help but be curious why Thirteen hadn't fled in the middle of the night. She certainly seemed the type.

"Let me take a look at your war wounds, and then I'll let you get on with your Saturday."

She might have imagined it, but Cuddy could have sworn she saw the briefest flash of disappointment on Thirteen's face as she said it. By the time Cuddy had applied another cleansing wipe to the stitches and checked on the various scrapes and grazes, Thirteen's usual forcefield of indifference was back in place.

"It's going to take a few days for the swelling and bruising to clear, but no permanent damage, thank God. Can you promise me you'll be a little pickier about your choice in partners from now on?"

Thirteen winced at that.

"Does that include Dr. Foreman too?"

That made Cuddy laugh, her bafflement at how any woman could stand Foreman's House-lite antics was probably quite obvious, but she'd never be caught gossiping about her employees. Even in her own kitchen, the professional mask couldn't be lowere altogether.

"Well, each to their own I guess."

Well aware of the gossip about her own taste in men, Cuddy was relieved that no returning barb came her way about House. Although she cared for him, she couldn't help but feel that in the aftermath of mistaken kisses their chance had somehow passed them by. Not to mention the extent of chaos and destruction that would ensue if they ever did try to force the issue - Cuddy wasn't sure that she could withstand that much insanity.

By the time Cuddy had cleared the few breakfast dishes into their hiding place, the dishwasher, Thirteen had returned to the kitchen with her jacket and a pair of Cuddy's running shoes.

"I borrowed these to go to the store, would you mind if I went home in them? I'll give them back to you on Monday, I promise."

"No problem. Give me ten minutes to get ready and I'll take you."

"You don't have…"

"Yeah, I know."

The drive was quiet, since most people seemed to be enjoying a lazy Saturday morning. Cuddy made it downtown in no time at all, her sunglasses firmly in place against the morning light, and a handy disguise for her 'just got up' appearance.

When she pulled up outside the industrial blankness of Thirteen's apartment building, Cuddy killed the engine right away, pushing her shades up on top of her head as she did. Thirteen turned to her with an almost shy expression, some unspoken question playing out across her features.

"Do you want to come up for a coffee or something? I mean, you probably have a whole day planned, and babysitting me has taken up enough of your time, right?"

Cuddy was surprised by how much she wanted to accept the invitation, especially considering the mountain of unsigned forms and bills waiting for her at home. The day felt suddenly infinite, with potential for fun as well as responsibility.

But she still said no. How could she say anything else really? This was already way past professional boundaries.

"Well, enjoy your Saturday Lisa. And thank you, really."

Cuddy felt a sudden self-consciousness in the limited space of the front seat. She debated her next move as Thirteen released her seatbelt, wondering exactly what note to leave this on. Why worry now if a hug would be appropriate? Oh sure, Thirteen's bisexuality was a well-known fact and permanent feature of the hospital's whisper-filled hallways, but Cuddy wasn't vain enough to assume that simply being attracted to women meant someone would be attracted to her. Gay, straight, whatever, it had never made the slightest bit of difference to her before.

Hell, it hadn't concerned her when she was lying naked in the bath with Thirteen inches away from her, had it? What was the big deal about a quick, comforting hug for a colleague who had suffered an ordeal in the last 24 hours?

"Look after yourself, Remy. And you can call me if you need anything. You should still think about telling the police, don't think I've forgotten about that."

Was that an eye roll? Damn, Thirteen really must be recovering if she was already back at that level of bored but subtle insubordination. Cuddy spent a quiet moment contemplating Thirteen's perfectly glossy hair, the scent of her own shampoo stronger in the car with both of them using it. She struggled to find words to tell Thirteen that she deserved better than arrogant jerks or getting the crap kicked out of her in alleyways. Before she could summon any words along those lines, Thirteen began getting out of the car.

Cuddy couldn't exactly explain why she jumped out of the car too, moments after declining the invitation for a warm drink. Shivering slightly after the cozy heat of her car, Cuddy scuttled around the car to keep warm in the winter chill. She felt stupid, standing there in a thin red sweater and black jeans that offered almost no protection against the cold, but nonetheless she drew Thirteen into a gentle hug.

"I mean it, be careful. Nobody deserves to get hurt, not even the kind of masochist who would work for House."

Thirteen giggled with a lightness that made Cuddy feel better about heading off; it sounded loud, as her head was just beside Cuddy's when the noise escaped. As their hug ended, Cuddy was completely intent on pulling away.

Until Thirteen tried to kiss her.

At that, Cuddy froze; nothing to do with the temperature, but rather something more akin to shock. A soft kiss had landed just to the left of her mouth and she had no idea why the hell Thirteen would do something so completely crazy.

"What the fuck?"

The expletive startled the younger woman and she immediately went on the defensive, her hands raised in a form of surrender.

"Whoa, it wasn't what you think. You moved at the worst possible moment. I wasn't trying to..."

Cuddy felt the anger bubbling up inside of her, a crimson wave that she knew from experience had no chance of being halted.

"I don't care what House says about my college days, or what sick little wagers you make up in that office, but I do not expect to have an act of kindness thrown back in my face like that, Dr. Hadley."

"But..."

Ignoring the feeble protests, Cuddy swept back around to the driver's side and had the engine purring before her ass had fully made contact with the seat. She had been stupid enough to think she could have a friendship with a subordinate and once again it had blown up in her face. God, it was beyond infuriating.

As she reversed out of the tiny parking lot, Cuddy risked a cursory glance back at Thirteen. She discovered the younger woman still frozen in place, her hands extended in a gesture of confusion that Cuddy didn't believe for a second. She wondered when she would ever learn this particular lesson. Apparently, not today.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Slinking into the conference room, Remy collapsed gratefully into the waiting chair, slurping down another mouthful of her lukewarm coffee as she grabbed the file from Kutner. A glare from her was enough to shut down his initial protests, and Taub didn't risk anything more than a raised eyebrow.

"You're late," Foreman began, his tone somewhere between mocking and quietly serious.

"So is House. You gonna scold him too?"

Sensing a fight not worth starting, Foreman shrugged at her valid point. Remy forced her eyes back to the pages in front of her, the better to keep the gaudy fluorescent lighting from showing up the fading bruises beneath her foundation. The last thing she felt like, after three blissful days away from work, was the third degree from the Three Stooges. Escaping House's attention was going to take all of her energy as it was.

He appeared eventually, Wilson in tow. Ignoring his Fellows as had become routine, House sought out a refill for his red coffee mug; he neglected to offer any to the rest of the room. Wilson had the messy hair that usually suggested House had been bothering him about something long enough for him to tug on his hair in sheer frustration. Hopefully that meant House would be too distracted to interrogate her, and Remy was just fine with that potential outcome.

House and Wilson continued to argue back and forth about something to do with the clinic, and it wasn't until Cuddy's name was mentioned that Remy started to surreptitiously pay attention. She had taken the additional protective measure of exercising one of her vacation days on Monday, but the mere mention of the Dean's name provoked an instant surge of both anger and confusion.

She really hadn't been trying to make out with Cuddy, and Cuddy had to know that, especially with the cooling off period of a few days. Hadn't Remy made every effort to be polite and restrained? She had no inkling of whether Cuddy had ever so much as kissed another woman and, hot though Cuddy was, Remy had absolutely no intention of making her employment situation (or her life) any more complicated.

Foreman was watching her intently, and she tried valiantly to keep any signs of interest in the conversation from showing on her face. Test results and neatly typed notes about thrombocytopenia were swimming in front of her eyes without allowing any information to transmit to her brain, and so she idly flipped the pages a little before taking what she hoped was a nonchalant sip from her coffee cup.

"Thirteen! You're normally down there flirting with the nurses. What did you hear about Cuddy in the clinic on Friday?"

Unfortunately those were just the words to make Remy forget how to perform a simple act like swallowing and so she started to choke, in quite a loud and mortifying fashion, on a mouthful of rapidly cooling coffee.

"Geez, that wasn't really a spit or swallow situation there. Now you're done spraying us all with your breakfast beverage, what's the buzz?"

Remy tried to affect her usual icy cool demeanor, hoping that House's distraction and her now reddened face would keep him from noticing too much.

"I haven't heard anything. I only just got here."

"Useless! Why don't you go downstairs and start the MRI that our patient needs while the people with the right priorities discuss our fearless leader's sex life, huh?"

In the next breath, House dismissed them all down to Radiology, though not before Remy could overhear a snippet or two about how one of the lazy-ass security guards was telling everyone that Cuddy had been seen sneaking around in the clinic after dark before driving off with someone in the passenger seat of her car. The darkness and hearsay seemed to be protecting the real story, Remy realized, but she felt doubly awful at the thought of these rumors getting back to Cuddy. Hell, she'd probably assume Remy had started them by shooting her mouth off which only meant more unnecessary weirdness in the immediate future.

Honestly, there were times Remy almost believed in God, albeit a God who lived to mess with her life to see how long it would take her to completely crack.

Scurrying out of the room after Taub and Kutner, Remy tried to avoid Foreman altogether, but he pulled her aside before she could reach the sanctuary of the elevators. He took her gently by the arm, the presence of his fingers barely registering on her slender bicep, but it was enough to stop her in her tracks.

"So, you're seeing someone? Already?"

Remy sputtered a vague denial, but she didn't have to look at Foreman's face to know that he hadn't fallen for it. He definitely had House's gift for seeing through bullshit, well, except his own of course.

"Eric, I thought we agreed to keep things professional."

She couldn't avoid him any longer, and looked into his eyes hoping that she'd see anything other than hurt radiating back at her.

Her hope, it turned out, had been entirely futile. Foreman looked as though she had both insulted his mother and kicked his puppy in the same morning, not a promising sign for this conversation being anything less than excruciating. She supposed that maybe he had a point, if his suspicion had been true, since they did only officially split up a few days ago. Still, she didn't get this over-attachment of his. Hadn't Foreman known from the first kiss what kind of girl she was? Commitment was a dirty word to her, always had been, and Remy had never made a promise to him that they both knew she wouldn't keep. Why wasn't it enough to have some laughs and appreciate that he had decent taste in clothes?

And yet he held on, always that little bit more interested in her than he needed to be. Like their fling couldn't be allowed to fade until he relinquished it, sometimes it forced her to resent his quiet insistence on remaining part of her life. One of the many contributing factors to her unspoken fantasy of simply packing up and fleeing to the most remote location the world could offer. Maybe then she could finally get a little room to breathe, finish Sense & Sensibility or die in peace.

"You say you want to be professional Remy, and I get that. It just doesn't erase what's already happened between us."

1. Foreman collected ties like Remy did shoes, and that wasn't exactly a good thing.

"Then I see those signs with you - getting to work late, the fact that you have a cut on your cheek – am I supposed to not worry about you?"

Oh, by 'seeing someone' he meant 'getting high'. Interesting bit of character assassination, Remy thought to herself. As much as she appreciated the thoroughly decent guy under the coolness and sharp suits, it still bugged her that Foreman had appointed himself her unrequested savior. The compassion was genuine, and she hated herself for not being able to accept it wholeheartedly, but she had a hard time with anyone passing judgment on her behavior.

It certainly didn't help matters when she compared his overbearing style to the calm and confident way that Cuddy had looked after her at the weekend. That kind of support she could tolerate – insistent but never obnoxious.

In fact, she'd thought about nothing other than Cuddy for three days. Admittedly most of those thoughts were worrying about their misunderstanding, but there had been more than the occasional image of Cuddy in that damn bubble bath, or the elegant slope of Cuddy's chest in that red sweater: sure signs of a pointless crush developing.

Oh, shit.

Still, Remy had worked her way through countless silly infatuations before. The problem with really liking sex seemed to be that she could find redeeming qualities in most halfway attractive people. With Cuddy, it wasn't a case of having to look hard. Remy almost couldn't blame House for his continuous lewd commentary, because really, what red-blooded person could ignore that damn body?

Shaking off the distraction, Remy did her best to conjure a reassuring smile for her ex.

"You don't have to worry about me. This morning, I hit the snooze button a few too many times, and my face is only messed up because I tried working out with a hangover on Saturday. I seriously don't recommend that, for reference. But not every bit of sloppy behavior means I'm heading into a tailspin, Eric."

Hoping to close the subject once and for all, she took his hand and squeezed it gently.

"It's sweet of you to look out for me. But there's nothing going on."

Thankfully, he seemed to accept her explanation, though Thirteen turned away before he could spend much more time scrutinizing the thick layer of makeup that was covering her fading injuries. That was a conversation she didn't plan on having with anyone, ever again.

"Hey, can you cover for me for five minutes? Cuddy wants me to fill out some paperwork, and I don't want her on my ass about it all day."

Foreman shrugged, not quite over his quest to get proof that she was in trouble without him, but seemingly accepting her explanations for the moment. Remy took off towards the staircase, not wanting to endure the awkwardness of the elevator and the enforced proximity that came with it.

She raced down all four floors, not quite sure where the sense of urgency was coming from. The fact of hospital staff gossiping about Cuddy was far from unusual but a certain protective streak had reared up within Remy and she couldn't bring herself to relax until she made sure it was going to be okay. Which was especially inconvenient, given that she'd been intent on avoiding Cuddy for at least the rest of the week, if not longer.

By the time she approached the double doors into the clinic, Remy had slowed her pace to a less conspicuous stroll. When she asked the head nurse if Cuddy was available, the nurse all but ignored her. Although Remy did her clinic hours faithfully and tried to minimize trouble for the nurses, her association with House had apparently blacklisted her for life.

She found Cuddy's office empty and was ready to give up when she heard Cuddy's voice at the newly opened door of Exam Room Three. Nothing like revisiting the scene of the initial mortification, Remy mused.

Before Cuddy could collect another patient from the waiting rabble, Remy made a point of stepping into her line of vision. When Cuddy gave a half-smile of acknowledgment, Remy figured the frost had thawed sufficiently for her to approach.

"Dr. Cuddy, I need a quick consult?"

Remy saw the pursed lips, the moment of suspicion that Cuddy gamely tried to conceal, Cuddy's assumption that House was up to no good was pretty much the foundation of almost every interaction Remy had ever had with her. Cuddy motioned for Remy to join her in the Exam Room and Remy didn't hesitate to accept.

Inside, with the door closed, Remy felt at once vulnerable and idiotic for being there at all.

"Dr. Cuddy, I probably shouldn't waste your time with this, but..."

Cuddy was poring over a patient's chart, not giving Remy anything like her full attention, but she responded sharply to cut her off.

"Just tell me what House is doing now, Dr. Hadley. If it's illegal, you can cut out the middleman and just call Trenton PD. They have a whole department just waiting for an excuse."

Sarcasm, world-weariness and a low tolerance for bullshit; if nothing else, Cuddy was certainly feeling like herself.

"This isn't about House, well, not directly. He came into the conference room this morning going on about some rumors that he's determined to get to the bottom of. And those rumors concern you. And Friday."

Cuddy snapped the file shut at that, her laser-like focus suddenly turning its full force on Remy. It was a decidedly uncomfortable experience. Remy watched the silent slideshow of panic, suspicion and utter resignation play out in the rapid twitches of Cuddy's facial muscles.

"How bad are the rumors?"

No mistaking the tightness in Cuddy's voice, and Remy hurtled straight into self-loathing for even bringing it up.

"The security guards are gossiping about you 'sneaking around' in the clinic. Then taking someone home. Nobody seems to know the actual details, but House is on the case and that never ends well."

Remy found herself rocking back and forth on her heels as she explained, like a misbehaving teenager called in front of the principal. Cuddy observed her coolly, no trace of further emotion apparent on her face.

"And what have you told people about the weekend?"

No betrayal of the fact that Cuddy was still quietly seething, though Remy had spent enough time watching her interact with House and Wilson to know that it must be the case.

"Well I didn't mention to anyone that you got completely the wrong idea and freaked out over nothing, if that's what you're asking, Lisa."

Cuddy bristled at that, her stature suddenly rigid as she stood beside the examination couch.

"I think you meant to say Dr. Cuddy. And I was simply enquiring if you'd set the story straight around the hospital."

With a shrug, Remy indicated that she could do just that, if that's what Cuddy wanted.

"Okay, let the word out to someone else on the team; you decide who That should get the real story circulating quickly enough."

Then Cuddy took Remy entirely by surprise. She took two long strides and suddenly was right in Remy's face. Unsure what to think, Remy waited for the Dean to speak, but before a single word was uttered, Cuddy's fingers were traveling delicately over her face.

"You're healing up nicely. Not a bad make-up job, either; really hides the worst of it."

Remy swallowed with some difficulty, not trusting herself to respond while quite so tongue-tied by Cuddy's proximity. Cuddy for her part, suddenly developed a fascination with the floor. All of a sudden her eyes disappeared from view, only the delicate contact of eyelashes against cheekbone visible from Remy's taller vantage point.

"And I know that I overreacted on Saturday morning. I feel like an idiot for adding a mistake to a rumor and coming up with the arrogant conclusion that you were hitting on me. I guess I've just conditioned myself to suspect everyone of having an angle, and that wasn't fair on you, Dr. Hadley."

The relief was powerful, not unlike the sensation of a great weight falling from Remy's shoulders. The nagging doubts and anxiety about her future at the hospital suddenly seemed ludicrous: how could she ever have doubted that someone as pragmatic as Cuddy would see sense eventually?

"Well, I'm glad we cleared that up. Thank you again for everything, you really did help me out."

Cuddy smiled at the acceptance of her apology, now that her shame had been discharged she seemed to feel like risking eye contact again, and began moving towards the door. After all, there was a clinic full of patients waiting to be treated. Thirteen was on her way out when she remembered her broken promise.

"Oh damn, I just realized that I forgot to bring those shoes with me."

Checking her watch, Cuddy tried not to look aggravated by the further delay, and succeeded for the most part. She blew an errant strand of hair away from her face as she considered the trivial point.

"Well, I have other running shoes. It's not a big deal."

Remy still felt like a fool, the one thing she had meant to do after leaning so heavily on someone else's help and she had failed. Cuddy watched her carefully, apparently seeing the mild distress all too plainly.

"Stop beating yourself up, Dr. Hadley. If it really bothers you that much, drop them off tonight after work."

"Really?"

"I won't cook you dinner or anything, but I actually quite like hanging out with you. As friends, I mean. Is that too weird? Are you freaked out because I'm the boss?"

Remy laughed quietly at the usually confident Cuddy and her lack of social graces.

"If I bring takeout and your shoes, can you pick out a movie? I know it's pretty risqué for a weeknight, but I think we can handle the excitement."

Cuddy extended her hand in a strange parody of an official handshake.

"Looks like we have a deal, Dr. Hadley. See you at 7.30".

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Cuddy had pretty much forgotten what it was like to have a real friend. Wilson made for a pretty passable girl, but his first loyalty to House always made his confidences suspect. House could technically be considered a friend in that same messed-up way it took to understand any of their interactions. While she trusted and respected him, Cuddy had never been foolish enough to risk too much intimacy with him, the trick to keeping House interested was to preserve a little mystery wherever possible.

While she had a professional network that spanned twenty states and three continents, there were relatively few people in her life that Cuddy could genuinely have fun with. It dismayed her at times to realize what a tedious, middle-aged workaholic she seemed to have become. No wonder she had gone a little baby-crazy - nothing said 'my life as a single and interesting person is over' like acquiring a little parasite or two. Perhaps the universe had been more merciful that she realized in repeatedly denying her that opportunity. Not that it helped stem the tides of loneliness that were a feature of too many long nights for her.

For the first time in years, she was having completely pointless fun on a regular basis. Remy Hadley had definitely been hiding hidden depths beneath that mysterious façade, and Cuddy was frequently surprised both by how chatty and how daring her new friend could be.

Leaving non-essential paperwork to pile up, Cuddy tried leaving before nine some nights and showing up with mild hangovers, a feat she hadn't tried since back when she was a Department Head. Yes, she worried that she seemed a little desperate to recapture her youth – dancing in nightclubs and drinking enough to put the average sailor to shame. But Remy had a way of making it seem essential to their wellbeing that enabled Cuddy to relax and feel that the extra concealer and the occasional headache was worth it. After all, didn't she work in the best possible place to score a couple of aspirin for that morning after feeling?

Sticking points arose of course; Cuddy was reticent to discuss anything regarding House or gossip too much about the hospital staff. They quickly found that they had a million other things to talk about though, and in some ways removing the hospital from their social agenda was oddly liberating. Shockingly, it turned out that there really was more to life than Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital.

Thirteen had surprised her by being quite the movie enthusiast, though Cuddy had despaired at her attempts to share her music collection. Cuddy didn't mind the gentle teasing about her limited collection of 'whiny bitches with guitars' and 'lame' movie soundtracks; it was mostly nice to have someone paying attention.

Despite her new status as a social butterfly (and the attendant grumbling from the previously underworked people that she had begun delegating to) Cuddy found herself not at all preoccupied with sex. Perversely she had fretted over the lack of it in her life for months, blending into years, all the while doing very little to obtain it. Now, with people hitting on her all over Princeton, she found herself unmoved.

Not that it stopped Thirteen, of course. She'd disappear from the bar at some point in the evening and show up later, flushed and seeking another drink. Cuddy didn't question her, although they had plenty of frank conversations over lunch or the occasional late dinner about how Thirteen didn't believe in relationships, or at least had never seen the point. Every attempt so far had ended in quite inglorious failure, so why keep forcing it?

Which finally, on a rainy Friday night when they were collapsed on Cuddy's sofa, led to the discussion of the colossal elephant in their room.

"Is it your diagnosis that makes you feel that way about relationships?"

Thirteen's eyes cooled as though the room had suddenly frozen over.

"Gee, I don't know Lisa. How about we take my fatal prognosis away by magic and we'll see how I feel then?"

Cuddy felt clumsy about her blunder, but ever since she'd been sent the form about that unauthorized blood test, it had been preying on her mind. In the aftermath of Amber, and the train-wreck of House and Wilson's friendship, there had never been a moment to raise it. Only now, within the bounds of their fledgling friendship, did it seem at all viable to broach the subject.

"We had to talk about it sometime, right? May as well rip that band-aid right off."

Draining her wineglass, Thirteen settled back into the corner of the sofa. Her knees were raised under the blanket she had wrapped herself in, the protective barrier called into action.

"Do you know how much of my life I've spent talking about it? Seriously, for a while there you'd think the world had stopped turning and all that mattered was that I'm going to die a horrible death at some not-too-distant point in the future."

Cuddy winced at the bluntness of Thirteen's words. She had handed out too many hopeless prognoses in her time, but even with the fullest stretch of her imagination Cuddy couldn't begin to understand how somebody lived under a death sentence like that.

"For what it's worth, and I appreciate it's not worth much, I really do admire you for not just…giving up. So many people fall apart when they find out."

To emphasize her point, Cuddy patted Thirteen's outstretched hand.

"Wow, that was some pretty neat patronizing. Did they teach you that on your 'Deanship for Dummies' course?"

Exasperated, Cuddy threw a handful of popcorn at her.

"Fine, we don't have to talk about it. I just want you to know that you can, if you want to. That's what friends are for, right?"

Picking popcorn out of her hair, Thirteen fixed Cuddy with a terribly serious expression.

"Okay, you win. But only if we can also discuss the unmitigated disaster that is your love life."

Cuddy groaned and hid behind a throw pillow.

"Just start the movie, would you?"

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Cuddy was impressed with her own restraint in not having bodily dragged Thirteen to her office thus far. Since Foreman's whispered, shaken call that morning explaining that they were bringing Kutner's body in, Cuddy had been unable to think about anything else, even hearing it in her dreams during the snatched hour or two of sleep she had managed each day.

She couldn't imagine the horrific experience that had greeted Thirteen at Kutner's, the sight of Thirteen and Foreman trudging towards the morgue, sticky blood smeared across their hands, faces, clothes had been traumatic enough. Cuddy had followed them in, letting the coroner sign for the body and guiding her shell-shocked employees away from the shiny body bags and antiseptic scent of death. They'd all seen catastrophic injuries before, whether in the ER or during their residencies, but nothing could compare to finding the brutalized corpse of a friend. It chilled Cuddy just to think about it, even with Kutner's cold body safely wrapped up in black plastic.

In that moment she'd been sure the team would take the vacation days, fleeing the hospital as soon as they could exchange their sullied clothes for clean scrubs. Instead they'd been drawn back to House's office, to the distraction of an unsolved puzzle and the comradeship that Cuddy didn't quite understand.

And yet, when she'd arrived this morning to the funereal whispers and somber faces, it had been easy to confirm the fact of Thirteen's presence in the building. Cuddy had answered her most urgent messages, ironed out a payroll issue and poured herself a generous cup of coffee before paging Dr. Hadley, which seemed pretty controlled given the circumstances.

Pacing back and forth behind her desk, Cuddy had little more than an elastic band to vent her frustration and concern on. Rolling it, snapping it, stretching it to breaking point made a stingingly painful accompaniment to her jumbled thoughts. The steady drumbeats of sadness and dread that someone so young and vibrant could end his life in a bloody, obliterating instant preyed upon her as she paced, setting an unconscious rhythm that she was powerless to resist. She knew the realities of suicide; the blue-lipped corpses and blood streaked shower curtains wrapped around limp bodies had been features of her residency and were still on her radar most days. Sure, Cuddy could point to the provision of the clinic, and the pro bono work she eked out of the staff psychiatrists to support it, but every unnecessary death gnawed at her conscience regardless. House called it narcissism, but Cuddy had never been able to train her brain to accept that the ability to save lives didn't burden her with the responsibility of safeguarding every warm body she came across.

Rationalizations wouldn't work of course, not even the very reasonable fact that she rarely saw Kutner other than disciplinary issues or moderating another insult-laden debate amongst the members of House's team. Ultimately, someone under her care, who should have been able to rely on her support and protection, had been desperately in need of help and Cuddy hadn't so much as noticed the first clue.

So why call Thirteen down here in the first place? To speak all these recriminations aloud in the futile hope that either of them would feel better? Would Cuddy have alleviated any of her guilt by hearing (again) that everyone on the fourth floor had been as pathetically oblivious as herself? Most likely she'd upset her employee, cause pain to someone she had come to consider a friend and make herself feel ten times worse in the process.

None of which seemed to placate the nagging little voice protesting that Cuddy simply needed to see her. That was a fact she just couldn't begin to debate with herself, and Cuddy would simply write the whole idiotic idea off as checking on the wellbeing of a traumatized subordinate. Any decent manager would do exactly the same, surely?

Mercifully, Thirteen rapped with half-hearted force on the door at that point, saving Cuddy from the cauldron of her own doubt and self-loathing, at least temporarily.

"Come in, Dr. Hadley."

Try though she might, Cuddy couldn't force anything approaching positive into her tone. The rawness of her own feelings was only exacerbated by the dull ache of grief she saw in Thirteen's red-rimmed eyes.

"Take a seat," Cuddy implored her employee, trying to keep the desperate surge of concern in check.

There was no fight in Thirteen, and Cuddy thought that might be the saddest part of it all. The younger woman had recently revealed her ability to turn even the selection of a movie into all-out guerrilla warfare, and to see her so bluntly compliant was almost physically painful to Cuddy.

"I want you to reconsider the vacation days."

Barely a ripple of reaction greeted her words.

"The counselor will be here at 11.30. Maybe if you were to go first, the others would follow your example."

Cuddy watched intently as every word registered with Thirteen. The fluttering of Thirteen's hands in dismissal came close to breaking Cuddy's heart. Thirteen looked lost, all traces of her usual confidence entirely absent, from the way her usually proud chin had lowered in defeat to the nervous energy rippling through her body.

"Dr. Hadley, I can't let you go on this way. You have to talk to someone."

Wriggling uncomfortably in her chair, Cuddy crossed and uncrossed her fingers in a subconscious prayer that somehow she would break through. She let her eyes sweep over the unironed shirt that Thirteen was wearing, along with the mismatched pants that hung too large on her.

"Remy, I'm worried about you. What you saw can't have been easy, and you need to let whatever feelings you have out."

Thirteen leaned back in the visitor's chair, running a hand through her hair. Cuddy couldn't help but notice it was still damp, despite Thirteen having arrived almost two hours ago and there not being a cloud in the sky. How many showers would it take for Thirteen to wash away the memory of Kutner, brain matter sprayed over his favorite comic books? Would there ever be enough?

"Why?"

The single word stunned Cuddy, although she'd been holding her breath in anticipation of some response. She realized even as Thirteen's lips had formed the sound that she had no compelling answer. Why talk about the horrific and troubling moments that haunted them all? Why discuss the happy young mothers who came in with a headache and left in a body bag? Why vent to a colleague over an icy beer about the child you had handed a fatal diagnosis to, removing all hope in the course of a simple sentence?

Because that was just what you did. It was what her parents had taught her and the patronizing hospital pamphlets said. You talked, even when nobody could bear to listen, even when each thought that you transformed into words hurt like a goddamn kidney punch and you felt like you were drowning in your own excesses of saline.

"Because it helps, Remy. Nobody ever felt better for turning all that sadness, all that pain, in on themselves. You talk to someone you can trust and then you don't have to carry it around with you."

Thirteen seemed to consider the premise, and Cuddy allowed the first strains of victory to swell inside her chest. The triumph was pathetically short-lived.

"There's nobody that I trust. Certainly not some stranger with a night school diploma in grief-counseling."

At least the medical school snobbery remained intact, that was a green shoot of the real Remy Hadley peeking through.

"There has to be someone, Remy."

Cuddy stood and rounded the desk in four quick steps, crouching down beside Thirteen as she sat immobile in the chair.

"Do you trust me? Can you talk to me?"

Thirteen opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Without thinking, Cuddy took her hand and began to rub her thumb softly over Thirteen's tensely whitened knuckles. It was something that had soothed Cuddy since her childhood, and all she could think of to offer by way of comfort.

"You can tell me anything, you know that right? There's just about nothing left that can shock me Remy, and the important thing is that you don't let all of this consume you."

Cuddy waited for her words to sink in, and when Thirteen finally nodded in acquiescence, Cuddy led her on a retreat to the sofa. As well as being more comfortable, it took them out of the sightline of the bustling nurses and patients in the clinic. Grief was difficult enough without feeling on display in Cuddy's fishbowl of an office.

After a moment, Thirteen made her way towards the soft cushions, dropping down beside Cuddy as though her limbs had simply refused to co-operate any longer.

"I can't believe it. I mean, I saw it with my own eyes and I'm still waiting for someone to crack up laughing and tell me it's all some stupid, elaborate practical joke. Which is ridiculous, because I'm a doctor. If anyone should know that death just happens, that sometimes it's cruel or random, then it should be us, right? I'm just so angry with myself."

It made perfect sense to Cuddy, hadn't she felt this way too many times before? Crying herself to sleep at night over patients who slipped away after 40 minutes of CPR, kicking the crap out of furniture when her Hail Mary passes didn't come off and previously healthy people just flatlined in front of her.

They'd all been there, but it was absolutely different when the rigid corpse was recognizable as someone who just hours or days before had been a laughing, arguing real life person. No amount of training ever made that transformation normal, it just got a little less shocking with exposure after exposure. Until feelings and attachments came into play, then the rules changed all over again.

"Denial is human, Remy. They don't put a chip in your brain to block it during your residency; it still happens to all of us. You'd give anything for it not to be true, and your brain is trying to make that possible for you. It's just how we cope. It passes; it gets easier."

Thirteen leaned back against the back of the sofa, exasperation and mourning scrawled across her face. Despite herself, despite the firmly established ground rules of their friendship, borne out of Cuddy's own mistaken assumptions, she couldn't resist the temptation to pull Thirteen into a tight hug.

What she couldn't say in words, Cuddy attempted to express in all the warmth and strength that her body could provide. Her arms were tight around Thirteen's body, her face nestled in Thirteen's hair as she tried to communicate that this would somehow get better. Of course, she had no proof of that but forcing herself to believe it was the only thing that got her out of bed in the morning sometimes.

"It just...it hurts."

"I know."

"No, I mean it hurts like a motherfucker, you know? Like, when my mom died there was some kind of relief. I was so angry with her; death didn't really seem like the worst thing that could happen. More of watching her like that would have been way, way worse. This just doesn't make sense. I pulled his records: he wasn't sick. Nothing had happened lately to make his life any worse. It's like Kutner just woke up a few days ago and said 'screw living'. How do we make sense of that?"

Cuddy leaned back herself, letting Thirteen roll into her without breaking the hug. Thirteen's head dropped automatically to Cuddy's chest and Cuddy's fingers began stroking the other woman's hair. It was intended to be soothing, but Cuddy found the distraction of focusing on slow, rhythmic motion was helping her not succumb to the devastating sadness in the room. She remained slightly apart, able to process the questions without dissolving herself.

The heel of her shoe was digging into her thigh where Cuddy had folded her leg underneath her, and so she shifted slowly until she could kick off both pointed menaces. Thirteen took the opportunity to wrap her arms around Cuddy's torso, making the prolonged hug between them fully reciprocal.

In that moment, Cuddy realized how much she had been craving human contact. Not available to her at home, or from House with his spiky denials that anything was even wrong. He was too busy creating an episode of CSI: Princeton to register that Cuddy might also need something from him. Even Wilson was off the market at the moment, his inability to handle another death so soon after Amber and his anger that Cuddy would ask him to look out for House meant that no comforting squeezes of her arm would be forthcoming.

She'd seen Foreman take Thirteen's hand at the funeral, of course. It seemed risky to broach the subject in that moment, and so Cuddy didn't ask if they were together or just helping each other cope. Part of her didn't want to know, which surprised her even in the face of her apathy towards Foreman.

Like a circuit finally closing after each wire had been taken out and stripped, Cuddy finally felt herself switch on and the tears she'd been fighting since yesterday were able to fall at last. Earthed, grounded and that rarest of conditions: safe; safe to show anything beyond her professional veneer. It was nothing short of a miracle, to let her guard down even in the relative sanctuary of her office.

She felt Thirteen shaking slightly, a fresh wave of sobs soon wracking both their bodies. Cuddy couldn't bring herself to worry about the stains on her blouse or whether her mascara was waterproof. All that mattered was letting some of this damn frustration and sadness out, to stop it pressing down on her chest like the weight of a small building. All she needed was to be able to breathe without the sensation that any moment her lungs would give up on her. It was relief, pure and simple. She'd overlooked its importance in her quest to organize and provide for everyone else.

The blinking lights of her phones suggested that the world was continuing without her and the usual quest for her attention was hadn't abated simply because Cuddy had more pressing concerns. She squirmed a little, thinking about the work that had piled up in the past few days. In that moment, she felt Thirteen pull away from her and attempt to sit upright once more. Allowing the movement, Cuddy found herself face to face with her friend, and instinctively wiped the tears away with cautious fingers.

"It will get easier, Remy. That's about all I can promise you, but it will get easier."

To emphasize her point, Cuddy leaned in to kiss Thirteen on the cheek. For good measure, she kissed her other cheek too.

And then, because the world had apparently stopped making sense, Cuddy leaned in one more time. Only the kiss somehow landed squarely on Thirteen's mouth, a development that felt entirely natural whilst being the last thing she could ever have imagined.

Cuddy held her breath for a second, expecting Thirteen's angry rejection or her own common sense to stop this. When neither did, she let the soft pressure continue until the kiss deepened, their lips parting as though this happened every day.

For countless, breathless seconds Cuddy was entirely lost. When Thirteen broke contact at last, she felt bereft, unwilling to contemplate yet another loss. Grabbing Thirteen by the shoulders, a little rougher than she had intended, Cuddy claimed another kiss without considering what in the hell she was playing at.

It felt good, was about the extent of her thought process. It felt comforting and real and most importantly made her feel like a living, breathing member of the human race. Someone who could act on impetus, make crazy mistakes and live to see the aftermath. The world didn't have to be about pain and suffering and nonsensical death, not when there were warm kisses to exchange with beautiful people.

Thirteen took responsibility for stopping them once more.

"What the hell are you doing, Lisa?"

No formality now, not even in the bastion of professionalism that her office had once been. Cuddy felt utterly exposed, her face flushing in a sudden attack of mortification. The confusion writ large across Thirteen's face only made it worse: if she did harbor any secret attraction to Cuddy, then Cuddy had just thrown that back in her face without the slightest regard for her friend's feelings.

"I have no idea. Oh God, I'm so sorry. I don't know what came over me."

Thirteen remained unmoved by Cuddy's fumbled apology, but before Cuddy could cobble together more unimpressive words, she heard a quiet thud coming from outside the office door.

By the time she stood up, grabbing for her discarded shoes, further receding thumps had joined in. Racing to the door, Cuddy was in time to see House's retreating back clear the clinic exit, a sight that made her heart sink entirely.

Turning back to Thirteen, Cuddy was torn between putting things right and damage control with House. As ever, only one contender was ever likely to win.

"Remy, I have to take care of something. It's urgent, I swear."

Thirteen didn't express any puzzlement, though she showed no acknowledgment of what had just caused Cuddy's stumbling sprint across the room.

"Will you wait here for me, please? I really don't want it to look like I'm running away, but trust me, you'll understand when I tell you why."

A shrug was the only response that Cuddy received, and so with some reticence she slipped her remaining shoe onto her foot and took off in pursuit of House. She could only despair at what he had planned for her now.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

House didn't even look up as she came blustering into his office, and that only pushed her anger levels even closer to stratospheric. He had disappeared after his initial escape and it had taken Cuddy longer than expected to track him down, only to find him back in his office where he should have been all along.

Cuddy knew that the rage was rooted in embarrassment and fear, but it didn't make the swirling noise in her head any quieter. There was a realistic chance of their newest argument ending in bloodshed, and for once Cuddy couldn't care less about the consequences. All she could think about, as her focus flitted from emotion to emotion, was the sad and broken woman she had just abandoned downstairs. Having to be here, reining in House once more, only made her feel resentful.

"You really are a bastard."

He eventually rewarded her with by flicking eyes away briefly from the journal that was apparently engrossing him, but she wouldn't have been surprised to find a copy of Playboy nestled inside the pages of The Lancet. Cuddy edged closer to him, clenching her fingers into fists as she did. The faintest prickling of sweat along her hairline and down her neck were threatening to betray her outward calm, but it was only to be expected after running all over the hospital in search of him. Some types of fury were just far too impatient for elevators.

"You're trying to torture me, dragging this out. We both know what you saw when you were spying on me, so why don't we just get this over with?"

She almost spat the words at him, but that was what it took to get his attention at last. He let the journal drop onto his desk with a melodramatic sigh.

Removing his reading glasses as he leant back in his chair, House had something in his expression that Cuddy couldn't quite place; at first glance it might have been mistaken for one of the many faces in his compendium of smugness, but this was just different somehow. Softer, if that word wasn't completely incompatible with her most aggravating employee.

"Who's torturing you? Other than yourself, as usual?"

She snorted at his nonchalance, no way would she be deterred by his dismissal. If House was about to blow her world apart and destroy her reputation within the hospital, then he was going to have to do it on her terms for once.

"You know damn well what I'm talking about House. I caught you lurking outside my office, and we both know what you saw."

His only response was to lace his fingers behind his head, and it pulled his t-shirt taut enough to hide some of the creases in it. It reminded her painfully of the unkempt Thirteen who had been sitting beside her, but Cuddy wouldn't give him the satisfaction of continuing and so she stared him down, her calves tense as her pointed heels wobbled slightly on House's uneven carpet. If she wasn't consumed with hating his breathing guts in that moment, she might have called maintenance to come and smooth it out in case House tripped. As it stood, she would have been quite happy to see him crashing face-first into some scratchy carpet fibers.

Their charged stalemate continued, and just when Cuddy feared her anger was about to bubble over into something she couldn't take back, House relented and let his hands fall to his sides. Perhaps Kutner's death was weighing on him despite his bored protestations of indifference.

"Fine. I saw something you obviously didn't want me to see. I don't care, so can we drop it now? In case you haven't noticed, I have a dying patient to attend to."

They both silently acknowledged the lie – Cuddy had seen the discharge papers this morning. To House spinning untruths was an art form, a creative outlet that he relished and availed himself of at every possible opportunity. She didn't call him on it, all too aware of the limited number of fronts on which she had the energy to fight a war. There were too many more pressing concerns at stake for her to worry about his pathological lying.

"I also find it interesting, Cuddy, that you didn't come here to offer denials or explanations. Which means you're not here because you're ashamed of what you did, but instead you're just pissed about losing control of the story."

That habit of nailing her motivations had never been more irritating that it was in that moment. Especially infuriating given that he had taken a moment of comfort, the first in days, and completely trampled on it just by being there.

"I don't have to explain myself to you, House. I simply came here to find out what you're going to do with the information."

House tipped forward on his chair, his elbows pressed against the wooden surface amidst the debris he called organized chaos. He fixed her with one of his more patronizing glares and summoned up a pithy, one-word answer.

"Nothing."

Which absolutely did not compute in Cuddy's somewhat addled brain. Of all the answers, mocking comments or evasions he could have conjured up, that was probably the furthest possibility from her mind. She clutched at the hem of her blouse, her hands restless and in need of a task to occupy them. She couldn't help but notice the damp patch where Thirteen's tears had fallen, and her balance felt suspect, as though the next word from House could knock her to the ground.

"You expect me to believe that? The world's biggest rabble-rouser is going to just walk away from creating a full-blown scandal. Gee, I wonder why I might be sceptical?"

It earned her nothing more than a shrug, and suddenly his indifference seemed as infuriating as his taunts would have been.

"Sure, I was concerned that you fondling one of my employees might make my life more difficult. But then I remembered your stupid attachment to equality and fair treatment, so I figured you're more likely to come down hard than let your lover off easy."

House picked up a pen and started doodling aimlessly on what appeared to be his departmental report: three days late and still resolutely blank in all relevant boxes. When Cuddy didn't move, he attempted to dismiss her with an irritated flick of his wrist.

"House?"

It came out pleading, not what she was aiming for at all. He paused, waited for the inevitable next question.

"Are you going to tell anyone?"

The earth could have completed an entire rotation in the lengthy pause that preceded his answer.

"No, Cuddy. Do you want me to, what, go and yell it from a balcony? I like the Shakespearean touch, but I have better things to do with my time."

She couldn't quite believe it. House had seen her kissing Thirteen, and was going to let it drop as though he'd merely watched her ordering a cup of coffee.

"She's not my lover. It's not a thing, we just got talking about Kutner, about everything really, and it got a little crazy for a moment."

The incredulous look on his face was so violently disbelieving that Cuddy realized she couldn't even convince herself that her previous statement had been true.

"I'm not gay, House. You know that as well as anyone."

He snorted at that, his refusal to take her seriously all the more dangerous in her current predicament.

"You assume that sexuality is a binary condition, when any idiot can see that it's not. Hell, your girlfriend isn't gay, is she? Don't believe me, ask the big black guy next door."

Cuddy looked reflexively through the glass wall, but as she had already checked, the Fellows were nowhere to be seen.

"House, so help me, if you use the words girlfriend or lover again, I will kill you where you sit."

It came out in a hiss, her nerves already jangling at the weird turn this conversation had taken.

"Chill, Ellen, we don't have to use labels. But you're over-thinking this, like you do with, um….pretty much everything. Give yourself a break, a nicer man than me might suggest."

Cuddy folded her arms over her chest, not willing to accept that House was really going to let her off this easy.

"You have done everything short of committing a felony to derail my love life in the past ten years."

House attempted an enthusiastic contradiction at that point. Cuddy cut him off before he could tell her anything incriminating.

"Well, any felonies that I know of. Am I supposed to believe that you're suddenly not interested in who I date? Coming just a few months after we made out, I find that unlikely at best."

Reluctantly, House pulled himself up from the relative comfort of his desk chair and limped towards her. Cuddy felt another burst of nervous adrenalin take a tumble around her body as he did. This day was barely past lunchtime and already she'd crammed in more emotion that she usually allowed herself to show in a month.

"The day I stand in the way of hot girl-on-girl action will be the day I die, Cuddy. You can thank me by streaming a webcam from your bedroom."

He was dangerously close now, a distance that would usually have her head reeling with the possibility of crossing that damn line. Now, Cuddy was surprised to discover, her thoughts (and yes, the tugging sensation of her libido) were very much occupied with the woman she had left sitting in her office.

"That's not the real reason, is it, House?"

There was such a deep sadness in his eyes that she couldn't prevent the first stirrings of guilt. Perhaps he was mourning Kutner, in his own insular way. Or perhaps, once again, she had hurt him by not remaining endlessly available.

"I've told you before, but you never believe me. If you're happy, I'm…"

"What?" Cuddy didn't mean to snap, but her patience was at breaking point. "What are you? Why don't you ever finish that damn sentence?"

House bristled at her challenge, the familiar animosity of their exchanges all the more vicious for close proximity.

"I'm… not happy, exactly. Just, sort of okay with it. Let's face it: you and me? If that was gonna happen, don't you think it would have by now? So yeah, I'll interfere when you date dirtbags with big cars and tiny penises, but I don't have a problem with Thirteen. Not yet, anyway. Unless she has a tiny penis I don't know about."

The way he waggled his eyebrows, the sheer stupidity of his words finally dissolved the tension between them. Placing a conciliatory hand on his arm, Cuddy relented in her interrogation.

"If you really mean that House, then thank you. But you'll forgive me if I spend the next few weeks scouring the hospital for posters announcing my Coming Out party, right? Not that they are relevant, as I keep telling you."

He nodded, fake sincerity radiating from him.

"I'd expect nothing less, Boss Lady. And I'll be sure to remind myself that you have no interest in Thirteen. You definitely weren't making out with her like your life depended on it, not at all."

Cuddy smacked his arm with a groan.

"Let it go House. No story here, remember?"

She started to leave his office, aware of his eyes roving over her ass with every step. She was almost clear and into the corridor when he called after her.

"Yes, House?"

He made his way to the doorway and she tensed in anticipation of some mocking, loud announcement to the inhabitants of the fourth floor. When he didn't yell, Cuddy didn't quite know what to expect.

"People don't kiss each other that way for no reason. I don't think you should give up on it so easily. Oh, and don't forget the webcam. I can recommend a few good models."

"Goodbye, House."

Cuddy beat a hasty retreat, his words echoing in her head. On the way back to her office she was detained only twice by complaining doctors and a nurse seeking her signature. But as she feared, upon her return, Thirteen was nowhere to be seen.

Although her concern for Thirteen was paramount, Cuddy now had a new fear lurking in the recesses of her mind: what if she'd really blown it this time?

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Remy was frantically searching through her purse for missing car keys when Foreman appeared at her side. He looked at her warily, as though expecting her to lash out at him; it had been an edgy few days since the funeral.

When she didn't speak, he offered her keys up like some kind of olive branch, not letting go when she grabbed at them.

1. I thought you might be breaking into your own car by now."

She resisted the urge to point out that jacking cars was really more Foreman's own style than hers.

"Not now, Eric. I need to get the hell out of here."

He leaned on the door as she opened it, halting her escape.

"Can I come with you?"

It was easier to nod than come up with a hundred reasons why not, and so Remy waited for Foreman to slip into the passenger seat before screeching out of the parking lot as fast as her car would take her.

He let her pour the first glass of vodka without comment, but when Remy reached to refill it, Foreman snatched the bottle away.

"This is about more than Kutner. You weren't okay, exactly, but you were better than this. Why don't you tell me what's going on? Or do I have to be like House and start rooting through your apartment for answers? I don't like it, but I'll do it if I have to."

Remy knew he meant it, too. She considered what lies would misdirect him, or which subjects might make him uncomfortable enough to drop it. Then she realized she was too tired and too sad to deal with anything more complicated than the truth. Let him run if it was too much too handle, she'd be no more alone if he did.

"It is about more than Kutner; you're right. You know that Cuddy and I have been… well, we've been hanging out?"

Foreman nodded, no apparent suspicion on his face, just the same calm concern that he'd been directing at her for the best part of an hour.

"Well, I don't want to make this sound worse than it is, but basically I'm in love with her. Which was fine until she kissed me and then ran away. So yeah, I'm dealing with some stuff."

She knew it wasn't exactly fair, dropping a bombshell like that, but it was kind of funny to watch Foreman's eyes get so wide that she honestly thought he might strain something. It took a really, painfully long time for him to conjure up some words in response.

"Cuddy? Cuddy, Cuddy? Lisa Cuddy, Dean of Medicine Cuddy?"

Remy tried to downplay the drama of it, all the while feeling guilty that she might have just started the rumor to end all rumors.

"You know, if you say her name that many times it sort of doesn't sound like a word any more."

The attempt at light-hearted didn't seem to have distracted Foreman from his quiet freakout.

"You're in love with her? With our boss, Cuddy? I thought you didn't even believe in all that stuff. That's what you told me, anyway."

It was never going to be anything less than awkward, discussing her lovelife with an ex, and Remy found herself wishing that she'd gone with a lie instead. Foreman looked so hurt at the revelation, she could almost hear him replaying their short relationship, wondering why she had never felt that way about him.

"Listen, it's not a big deal. Maybe you should just leave me here with my vodka; forget I ever said anything."

Foreman looked like he was going to take her offer of escape and run, almost staggering away from the kitchen table in something like shock. He gathered himself at last, straightening his tie as he stared at the floor. When he finally spoke again, it was so quiet that Remy almost missed it.

"You should go for it."

Still processing his words, Remy finally got to pour her second glass. When Foreman still made no move towards the door, she knew she had to reply.

"You really think so? I mean, this is Cuddy we're talking about. If she was really interested, would she have run like that?"

He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, and Remy hated herself a little for not feeling any excitement at the contact. She really had it bad, there was no denying it anymore.

"For you to be talking like that, it has to be a big deal. I think you'd be an idiot not to at least try. And hey, she kissed you, right? Not like she's completely against the idea."

Remy hugged him for that, the sweetness of the sentiment so much more important than the awkwardness that had been hanging in the air between them.

"Thanks, Eric. Maybe you're right, but I guess I'll have to wait and see what Cuddy does next."

With a shrug, he made his way towards the door without looking back. Remy didn't call out and tell him to stay a while longer, she didn't need him to distract her from inappropriate thoughts.

1. Evening had barely begun to fall, but she needed oblivion long before sleep would provide it.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Remy took another sip from the glass, wincing at the tartness that assaulted her tastebuds. When had she started drinking white wine anyway? The condensation on the glass made it feel slippery, more fragile beneath her fingertips. Returning it to its place on the dinner table, she made a fresh assault on the piles of journal articles that Foreman had left in her mailbox at some point that day.

Dressed in loose khaki pants and a t-shirt, Remy wondered when she might feel like pulling on smarter clothes and going out again. So far she'd been surviving on late-night takeaway and the stash of bottled water in her fridge, but being out in the world seemed so unpleasant that it was preferable to stay home, working out and taking long baths.

1. He'd definitely been a little weird with her since her teary confession the other day.

But of course, not a word from Cuddy.

Try though she might, Remy had one immovable thought lodged in her mind: the glorious Technicolor replay of the moment when Cuddy kissed her. It didn't make for great juxtaposition with the blood and gore extravaganza, but even in all the confusion and borderline insanity that Kutner's death had caused, Remy wasn't ready to relinquish the happiness that came with the memory.

She was well aware of the stupidity of getting carried away over a simple kiss. Hell, she'd had entire relationships that she hadn't wasted this much time thinking about. But that kiss had most definitely not been accidental. A brief contact of lips could be written off as trying to make comfort more personal, more sincere. No, Cuddy had kissed her well and truly - from the first soft pressure to the tentative exploration of her tongue. That kiss seemed to last forever, certainly with about a hundred different points for Cuddy to stop herself, to realize her mistake.

It didn't seem to be about curiosity either. Cuddy had confessed to kissing girls before, and her office was hardly a dorm room in Michigan. Even with the high-running emotions and downright strangeness of their situation, there was no handy rationalization to explain away that kiss. Remy knew that all too well, and suspected Cuddy did too.

Still, she'd expected some kind of communication, if only for Cuddy to downplay the moment of madness. Hadn't they built up a friendship over the past few months? Sure, Remy couldn't know everything about Cuddy in that time, but she did know for a fact that she didn't discard people easily.

Remy couldn't argue with the fact that running was probably a pretty bad sign. She'd said 'wait here' but the panic had spoken far louder than her words. When she went haring off through the clinic, Remy had already decided to cut her losses and run. Cuddy coming back for a 'so sorry about the misunderstanding' speech held no interest for Remy, although she hadn't expected Cuddy to drop the issue quite so quickly.

So Remy kept checking her phone, with something rapidly approaching compulsion. Pointless of course, since she'd checked a hundred times that all ringtones were active and loud. She'd have to be struck suddenly blind and deaf to miss any incoming message, but every red flashing light and ping only made her more frustrated when not one was from the person she most wanted to hear from.

Way to be reduced to a schoolgirl with a stupid crush, she chided herself.

Well, it wasn't like Remy thought that Lisa Cuddy was really going to change her entire life around because of an ill-advised smooch with an overly emotional friend? That certainly didn't sound like the mistress of pragmatism who stalked the halls of PPTH. It didn't sound like most people over the age of thirty, all things considered. Not that any amount of such common sense could dissuade Remy's heart from skipping every so often at even the possibility.

Reaching for the wine again, wine she had purchased for Cuddy's benefit, Remy abandoned her sipping policy in favor of draining the glass. Too much red gave Cuddy a headache and she liked to keep up with Remy who was much more of a seasoned pro in the drinking arena, and so these bottles of dry white had been a friendly compromise. Another inevitable glance at the display of her cell phone confirmed that the evening was quickly fading and that no new messages had sneakily appeared. Remy had all but decided to forgo another glass of wine and spend some quality time with her pillows when there was a quickfire burst of knocking on the front door. The noise alone made her jump, then the dread of having to get rid of a drunk and emotional Foreman without letting him hit on her again set in.

Ignoring the knock might have been possible had it not been quickly followed by a rap-rap-rap that was beginning to sound more like gunfire than a request for entry.

Remy sighed, the deep sort of sigh that seemed to roll all the way from her toes to her throat, and headed for the heavy metal door that was usually so effective in keeping the outside world away from her. Attempting to suppress her irritation, Remy slid the door open only to gasp at the unexpected sight of Cuddy standing on the doormat.

Before Remy could speculate on the reasons: a new employee monitoring policy, car trouble in an unfortunate location or perhaps just another awkward conversation about only ever being friends, Cuddy kissed her.

Really, really kissed her.

1. Damn, this was going somewhere.

Backing slowly into the apartment, Remy didn't allow them to break contact for a second, her wild and aimless kick enough to send the door sliding shut behind them. Sure, she could have an exhibitionist streak now and then, but as one of the great and good in Princeton society Cuddy might regret the lack of privacy later.

When they finally, reluctantly broke for air, Remy moved her hands from Cuddy's hips to her icy cool face. Pressing their foreheads together, she couldn't prevent the question from tumbling out.

"What changed?"

Cuddy pressed a finger to Remy's lips, her eyes begging for silence. Questions had caused them nothing but trouble thus far, and it was clear that Cuddy didn't want to be derailed again.

"Everything."

Remy refused to test her luck any further, after all, didn't she have exactly what she hadn't dared to hope for right here in her living room? The gorgeous and frequently impossible Lisa Cuddy, here with kisses and wandering hands instead of fumbling b excuses about all the many reasons for why she didn't date women, employees, human beings.

With a grin that would have taken a paralytic to suppress, Remy took Lisa's face in her hands and sought out another protracted kiss. No shyness now, simply the insistent union of their lips followed by the increasingly bold but tender explorations of their tongues. Cuddy tasted of a strong peppermint that was almost spicy in its freshness, and Remy couldn't help but smirk at the thought of her usually fearless boss popping sugar-free gum in preparation like a nervous teenager. In control or deliciously spiralling out of it, Cuddy was pretty damn hot.

She decided to escalate before any last obstacles could come between them, and Remy found no resistance from her partner when shoving Cuddy's coat from her shoulders to the floor. Her reward took the form of Cuddy's hands dropping from Remy's neck to grab firmly at her ass, which pulled their bodies closer together in the kind of territorial fashion that Remy so very much enjoyed.

"Lisa."

Whatever thought, question or protest had been forming dissipated at the mention of Cuddy's name, and Remy couldn't conjure up the words again. In a way, she was simply confirming that the surreal had finally become real, fervently hoping that this wouldn't turn out to be another vivid dream or some kind of drug-induced hallucination. With nothing but trauma in the preceding few days, Remy at last found herself capable of happiness, of excitement, and most importantly knee-buckling, clothes-tearing arousal.

Having spent months suppressing her desire for Cuddy, Remy now found herself dizzy at the prospect of the evening ending in more than a hastily-regretted kiss. Cuddy hadn't been toying with her, the confusion and self-discovery had been genuine, not to mention difficult for someone whose private life was more closely guarded than Fort Knox.

By the same token, Remy realized that even as she was tangling her fingers in the lustrous dark curls that cascaded from Cuddy's head, she was making a commitment. The time for a foolish fling had long since passed, if they were doing this tonight then this was more than a drunken mistake that could be ignored afterwards.

For the first time in her adult life, Remy found that prospect didn't scare the hell out of her. Given the choice, getting to kiss Cuddy every day seemed so much more important than being free to fuck and run. She wanted to find out more about the woman herself, for once unable to remove friendship from sex and not caring about the failure to keep them separate. This was probably the kind of screwed-up shit all those sappy songs were about, she figured.

The bedroom seemed a million miles away, but the journey was too pleasant to rush. She used teasing, syncopated little kisses to direct Cuddy across the living room towards the elevated expanse of her bedroom. Cuddy complied with enthusiasm, almost pushing Remy part of the way in her eagerness. Their hands grabbed at shirt collars, waistbands, anything to keep a grip on one another. At one point, Cuddy spun Remy back against the wall and in that moment Remy wasn't sure they'd make it any further, Cuddy's nimble fingers already at work on the button of Remy's pants.

As they tumbled down onto the expanse of Remy's bed, Cuddy's eyes were open and searching. She was pretty much horizontal, but leaned up to place a soothing palm against Remy's cheek. Remy couldn't help but move into the contact, needing it more than she had suspected possible.

"Remy, I haven't done this since college. And unlike with you, it wasn't five minutes ago that I graduated."

The disarming blend of honesty and insecurity took Remy's breath away for a moment. A woman that half the hospital exchanged naughty gossip about somehow thought her status as desirable was even slightly in question, and though she could move mountains by day she doubted her ability as a lover? Remy scrambled frantically for reassuring words, hoping to express even a fraction of how misguided Cuddy's assumptions were.

"Well, I'm not interested in seeing your diplomas, Lisa. Just talk to me as we go, this doesn't have to go any further or any faster than you're happy with."

Cuddy's grin was definitely on the scandalous side of wicked.

"Oh, I think we're going pretty far."

The crisis of confidence seemed to evaporate as Cuddy's hands gripped firmly at Thirteen's t-shirt and pulled her into another searing kiss. Unable to restrain herself much longer, Thirteen allowed her fingers to begin the all-important quest of unbuttoning the smart black blouse that Cuddy wore. As she did, she felt Cuddy's hands roaming across her back, tracing inquisitive patterns through thin fabric before slipping underneath.

With the barrier of Cuddy's blouse out of the way, Remy allowed her mouth to explore further, luxuriating in the soft kisses she pressed along that elegant neck and allowing her tongue to sweep gently across the hollows of Cuddy's collarbone. The moan of appreciation was both deep and heartfelt, spurring Remy on to further adventure. With fluttering kisses she began a trail that culminated on the beautiful swell of Cuddy's breasts, teasing at the lace still covering them and venturing the first few sweeps of her tongue across both the delicate material and the hardening nipples underneath.

Determined to pace herself, Remy didn't halt her measured attentions to Cuddy's responsive breasts, but allowed her hands to skim beneath her lover and loosen that all important clasp. Cuddy flushed slightly as she realized Remy's progress, the sudden pinkness spreading across her chest as very visible proof of her arousal. Pausing to allow Cuddy to sit, Remy slid both the opened blouse and unfastened bra away to reveal the frankly stunning upper half of Lisa Cuddy. It was hard not to just stare, but the desire for continued contact and to provoke more of those throaty little sighs won out over everything else. Cuddy certainly seemed to appreciate that choice as she reclined once more against the sheets.

With only the briefest of pauses to remove her own top, Remy arched her back before allowing herself to fall gently on top of Cuddy once more. The additional thrill of skin on skin contact, of the heat suddenly coursing between them had her head spinning. A nagging doubt remained that Cuddy would suddenly call a halt to this, remember her previous reservations and run screaming from the apartment. It was extinguished before long by the fervent way that Cuddy was kissing her.

Remy didn't waste time in shoving her pants down her legs, detouring only to release the zipper on Cuddy's skirt and pull that down too. Taking a moment to appreciate the stockings that covered Cuddy's legs quite so beautifully, Thirteen nonetheless gently edged them down between kisses.

"We might keep these on next time."

Cuddy's eyes met Remy's at the younger woman's announcement, the implication of more, of a future was terrifying and welcome in roughly equal measure. Remy broke the tension with another broad smile and finished slipping the sheer material from Cuddy's feet.

Which left only one tiny, insignificant barrier between them. Remy pinched the delicate bands that comprised Cuddy's panties between thumbs and forefingers, edging the material down over her hips at a maddeningly slow pace.

When the scrap of material was finally clear of Cuddy's ankles, Thirteen began her slow pilgrimage north. Alternating kisses along Cuddy's calves with the gentle massage of her thumbs, she traced a maddeningly careful path to her destination, reveling in Cuddy's gentle moans and sharp exhalations of excitement. It was taking a hell of a lot of restraint, but Remy was determined to make their first time memorable in a way she'd never cared about before. This had to be different to the rough one-night stands who'd shuffled through this apartment in the past year, it had to mean something beyond just sex.

Cuddy's legs were lithe and tanned, with the runner's grace that she brought to her every movement. Powerful even in their slenderness, Thirteen felt a strong need to have those legs wrapped around her own body, anything to make her as close as possible to Cuddy.

Remy could see the problem already of course: how utterly fucking addictive Cuddy could be. Hooked on her friendship, a sucker for her authoritative style and now the prospect of screwing her senseless made Remy want to quit her job and spend every minute of the time she had left in bed with this woman. Okay, so maybe they'd shake things up with the occasional table, chair, sofa or wall to lean against, but even the first moments of sex with Cuddy left her greedy for a possibly infinite amount of more.

Not that Cuddy had been complaining so far, her knuckles whitening as she gripped the sheets. Remy had reached the more sensitive skin of the inner thighs now and the unconscious tilting of Cuddy's body towards her served Remy's desire and narcissistic pride all at once.

The wetness already coating the upper reaches of Cuddy's thighs was as enticing as it was a relief. Worried that at some point Cuddy would be pressed to admit that she wanted to want this, physical confirmation was a delight to discover. Remy couldn't help but be thrilled that this arousal was her doing, even though she'd found it so easy to turn people on before, eliciting this sort of reaction from Cuddy felt like victory of the very sweetest kind.

Tracing nonsensical patterns with her tongue, edging ever closer to the wetness of Cuddy's folds, Remy maintained her teasing with delicate sweeps of her fingers across the pubic bone and hips. The responsive skin caused further happy sighs from Cuddy, her hips beginning to lift more noticeably from the bed sheets now in delicious anticipation.

Remy took her time, placing firm kisses over the neatly trimmed hair before finally, patiently beginning to trace Cuddy's labia with her tongue. The taste was as instantly addictive as she had hoped, and Remy shut her mind to everything apart from Cuddy's reactions and devoting herself to performing at her very best.

The attentions of her tongue brought even more vocal responses from Cuddy, and Remy took a firm grip on her hips, allowing her to apply just the right amount of pressure to every stroke. By the time she showed some mercy and finally sought out Cuddy's clit, the older woman had already descended into near-incoherence. Remy heard her own name in amongst the muttered curses and jumbled expressions of encouragement and it only spurred her on. As Remy slipped two fingers inside Cuddy, the twisting strokes in rhythmic counterpoint to the insistent lapping of her tongue, she was momentarily distracted by Cuddy reaching for her free hand.

As she stroked Cuddy into the first wave of orgasm, Remy had the incredibly pleasant but unfamiliar sensation of a lover holding her hand. Cuddy entwined their fingers and pressed their hands against her own flat stomach, making Remy feel far more connected than she ever had before during this particular act. Maintaining her steady pressure, she allowed Cuddy to ride out the first climax before rapidly licking her into a second, even stronger one.

Remy had thought it stupid when people told her that giving could be just as much fun as receiving, but damned if getting Cuddy off hadn't felt almost as hot as having the same done to her. Oh, she was still humming with arousal, every nerve in her body angling towards release, but instead of a selfish desire to come as soon as possible she found herself basking in the delirious reaction of her lover.

She licked Cuddy's wetness from her fingers before crawling carefully back up towards the pillows. Cuddy had the punch-drunk expression of the thoroughly fucked, from the dilated pupils to the slightly lopsided smile of pure satisfaction. As soon as Remy was close enough, Cuddy drew her into an enthusiastic but not terribly coordinated kiss. Remy found she didn't mind, not as long as Cuddy was reacting with that little sigh at the sensation of tasting herself on Remy's mouth.

Unsure of the appropriate words, Remy contented herself with stealing a succession of kisses, letting her hand roam across the naked planes of Cuddy's fantastic body. It didn't take long for Cuddy to recover, and with no warning she pushed Remy firmly onto her back before assaulting her with far more determined kisses than they had just been exchanging.

There was a sudden desperation to Remy's need for release, and she found herself grinding against Cuddy's thigh as it nestled between her legs. Cuddy's shocked gasp and appreciative smile were particularly rewarding.

Remy stroked her lover's arm, her automatic response to the split-second of doubt on Cuddy's face. She recognized the temporary crisis of confidence and felt compelled to offer reassurance.

"It's a cliché, but just go with what you'd like for yourself. Don't think about it too much, okay?"

The grateful smile she received just about melted Remy once and for all. This whole sex with feelings thing was turning into quite the headfuck. She stopped worrying about the differences though, Cuddy's hands skimming across her own, smaller breasts had Remy lost in sensation almost instantly.

Even with the awkward seconds of adjustment, the brief pauses as Cuddy thought out her next move, a fluidity developed between them almost right away. Remy was startled by the force of her own reactions, the deft pressure of Cuddy's thumb against Remy's clit compounding the jolts of arousal from how her tongue lavished attention on Remy's painfully erect nipples.

If there was an Olympic scale of wanting – no, needing - Remy was fairly sure she would take gold at that stage. When Cuddy's fingers pressed inside her, thrusting steadily with just enough force to have Remy tensing almost right away, she wasn't sure how long she would hold out for.

The first cry of climax was quickly captured by Cuddy's mouth on hers, and Remy rolled through the sensations of both her clit and g-spot being stimulated as her face pressed against Cuddy's, their breath mingling as she came for the second time in quick succession. Cuddy collapsed on top of her, withdrawing her fingers in torturously slow increments. Remy simply soaked in the sensation and tried to remember how to breathe.

When Cuddy moved to drop down at Remy's side, Remy found herself seeking out more contact, eventually settling with her head against Cuddy's stomach, listening to her breathe.

"Oh my God Remy. You are scary talented, you know that, right?"

Remy simply smirked at the compliment, waiting for her own heart to drop to a rate somewhere below racing.

"You know, you claim amateur status Lisa, but I think you might be ready for the major leagues."

Cuddy laughed, a throaty chuckle that revrebrated through her body and through Remy by extension. It felt just as intimate as everything that had just passed between them, if not more so. Remy moved over so that Cuddy could see her face once more.

"Why did you wait so long to come see me?"

Remy regretted the question almost as soon as it escaped, but Cuddy seemed to have been expecting it.

"It wasn't an easy decision. House saw us in my office, that's why I took off like that. When I came back and you were gone, I decided I had to think things through before I messed things up any more than I already had."

Cuddy hadn't shied away during the conversation, she kept stroking her hand along Remy's arm as they lay there together. In the cozy light of the bedroom, there was no way to hide the emotions playing out on their faces and so Remy found herself accepting Cuddy's sincerity right away.

"So you decided you wanted to have sex with me? That must have been one hell of an analysis."

Cuddy's breath caught in her throat, and Remy flinched in case the next words were going to be less favorable.

"It was House, of all people, who set me really thinking about it. We've gotten close, you and I, but it's always felt like a bit more than just friendship, don't you think? I know I gave you a hard time over a misunderstanding, but there had to be a reason I kissed you like that."

Relieved at Cuddy's discovery, Remy allowed herself to relax once more.

"Yeah, you kissed me like that 'cause I'm hot. I could have told you that and saved you a lot of time, Lisa."

Cuddy laughed at Remy's earnest explanation, a rich and deep laugh that echoed pleasantly in the high-ceilinged bedroom. Remy was really hoping she'd have the chance to get used to that sensation.

"What do we do now?"

Uncertainty still sounded strange coming from Cuddy, but Remy stroked her hip reassuringly.

"We see how it goes."

"That's it? There's no plan, we just stumble along and see what happens?"

"Well, there's probably a program. We get you some Melissa Etheridge CDs and trade your Lexus in for a pick-up. Let's call that phase one."

With surprisingly intact reflexes, Remy just managed to avoid the pillow that came hurtling towards her face. Giggles escaped from them both as they found their way back to each other, limbs entangling as Remy pulled the sheets over them. The warmth of Cuddy's body was the perfect remedy to the slight post-coital chill in the air.

In peaceful silence, they let long minutes ebb away as they held each other, Remy still waiting for her own restlessness to kick in, but it refused to make an appearance. Eventually, other needs won out over closeness, and Remy excused herself to the kitchen, promising to bring Cuddy a drink along with her own.

Strolling naked through her apartment, Remy considered how much more homely the place felt compared to the past few lonely days. She heard soft footsteps against the wooden floor behind her as she left the bedroom, figuring Cuddy had set off towards the bathroom.

Fetching a carton of organic juice was simple enough, and Remy poured two generous glasses with thoughts of replenishing electrolytes in mind. She was humming to herself as she opened the refrigerator door, not focusing much attention on the brainless act of returning the carton to the shelf.

So when she missed the shelf altogether, and the carton hit the floor with a dull thud, Remy thought nothing of it.

Only when she bent to retrieve the thankfully intact carton did Remy notice the tremor in her left hand.

As tremors went, it was pretty minor. A trembling of tendons and muscle that would have been completely innocuous in anyone else: someone who didn't comprise a branch of her particular family tree.

The sudden weakness in her knees had little to do with the impressive sex she had just experienced, rather the natural reaction to the blow she had somehow been hoping would never land.

So much for the future.