Title: Vulnerable
 Author: Gomey
 Archive: Anywhere, just let me know so I can brag...hehe.
 Rating: PG
 Spoilers: 2x13 Skin Deep
 Pairings: House/Cuddy
 Disclaimer: All known characters and premises belong to their respective
owners. So there.
 Summary: "...aside from his own hand, no other had physically traced his
pain, felt the source of his destruction."
 Notes: For the House_Cuddy LJ Community Commandprompt01: The Pants. Takes
place right after House drops his pants for Cuddy. *snick*
 ------
 She left her office, the image of his scar still fresh in her mind. It
wasn't the wound's appearance that caused the tightness in her chest, but
the vulnerability he openly shared with her. His voice breaking provoked
her heart to experience the same fate as her exit was made in haste.

 Reaching the supply room, she singled out the key from the master-key
bundle she held securely in her possession, and opened the door, quickly
shutting it behind her, closing herself and any evidence showcasing his
weakness within. She took out a sterile syringe before reaching for the
small bottle of morphine that stood proudly erect, staring defiantly at
her. She fingered the bottle, tapping the cap, deep in thought.

 He was still standing, clutching his thigh when she had returned, closing
the door and blinds to her office as she entered. A half-full syringe
balanced between her index finger and thumb, while her other hand held
offerings of latex gloves, gauze pads, band-aids, cotton swabs and a small
bottle of iodine. She placed the items on her desk before pulling up a
chair, turning it around to face him. She circled him, stopping in front
of his somewhat crouched and inwardly-bruised form. Kneeling down in front
of him, she gently placed her hands against each thigh, feeling him flinch
but still too strong to let the feeling overcome him. She cupped her hand
around his thigh, softly applying pressure as she slid her palm across the
deformed surface. Her eyes rose to his, blue meeting blue as they held
each other's gaze. Her thumb glided across the scar, soothing it with a
light massage. Her hands slid down his legs to his ankles, where she
grabbed the hem of his pants and slowly dragged them up. She gave them a
final tug, and buttoned and zipping them up, allowing her hands to remain
on his hips. Neither had uttered a word since her return, only staccato
breaths mingled with each other. She had seen it in his eyes: he too had
been affected by the intimacy of the gesture and suspected that, aside
from his own hand, no other had physically traced his pain, felt the
source of his destruction.

 "Straddle the chair," she murmured, finally breaking the silence that had
thickly engulfed them, forcing actions and gazes to be the sole method of
communication. But her touches spoke volumes, and his eyes whispered
secrets with each glance; words without sound revealing truths that
neither had been brave enough to confront.

 He complied, shakily sitting down and leaning his forehead against the
chair's tall wooden back, gripping the sides tightly.

 She reached around in front of him, gently clutching his suit jacket and
slipping it off his shoulders. When her hands reached for the hem of his
t-shirt, she felt him exhale slowly, an attempted controlled breath to
calm his nerves. She knew he was afraid - not of the needle but of the
situation, of her control over him and his reaction to it. She lifted the
shirt off, placing it on the chair beside, along with his jacket. He sat
there, goosebumps riddling his skin as the stilling air in her office
forced a reaction upon. She took a step towards her desk, snapping on a
glove on her right hand as the other grabbed the cotton ball and iodine.
She squeezed a small amount and gently swabbed his lower back, spreading
the liquid. She grabbed the syringe, removing the cap with her teeth
before giving the tip two flicks, releasing any air bubbles as she
depressed it slightly, some liquid making it's escape. "Round your back,"
she commanded through clenched teeth, cap still held firmly in her mouth.
She knelt down behind him, her bare hand against his heated skin, fingers
splayed and offering as much as hungrily receiving the energy that passed
from them both. Pressing the needle into his lower spine, she emptied the
medication before removing the syringe, quickly replacing it with a gauze
pad and pressure. She finished up the procedure by placing a neon-yellow
band-aid with red and blue polka-dots on the wound. She smiled with a
certain satisfaction, her hand gently brushing over the band-aid.

 He glanced at her over his shoulder, offering her gratitude laced with a
battling affection and morphine. Slowly shifting in his chair, he remained
seated, facing her. Grasping the orange cap between his index and thumb,
he withdrew it from her mouth. He cocooned the cap in his curled fingers,
freeing his thumb with which he caressed her bottom slip, sliding gently
across. Drawing in a shallow breath, words softly traveled on the
exhalation, granting her the sound of his spoken voice. "I need you to
take me home." He averted his gaze, though vulnerability already present,
it still bore no comfort.

 She nodded, handing him his t-shirt and jacket while she went to retrieve
his cane. Waiting for him to dress, she twisted the cane in her hand,
feeling the weight of his crutch, of his most hated aid. She glanced up,
watching him watch her; pondering whether or not she was his most hated
support. She handed him the cane and helped him to his feet, grabbing her
previously discarded jacket as they made their way to the parking lot.

 The ride was short, boasting only awkward silence as each tried to focus
on thoughts elsewhere. When she pulled up on the side of the road, she
glanced over at him, offering him a small smile. "Take the day off
tomorrow."

 Grunting, he opened the door and pushed himself out of the passenger
side. "Not going to happen." His voice was soft and tight, as he slowly
limped towards the front door.

 She followed his movements, at his side until she assured herself of his
safety. "Well, be on call then. Tell your team that if anything comes up -
"

 " - come inside." He interrupted her, staring down at the floor.

 She cocked her head to the side, lips pressed in a fine line as she
analyzed his request. "You know that's not a good idea," she finally
expressed, giving his arm a supportive squeeze before heading back to her
car.

 "You think I want to sleep with you?"

 "What, you just wanted to cuddle?" She retorted, leaning against her open
door.

 "Look, either lie with me or lie to me, but just come in...please." He
finally met her eyes, his blues on the verge of a pleading hue.

 She sighed, reaching around the driver's seat and grabbing her overnight
bag. She began to walk past him, stopping when she felt his hand clasp her
wrist, holding her back.

 "You need to know...it's not just the morphine talking."

 She gave him a soft smile, cryptic in it's execution. "I don't doubt
that," she replied, placing a hand on his chest. She stared at her
fingers, watching as they traced small patterns along the material of his
jacket. "And it's not just the guilt." She raised her gaze, honesty
speaking through shining eyes.

 He nodded and watched her walk in, before averting his eyes back to the
ground. "Good." He glanced at her once more, before following her, closing
the door behind. "Good."

 -finis-