Categories > TV > House > Cycles of the Moon

Cycles of the Moon

by ItsNeverLupus 3 reviews

Cameron is on her period and suffering pain. House decides to make her suffer for his own amusement. Rated 'R' for slightly-graphic discussion of 'feminine hygiene'.

Category: House - Rating: R - Genres: Humor - Characters: Allison Cameron, Gregory House, Lisa Cuddy - Published: 2007-04-27 - Updated: 2007-04-27 - 1386 words

Cycles of the Moon
A House MD. fanfic by ItsNeverLupusExceptWhenItIs

Author's notes: This is my very first attempt at writing a House fanfic. I don't own any of the characters, though I do kinda wish I did (I'd so like to own the gorgeous Dr. Cuddy). ;)
Anyway, have a read and let me know what you think. This is the first fic I've written for a couple of years, so I may be a little rusty. R+R peeps. Thanks.

Chapter 1:

The overhead fluorescent lighting in the 7-11 were bright - too bright. It had been a very long day and House felt the beginnings of a tension headache behind his eyes as he stood gazing at the rows of brightly coloured boxes laid out on the shelves before him.

Tightening his jaw, he blinked slowly several times as he attempted to regain his focus. The dull ache in his head, combined with the constant pain signals from his bum leg and general fatigue contributed to his less-than-amiable mood.

"So much choice... Why do they have to make it all so damn complicated?", he mused to himself under his breath as he fished around in the pocket of his biker jacket for his Vicodin.

Leaning slightly and allowing his cane to take the strain of his bodyweight, he flipped the lid on the amber-coloured bottle, brought it to his lips and allowed two of the small, white tablets to slide into his mouth. He tipped back his head and swallowed.

He just wanted to go home, take a hot shower and climb into bed. Ordinarily, nothing on earth would stop him - but this was just too good an opportunity to pass up. Yes, once his business was competed here, he would return to the hospital and drop off the package - then, and only then would he retire to his bed for ten hours of quiet, uninterrupted sleep. A faint smile formed at the corners of his lips. There was no point in trying to kid himself - he was doing this purely to make Cameron suffer. The idea of Cameron suffering was amusing to him.


It was clear as soon as the slim brunette arrived in the afternoon to begin her shift that she was not on top form. House had immediately noticed the tiredness in her face, her drawn expression, the way she shifted uncomfortably in her seat and remained quiet whilst Chase and Foreman chattered idly to each other in the office.

Two hours and five cups of coffee later, Cameron was looking even worse for wear. Small beads of sweat dotted her brow and she seemed mostly oblivious to the case that House and the other two members of the team were discussing, giving only curt yes/no answers and glowering angrily over her spectacles at House's customary jibes and barbed comments - as though refusing to dignify him with a response.

Any other responsible employer would've allowed her to go home - but House was unlike any other responsible employer.

He knew exactly what the problem was, even before he found her slumped against the wall of the final stall in the ladies' room, clutching her abdomen, gritting her teeth in pain, her breathing rapid and shallow. Yes, House took both a personal and scientific interest in the menstrual cycle dates of all the female hospital employees he regularly encountered - if someone in PPTH was riding the cotton pony, it was odds-on that House would know about it.

This was Cameron's usual 'time of the month' and judging by her current state (not to mention the bloodstained crotch of her tight, off-white jeans), she was having a bad 'time' of it.

He couldn't help but recall the 'elevator scene' from The Shining as he cleaned her up and escorted her to the showers. Appropriately enough, there was a full moon in the sky.


He could feel the Vicodin kicking in and he allowed his eyes to return to the large range of 'feminine hygiene' products on the shelves. There was a wide and varied choice.

He thought back to Cameron - currently dosed up on Dr. House's special pain candy, changed into loose-fitting sky-blue scrubs and resting quietly in Exam Room One. Yes, a nicer boss would allow her to go home, take a hot bath and spend the evening munching chocolate and watching DVDs. House, however considered it something of a moral weakness for female employees to use 'women's troubles' as an excuse to get out of doing anything they didn't want to do. Yes, if he'd just worked a 14-hour day despite his considerable physical pain, then sure as Chase was a repressed homosexual, Cameron was doing the full night shift. This was an age of equality in the workplace, after all. His smile became a full-on sadistic smirk.

"Tampons... towels... sanitary napkins... panty-liners... wings... applicators..." he quietly mouthed the product descriptions to himself as he limped back and forth along the aisle, occasionally picking up a box or packet, reading the back, then returning it to the shelf. He was looking for something 'heavy duty' but he had no idea where to start. Even when he'd been in long-term relationships, he'd avoided the subject of 'feminine hygiene' like the plague, believing it to be something slightly disturbing, dirty and sickening, something for the woman to deal with in private and never discuss in polite conversation. As much as he loved the aesthetic of the female form, House had a slight mistrust of anything that could bleed for five days without being terminally ill. He rubbed the stubble of his chin thoughtfully, becoming acutely aware that he'd been browsing through the tampons and towels for more than ten minutes and that the young Hispanic man behind the counter was giving him strange looks.

He was considering loading up his cart with one of every product, if only to give the cashier something to really stare at, when he noticed a familiar figure entering the shop through the automatic doors and approaching the tobacco kiosk.

Leaving his cart behind, House limped confidently to the front of the store, a devilish look of glee upon his face.

"I like big butts and I cannot lie! You other brothers can't deny" he half sang, half yelled.

The few other shoppers present at this late hour turned towards him, gaping. Dr. Lisa Cuddy tensed slightly, balled her fists and took a deep breath - in through the nose, hold, out through the mouth. She turned on her heel to face House.

"Never let it be said that looking half-dead takes away from your sparkling wit and stunning repartee". Cuddy smiled sardonically.

Removing his cloth cap, House ran his fingers through his hair.

"When a girl walks in with an itty-bitty waist and a round thing in your face, you get sprung..." he continued in a slightly seedy tone, refusing to be taken aback. Truth be told, he did feel a slight stirring in his loins at the thought of Cuddy's perfectly round, peachy tush.

"While I do appreciate your pathological need to sexually harass me at every available opportunity, House - you must also appreciate my pathological urge to buy a pack of cigarettes and then return to my place of residence in order to eat, wash and sleep."

"Ooooh. I love it when you get all stern on me, Lisa..." he upped the husky sleaze in his voice.

"Are you high? Or is that a completely, utterly pointless and stupid thing to ask?" Cuddy rolled her eyes.

"Yes - and yes! I'm nothing if not honest, my pretty."

"Yaknow, I would love to spend the rest of the evening in your company but I must request that you either tell me what the hell you want, or go away and pester someone who isn't just about ready to kick you in the balls." she placed her hands firmly upon her (ample, womanly) hips and tilted her head with an annoyed frown.

Clutching his cap to his chest, House contorted his face into his most earnest, childish, puppy-dog-eyed eyed expression.

"Please, Miss Cuddy - I really need your help. You're a lady, right...?"

A look of dread appeared on the Dean of Medicine's face. House correctly predicted her next response.

"Oh God. I'm going to regret this, aren't I...?"

To be continued...
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