Cuddy stood near her desk, arms crossed, jaw tight. You were pacing by the door, your voice sharp with frustration.

“You don’t get to make decisions for me, Lisa!” you snapped, eyes flashing. “You’re not my boss when we go home—”

“But I am your boss here,” Cuddy cut in, voice calm but icy. “And you know I had to pull you from that case. You’re too close.”

“It wasn’t your call to make,” you shot back. Your fists were clenched now, shoulders trembling—not from fear, but the heat of betrayal. “You don’t trust me. Just say it.”

Cuddy stepped forward slowly, controlled. “This isn’t about trust. It’s about professionalism. You were spiraling—”

“You think I can’t tell when you’re hiding behind that title to protect me?” you snapped, bitter. “This—us—it’s always on your terms, Lisa.”

Silence. A charged, heavy silence.

Cuddy’s expression faltered, just for a second. Hurt flickered in her eyes, quickly masked by something sharper.

“Maybe it has to be on my terms,” she said, voice lower now. “Because you’re reckless. Because I care too damn much to watch you crash.”

“And I’m not supposed to care back?” you stepped into her space, close now, breathing fast. “I’m not some project you manage. I’m not broken. Stop pretending this is about rules.”

“You think I want this to be messy?” Cuddy shot back. “You think it’s easy for me to feel like this?”

Neither of you moved. Neither of you looked away.

Then, in one breathless second, you surged forward, grabbing Cuddy’s collar and kissing her—hard, desperate, angry. It wasn’t sweet. It was clumsy, electric, teeth clashing, hands gripping like the world was ending.

Cuddy froze, then melted into it, pulling you closer by the waist, responding with just as much fire.

When you pulled apart, breathing hard, foreheads pressed together, neither of you spoke right away.

“Are we done fighting?” Cuddy murmured eventually, her lips brushing yours.