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readingratA/N: The second installment. My thanks to the indefatigable scribes of Clinic Duty, without whose labours this fic would hardly have been possible.
V Teamwork
Throws some light upon the amazing cluster of deaths in Season 5 and is enlivened by a cameo appearance of the White House.
On Tuesday Wilson appeared punctually at 1 p.m. in Cuddy's office. "Grabbing a bite with me?"
Cuddy barely looked up from her screen. "Sorry, no. It's been crazy this morning. I need to catch up on my paperwork."
"Can I bring you something from the cafeteria?"
"That would be lovely. My usual? Let me get my purse." She made to rise from her chair.
"No, don't bother. It's not ... ," Wilson broke off as he caught a glimpse of Cuddy's face. "What's the matter?"
"It's nothing."
"Is it House? Did he do something? Say something?"
"No, it wasn't House. ... ," Cuddy sighed. "It was Cameron. She came in this morning to tell me - once again! - that what we were doing with House was immoral, that we were playing God and had allowed our power over him to corrupt us."
"Well - that was frank!"
"She said she was going to tell him."
"She's said that before. She never did," Wilson pointed out.
"Because I said I'd fire her if she did. This time she pre-empted me. She handed in her resignation." Picking up an envelope from her desk, Cuddy waved it at Wilson.
"Uh, that's kinda awkward."
"It's a disaster. I need a new head of ER and you need to keep House and Cameron apart. I gave her leave of absence from tomorrow till the end of her contract, so it's only for one day."
"Oh, sure. I can probably reschedule the department meeting, skip clinic duty and cancel the five patients I'm supposed to see this afternoon. My boss is very understanding that way," Wilson said with heavy irony. "Can't Foreman ..."
"Foreman?" Cuddy's laugh was forced. "Foreman marched in here right after Cameron left, demanding another fellow for the team. According to him, keeping tabs on House's shenanigans takes up the working capacity of an entire fellow. What exactly is House up to?"
"He's re-hiring his team."
Cuddy rested her chin on her hands expectantly. "Is there something going on there that I, as Dean of Medicine, should know about?"
Wilson grimaced. "Foreman fired Taub and Thirteen, so ..."
"Foreman didn't fire Taub and Thirteen. He can't. When I made him provisional head of diagnostics I explicitly excluded the right to hire or fire. Taub has taken some personal days and Hadley, let me see ...," Cuddy turned to her screen, clicking her mouse routinely a few times. "She's back from her vacation and should be at work again tomorrow."
"Cuddy, I'm sketching this from House's point of view. He thinks ..."
"I think that you're starting to think like him."
Wilson shrugged. "Maybe."
"Luckily it can't take him long to hire people who haven't been fired."
"Actually," Wilson admitted, "I told Taub and Thirteen to give him a run for his money. Running after them gives him a mission."
"No wonder Cameron was pissy. And Foreman, for that matter. Is the department getting any work done?"
Wilson looked defensive. "Foreman has no reason to complain. House is wooing Taub and Thirteen back by stalking them in their off-hours to run ideas by them. He's always spent at least half his and their time playing some sort of head game with them. That hasn't changed."
"No. What has changed is that now we're playing head games with him."
"It keeps him occupied and out of trouble. You might want to watch out for Thomas, though," Wilson added as an afterthought.
"I do?"
"House is enticing Chase away from surgery back to diagnostics."
Cuddy considered this for a moment before saying dismissively, "He can have him."
"Sorry?"
"House can have Chase. Thomas never wanted Chase anyway. Foreman gets his extra fellow, Thomas gets rid of Chase and House doesn't get to take my Department of Surgery apart."
"That's generous!"
Cuddy turned back to her screen, adding absently, "As long as House doesn't want Kutner back ..."
Wilson, who had already turned to leave, pivoted around.
"... because explaining to the White House why the staff of PPTH is disrupting the running of this country and provoking major international incidents might be tricky."
"That shouldn't become an issue. Kutner's dead." Wilson managed to make this sound like the statement of a fact.
"That's ludicrous! He was on TV the other day; half the staff congregated in the doctors' lounge to watch his first press conference. Hang on, House was there, too."
"He was," Wilson admitted. "He even noted that Obama's minority liasion officer looked a lot like Kutner, but since Kutner has reverted to his birth name, Choudhari or something like that, House brushed it aside and went back to sleep."
"But doesn't House remember organising Kutner's farewell party for him - that nefarious affair that had you running through the streets of Princeton in your underwear afterwards?"
"I was not in my underwear. I had merely misplaced my pants." Wilson did one of his defensive hand-waving things.
Cuddy leaned back, waiting.
Wilson sighed. "House remembers that as Chase's bachelor party."
"So he was already hallucinating when Kutner left."
"Probably."
Cuddy leaned forward eagerly. "Wilson, if we can pinpoint when House started hallucinating, maybe we can find the cause!"
Wilson clearly didn't share Cuddy's optimism. "He was already taking enormous quantities of vicodin at that point, Cuddy. I don't think ... "
"Were there any other incidents that indicate that he was hallucinating? Come along, Wilson, at least give this a try!"
"There was the mosquito," Wilson said reluctantly. Cuddy looked mystified. "This was when your first attempt to adopt a child fell though. He scratched his hand to shreds insisting he'd been bitten by some giant malevolent bug."
"I wouldn't have thought that he placed any value on my dreams being fulfilled. I'm touched," Cuddy said with a roll of her eyes.
"Oh, it wasn't your disappointment that got to him, it was the kiss," Wilson clarified.
"What kiss?"
"You know, when he kissed you. The night you lost the child."
"Excuse me?"
"You mean, he didn't come to your house that night?"
"No?"
"And he didn't kiss you?"
"No?"
"Oh."
Cuddy broke the silence. "Is there anything else I should know about?" Closing his eyes, Wilson massaged the bridge of his nose. "Wilson!"
"He hears me talking to Amber."
"You - still talk to Amber?" Cuddy eyed Wilson as though he were the one hallucinating now.
"No! I haven't talked to her since, oh, a few days after the accident. Believe me! .... He thinks I - talk to her memory."
"He thinks Amber is dead, too?"
"Yes."
"That could pass as wishful thinking; we all want her dead, don't we?" Cuddy said drily. Wilson didn't bother to contradict her. "Okay, Wilson, why does this bother you more than his other false assumptions? Because this is your ex-girlfriend he is picturing six feet under rather than his ex-fellow?"
"He pictures Kutner in an urn, but no. I really don't mind."
"Let me guess: he suspects you of murdering her!" Cuddy surmised, smiling.
"No. He blames himself for killing her," Wilson corrected her. Cuddy's smile faded. "In House's version of that night, she went to pick him up because I was on call, got on the bus with him, was injured in the crash and ... ultimately died."
Cuddy looked consternated. Wilson rushed on. "I didn't think it all that odd at first; his injuries were extensive, he was disoriented and confused. By the time he was coherent again, Amber and I were history, so I avoided talking about her for obvious reasons. It didn't register that he had no clear idea of what really happened."
"You mean this is not a post-Mayfield phenomenon?"
"No."
"And you kept this from me all this time because you felt guilty about House being on that bus," Cuddy stated.
"It was my fault," Wilson said, running his hand through his hair. "If I hadn't been with Amber that night ...."
"Wilson, don't blame yourself that House got too plastered to drive. You had a right to spend time with your girlfriend."
"It was one of House's nights, but Amber insisted that I spend it with her. It wasn't the first time. I hadn't been out with House in over a month. She didn't tell me that he'd called asking for a lift."
"A garbage van ran into that bus. You're not to blame!" Cuddy insisted. "Nor is she," she added as an afterthought, but with far less conviction.
"She didn't tell me either that Princeton General called to say he was in their ER. He was there for three days, alone, traumatised, thinking I'd abandoned him for Amber."
"So when he finally recovered his cognitive powers only to find that Amber was no longer around, he figured that she was dead."
"Yes."
"You never told me any of this. I mean, I wasn't surprised when you dumped Amber, but I had no idea ..."
"There seemed little sense in talking about it. You'd warned me; House had warned me. I didn't want to hear, 'I told you so' or 'How could you fuck that?' Anyway, he made a few odd remarks right after the accident, but since he wasn't clear about any of the events that had led up to it, I didn't think too much of it. After his father's funeral he seemed back to normal, so I pushed it to the back of my mind."
Cuddy instantly latched onto the odd way Wilson had emphasised the word 'after'. "What happened at the funeral?"
"He was convinced that we'd drugged and kidnapped him to make him go."
"That's ... nonsense! He wasn't keen on going - I remember that - but he'd agreed to go for his mother's sake. In fact, he could easily have talked his way out of that; Foreman advised against it because he feared that a long journey so soon after the accident would provoke neurological damage."
"Which is why we sedated him, with his consent. But when he woke up in the car he was ... odd. And he told the police the strangest story about how he and I met. At the time I thought he was just messing with me, but now I'm not so sure."
"Police?"
"When we were stopped for speeding."
"Was House driving?"
"Cuddy, please ... don't ask." Wilson gestured defensively with his hands.
Cuddy obliged. "I remember you telling me that his eulogy was memorable."
"That was 'normal' House asshoodedness. I always thought his mother was insane to insist. Maybe we're looking for a genetic component." Both smiled weakly. "Afterwards, however, he started smashing glass. Nothing small-scale either; he went straight for the stained-glass window of the funeral home. When he tells the story now, I'm the one who threw the bottle."
"And you never considered correcting him?"
"As I said, it's not always that easy to tell when he's playing games with me. Besides," Wilson added somewhat sheepishly, "the story makes me more ... interesting."
"So the hallucinations might have been caused by massive head trauma and exacerbated by his emotional issues: his father's death, Kutner's departure."
"It's ... possible."
"I'll put Foreman on it." Cuddy rose and made for the door.
"Cuddy?"
"Yes?"
"I wouldn't get my hopes up. If the damage from the head injury hasn't healed by now, there probably isn't much we can do. And we can't keep people from moving out of his life. We can't prevent change, and any type of change is an emotional shock to House."
VI Ignorance is Bliss
Private and confidential information on Cuddy's family life that explains her lack of hospitality. Lucas's glee at being apprised of the important role he plays therein.
"You here today?" Wilson, in lab coat and with a stethoscope in his hand, looked into Cuddy's office during a lull in the clinic.
"Yes. Just for a few hours to get some paperwork done, but I'll be off in a moment."
"Well, have a nice Thanksgiving."
Cuddy rolled her eyes. "Thanks, but it's unlikely. Any occasion featuring my mother is a nightmare."
"It was good of you to invite House," Wilson said as he turned to go.
Cuddy straightened and looked at Wilson in puzzlement. "I didn't invite House. Why on earth would I do that?"
"I don't know. Perhaps so that an old friend wouldn't have to spend the holiday on his own?"
"He's got you."
"Or to keep him busy and thus lighten the burden of another old friend?" Wilson suggested.
"Wilson, you met my mother at Rachel's Simchat Bat. She's evil!"
"I thought she was amusing with a great sense of humour. It was your sister and her husband whom I found slightly odd. Not that I saw much of your brother-in-law," Wilson conceded.
"They treated you like a giant cockroach because my mother told them that two of your divorces were due to domestic violence."
"She ... what?"
"Great sense of humour, right? Oh, and the third - well, I guess it's really the first divorce - was because your wife caught you in bed with her best friend. Her best male friend. But Josh and Julia are liberal about homosexuality, so that didn't prejudice them against you."
"I'm relieved! I'm surprised Josh left his wife in my company while he took a nap!"
"He had no choice - my mom sedated him. She can't stand him for longer than two hours at a stretch." That left even someone as hardened by House's antics as Wilson speechless. Cuddy said as though stating the obvious, "Where did you think I learnt to deal with House? House and my mom together would be like ..."
"Hurricane Katrina meets a tsunami?" Wilson suggested.
Cuddy frowned over another thought. "Since when is House interested in family occasions?"
"He wants to mess with you and Lucas - to see whether he can split you up."
"Wonderful! My mother is going to love this: a crazy colleague insulting my imaginary boyfriend over the roast turkey. Thank goodness Julia and Josh aren't here to witness this. I'd never live it down!"
"Isn't the dinner at their place?"
"No. They're on vacation on Hawaii. It's just my mother, Rachel and me at my place."
Wilson's chin dropped. "Then where'd House go?"
"Does it matter? I'll be ecstatic if he doesn't show. ... Wilson?"
Wilson was pacing agitatedly, massaging his forehead in thought. "He came into my office yesterday brandishing a piece of paper with an address; something in Baltimore. Woodbrook Avenue, I think."
Cuddy's face fell. "My sister lives in Woodbrook Avenue in Baltimore. Where the hell did he get the address from?"
"He said you gave him the invite and the address in exchange for 45 minutes' clinic duty."
"Wilson, House can't do clinic duty. He. Hasn't. Got. A. Licence."
"Because diagnosing crotch rot without a licence is morally more reprehensible than diagnosing Crohn's disease or hemochromatosis."
"He doesn't diagnose, he consults. Anyway, he wasn't in the clinic yesterday; the nurses there have strict instructions to inform me if ... oh, no! When I got back from my lunch break he was sitting at my desk. He must've gone through my address book."
"So he's gone to your sister's place," Wilson concluded.
"Well, that will keep him busy! It's a three-hour drive. Each way." They looked at each other in dismay.
Wilson pulled his cell phone out. "Maybe he hasn't got far yet." He pressed a speed dial button and waited, phone glued to his ear. After a few seconds he said, "Cell phone is switched off," and flicked the phone shut. "Whom are you phoning?"
Cuddy had picked up her phone and was scrolling through her contacts. "My sister has a housesitter."
"There isn't much she can do, is there? Once he's there, he'll just have to drive back all the way."
"No, but the least the housesitter can do is offer him a sandwich."
The phone next to Cuddy's bed rang insistently. After the seventh ring she reached for it, glancing blearily at her alarm clock: 11:30 p.m.
"It's Wilson. I'm sorry to disturb you so late, but House isn't back."
"He is."
"Oh. Did he turn up on your doorstep?"
"Not on my doorstep. ... On Lucas's." There was silence at the other end. "Lucas Douglas. The PI I'm supposed to be dating. He called me an hour ago to tell me that House passed out on his couch."
"Oh-oh."
"Lucas spent three-quarters of an hour gloating before I managed to hang up on him, asking me which of his virtues attracted me to him, where he was supposed to have taken me on my first date, what I wore to it, how often we meet, whether we meet at my place or his, all in order to 'make our stories consistent'. I've never been so embarrassed in my life!"
"It's ... good that he's playing along."
"In what way? Wilson, I don't want House to believe that I'm dating Lucas and I'm not going to participate in any sort of charade involving Lucas just to keep House blissfully ignorant of his state. That guy is caffeine-free House - all the bad additives without the invigorating effect. Have you ever tried playing tennis with two balls at the same time? No? My trainer in high school used to think it a funny idea. Believe me, it isn't. That's what it'll be like if we have to keep House and Lucas in line."
"Can't we ..."
"No! I'm not interested!"
"If you tell House he hallucinated Lucas at the conference, I'll show him what a real medical licence looks like."
Cuddy scowled at the telephone, but she knew when she was beaten. "Fine! I'll tell him Lucas and I split up."
VII: Wilson
Provides explanations for Wilson's propensity to donate chunks of himself and Cuddy's odd taste in domiciles.
Spotting Wilson in the corridor of the OT recovery ward, Cuddy interrupted her daily round of the hospital. He didn't notice her until she touched his elbow. "I heard your patient died. I'm sorry."
Wilson looked surprised, but answered politely, "Thanks. It's tragic - he was my age - but it could have been worse. His daughter is practically grown up, his girlfriend young enough to get over it."
"And you?" Cuddy's hand was still on Wilson's arm.
"Patients die, Cuddy. Mine especially. It comes with the turf."
"I heard he was a friend."
"Friend?" Wilson said. "Well, I suppose one could say he was. We were in high school together, but we had no further contact until he got leukaemia five years ago. He was referred to me then, and of course I agreed to treat him. But we were never close."
"Sometimes looking out for someone forges a bond."
Wilson didn't pretend not to understand her. "He was sick, Cuddy, not needy. He had a devoted girlfriend, a forgiving ex-wife and a daughter who came running the moment I called. What he didn't have, I couldn't give him - his health."
"You do have something he needed: a healthy liver."
"I'm a doctor, not an organ farm. Lots of my patients could do with a pound of my flesh. Why should I bequeath it to Don rather than to any of the others?"
"Guilt?" Cuddy guessed.
"For what?"
"Your treatment was risky and unconventional. It fried his liver."
"If it had succeeded, it would have saved his life."
"It didn't."
"He knew the risks. He gambled. Had he won he'd be living happily ever after. As it was he lost his remaining six months."
"You gambled."
"Fine, I gambled." Wilson threw up both hands. "The treatment was risky, but not outside the boundaries of what is medically justifiable."
"That sounds more like House than like you." It was as much a question as a statement.
"It wasn't his idea. In fact, he advised me against it."
"Why? He'd have done it, I'm sure."
"He feared I wouldn't be able to deal with the consequences. But as you can see, I'm fine," Wilson said with finality.
"Then where do all these rumours that you were on the verge of donating your liver come from?"
"House, of course. Just like the ones that you're a transsexual," Wilson tried to deflect.
Cuddy's eyes narrowed. "Odd, because I could have sworn that he believed the heart-rending tale he told me." Wilson drew a hand through his hair, his head bowed. "Wilson, why the hell did you let him believe that you'd submit yourself to such an insane procedure?"
"Fine, I admit it! I let House assume that I was contemplating an organ donation because he's a lot more inventive than I am. I gave him an incentive to apply his mind to the matter. His case wasn't very promising, so I thought he could do with a distraction. He was successful, you know - he found a donor liver. But by the time we got the next of kin's approval the liver was mush."
"So ... House wasn't hallucinating that you wished to donate a lobe of your liver to Tucker?"
"No. He was merely ... misled."
"And all those false diagnoses of yours that he had to refute before you accepted that Tucker had cancer?"
Wilson sighed. "That was me messing with House. I knew from the start that Tucker had cancer. Last week I invited ... someone over for dinner only to find, when I served the food, that House had switched the labels on my bottled spices and mixed wasabi into the green salsa. I don't think Cynth ... my guest will ever accept an invitation again."
"Seriously, you two combined have a lower level of maturity than a chimp on uppers."
"Cuddy, you wrong us. He was testing my olfactory skills and I his diagnostic ones."
"He passed. You failed." A nurse passed, mustering them curiously. "Why are we holding this conversation in the corridor?"
"I'm keeping an eye on House." Wilson nodded towards the nearest patient room. The blinds were closed.
Cuddy's eyes widened in alarm. She hurried over to the room and tried to peer through the blinds. "What happened? Why wasn't I informed?"
"He's fine. He's ... holding a vigil at my bedside."
Cuddy turned to stare at Wilson.
"He's under the impression that I'm recovering from a liver donation to Tucker," Wilson explained, avoiding her gaze. Cuddy closed her eyes and leaned against the glass wall, expelling a long breath.
Before she could say anything Wilson continued hurriedly, "I'm thinking of moving somewhere bigger, a place with two bathrooms maybe, and more room for House's stuff."
Cuddy allowed herself to be distracted. "With fewer associations from the past."
"Now seems a good time."
A thought struck Cuddy. "I was looking for a place closer to the hospital to reduce my daily commuting time and Bonnie showed me a loft conversion about a mile from here. It's totally unsuitable for Rachel and me - there isn't even a spare bedroom for my mother when she comes to stay, and what parent wants to swap a house with a backyard for an apartment? - but it might be just the right thing for you."
"Bonnie is the worst realtor in New Jersey," Wilson said apologetically.
"That's what I thought," Cuddy said wryly. "Take a look at it: it's light and spacious, has two bedrooms with separate bathrooms and an elevator."
"I'll do that."
"And Wilson?" Cuddy threw over her shoulder as she turned to go.
"Yes?"
"Get him out of here before the nurses start talking."
VIII: The Down Low
A romantic interlude is cut short by Cuddy's disapproval.
Her lunch always made his choice look like a carbohydrate orgy. She picked a small salad, an apple and a yogurt from the shelves before joining him in the queue. He looked down at his fries, steak and ice-cream, his lips pursed as he silently added up calories and thought about how he'd had to loosen his belt a notch a few weeks ago.
Her voice cut through his calculations. "I hear congratulations are in order."
He closed his eyes for a moment, and then looked around to check whether anyone had heard her. The nurse in front of him looked at him curiously as she gathered up her change.
"So when's the happy day?"
He dug his wallet out of his back pocket, smiling perfunctorily at the girl at the cash till. "Keep the change," he said as he picked up his tray and moved away.
Cuddy was not to be shaken off. She followed him to his table and slid into the chair opposite his. "I look forward to seeing you all in white. No, wait, white is for young first-time brides, so you don't qualify, do you?"
Wilson said in his most deadpan voice, "House would. Since I proposed, I guess technically he's the bride." His mouth twitched in satisfaction as Cuddy gawped.
"The story is true? You proposed to House? I thought House was ...." Her voice faded, her expression a mixture of consternation, mystification and disapproval.
"It was a joke, Cuddy!" he hastened to reassure her. "House and I were messing with each other."
"Are you sure House knows that?"
"Of course! Our new neighbour unfortunately assumed that House and I were a gay couple." He cut up his steak methodically.
"No, really!" Cuddy gave Wilson her I-can't-imagine-why-anyone-would-believe-that look.
"When House saw that I was interested in her ..."
"Oh, a 'she'!" There was layer upon layer of innuendo in that one, too.
Wilson refused to be cornered. "Yes, her name is Nora. She's smart and funny."
"And attractive," It was a statement rather than a surmise.
"Well, yes," Wilson admitted. "Anyway, House decided to throw a spanner into my works, so he, um, strengthened her beliefs."
"And you're the innocent victim of his relentless wooing. You got so caught up in his make-belief that you couldn't restrain yourself any longer and fell on your knees before him."
"No, no, you've got this wrong! He wooed her, not me."
Cuddy took a moment to ponder this before she gave up, frowning at Wilson. "This makes no sense."
"We're talking House, the master of the double feint. He was worming his way into her confidence by being her gay girlfriend: watching musicals with her, exchanging recipes and gossip magazines, giving her back rubs ... you see where this was going." Wilson, elbow on the table, pointed at Cuddy with the fry impaled on his fork.
Cuddy grinned. "Totally. What a slut House is! Making me believe I was the love of his life only to grasp the first opportunity to cheat on me."
"Oh, but you are the love of his life. Nora," Wilson waved his fork at the world in general, "was just sex."
"That's a comfort," Cuddy said drily. She narrowed her eyes. "Are you sure your neighbour wasn't having a bit of fun at your expense?"
"You mean egging both of us on by flashing her assets at us, but with no intention of following up? Why would any responsible, self-confident woman want to do that?" This time it was Wilson who was dripping sarcasm.
Cuddy leaned back and opened her mouth as though to retort. Wilson put down his fork and waited, smiling slightly, his stare defying her to take him up on the implied insult.
After a moment Cuddy dropped her eyes. "So you staked your claim on House by proposing to him in public," she finally said, again with a hint of aspersion.
"You're making this sound as though I were interested in House in ... that way!"
Cuddy shrugged as she tore the foil off her yogurt.
Wilson pointed his finger at her. "No, you don't get to do this! He violated common decency by cutting in on us when I'd already expressed an interest, so I retaliated in kind. That's all!"
"Ah, invoking the bro code. What if House doesn't see it that way?"
"We're friends. We've always jerked each other around," Wilson said defensively. "Why should he see it any other way?"
"Because he's suffering from delusions? Because he's always meant more to you than your wives did? Because you've just bought a bigger place solely to accommodate him? Because you proposed last night?" Cuddy's voice had got increasingly louder. "Take your pick!"
Wilson did just that, picking out the least compromising of Cuddy's accusations. "Hey, you suggested the condo! Are you saying that moving there was a mistake?"
"No. I'm saying that if you're living with someone who's delusional you shouldn't mess with his head."
V Teamwork
Throws some light upon the amazing cluster of deaths in Season 5 and is enlivened by a cameo appearance of the White House.
On Tuesday Wilson appeared punctually at 1 p.m. in Cuddy's office. "Grabbing a bite with me?"
Cuddy barely looked up from her screen. "Sorry, no. It's been crazy this morning. I need to catch up on my paperwork."
"Can I bring you something from the cafeteria?"
"That would be lovely. My usual? Let me get my purse." She made to rise from her chair.
"No, don't bother. It's not ... ," Wilson broke off as he caught a glimpse of Cuddy's face. "What's the matter?"
"It's nothing."
"Is it House? Did he do something? Say something?"
"No, it wasn't House. ... ," Cuddy sighed. "It was Cameron. She came in this morning to tell me - once again! - that what we were doing with House was immoral, that we were playing God and had allowed our power over him to corrupt us."
"Well - that was frank!"
"She said she was going to tell him."
"She's said that before. She never did," Wilson pointed out.
"Because I said I'd fire her if she did. This time she pre-empted me. She handed in her resignation." Picking up an envelope from her desk, Cuddy waved it at Wilson.
"Uh, that's kinda awkward."
"It's a disaster. I need a new head of ER and you need to keep House and Cameron apart. I gave her leave of absence from tomorrow till the end of her contract, so it's only for one day."
"Oh, sure. I can probably reschedule the department meeting, skip clinic duty and cancel the five patients I'm supposed to see this afternoon. My boss is very understanding that way," Wilson said with heavy irony. "Can't Foreman ..."
"Foreman?" Cuddy's laugh was forced. "Foreman marched in here right after Cameron left, demanding another fellow for the team. According to him, keeping tabs on House's shenanigans takes up the working capacity of an entire fellow. What exactly is House up to?"
"He's re-hiring his team."
Cuddy rested her chin on her hands expectantly. "Is there something going on there that I, as Dean of Medicine, should know about?"
Wilson grimaced. "Foreman fired Taub and Thirteen, so ..."
"Foreman didn't fire Taub and Thirteen. He can't. When I made him provisional head of diagnostics I explicitly excluded the right to hire or fire. Taub has taken some personal days and Hadley, let me see ...," Cuddy turned to her screen, clicking her mouse routinely a few times. "She's back from her vacation and should be at work again tomorrow."
"Cuddy, I'm sketching this from House's point of view. He thinks ..."
"I think that you're starting to think like him."
Wilson shrugged. "Maybe."
"Luckily it can't take him long to hire people who haven't been fired."
"Actually," Wilson admitted, "I told Taub and Thirteen to give him a run for his money. Running after them gives him a mission."
"No wonder Cameron was pissy. And Foreman, for that matter. Is the department getting any work done?"
Wilson looked defensive. "Foreman has no reason to complain. House is wooing Taub and Thirteen back by stalking them in their off-hours to run ideas by them. He's always spent at least half his and their time playing some sort of head game with them. That hasn't changed."
"No. What has changed is that now we're playing head games with him."
"It keeps him occupied and out of trouble. You might want to watch out for Thomas, though," Wilson added as an afterthought.
"I do?"
"House is enticing Chase away from surgery back to diagnostics."
Cuddy considered this for a moment before saying dismissively, "He can have him."
"Sorry?"
"House can have Chase. Thomas never wanted Chase anyway. Foreman gets his extra fellow, Thomas gets rid of Chase and House doesn't get to take my Department of Surgery apart."
"That's generous!"
Cuddy turned back to her screen, adding absently, "As long as House doesn't want Kutner back ..."
Wilson, who had already turned to leave, pivoted around.
"... because explaining to the White House why the staff of PPTH is disrupting the running of this country and provoking major international incidents might be tricky."
"That shouldn't become an issue. Kutner's dead." Wilson managed to make this sound like the statement of a fact.
"That's ludicrous! He was on TV the other day; half the staff congregated in the doctors' lounge to watch his first press conference. Hang on, House was there, too."
"He was," Wilson admitted. "He even noted that Obama's minority liasion officer looked a lot like Kutner, but since Kutner has reverted to his birth name, Choudhari or something like that, House brushed it aside and went back to sleep."
"But doesn't House remember organising Kutner's farewell party for him - that nefarious affair that had you running through the streets of Princeton in your underwear afterwards?"
"I was not in my underwear. I had merely misplaced my pants." Wilson did one of his defensive hand-waving things.
Cuddy leaned back, waiting.
Wilson sighed. "House remembers that as Chase's bachelor party."
"So he was already hallucinating when Kutner left."
"Probably."
Cuddy leaned forward eagerly. "Wilson, if we can pinpoint when House started hallucinating, maybe we can find the cause!"
Wilson clearly didn't share Cuddy's optimism. "He was already taking enormous quantities of vicodin at that point, Cuddy. I don't think ... "
"Were there any other incidents that indicate that he was hallucinating? Come along, Wilson, at least give this a try!"
"There was the mosquito," Wilson said reluctantly. Cuddy looked mystified. "This was when your first attempt to adopt a child fell though. He scratched his hand to shreds insisting he'd been bitten by some giant malevolent bug."
"I wouldn't have thought that he placed any value on my dreams being fulfilled. I'm touched," Cuddy said with a roll of her eyes.
"Oh, it wasn't your disappointment that got to him, it was the kiss," Wilson clarified.
"What kiss?"
"You know, when he kissed you. The night you lost the child."
"Excuse me?"
"You mean, he didn't come to your house that night?"
"No?"
"And he didn't kiss you?"
"No?"
"Oh."
Cuddy broke the silence. "Is there anything else I should know about?" Closing his eyes, Wilson massaged the bridge of his nose. "Wilson!"
"He hears me talking to Amber."
"You - still talk to Amber?" Cuddy eyed Wilson as though he were the one hallucinating now.
"No! I haven't talked to her since, oh, a few days after the accident. Believe me! .... He thinks I - talk to her memory."
"He thinks Amber is dead, too?"
"Yes."
"That could pass as wishful thinking; we all want her dead, don't we?" Cuddy said drily. Wilson didn't bother to contradict her. "Okay, Wilson, why does this bother you more than his other false assumptions? Because this is your ex-girlfriend he is picturing six feet under rather than his ex-fellow?"
"He pictures Kutner in an urn, but no. I really don't mind."
"Let me guess: he suspects you of murdering her!" Cuddy surmised, smiling.
"No. He blames himself for killing her," Wilson corrected her. Cuddy's smile faded. "In House's version of that night, she went to pick him up because I was on call, got on the bus with him, was injured in the crash and ... ultimately died."
Cuddy looked consternated. Wilson rushed on. "I didn't think it all that odd at first; his injuries were extensive, he was disoriented and confused. By the time he was coherent again, Amber and I were history, so I avoided talking about her for obvious reasons. It didn't register that he had no clear idea of what really happened."
"You mean this is not a post-Mayfield phenomenon?"
"No."
"And you kept this from me all this time because you felt guilty about House being on that bus," Cuddy stated.
"It was my fault," Wilson said, running his hand through his hair. "If I hadn't been with Amber that night ...."
"Wilson, don't blame yourself that House got too plastered to drive. You had a right to spend time with your girlfriend."
"It was one of House's nights, but Amber insisted that I spend it with her. It wasn't the first time. I hadn't been out with House in over a month. She didn't tell me that he'd called asking for a lift."
"A garbage van ran into that bus. You're not to blame!" Cuddy insisted. "Nor is she," she added as an afterthought, but with far less conviction.
"She didn't tell me either that Princeton General called to say he was in their ER. He was there for three days, alone, traumatised, thinking I'd abandoned him for Amber."
"So when he finally recovered his cognitive powers only to find that Amber was no longer around, he figured that she was dead."
"Yes."
"You never told me any of this. I mean, I wasn't surprised when you dumped Amber, but I had no idea ..."
"There seemed little sense in talking about it. You'd warned me; House had warned me. I didn't want to hear, 'I told you so' or 'How could you fuck that?' Anyway, he made a few odd remarks right after the accident, but since he wasn't clear about any of the events that had led up to it, I didn't think too much of it. After his father's funeral he seemed back to normal, so I pushed it to the back of my mind."
Cuddy instantly latched onto the odd way Wilson had emphasised the word 'after'. "What happened at the funeral?"
"He was convinced that we'd drugged and kidnapped him to make him go."
"That's ... nonsense! He wasn't keen on going - I remember that - but he'd agreed to go for his mother's sake. In fact, he could easily have talked his way out of that; Foreman advised against it because he feared that a long journey so soon after the accident would provoke neurological damage."
"Which is why we sedated him, with his consent. But when he woke up in the car he was ... odd. And he told the police the strangest story about how he and I met. At the time I thought he was just messing with me, but now I'm not so sure."
"Police?"
"When we were stopped for speeding."
"Was House driving?"
"Cuddy, please ... don't ask." Wilson gestured defensively with his hands.
Cuddy obliged. "I remember you telling me that his eulogy was memorable."
"That was 'normal' House asshoodedness. I always thought his mother was insane to insist. Maybe we're looking for a genetic component." Both smiled weakly. "Afterwards, however, he started smashing glass. Nothing small-scale either; he went straight for the stained-glass window of the funeral home. When he tells the story now, I'm the one who threw the bottle."
"And you never considered correcting him?"
"As I said, it's not always that easy to tell when he's playing games with me. Besides," Wilson added somewhat sheepishly, "the story makes me more ... interesting."
"So the hallucinations might have been caused by massive head trauma and exacerbated by his emotional issues: his father's death, Kutner's departure."
"It's ... possible."
"I'll put Foreman on it." Cuddy rose and made for the door.
"Cuddy?"
"Yes?"
"I wouldn't get my hopes up. If the damage from the head injury hasn't healed by now, there probably isn't much we can do. And we can't keep people from moving out of his life. We can't prevent change, and any type of change is an emotional shock to House."
VI Ignorance is Bliss
Private and confidential information on Cuddy's family life that explains her lack of hospitality. Lucas's glee at being apprised of the important role he plays therein.
"You here today?" Wilson, in lab coat and with a stethoscope in his hand, looked into Cuddy's office during a lull in the clinic.
"Yes. Just for a few hours to get some paperwork done, but I'll be off in a moment."
"Well, have a nice Thanksgiving."
Cuddy rolled her eyes. "Thanks, but it's unlikely. Any occasion featuring my mother is a nightmare."
"It was good of you to invite House," Wilson said as he turned to go.
Cuddy straightened and looked at Wilson in puzzlement. "I didn't invite House. Why on earth would I do that?"
"I don't know. Perhaps so that an old friend wouldn't have to spend the holiday on his own?"
"He's got you."
"Or to keep him busy and thus lighten the burden of another old friend?" Wilson suggested.
"Wilson, you met my mother at Rachel's Simchat Bat. She's evil!"
"I thought she was amusing with a great sense of humour. It was your sister and her husband whom I found slightly odd. Not that I saw much of your brother-in-law," Wilson conceded.
"They treated you like a giant cockroach because my mother told them that two of your divorces were due to domestic violence."
"She ... what?"
"Great sense of humour, right? Oh, and the third - well, I guess it's really the first divorce - was because your wife caught you in bed with her best friend. Her best male friend. But Josh and Julia are liberal about homosexuality, so that didn't prejudice them against you."
"I'm relieved! I'm surprised Josh left his wife in my company while he took a nap!"
"He had no choice - my mom sedated him. She can't stand him for longer than two hours at a stretch." That left even someone as hardened by House's antics as Wilson speechless. Cuddy said as though stating the obvious, "Where did you think I learnt to deal with House? House and my mom together would be like ..."
"Hurricane Katrina meets a tsunami?" Wilson suggested.
Cuddy frowned over another thought. "Since when is House interested in family occasions?"
"He wants to mess with you and Lucas - to see whether he can split you up."
"Wonderful! My mother is going to love this: a crazy colleague insulting my imaginary boyfriend over the roast turkey. Thank goodness Julia and Josh aren't here to witness this. I'd never live it down!"
"Isn't the dinner at their place?"
"No. They're on vacation on Hawaii. It's just my mother, Rachel and me at my place."
Wilson's chin dropped. "Then where'd House go?"
"Does it matter? I'll be ecstatic if he doesn't show. ... Wilson?"
Wilson was pacing agitatedly, massaging his forehead in thought. "He came into my office yesterday brandishing a piece of paper with an address; something in Baltimore. Woodbrook Avenue, I think."
Cuddy's face fell. "My sister lives in Woodbrook Avenue in Baltimore. Where the hell did he get the address from?"
"He said you gave him the invite and the address in exchange for 45 minutes' clinic duty."
"Wilson, House can't do clinic duty. He. Hasn't. Got. A. Licence."
"Because diagnosing crotch rot without a licence is morally more reprehensible than diagnosing Crohn's disease or hemochromatosis."
"He doesn't diagnose, he consults. Anyway, he wasn't in the clinic yesterday; the nurses there have strict instructions to inform me if ... oh, no! When I got back from my lunch break he was sitting at my desk. He must've gone through my address book."
"So he's gone to your sister's place," Wilson concluded.
"Well, that will keep him busy! It's a three-hour drive. Each way." They looked at each other in dismay.
Wilson pulled his cell phone out. "Maybe he hasn't got far yet." He pressed a speed dial button and waited, phone glued to his ear. After a few seconds he said, "Cell phone is switched off," and flicked the phone shut. "Whom are you phoning?"
Cuddy had picked up her phone and was scrolling through her contacts. "My sister has a housesitter."
"There isn't much she can do, is there? Once he's there, he'll just have to drive back all the way."
"No, but the least the housesitter can do is offer him a sandwich."
The phone next to Cuddy's bed rang insistently. After the seventh ring she reached for it, glancing blearily at her alarm clock: 11:30 p.m.
"It's Wilson. I'm sorry to disturb you so late, but House isn't back."
"He is."
"Oh. Did he turn up on your doorstep?"
"Not on my doorstep. ... On Lucas's." There was silence at the other end. "Lucas Douglas. The PI I'm supposed to be dating. He called me an hour ago to tell me that House passed out on his couch."
"Oh-oh."
"Lucas spent three-quarters of an hour gloating before I managed to hang up on him, asking me which of his virtues attracted me to him, where he was supposed to have taken me on my first date, what I wore to it, how often we meet, whether we meet at my place or his, all in order to 'make our stories consistent'. I've never been so embarrassed in my life!"
"It's ... good that he's playing along."
"In what way? Wilson, I don't want House to believe that I'm dating Lucas and I'm not going to participate in any sort of charade involving Lucas just to keep House blissfully ignorant of his state. That guy is caffeine-free House - all the bad additives without the invigorating effect. Have you ever tried playing tennis with two balls at the same time? No? My trainer in high school used to think it a funny idea. Believe me, it isn't. That's what it'll be like if we have to keep House and Lucas in line."
"Can't we ..."
"No! I'm not interested!"
"If you tell House he hallucinated Lucas at the conference, I'll show him what a real medical licence looks like."
Cuddy scowled at the telephone, but she knew when she was beaten. "Fine! I'll tell him Lucas and I split up."
VII: Wilson
Provides explanations for Wilson's propensity to donate chunks of himself and Cuddy's odd taste in domiciles.
Spotting Wilson in the corridor of the OT recovery ward, Cuddy interrupted her daily round of the hospital. He didn't notice her until she touched his elbow. "I heard your patient died. I'm sorry."
Wilson looked surprised, but answered politely, "Thanks. It's tragic - he was my age - but it could have been worse. His daughter is practically grown up, his girlfriend young enough to get over it."
"And you?" Cuddy's hand was still on Wilson's arm.
"Patients die, Cuddy. Mine especially. It comes with the turf."
"I heard he was a friend."
"Friend?" Wilson said. "Well, I suppose one could say he was. We were in high school together, but we had no further contact until he got leukaemia five years ago. He was referred to me then, and of course I agreed to treat him. But we were never close."
"Sometimes looking out for someone forges a bond."
Wilson didn't pretend not to understand her. "He was sick, Cuddy, not needy. He had a devoted girlfriend, a forgiving ex-wife and a daughter who came running the moment I called. What he didn't have, I couldn't give him - his health."
"You do have something he needed: a healthy liver."
"I'm a doctor, not an organ farm. Lots of my patients could do with a pound of my flesh. Why should I bequeath it to Don rather than to any of the others?"
"Guilt?" Cuddy guessed.
"For what?"
"Your treatment was risky and unconventional. It fried his liver."
"If it had succeeded, it would have saved his life."
"It didn't."
"He knew the risks. He gambled. Had he won he'd be living happily ever after. As it was he lost his remaining six months."
"You gambled."
"Fine, I gambled." Wilson threw up both hands. "The treatment was risky, but not outside the boundaries of what is medically justifiable."
"That sounds more like House than like you." It was as much a question as a statement.
"It wasn't his idea. In fact, he advised me against it."
"Why? He'd have done it, I'm sure."
"He feared I wouldn't be able to deal with the consequences. But as you can see, I'm fine," Wilson said with finality.
"Then where do all these rumours that you were on the verge of donating your liver come from?"
"House, of course. Just like the ones that you're a transsexual," Wilson tried to deflect.
Cuddy's eyes narrowed. "Odd, because I could have sworn that he believed the heart-rending tale he told me." Wilson drew a hand through his hair, his head bowed. "Wilson, why the hell did you let him believe that you'd submit yourself to such an insane procedure?"
"Fine, I admit it! I let House assume that I was contemplating an organ donation because he's a lot more inventive than I am. I gave him an incentive to apply his mind to the matter. His case wasn't very promising, so I thought he could do with a distraction. He was successful, you know - he found a donor liver. But by the time we got the next of kin's approval the liver was mush."
"So ... House wasn't hallucinating that you wished to donate a lobe of your liver to Tucker?"
"No. He was merely ... misled."
"And all those false diagnoses of yours that he had to refute before you accepted that Tucker had cancer?"
Wilson sighed. "That was me messing with House. I knew from the start that Tucker had cancer. Last week I invited ... someone over for dinner only to find, when I served the food, that House had switched the labels on my bottled spices and mixed wasabi into the green salsa. I don't think Cynth ... my guest will ever accept an invitation again."
"Seriously, you two combined have a lower level of maturity than a chimp on uppers."
"Cuddy, you wrong us. He was testing my olfactory skills and I his diagnostic ones."
"He passed. You failed." A nurse passed, mustering them curiously. "Why are we holding this conversation in the corridor?"
"I'm keeping an eye on House." Wilson nodded towards the nearest patient room. The blinds were closed.
Cuddy's eyes widened in alarm. She hurried over to the room and tried to peer through the blinds. "What happened? Why wasn't I informed?"
"He's fine. He's ... holding a vigil at my bedside."
Cuddy turned to stare at Wilson.
"He's under the impression that I'm recovering from a liver donation to Tucker," Wilson explained, avoiding her gaze. Cuddy closed her eyes and leaned against the glass wall, expelling a long breath.
Before she could say anything Wilson continued hurriedly, "I'm thinking of moving somewhere bigger, a place with two bathrooms maybe, and more room for House's stuff."
Cuddy allowed herself to be distracted. "With fewer associations from the past."
"Now seems a good time."
A thought struck Cuddy. "I was looking for a place closer to the hospital to reduce my daily commuting time and Bonnie showed me a loft conversion about a mile from here. It's totally unsuitable for Rachel and me - there isn't even a spare bedroom for my mother when she comes to stay, and what parent wants to swap a house with a backyard for an apartment? - but it might be just the right thing for you."
"Bonnie is the worst realtor in New Jersey," Wilson said apologetically.
"That's what I thought," Cuddy said wryly. "Take a look at it: it's light and spacious, has two bedrooms with separate bathrooms and an elevator."
"I'll do that."
"And Wilson?" Cuddy threw over her shoulder as she turned to go.
"Yes?"
"Get him out of here before the nurses start talking."
VIII: The Down Low
A romantic interlude is cut short by Cuddy's disapproval.
Her lunch always made his choice look like a carbohydrate orgy. She picked a small salad, an apple and a yogurt from the shelves before joining him in the queue. He looked down at his fries, steak and ice-cream, his lips pursed as he silently added up calories and thought about how he'd had to loosen his belt a notch a few weeks ago.
Her voice cut through his calculations. "I hear congratulations are in order."
He closed his eyes for a moment, and then looked around to check whether anyone had heard her. The nurse in front of him looked at him curiously as she gathered up her change.
"So when's the happy day?"
He dug his wallet out of his back pocket, smiling perfunctorily at the girl at the cash till. "Keep the change," he said as he picked up his tray and moved away.
Cuddy was not to be shaken off. She followed him to his table and slid into the chair opposite his. "I look forward to seeing you all in white. No, wait, white is for young first-time brides, so you don't qualify, do you?"
Wilson said in his most deadpan voice, "House would. Since I proposed, I guess technically he's the bride." His mouth twitched in satisfaction as Cuddy gawped.
"The story is true? You proposed to House? I thought House was ...." Her voice faded, her expression a mixture of consternation, mystification and disapproval.
"It was a joke, Cuddy!" he hastened to reassure her. "House and I were messing with each other."
"Are you sure House knows that?"
"Of course! Our new neighbour unfortunately assumed that House and I were a gay couple." He cut up his steak methodically.
"No, really!" Cuddy gave Wilson her I-can't-imagine-why-anyone-would-believe-that look.
"When House saw that I was interested in her ..."
"Oh, a 'she'!" There was layer upon layer of innuendo in that one, too.
Wilson refused to be cornered. "Yes, her name is Nora. She's smart and funny."
"And attractive," It was a statement rather than a surmise.
"Well, yes," Wilson admitted. "Anyway, House decided to throw a spanner into my works, so he, um, strengthened her beliefs."
"And you're the innocent victim of his relentless wooing. You got so caught up in his make-belief that you couldn't restrain yourself any longer and fell on your knees before him."
"No, no, you've got this wrong! He wooed her, not me."
Cuddy took a moment to ponder this before she gave up, frowning at Wilson. "This makes no sense."
"We're talking House, the master of the double feint. He was worming his way into her confidence by being her gay girlfriend: watching musicals with her, exchanging recipes and gossip magazines, giving her back rubs ... you see where this was going." Wilson, elbow on the table, pointed at Cuddy with the fry impaled on his fork.
Cuddy grinned. "Totally. What a slut House is! Making me believe I was the love of his life only to grasp the first opportunity to cheat on me."
"Oh, but you are the love of his life. Nora," Wilson waved his fork at the world in general, "was just sex."
"That's a comfort," Cuddy said drily. She narrowed her eyes. "Are you sure your neighbour wasn't having a bit of fun at your expense?"
"You mean egging both of us on by flashing her assets at us, but with no intention of following up? Why would any responsible, self-confident woman want to do that?" This time it was Wilson who was dripping sarcasm.
Cuddy leaned back and opened her mouth as though to retort. Wilson put down his fork and waited, smiling slightly, his stare defying her to take him up on the implied insult.
After a moment Cuddy dropped her eyes. "So you staked your claim on House by proposing to him in public," she finally said, again with a hint of aspersion.
"You're making this sound as though I were interested in House in ... that way!"
Cuddy shrugged as she tore the foil off her yogurt.
Wilson pointed his finger at her. "No, you don't get to do this! He violated common decency by cutting in on us when I'd already expressed an interest, so I retaliated in kind. That's all!"
"Ah, invoking the bro code. What if House doesn't see it that way?"
"We're friends. We've always jerked each other around," Wilson said defensively. "Why should he see it any other way?"
"Because he's suffering from delusions? Because he's always meant more to you than your wives did? Because you've just bought a bigger place solely to accommodate him? Because you proposed last night?" Cuddy's voice had got increasingly louder. "Take your pick!"
Wilson did just that, picking out the least compromising of Cuddy's accusations. "Hey, you suggested the condo! Are you saying that moving there was a mistake?"
"No. I'm saying that if you're living with someone who's delusional you shouldn't mess with his head."
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Date: 2011-03-10 06:35 pm (UTC)Yeah. The fic is hilarious to read, but in a sense this throws a dark light on it all. What happens if (when?) at some point they have to tell House the truth? You're keeping a very delicate balance going on here. I can even (perish the thought!) start seeing some logic in Cameron's desire to come clean.