readingrat (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
readingrat) wrote2010-09-18 01:32 pm
readingrat) wrote2010-09-18 01:32 pm
Entry tags:
A Midwinter Nightmare Chapter 8 (of 8)
Act 5
Titania: My Oberon, what visions have I seen!
Methought I was enamour’d of an ass.
[A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Act 4 Scene 1]
7:30 am
Down in the lobby there were first signs of the great event to come. The cleaning crew were giving the glass panes a final shine, the nurses at the front desk were checking their make-up and patting their hair down while the front doors opened and closed in a steady rhythm as staff members entered the hospital for the 7:30 a.m. deadline. Among the early entries was Wilson, resplendent in his best suit and a tie that shouted ‘special occasion’. From inside the hospital two security guards appeared to take up their posts, one on each side of the entrance.
House took all this in with one glance as he headed towards a central position on the gallery from which one had an excellent view of the entrance, the lobby desk and the clinic doors while able to withdraw quickly to avoid detection. He’d come in the hope of heading Wilson off to give him young Arun’s file and get a new scrip for his painkillers, thus circumventing the need to deal with Cuddy on either issue, but his hopes of achieving that were effectually quashed at the sight of the lone figure occupying his preferred spot on the gallery.
Although Cuddy didn’t turn round as he drew nearer, he knew that his cane-aided limp, heavy as it was due to the pain he was in by now, was too loud not to have been heard the moment he’d left the elevator. He joined her, leaning on the balustrade next to her as he tried to gauge her mood.
She was freshly showered, her make-up was carefully applied, she emanated a hint of expensive perfume and her business suit was a bold statement of femininity disguised in sleek tailoring. A closer look, however, revealed that she’d applied foundation under her eyes to gloss over the dark rings, that her eyes were blood-shot, whether from lack of sleep or crying was anyone’s guess, and that she was paler than usual, the lines in her face more prominent. Rarely did she look her age, but today she did so with a vengeance. She was twisting a small orange cylinder in her hand. He surmised that she’d been watching for him, much as he had intended to lie in wait for Wilson.
House extended the file he was holding. “Swap?” he asked. “I can offer Ependymoma.”
Cuddy took it, only acknowledging his presence now that he spoke to her. She gave the file a puzzled look that was chased away by dawning realization. “Oh, damn, I’d forgotten all about him.” She glanced at the MRI, closed her eyes for a moment and shut the file again. “I’ll have to tell his parents.”
“Could be worse. Get Wilson to tell the parents – the boy is his now.”
“They came here thinking he had concussion. A brain tumour is a lot worse. No, I’ll have to find the time to talk to them. You were right about the father, too,” she added, visibly chagrined. “He has a diagnosed heart condition, but from what his wife told me, it seems that he hasn’t been following his physician’s advice closely.”
“Patients are idiots,” House shrugged. “My painkillers,” he reminded her.
Cuddy extended them to him. “I’m ... sorry,” she said hesitantly.
House nodded, that small rare head movement on his part that encompassed acceptance, understanding and a wish not to delve deeper into a matter. He prised open the lid with one hand, shook two ibuprofen into the palm of the other and dry-swallowed them, slipping the bottle into the pocket of his jeans as he tipped his head back. He tried not to think of the warm buzz that would have ensued had he swallowed two vicodin instead of ibuprofen, not to mention fast pain relief, followed by a gradual dulling of his feelings. Talking of feelings, it was time he departed before Cuddy decided to go into the details of what had made her search his office. He pushed himself upright, but Cuddy spoke before he could flee.
“They want to be released from their contracts with immediate effect,” she said, her brow furrowed. “I told them I’d let them go immediately if you consented, otherwise they’ll have to sit out their period of notice.”
This, apart from being not quite what he’d expected, was too rapid a jump in associations even for his agile mind. Looking at Cuddy, House saw that her attention was centred on the lobby again. He followed her angle of vision. Below them Thirteen and Foreman appeared making for the exit.
“I don’t consent.”
Cuddy turned to stare at him. “I got the impression that you wanted them to go. You’ve pissed them off so badly that I doubt they’ll be of any use to you if you make them stay the required three months.”
“Someone has to teach the diagnostics course at Johns Hopkins. Feel free to use them in the clinic in whatever spare time they have whenever they aren’t in Maryland.”
“You put Chase down for Johns Hopkins, not Foreman.”
“Ooops. My bad. You know I suck at paperwork. Chase can’t tell a neuron from a moron. No, Foreman’s the man for you. That course is a sinking ship without him.”
Cuddy shook her head at him with something close to a smile on her face for the first time. “Can’t you just tell them what you want instead of wreaking havoc half the night? Do you have any idea of the scene those two caused in my office at 2 am in the morning?”
House sighed. “She had to have the feeling that she was choosing to go, not that I was dictating it to her. I’ve been fired often enough to know what it’s like, and heaven knows that I deserved it. She doesn’t. If she teaches that course at Johns Hopkins, she’ll be in a better negotiating position for UW Med and so will Foreman.”
“But you don’t have a team anymore,” Cuddy noted gently.
House leaned forward over the balustrade again. Chase came into sight with his arm around Cameron. Some instinct made him look up and back, where he spotted House. He nudged Cameron, who looked up, smiled and waved. House nodded at them.
Cuddy stared, then she rubbed her forehead. “I must be really tired,” she sighed.
“I have Taub, Chase and Cameron,” House said, ignoring her comment, “which fulfils my definition of a team.
“Oh, good, that is Cameron and I’m not hallucinating.”
“Tsk-tsk, Cuddy, it’s very tactless of you to mention the ‘h’-word in this spot. Might embarrass me,” House teased.
Cuddy ignored him in turn. “Cameron has agreed to come back?”
“She didn’t flip me the bird, did she? Then I guess that’s a yes.”
“Good. Or is she coming back because of you?”
“Ah, Cuddy, jealous?”
“Idiot!” She turned to leave. “House?”
He didn’t like the tone of her voice – too much hesitation, too little determination. A hesitant Cuddy was a vulnerable Cuddy, a close-to-tears Cuddy, a guilt-inducing Cuddy. Not that there was anything to feel guilty about, he told himself robustly as he turned to face her, leaning hard against the balustrade since the ibuprofen showed no effect as yet.
“Are you responsible for Lucas’s state?” she continued, trying for nonchalance, but failing dismally.
“How come no one ever blames Wilson?” House meditated aloud.
“Don’t evade my question, House.”
He was silent, looking her straight in the eyes but not knowing what to say. He’d told Wilson to swap the glasses, but if Lucas hadn’t spiked Wilson’s drink, nothing would have come of that. Was that a yes or a no, then? He grimaced.
Her shoulders slumped. “I thought not,” she said quietly. His surprise must have shown, for she smiled grimly. “You have ‘pity’ stamped all over your face,” she explained. “How’d he manage to drug himself?”
“Ask him,” House evaded, pleasantly surprised that she believed him or rather, that she believed in him, but dismayed that she could read him so easily.
“Is he likely to tell me? What an ass! .... And I’m an idiot, I guess,” she added.
“How is he?” House asked. He didn’t want to get into a character assessment of his rival, not with Cuddy.
“The ward phoned me two hours ago saying I could take him home. I ... said I was busy.”
“Well, you are now.” House nodded towards the entrance where the blue lights of Senator Woodward’s police escort could be seen in the distance.
“I wasn’t then,” Cuddy admitted. She grimaced at the approaching lights, straightened her shoulders and moved towards the stairwell.
He contemplated her back, the tightness of her neck muscles, and said on a sudden impulse, “I’m going home now. I can drop him off on the way.”
“Would you?” She turned, relief in her eyes.
“Yep.” House gestured at the small crowd approaching the hospital entrance in the dawning light. “Your cue, I think.”
“Oh dear, yes.” She hesitated. “Do I look a mess?”
“Only if one can read the signs. You’ll do fine.”
“Thank you, House.” A short pause. “You did good last night.” This time, she really left.
House watched her leave and reappear downstairs, shoulders squared, a smile on her face as she moved forward to greet her guest. Then he, too, turned away and limped to the elevator.
Bottom: I have had a dream, past the wit of man, to say, what the dream was. Man is but an ass, if he go about to expound this dream.
[A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Act 4 Scene 1]
“Now remember: no driving, no working with machines, no alcohol and no other drugs for the next twenty-four hours,” the nurse from Lucas’s ward repeated once more, pushing his wheelchair out of the elevator into the lobby. “Are you sure you’ll be okay with him?” she asked House, mustering his cane and his leg.
“Are you offering to come along and help me put him to bed?” House asked suggestively. She gave him a cold look, spun around and left. “I thought not. I’m really good with the cane, though. That’s a metaphor!” he yelled after her.
“I c’n walk,” Lucas protested from the wheelchair.
“Maybe. But I can hardly navigate the slippery parking lot as it is, let alone support you if you slip, so you’re staying where you are.” He hitched his cane over the back of the wheelchair as he pushed Lucas out into the cold morning air. “Do you remember what happened last night?” he asked casually.
Lucas’s face worked as he tried to focus. “Beer with Wilson.” His speech was still slightly slurred. “’S odd!” He tried to look at House, but quickly gave up. “Damn. Wilson switched glasses, righ’?”
“Yeah.” House saw no sense in denying the obvious.
“Wha’ did you do to me?” There was panic in his voice.
“Oh, Wilson and I had our wicked way with you, made a few clips to post on YouTube, sent the link to Cuddy ...” Lucas was squirming, trying to rise from the wheelchair. “Sit down, damn you! We did absolutely nothing to you. Wilson called Cuddy straightaway and took you to the ER.”
Lucas was still restless. “What do you think we did?” House asked, exasperated.
“Dunno. Remember something. Or maybe ... a dream.” Lucas’s face showed confusion. “A wood. With ... nymphs ... and fauns.”
House let out a snort of laughter.
“Wilson was there,” Lucas added defensively.
“Oh, I’m sure he was! Here, hop in the car!” He pushed the wheelchair to the passenger door of his car and held it open. Lucas rose with a slight wobble, but made it into the seat without any mishap.
“I’m taking the wheelchair back to the lobby, and then I’ll come back.” House leaned with one hand on the roof of the car, the other holding the passenger door open. “But be not afraid: I’m sure Cuddy will love a story in which our head of oncology drugs you and spirits you off into a magic wood populated by fairy creatures celebrating wild orgies.”
He tossed his backpack into the rear seat, slammed the door, twirled the wheelchair round and on a whim dropped into it. After giving the wheels an experimental twist or two he careened off towards the lobby. Inside, his wild ride was stopped short by two figures in khaki who positioned themselves right in front of him.
“What?” he barked.
“We’re sorry, sir, but we have to check your identification,” one of them said.
“Hey, I just went out of here – you saw me go. Why can’t I come back in?”
The two guards looked at one another. “You didn’t,” the older one said dubiously. “The guy who was pushed out just now was Lucas. We know him.”
“I wasn’t in the wheelchair. I was pushing it.”
“Well, you can only come in if you can identify yourself,” the younger one, a ginger-headed boy argued, adding as an afterthought, “Begging your pardon, sir.”
“I’m a doctor here, begging your pardon.”
They looked at each other again. “You need to identify yourself,” they repeated, almost as one voice.
“Okay,” said House, getting up and unhooking the cane from the back of the wheelchair as he did so, “you can take the wheelchair back where it belongs. Butler Ward for General Medicine, my love to Nurse Emily. And my regards to Dr Cuddy, but I can’t do my clinic duty today because two of her jokers stopped me from entering the hospital.”
He stumped towards the glass doors of the hospital.
“House!” Wilson came shooting out of the clinic. “I heard you’re taking Lucas home?”
“Yeah. Cuddy’s kinda busy, smooching up to politicians.” He nodded towards the clinic, where cameras flashed, men in suits abounded and patients were scarce. “It’s better than clinic duty,” he added at Wilson’s expression of disbelief.
“You’ve been here all night, so she won’t insist on clinic duty anyway,” Wilson pointed out.
“Shouldn’t you be in oncology getting everything spick and span for the imperial visit?”
“Don’t deflect. They won’t get to oncology before eleven. What happened?” House busied himself buttoning his collar up tight. Wilson pointed a finger at him. “You showed Cuddy the cafeteria video, so she freaked, right? And now you’re feeling guilty, though heaven knows why you should, so you’re taking the boy-toy home for her.”
“No.”
“No, what?”
“I didn’t show her the video. She searched my office and found it. Nor am I feeling guilty.” He stepped outside, hoping that the cold would force Wilson, clad only in a suit, to stay in the warmth of the hospital. Wilson, however, apart from a whistle of surprise when the cold air hit him, showed no sign of dropping his pursuit of the matter.
“Is that why Cuddy is looking like shit?”
“She had a rough night. If you value your balls you’d better not tell her what you think she looks like.”
“Cuddy rises up from a rough night like a phoenix from the ashes. She’s cut up about Lucas, isn’t she?”
House didn’t answer.
“She sobbed on your shoulder. Wow!”
“No, she didn’t!”
“If she didn’t, then only because you didn’t offer it. House, you moron!”
That offered an opening to distract Wilson. “That’s more your thing, offering a shoulder to cry on, basking in her neediness. Then the pity fuck, the marriage, the divorce. At least this time you wouldn’t have to pay alimony: she earns more than you and the marriage wouldn’t last for more than two months. Cuddy’s not that needy.”
Wilson ignored that completely. House guessed he was so used to his little digs about his marital affairs that he was immunized to them. “Her guy turns out to be a jackass so she needs comfort, but you are too much of a jerk to offer it,” Wilson noted.
House sighed. “What good would it do her? Lucas would still be an ass; she’d still have to deal with it. She’s just seen the true face of the man she loves. Do you think patting her on the back and making cooing sounds is going to help her through that?”
“So what does driving him home achieve?”
“It gives her a breathing space of twelve hours before she has to face him.”
Wilson looked unconvinced.
“Look,” House said tiredly, “after the infarction, when having to deal with Stacy’d get too much for me, I’d pretend to be knocked out by all those painkillers. Cuddy doesn’t have that option.”
“Wait ... you’re comparing Lucas with Stacy?”
House considered this. “I’d say they’re both a bit of a disappointment.” He nodded a dismissal at Wilson and headed towards his car.
Theseus: No epilogue, I pray you, for your play needs no excuse.
[...] Lovers, to bed, ‘tis almost fairy time.
[A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Act 5 Scene 1]
Previous chapter
Titania: My Oberon, what visions have I seen!
Methought I was enamour’d of an ass.
[A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Act 4 Scene 1]
7:30 am
Down in the lobby there were first signs of the great event to come. The cleaning crew were giving the glass panes a final shine, the nurses at the front desk were checking their make-up and patting their hair down while the front doors opened and closed in a steady rhythm as staff members entered the hospital for the 7:30 a.m. deadline. Among the early entries was Wilson, resplendent in his best suit and a tie that shouted ‘special occasion’. From inside the hospital two security guards appeared to take up their posts, one on each side of the entrance.
House took all this in with one glance as he headed towards a central position on the gallery from which one had an excellent view of the entrance, the lobby desk and the clinic doors while able to withdraw quickly to avoid detection. He’d come in the hope of heading Wilson off to give him young Arun’s file and get a new scrip for his painkillers, thus circumventing the need to deal with Cuddy on either issue, but his hopes of achieving that were effectually quashed at the sight of the lone figure occupying his preferred spot on the gallery.
Although Cuddy didn’t turn round as he drew nearer, he knew that his cane-aided limp, heavy as it was due to the pain he was in by now, was too loud not to have been heard the moment he’d left the elevator. He joined her, leaning on the balustrade next to her as he tried to gauge her mood.
She was freshly showered, her make-up was carefully applied, she emanated a hint of expensive perfume and her business suit was a bold statement of femininity disguised in sleek tailoring. A closer look, however, revealed that she’d applied foundation under her eyes to gloss over the dark rings, that her eyes were blood-shot, whether from lack of sleep or crying was anyone’s guess, and that she was paler than usual, the lines in her face more prominent. Rarely did she look her age, but today she did so with a vengeance. She was twisting a small orange cylinder in her hand. He surmised that she’d been watching for him, much as he had intended to lie in wait for Wilson.
House extended the file he was holding. “Swap?” he asked. “I can offer Ependymoma.”
Cuddy took it, only acknowledging his presence now that he spoke to her. She gave the file a puzzled look that was chased away by dawning realization. “Oh, damn, I’d forgotten all about him.” She glanced at the MRI, closed her eyes for a moment and shut the file again. “I’ll have to tell his parents.”
“Could be worse. Get Wilson to tell the parents – the boy is his now.”
“They came here thinking he had concussion. A brain tumour is a lot worse. No, I’ll have to find the time to talk to them. You were right about the father, too,” she added, visibly chagrined. “He has a diagnosed heart condition, but from what his wife told me, it seems that he hasn’t been following his physician’s advice closely.”
“Patients are idiots,” House shrugged. “My painkillers,” he reminded her.
Cuddy extended them to him. “I’m ... sorry,” she said hesitantly.
House nodded, that small rare head movement on his part that encompassed acceptance, understanding and a wish not to delve deeper into a matter. He prised open the lid with one hand, shook two ibuprofen into the palm of the other and dry-swallowed them, slipping the bottle into the pocket of his jeans as he tipped his head back. He tried not to think of the warm buzz that would have ensued had he swallowed two vicodin instead of ibuprofen, not to mention fast pain relief, followed by a gradual dulling of his feelings. Talking of feelings, it was time he departed before Cuddy decided to go into the details of what had made her search his office. He pushed himself upright, but Cuddy spoke before he could flee.
“They want to be released from their contracts with immediate effect,” she said, her brow furrowed. “I told them I’d let them go immediately if you consented, otherwise they’ll have to sit out their period of notice.”
This, apart from being not quite what he’d expected, was too rapid a jump in associations even for his agile mind. Looking at Cuddy, House saw that her attention was centred on the lobby again. He followed her angle of vision. Below them Thirteen and Foreman appeared making for the exit.
“I don’t consent.”
Cuddy turned to stare at him. “I got the impression that you wanted them to go. You’ve pissed them off so badly that I doubt they’ll be of any use to you if you make them stay the required three months.”
“Someone has to teach the diagnostics course at Johns Hopkins. Feel free to use them in the clinic in whatever spare time they have whenever they aren’t in Maryland.”
“You put Chase down for Johns Hopkins, not Foreman.”
“Ooops. My bad. You know I suck at paperwork. Chase can’t tell a neuron from a moron. No, Foreman’s the man for you. That course is a sinking ship without him.”
Cuddy shook her head at him with something close to a smile on her face for the first time. “Can’t you just tell them what you want instead of wreaking havoc half the night? Do you have any idea of the scene those two caused in my office at 2 am in the morning?”
House sighed. “She had to have the feeling that she was choosing to go, not that I was dictating it to her. I’ve been fired often enough to know what it’s like, and heaven knows that I deserved it. She doesn’t. If she teaches that course at Johns Hopkins, she’ll be in a better negotiating position for UW Med and so will Foreman.”
“But you don’t have a team anymore,” Cuddy noted gently.
House leaned forward over the balustrade again. Chase came into sight with his arm around Cameron. Some instinct made him look up and back, where he spotted House. He nudged Cameron, who looked up, smiled and waved. House nodded at them.
Cuddy stared, then she rubbed her forehead. “I must be really tired,” she sighed.
“I have Taub, Chase and Cameron,” House said, ignoring her comment, “which fulfils my definition of a team.
“Oh, good, that is Cameron and I’m not hallucinating.”
“Tsk-tsk, Cuddy, it’s very tactless of you to mention the ‘h’-word in this spot. Might embarrass me,” House teased.
Cuddy ignored him in turn. “Cameron has agreed to come back?”
“She didn’t flip me the bird, did she? Then I guess that’s a yes.”
“Good. Or is she coming back because of you?”
“Ah, Cuddy, jealous?”
“Idiot!” She turned to leave. “House?”
He didn’t like the tone of her voice – too much hesitation, too little determination. A hesitant Cuddy was a vulnerable Cuddy, a close-to-tears Cuddy, a guilt-inducing Cuddy. Not that there was anything to feel guilty about, he told himself robustly as he turned to face her, leaning hard against the balustrade since the ibuprofen showed no effect as yet.
“Are you responsible for Lucas’s state?” she continued, trying for nonchalance, but failing dismally.
“How come no one ever blames Wilson?” House meditated aloud.
“Don’t evade my question, House.”
He was silent, looking her straight in the eyes but not knowing what to say. He’d told Wilson to swap the glasses, but if Lucas hadn’t spiked Wilson’s drink, nothing would have come of that. Was that a yes or a no, then? He grimaced.
Her shoulders slumped. “I thought not,” she said quietly. His surprise must have shown, for she smiled grimly. “You have ‘pity’ stamped all over your face,” she explained. “How’d he manage to drug himself?”
“Ask him,” House evaded, pleasantly surprised that she believed him or rather, that she believed in him, but dismayed that she could read him so easily.
“Is he likely to tell me? What an ass! .... And I’m an idiot, I guess,” she added.
“How is he?” House asked. He didn’t want to get into a character assessment of his rival, not with Cuddy.
“The ward phoned me two hours ago saying I could take him home. I ... said I was busy.”
“Well, you are now.” House nodded towards the entrance where the blue lights of Senator Woodward’s police escort could be seen in the distance.
“I wasn’t then,” Cuddy admitted. She grimaced at the approaching lights, straightened her shoulders and moved towards the stairwell.
He contemplated her back, the tightness of her neck muscles, and said on a sudden impulse, “I’m going home now. I can drop him off on the way.”
“Would you?” She turned, relief in her eyes.
“Yep.” House gestured at the small crowd approaching the hospital entrance in the dawning light. “Your cue, I think.”
“Oh dear, yes.” She hesitated. “Do I look a mess?”
“Only if one can read the signs. You’ll do fine.”
“Thank you, House.” A short pause. “You did good last night.” This time, she really left.
House watched her leave and reappear downstairs, shoulders squared, a smile on her face as she moved forward to greet her guest. Then he, too, turned away and limped to the elevator.
Bottom: I have had a dream, past the wit of man, to say, what the dream was. Man is but an ass, if he go about to expound this dream.
[A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Act 4 Scene 1]
“Now remember: no driving, no working with machines, no alcohol and no other drugs for the next twenty-four hours,” the nurse from Lucas’s ward repeated once more, pushing his wheelchair out of the elevator into the lobby. “Are you sure you’ll be okay with him?” she asked House, mustering his cane and his leg.
“Are you offering to come along and help me put him to bed?” House asked suggestively. She gave him a cold look, spun around and left. “I thought not. I’m really good with the cane, though. That’s a metaphor!” he yelled after her.
“I c’n walk,” Lucas protested from the wheelchair.
“Maybe. But I can hardly navigate the slippery parking lot as it is, let alone support you if you slip, so you’re staying where you are.” He hitched his cane over the back of the wheelchair as he pushed Lucas out into the cold morning air. “Do you remember what happened last night?” he asked casually.
Lucas’s face worked as he tried to focus. “Beer with Wilson.” His speech was still slightly slurred. “’S odd!” He tried to look at House, but quickly gave up. “Damn. Wilson switched glasses, righ’?”
“Yeah.” House saw no sense in denying the obvious.
“Wha’ did you do to me?” There was panic in his voice.
“Oh, Wilson and I had our wicked way with you, made a few clips to post on YouTube, sent the link to Cuddy ...” Lucas was squirming, trying to rise from the wheelchair. “Sit down, damn you! We did absolutely nothing to you. Wilson called Cuddy straightaway and took you to the ER.”
Lucas was still restless. “What do you think we did?” House asked, exasperated.
“Dunno. Remember something. Or maybe ... a dream.” Lucas’s face showed confusion. “A wood. With ... nymphs ... and fauns.”
House let out a snort of laughter.
“Wilson was there,” Lucas added defensively.
“Oh, I’m sure he was! Here, hop in the car!” He pushed the wheelchair to the passenger door of his car and held it open. Lucas rose with a slight wobble, but made it into the seat without any mishap.
“I’m taking the wheelchair back to the lobby, and then I’ll come back.” House leaned with one hand on the roof of the car, the other holding the passenger door open. “But be not afraid: I’m sure Cuddy will love a story in which our head of oncology drugs you and spirits you off into a magic wood populated by fairy creatures celebrating wild orgies.”
He tossed his backpack into the rear seat, slammed the door, twirled the wheelchair round and on a whim dropped into it. After giving the wheels an experimental twist or two he careened off towards the lobby. Inside, his wild ride was stopped short by two figures in khaki who positioned themselves right in front of him.
“What?” he barked.
“We’re sorry, sir, but we have to check your identification,” one of them said.
“Hey, I just went out of here – you saw me go. Why can’t I come back in?”
The two guards looked at one another. “You didn’t,” the older one said dubiously. “The guy who was pushed out just now was Lucas. We know him.”
“I wasn’t in the wheelchair. I was pushing it.”
“Well, you can only come in if you can identify yourself,” the younger one, a ginger-headed boy argued, adding as an afterthought, “Begging your pardon, sir.”
“I’m a doctor here, begging your pardon.”
They looked at each other again. “You need to identify yourself,” they repeated, almost as one voice.
“Okay,” said House, getting up and unhooking the cane from the back of the wheelchair as he did so, “you can take the wheelchair back where it belongs. Butler Ward for General Medicine, my love to Nurse Emily. And my regards to Dr Cuddy, but I can’t do my clinic duty today because two of her jokers stopped me from entering the hospital.”
He stumped towards the glass doors of the hospital.
“House!” Wilson came shooting out of the clinic. “I heard you’re taking Lucas home?”
“Yeah. Cuddy’s kinda busy, smooching up to politicians.” He nodded towards the clinic, where cameras flashed, men in suits abounded and patients were scarce. “It’s better than clinic duty,” he added at Wilson’s expression of disbelief.
“You’ve been here all night, so she won’t insist on clinic duty anyway,” Wilson pointed out.
“Shouldn’t you be in oncology getting everything spick and span for the imperial visit?”
“Don’t deflect. They won’t get to oncology before eleven. What happened?” House busied himself buttoning his collar up tight. Wilson pointed a finger at him. “You showed Cuddy the cafeteria video, so she freaked, right? And now you’re feeling guilty, though heaven knows why you should, so you’re taking the boy-toy home for her.”
“No.”
“No, what?”
“I didn’t show her the video. She searched my office and found it. Nor am I feeling guilty.” He stepped outside, hoping that the cold would force Wilson, clad only in a suit, to stay in the warmth of the hospital. Wilson, however, apart from a whistle of surprise when the cold air hit him, showed no sign of dropping his pursuit of the matter.
“Is that why Cuddy is looking like shit?”
“She had a rough night. If you value your balls you’d better not tell her what you think she looks like.”
“Cuddy rises up from a rough night like a phoenix from the ashes. She’s cut up about Lucas, isn’t she?”
House didn’t answer.
“She sobbed on your shoulder. Wow!”
“No, she didn’t!”
“If she didn’t, then only because you didn’t offer it. House, you moron!”
That offered an opening to distract Wilson. “That’s more your thing, offering a shoulder to cry on, basking in her neediness. Then the pity fuck, the marriage, the divorce. At least this time you wouldn’t have to pay alimony: she earns more than you and the marriage wouldn’t last for more than two months. Cuddy’s not that needy.”
Wilson ignored that completely. House guessed he was so used to his little digs about his marital affairs that he was immunized to them. “Her guy turns out to be a jackass so she needs comfort, but you are too much of a jerk to offer it,” Wilson noted.
House sighed. “What good would it do her? Lucas would still be an ass; she’d still have to deal with it. She’s just seen the true face of the man she loves. Do you think patting her on the back and making cooing sounds is going to help her through that?”
“So what does driving him home achieve?”
“It gives her a breathing space of twelve hours before she has to face him.”
Wilson looked unconvinced.
“Look,” House said tiredly, “after the infarction, when having to deal with Stacy’d get too much for me, I’d pretend to be knocked out by all those painkillers. Cuddy doesn’t have that option.”
“Wait ... you’re comparing Lucas with Stacy?”
House considered this. “I’d say they’re both a bit of a disappointment.” He nodded a dismissal at Wilson and headed towards his car.
Theseus: No epilogue, I pray you, for your play needs no excuse.
[...] Lovers, to bed, ‘tis almost fairy time.
[A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Act 5 Scene 1]
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My preferred pairing is House/Cuddy, so i am of course fine with the canonization of the ship. but admittedly, season 6 frustrated me with the sheer inscrutability of Cuddy. I wanted to get a sense of how she went from planning a life with Lucas into deciding that she'd really rather risk it with House. We all know Lucas is an ass from his season 5 foray into House's world (not as big an ass as House, but still...). Some quarters have even suggested that this (Housian?) quality is what Cuddy finds attractive in Lucas. But we don't really know, do we? And we don't know if Cuddy knows how much of a jerk Lucas is. I like that your story paints a Cuddy who is able to figure out why House did what he did, and a House who is able to genuinely empathize with Cuddy.
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Although Huddy is my favoured pairing and the one I prefer reading in fanfic, having the relationship canonized is a setback for writing fanfic, as I have discovered to my dismay. Any ideas I have on how the relationship will progress will now have to take into consideration what canon says about it. Up till now, huddy writers could bring them together or keep them apart, have them behave like long-married couples or have them in angsty on-and-off affairs and no one could complain that what they wrote was not in character, because there was no canon by which they could be proved wrong or right. Now we all have to adapt our huddy ideas to canon plot lines. As for the poor hilson-shippers, House/OC-shippers, etc., they'll all have to go AU. That may not sound all that bad, but actually it's quite difficult to keep a decent AU going when the show is doing something completely different.
So, IMO the canonization is not a win for fanfiction.
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as for the resolution of the House/Cuddy UST, i suspect the show's writers also have to contend with the downside of the central character's resolved sexual tension. as a reader i can only wish that more smart writers like yourself end up challenged by this, rather than dismayed if not utterly paralyzed.
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I love that House goes about in his own way to take care of his team. The crazy way he gets Foreman to leave with Thirteen to take care of her and reconcile his feelings about his mom was so House-ian. And I love how Wilson screws it up because House would never reveal his good intentions.
But I love love love the way you handled House and Cuddy. The way Cuddy is subdued up on the balcony in this last chapter and how she threatens House with clinic duty all day at the beginning, to House's possible relapse and the tape of Lucas. Wonderful. Very nicely done. ♥
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I wouldn't wait too eagerly. 'Twelve Days took me over four months to write and I'm not sure I want to put in so much work again.