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Eight Hanukkah Candles Lisa Cuddy Lit
by Dana
I.
Four menorahs are standing on the windowsill, and Lisa thinks that if they could feel, they'd probably be excited, because after being ignored all year long tonight they'll be the center of attention.
Janie's going to light the one made out of plain brown wood, and Dan will light the one with the strange circular shape that hardly looks like a menorah at all. Lisa's very proud of the third one - she made it herself last year in kindergarten, a neat row of nine acorn shells painted blue that only came out a little bit crooked - but her favorite has always been the big, heavy silver menorah with all the decorations, the one that came from Europe, that only her mother gets to light. She's always loved how the action made her mother look: the candlelight reflecting in her eyes as she murmured the blessing, her black curls glowing magnificently in the dark room, and the way she gracefully waved the candle around, making it look like a firefly in the dark, as she began to sing.
Lisa wants to look that beautiful.
II.
After a three day marathon of studying and a diet of coffee beans and the occasional pen-cap she's chewed to death, Lisa knows that if she doesn't get at least five consecutive hours of sleep she has no hope of passing her biophysics final tomorrow.
She wouldn't have even remembered it was Hanukkah if it weren't for her mother calling to wish her a happy holiday. At the end of the day she returns to her room from a last group study session at the library, takes a quick shower, and then, in a sort of superstitious whim, pulls out an old menorah from her trunk and lights the second candle, because just maybe, if she does everything right and follows all the rules, she'll have some extra luck tomorrow.
She collapses into bed, counting elements to lull herself to sleep, and she's out before reaching the second column of the periodic table.
The sounds of smothered giggling and the door of her room closing with a click don't quite wake her up completely, but she's half-aware that something is going on in her dorm and that if she ignores it maybe she can fall back asleep without ever having woken up.
It's hard to ignore the sound of kissing, however, especially when it's coming from Cassie's bed.
"You like that, do you?" A male voice says, and Lisa recognizes it to be Cassie's new boyfriend, the tall, stubbled, smug jerk she's seen her hanging around with.
"Shhh!" Cassie says in a hushed tone. "My roommate's asleep, I don't want to wake her up."
"She's in the room? Mmm, kinky," he murmurs, and a moment later it's back to soft sighs, the occasional squeal, and Lisa squeezes her eyes shut just a little tighter with an internal mantra, you're asleep, you're asleep, they're not here, Hydrogen, Lithium, Sodium, Potassium...
"God, where did you learn how to do that?" Cassie gasps softly, and then says, "No! What did you do that for?"
He chuckles, and Lisa can hear a mattress creak as he probably settles on it. "It's my birthday, I blew out the candles. I'm creating a mood."
Something hot flashes behind Lisa's eyes, but dammit, she needs to sleep... "Those weren't for--" Cassie starts, but is cut off by the sound of a kiss. "My roommate's... mmm... her--her religio... oh--"
Lisa throws off her covers. "All right, that's it," she snaps. "Out. Now." She flicks on the light, and thankfully, nobody's naked. Cassie's staring at her with shock, color rushing to her cheeks, but her boyfriend doesn't look embarrassed at all -just gives Lisa, who's standing in her nightgown, a full body look-over and smirks.
Reading his mind, she stalks over to the door and opens it. "Do not even think about asking," she warns. "Out. Cassie, honey, you can either go with him or stay here, but I'm not failing my test because this guy wants to get laid tonight." She knows it's cruel, but right now she doesn't care very much about anything except getting her brain to shut down for a few hours.
"Come on," Cassie stutters, putting her shirt back on and leading him out, and he throws Lisa a last appreciative glance before closing the door behind him.
Lisa can't let herself become angry over this, not right now. She spares the unlit menorah a brief look and decides that if she's going to succeed on this test tomorrow, at least she's going to know it was because of her.
Alone, in the dark, within a minute she's fast asleep.
III.
It's almost too hard to believe, but she has a hospital now. A... hospital. She was a doctor for what felt like five minutes, and then she blinked and suddenly she has hundreds of employees to take care of and equipment to maintain and millions of dollars to juggle and debts to pay and med students to teach and lawsuits to oversee and mountains of paperwork and god, it's a rush. Princeton Plainsboro has a fifteen percent mortality rate, and damn if she isn't going to reduce it to ten within two years.
There's a huge Christmas tree in the lobby, and though she's made sure other religions are also represented around the hospital there's no denying that Christmas lights are the prettiest. She stops by the Nurses' Station to admire the sight, treating herself to a candy cane from a jar, and when a patient is wheeled by she takes immense satisfaction from the familiar harmony of nurses, doctors and interns perfectly coordinated with one another, doing their job in practiced synch. She loves this place.
The phone rings, and she looks at the caller ID and her heart gives a little flutter. "Hey, baby."
"Hi, Lise." She can hear the smile in his voice, which causes her to smile in turn. "Had a good day?"
"I haven't had enough days in this job to compare it to," she replies truthfully. "Ask me again in a year."
"I'll remember that," he chuckles. "Any plans to come home soon?"
She looks around the hospital. She doesn't think she's needed, but she needs to know this place better than she knows... anything. It's hers. "No, I'm think I'm gonna stick around here some more," she replies, starting to make her way to the second floor.
"Okay," he replies easily, and he has to be the most supportive man on the face of the earth.
"I love you," she says on impulse. "You'll wait up?"
"You bet, chica," he says, just as she reaches Oncology. "Just don't tire yourself out too soon. You've got this job for the long haul."
"Dave," she grins, "It's been two weeks, and I swear, I'm still standing at the top of the world."
He laughs again. "That's my girl. I'll see you at home."
She hangs up, composes the smile on her face to one that would be considered polite, and strolls through the rooms, checking up on the few patients still awake, asking questions about them, about their doctors, about their treatment. In one of the rooms she finds an old, frail man who's lying in bed connected to an IV, surrounded by his children and grandchildren, and they've dimmed the lights in preparation of lighting a small menorah. She pauses briefly in front of the door, and, not wanting to intrude, turns to leave when the old man asks who she is.
"I'm Dr. Lisa Cuddy," she answers.
"Come in, come in," he says, noticing her reluctance and weakly beckoning with his hand. "Would you like to join us?"
"I don't want to disturb--"
"Nonsense. Any doctor from this hospital is more than welcome to join us. I'm conveniently hooked to an IV, so there are extra latkas. Home made." He waggles his eyebrows.
She gives in, stepping into the room. His son brings the menorah nearer and hands him a candle, which the man lifts up with trembling fingers.
"Baruch ata Adonai..." he starts softly. Blessed are you, Lord. He recites the blessings, ending with "...asher hecheyanu vekiymanu, vehegianu lazman haze."
Blessed are you, Lord, King of the universe, who has kept us alive, and has preserved us, and enabled us to reach this time.
Lisa's heart swells with pride. It's not God she's thinking of.
IV.
She hits the loudspeaker button on her office phone so she can continue working while she talks.
"Yes?"
"Have you eaten yet?" the voice on the other end asks abruptly.
"No."
"Good, I'm coming over."
Half an hour later Stacy pushes the door to her office open with an elbow, her arms loaded with bags of Chinese take out. "I have egg rolls, Cashew Chicken, and something unpronounceable," she lists, waiting for Lisa to clear a small space on her desk so she can set the bags down.
Lisa doesn't really spare time to spare for this, but the spicy smells are making her mouth water. "Cabin fever?" she asks absently, pushing the rest of the paperwork a safe distance away from the food.
Stacy settles down comfortably in a chair. No matter where she is, Stacy always looks like she's at home. "His playmate's over," she says pointedly, and Lisa smiles. "They're overdosing on some new video game, and I'm sure neither of them have even noticed I'm not there. Sunday evening at the office?"
"Mmm, this is good," Lisa says between bites, and swallows. "I'm planning an organizational development strategy for 1997. Seven objectives down, three to go, and I want this ready for presentation next week, so..." She shrugs.
"So Sunday evening at the office."
"Yeah."
"Can I help in any way?"
It's a kind offer, and even though Lisa's usually better at collecting her thoughts by herself she considers it. "I might run an idea or two by you. Know anything about knowledge management?"
"Hardly," Stacy replies remorsefully. "What are you thinking?"
Lisa explains the current problems and her plans for reform, and Stacy's quick on the uptake as usual, offering suggestions, listening, and by the time they finish the food Cuddy's side of the conversation has reverted to a frustrated rant about the Board of Directors.
"Look at you, all cutting-edge, twentieth-century manager," Stacy says with amusement, expertly twirling a chopstick between two fingers. "All those years of med school and you're not even a doctor now, are you."
Cuddy freezes.
It takes Stacy a moment to realize what she's said. "Oh, no-- I didn't mean--" She sighs. "I'm sorry, Greg's tact seems to have rubbed off on me. You know I don't think that--"
"I know," Lisa exhales, and reminds herself that by the time she had gotten in the picture she did everything she thought was right, and what happened to Greg House was as much her fault as it was her fault that twenty percent of the time doctors misdiagnosed anyway. "How's he doing?"
Stacy's eyes cloud a little. "You'd think I'd know, wouldn't you?"
"What?"
Stacy sighs again. "He's fine. That's what he tells me, at least. The leg hurts and he's fine, he doesn't need any help, doesn't need... anything. He's fine." She catches Lisa's gaze and flashes her a sardonic grin. "I'd say he was trying to prove his point that every patient lies."
"Oh, Stacy..."
Stacy shakes her head. "He'll let me in, eventually. I got inside once; I can do it again." Something in her expression steels slightly. "It's gonna take a lot more than silence to get rid of me."
Lisa's always felt awkward about offering physical comfort, but she reaches over and squeezes Stacy's hand anyway. They may not have been brought together under the most pleasant of circumstances, but she's glad to have her as a friend.
Stacy squeezes back silently, her gaze wandering over Lisa's shoulders to the dying lights of five lit candles on her windowsill. "Oh, hey," she says. "I didn't notice. Happy holiday."
Lisa smiles in acknowledgement. "Well, if you feel like some more work, this is what I've got in mind for our legal department..."
V.
"Aunt Lisa!" her three-year-old niece cries, and Lisa has to drop her bags quickly to catch the small ball of energy that streaks towards her, no doubt experiencing a jelly doughnut sugar high.
"Hi, sweetie," she smiles widely, lifting Ellie and kissing her cheek, breathing in an intoxicating smell of shampoo and castor sugar. Snowflakes are drifting into the house, so Lisa carefully closes the door behind her, then sets Ellie down and puts her own wool hat on Ellie's head, which prompts a giggle.
"Lisa's here!" she hears from the kitchen, and a moment later she's surrounded by more relatives ushering her inside with hugs and kisses, ordering children to pick up Aunt Lisa's packages and carry them to the guest room. A fire crackles in the fireplace, a menorah fixed with six candles is set in the middle of the dinner table, and a Hanukkah CD is playing in the background, songs she hasn't heard since she was a little girl that make her feel six years old.
"Mikey brought it from school," her sister-in-law Sandy explains with a smile, stirring soup with one hand and checking a recipe book with the other. "It's been playing on a loop for five days now. All I personally want to sing is 'dreidel, dreidel, dreidel, let's flush it down the drain.'"
Lisa laughs just as her brother enters the kitchen, ruffling her hair fondly. She smacks his arm lightly. "What are you, ten?"
Dan grins. "You should go back to curls."
"You should shave off that beard," she retorts.
Sandy rolls her eyes. "Please, don't get him started about the beard."
"Attacked by my own home front," Dan says disapprovingly. "This, Lisa, is why you should never get married. They get your sperm, and after that, no support."
"Danny, I don't think the guy Lisa marries is going to be after her sperm," a voice says from behind, followed by an exhausted looking Janie, who turns to Lisa with a smile. "How are you, babe?"
"Fine," she answers, tasting a spoonful of soup that Sandy offers. "The usual. Work." She gives Sandy a thumbs up.
"Fire anyone this week?" Dan asks wistfully, and Lisa smirks. He's always been proud not of the fact that she'd become a doctor or saved lives, but by the fact that his little sister could fire employees twice her age at will.
Janie shakes her head. "He's like a child that's only interested in the gruesome, bloody parts, you know? Don't answer him. Tell me this instead," she requests, lowering her voice, "what exactly did you bring in all those packages?"
"Gifts for the kids," Lisa answers a bit guiltily. "I... kind of got carried away."
"I thought we'd agreed on money this year!"
"I know, I know! I have that too, twenty dollars for the little ones in change, fifty for the big ones."
"Lisa," Janie places a hand on her shoulder, "you didn't have to do this."
"I wanted to," Lisa swears. "Look," she says quietly, "they don't have grandparents to spoil them rotten. It's my job now, okay? You know Mom would have bought each of them three times as much."
Janie reluctantly agrees. "I hope some of those things are educational, at least. I don't need another child of mine to start failing tests."
Lisa remembers Janie mentioning her son's difficulties at school over the phone. "Hey, tell Jeremy he can call me if he has any problems with any biology or chemistry," she offers. "High school level science is really a piece of cake."
Janie smiles at her. "That's sweet, but are you sure you'll have the time? It was hard enough catching you on the phone between meetings, let alone convincing you to spend an entire night here."
"Of course I'll--" Lisa falters. She mentally goes over the upcoming week's schedule, then the next month's, and those two conferences February that she'll need to prepare for--
"Okay everybody, dinnertime!" Sandy calls out loudly, turning the various working stoves off and marching to the dining table. "Who wants to light the candles?"
"Hey, don't worry about it," Janie reassures, nudging Lisa after almost a minute in which she hasn't replied. "Worst comes to worst, we'll get him a tutor."
Jamie and Dan follow Sandy into the dining room, and after a moment, Lisa follows behind, not feeling very reassured at all.
VI.
"...the Honda Insight is definitely the most fuel-efficient, Marge has got her eye set on the new Porsche, but tell me this, folks, can any of these really top a Hummer?"
As Alan Sheppard's voice drones on in the background, Lisa lets herself slip a little lower in her seat. "Why did I come here again?" she mutters from the side of her mouth.
"Why did I come here again?" Wilson repeats in the same tone of voice.
"It's your house."
"What? He's here?" Wilson cranes his neck around to search the room.
"I meant we're in your house. Give me that." Lisa takes Wilson's glass of wine and places it out of his reach, then reconsiders and finishes it herself.
"I'm not drunk," he says.
"Uh huh."
"I'm just... intolerably bored."
"This is why you invited me over for Hanukkah dinner?"
"Actually, yes."
"Oh. Good thinking."
"I thought so. I would have invited House too, but I don't feel like spending winter on the couch. Julie doesn't like House very much, you see."
"Doesn't she? Have you had her brain checked?" Lisa asks dryly. Wilson snorts. "Anyway," she continues, "if he were here, I wouldn't have come."
He raises his eyebrows. "Really?"
"The employer-employee concept is hard enough for House to understand as it is. I need to draw the line somewhere." Actually, she wouldn't have showed up if any other doctor from the hospital had been invited either. She had no problem with getting chummy with Board members at work-related events, or share an occasional drink at the end of the day, but spending holidays together was... too personal.
"What about me?" Wilson questions.
"What?"
"Don't you draw a professional line between you and me?"
"Wilson," she says seriously, catching his eyes, "you are a good, intelligent, responsible department head, and there are days when if I didn't have you to count on you'd probably find me smeared across the sidewalk beneath House's balcony."
"Ah. So that's a no." The way he's trying not to blush is absolutely adorable.
"That's a yes, but unlike other doctors, you have an instinct for knowing where the lines are, and I trust you."
Wilson always seems so sure of himself that sometimes Cuddy forgets that, just like everybody else, he could use an occasional pat on the back from his boss. Especially now, when House has finally started taking on more cases and was hopefully on his way out of a two year funk, she knows Wilson will become more invaluable than ever.
"You also owe me fifty bucks," she says, switching the subject to stop him from feeling embarrassed.
"What?"
"Foreman," she grins.
"I was the one who said he was going to last!" Wilson sputters.
"Did you?" Lisa frowns. "I'm pretty sure I was the one who bet on Foreman for the long haul, and you said the guy before him wouldn't last. You're saying I lost twice in a row?"
Wilson shakes his head, pouring them both another glass of wine. "It's... too hard to keep track. Let's just be glad he found himself a keeper and call it a mutual win."
"Amen," she says, raising her glass to clink with his.
The rejoin the general conversation just in time for the juicy gossip. "Lisa," Alan calls her from across the table. "You'll never guess who I ran into at the country club! Dave Sanders, you used to know him."
It's been years and she can't regret a thing, but for a split second it still feels like a punch in the gut. "Really?" she smiles sweetly.
"Yeah, he told me to tell you hi," Alan grins. "Saw him playing tennis with his little girl."
"So, Alan," Wilson interjects loudly, "a Hummer, really? Marge, does your husband have anything to overcompensate for?"
Wilson makes it sound like nothing more than innocent teasing, but Lisa knows him well enough to read the delighted mockery that hides underneath the thin smile. The rest of the table, however, breaks into relaxed laughter, and Lisa gratefully decides that if it helps Wilson in any way to have a friend in these godawful dinner parties, then she's glad she's here.
VII.
The hiss the match makes as it flares hotly for a moment sounds like it might be the only sound in the hospital. Her office is locked, the blinds are shut, and the sole source of light is the small flame which she uses to light a thin red candle, and then discards the match.
She doesn't believe in God. She believes in logic and medicine, and chemistry, and people, and maybe in something that ties them all together, but not in a capital-G God. She doesn't remember the last time she prayed, or if she ever has at all. But tonight she pretends that there's something out there after all, and that if she has ever done good, been a good person, something, someone, will be listening.
She prays that all the mistakes she's made in the past won't cause this hospital to crumple under the pressure of Detective Tritter's investigations, won't cause her best doctor going to jail, won't cost her thousands of dollars and hours of her time and bad publicity that all eventually translate into cost lives. That all the times she hadn't been strict enough with House, all the times he manipulated her into doing things his way, all the times she didn't believe in him when he said he was in pain and all the times when she gave him pills when she knew it was wrong - they'll be forgotten, and she'll have learned, but please, let it all turn out okay. That this feeling she has now, like the world is falling from under her feet and she has nothing to grab hold of is just a temporary thing, and soon she'll have the stability of her job back, with time to do her own work instead of taking over other doctors' cases.
She prays that after all that happened House will forgive her, and that somehow they will find a way to make him better, to be able to somehow cope with the pain, to be just a little bit happier, because when it doesn't make her mad at him, seeing him miserable makes her heart ache. She prays that House and Wilson will return to just being House and Wilson, an impossible, frustrating, brilliant two-headed comedy act that drive her crazy half the time and crazy over them the other.
She prays with all her heart to whatever possible deity out there that might be listening, to please, please, please let this one take hold. A miracle once made a small oil can last eight days; it can't that much trouble to make her empty womb warm and secure for just a few more, because it makes no sense that her body keeps rejecting something that she wants so badly.
"Please," she whispers desperately, let me be good at it. For once, let House be wrong.
It's only when a burning drop of wax lands on the back of her hand that she realizes she hasn't lit the other candles yet. She looks down with surprise, noticing that beneath the red wax, her hand is wet with tears.
VIII.
The old silver menorah, the one that came from Europe, is carefully removed from its almost-permanent home in a glass cabinet and set on the counter. Lisa hums the blessings happily as she lights the candles, and admires the way the polished silver reflects the nine twinkling flames, breaking them into dozens of tiny sparks of light.
"Pretty!"
She smiles, bending down to hug the small body as close to her heart as she can. "Happy Hanukkah, baby," she murmurs, kissing a beautiful, soft cheek that's all hers.
She wakes up in her office and looks at the time. It's almost midnight; the holiday's over; one more day until the deadline expires. If she wants to be able to function tomorrow, she needs to go home and get some sleep.
She gathers her things tiredly and calls a cab, hoping tomorrow will be better. She can't imagine it getting any worse.
~*~
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Legal Disclaimer: The authors published here make no claims on the ownership of Dr. Gregory House and the other fictional residents of Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. Like the television show House (and quite possibly Dr. Wilson's pocket protector), they are the property of NBC/Universal, David Shore and undoubtedly other individuals of whom I am only peripherally aware. The fan fiction authors published here receive no monetary benefit from their work and intend no copyright infringement nor slight to the actual owners. We love the characters and we love the show, otherwise we wouldn't be here.
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