Dr. Gregory House was well-versed upon the subject of "Fight or Flight", or the theory that species have evolved so that there is an automatic response elicited from the body when presented with a perceived threat or extremely stressful situation. He could have given an in depth and profound lecture upon the subject, detailing the exact biophysical mechanisms involved in the rapid release of cortisol, adrenaline and other hormonesinto the bloodstream and their subsequent effects upon the autonomic nervous system.Not that he would have ever willingly given such a talk, of course.He would always snark that the only doctors who were gifted at lecturing were obviously also supremely unfit to actually practice medicine.He much preferred to dispense wisdom in the form of sardonic asides and cryptic comments rather than a structured discourse.But, if he were ever forced to give such a lecture, he might have ended his remarks with the advice that if one wished to observe such an event firsthand, it was probably best not to be lying naked next to the person who was experiencing the phenomenon.
For her part, Lisa Cuddy would always steadfastly maintain that she at no time meant to do physical harm to Dr. House; she was only trying to move as quickly as possible to what she perceived to be a much safer distance.She would admit, however, that there was a general flailing of her arms and legs and that, in her efforts to kick the sheet free from the bottom of the bed (so that she could continue to wrap it securely around herself), she had inadvertently managed to plant more than one substantial blow to his unprotected flesh.
"Jesus, Cuddy!" he yelped, springing to a sitting position.
She heard him take in several loud, gasping breaths as she tied the sheet over her chest.Hopping out of the bed, she bent down to study the floor.Although there were a few objects scattered about, she could see nothing that remotely resembled a piece of her own clothing.
"What the hell is wrong?" he demanded, in between a few more groans.
"This isn't funny, House," she yelled.She brushed the hair away from her face and continued to look around the room for something more conventional to wear.
"Does it sound like I'm laughing?" he countered.
"I mean it, House," she said, straightening up and planting her hands on her hips.
There was a street lamp shining in through the window beside the bed and she could just barely make out the outline of his torso in the dark.
She took another breath and pointed a finger in his shadowy direction.
"I am going to get dressed and head to the nearest ER, and have my blood and urine tested.And if they find the slightest trace of Rohypnol, or Ketamine, or, or-"
She hesitated, suddenly at a loss.
"GHB?" he offered.
"Thank you, yes." she said."You are going to lose your job, and your license, and, and-"
"And go to jail, go directly to jail, without collecting two hundred dollars?" he asked sarcastically, obviously unmoved by her threats.
"This isn't a game of Monopoly, House."
"No, it's not even `The Game of Life, by Milton Bradley'," he agreed."But, I'm starting to think we might be trapped in an episode of `The Twilight Zone'."
She heard the bedsprings squeak as he moved to lean his back against the headboard.
"Cuddy," he his voice very soft and even, "are you seriously accusing me of raping you?"
She opened her mouth to respond and then hesitated.
"No," she finally said, sighing."I know from experience that you are capable of a lot of perfectly horrible, awful things," she muttered."Including," she continued, "slipping someone a drug without their knowledge and breaking the law.But rape," she admitted, shaking her head wearily, "that's not exactly your style."
"Wasn't that the same thing you wrote on my last performance evaluation?Remind me not to ask you to speak at my next parole hearing."
"But," she said, another idea springing into her mind, "you are genetically incapable of resisting the chance to take advantage of a situation."She began to pace back and forth, her mind trying to fit together the pieces of a plausible scenario."So, we were out somewhere," she said, gesturing with her hands, "and I had a little too much to drink," she theorized, shrugging her shoulders, "and instead of being a gentleman and taking me home, you brought me here and..."Her voice trailed off.
"Tore your clothes off, threw you onto the bed and ravished you?" he suggested, helpfully."Ooh, I like that.You know, Cuddy, this `date rape' fantasy is a lot hotter than that pirate/wench fantasy we played out last night.Of course, in that one I barely had time to get my hands on your golden doubloons before you were buckling up against my swash."
She stopped pacing and turned to face him, crossing her arms across her chest.
"Well," he said, "since I obviously would have to get you very drunk in order to entice you into my bed, you must have one hell of a hangover, right?"
"Oh," she said, her anger dissolving in a split second into uncertainty.
"Come on, Cuddy, if you were sloshed enough to have a blackout, you gotta at least have a headache?" he suggested.
"No," she said, shaking her head.
"Need a bucket to hurl in?" he asked, solicitously.
"No!" she repeated, her voice rising in exasperation.
"Hmm, let's see, differential for the after effects of a large amount of alcohol:achy limbs, cotton-mouth, eyes-feel free to stop me whenever we hit upon a symptom that actually matches."
"Oh, shut up, said, running a hand through her hair."I don't feel drunk, and I don't feel high, and I don't feel .I feel...fine," she sputtered.
She shivered again"But, I'm not fine, am I?"
"Admitting you need help is your first step on the road to recovery," he replied, in a saccharine tone of voice.
"Bullshit," she murmured.
"Oh, sure when the shoe's on the other foot," he jeered.
She sighed."How long of a journey do think it's going to be?" she asked.
"Don't know yet," he admitted.
He heard her utter something that was halfway between a groan and a laugh.
"Do you always have to be so damned honest, House?"
"Come, sit," he said, patting the bed cover."I promise there'll be no more ravishing until you request it," he added."On me word as a pirate, aargh!"
She lowered herself into a sitting position on the edge of the bed.
"On the bright side," he began, switching on a lamp that stood on the table beside his side of the bed, "I would say that physically you are as strong as an ox."
She blinked and shielded her eyes from the sudden light.
"The proof of that being how much my leg is still hurting from that kick you planted on it about five minutes ago."
"Oh, come off it, House, I did not hit you that hard," she said, her eyes still closed.
"Yeah, right, `Iron-Leg Cuddy'.What were you doing in your nightmare, kicking field goals?"
"Why, were your footballs impacted?" she asked, managing to open her eyes wide enough to squint at him.
"No, just my thigh," he snarled, moving the blankets to the side.
"Well, if you expect me to kiss your booboo," she began, and then abruptly stopped."Oh, my god, House, what happened?"
Her eyes were all the way open now and she was staring down in horror at the deep, wide depression and hardened scar tissue covering nearly half of his upper right thigh.
"No," she murmured, unable to draw her eyes away from his crippled leg."But, I didn't do that," she said, pointing at the damaged area.
"Wanna bet?" he retorted.He threw the covers back over his leg and
shook his head."Oh,
He paused and pursed his lips, staring up at the ceiling.After a moment, she heard him start to softly hum the theme song from `The Twilight Zone'.
"What-" she began, but the question died on her lips as she found herself staring into his face.
The House she remembered was clean-shaven, with brown, wavy hair that arranged itself in wiry curls above his forehead.But the man now sitting beside her sported hair liberally sprinkled with gray, cut and combed in a severely short, haphazard fashion that did not quite disguise the fact that it was beginning to thin considerably on the top of his head.The face was swathed in dark stubble that ran over his chin, cheeks and upper lip, but stopped just short of being long enough to be called a beard or moustache.She had to admit that it oddly complemented his thin and narrow features.But somehow the whiskers did not quite hide the fact that there were deep lines etched into his face that she could not recall seeing before.There were new wrinkles around his eyes as well, although they remained the startlingly deep and clear blue of her memory.
The other thing that was instantly recognizable was the expression upon his face.It was the look of absolute concentration that she had seen countless times before even though she could not, right at this moment, have given any details as to the last time she had seen it.House had just been handed a puzzle, and, as frightened and confused as she was, she took comfort in the knowledge that he would give the conundrum his full and undivided attention until he came up with a solution.
"Okay," he said, suddenly breaking out of his reverie and reaching behind him to plump a pillow behind his back."Let's see exactly what you do remember."
He reached over to the bedside table and retrieved a small, orange pill bottle.Expertly opening it with one hand, he raised the bottle to his mouth and tilted it until one white, oval pill fell onto his tongue.Cuddy watched silently as he swallowed the pill dry and replaced the bottle on the stand.
"What's that?" she asked.
"Viagra," he replied instantly."I'm under strict orders to take one every hour as long as you are in my bedroom."He waggled his eyebrows again.
"Viagra is a little blue pill," she informed him.
"Well, your knowledge is still basically intact," he observed."On the other hand, you only remembered two out of the three `date rape drugs', so I think I have to mark you down to a B+ on that subject."
He paused for a moment to rub his eyes."So, let's move on to something a little more basic.What's your name?"
"Oh, don't be ridiculous!" she protested.
"All right, Lisa Cuddy," she answered, "And before you ask, yours is Gregory House."
"Yes," he nodded. "Although," he shrugged, "I would have accepted one of your pet nicknames for me.Lately you've been calling me `Jackhammer'," he confided.
"Jackrabbit is probably more like it," she sniffed.
Yes, she may have lost the rest of her mind, but the `insult House' neurons of her disease-riddled brain are still firing on all cylinders."
"Pavlovian response after years of conditioning," she replied.
Do you remember where we met?" he asked.
"
"Very good," he said. He leaned back and crossed his arms. "So, Lisa Cuddy," he continued in a strangely cheerful tone, "want to tell the studio audience what you do for a living?"
She sighed."I'm a doctor."
He nodded and then quirked an eyebrow upward."You are allowed to add a few embellishments to your answers you know.A few extra details you just might be able to remember, like-"
"I'm an Endocrinologist."
"And?" he prodded.
"And I am the Dean of Medicine at Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital."
"Yes," she said, huffily."I'm also sure I was the first woman and second-youngest person ever to achieve that position."
, folks, sounds like she's going for extra credit here!He uncrossed his arms and leaned towards her."Well, tell me, Dean Cuddy, how many years have you been at your current post?"
She hesitated and for a moment he could see her eyes whipping around the room.
"I have been Dean of Medicine since June of 2000," she answered, finally.
" and she was doing so well," he said, shaking his head."You see folks," he said, lifting his hand to his mouth to whisper conspiratorially to the unseen audience, "she thought I wouldn't notice that she avoided telling me the number of years, because in order to do that-"
He dropped his hand and frowned at her. "She'd have to remember what year it is now."
After a few seconds, Cuddy dropped her eyes to stare down at the blanket.
"Any idea?" he prompted, softly.
Keeping her head down, she slowly traced a pattern with the tip of her right index finger before finally raising her face back to his and shaking her head.
"Nope," she admitted.
"It's your fault, you know," he said.He gestured with his hand."I used to have this room plastered in `Naked Babe Calendars', but you made me take them down."
"So," she said, blinking her eyes rapidly as she felt them fill up with tears."How worried should I be?"
"Worrying doesn't accomplish anything," he said.
"So, you're not worried?" she challenged.
"Are you kidding?" he said, "I'm envious.Do you know what I would give to wake up some night and be unable to remember and ?"
She looked at him blankly.
"Not important," he assured her with a wave of his hand.Kind of like Mike Myers and Eddie Murphy in `', except in this case the black dude was the ogre."
"Just remember this," he said, leaning forward."You owe me," he informed her gravely.
She raised her eyebrows and regarded him dubiously.
"Anyway," he said, shrugging his shoulders, "I think we need to move on to the next stage of the differential."He rubbed his palms together."I'm thinking the breast exam should be next, don't you?"
Her scowl deepened and she crossed her arms firmly over her chest.
His lower lip went out in an exaggerated pout."Oh, come on," he whined, "You promised I could be the doctor the next time we played."
"Any more cute comments and you're going to find yourself on the receiving end of a proctology exam," she warned, raising her eyebrows.
"Boy, your memory really is bad," he taunted."We did that two nights ago.Well, if you're going to be about it, I guess we'll just have to the stupid, boring neurological exam instead."
He held up his hands with both forefingers pointing upward.With a sigh, Cuddy reached out to wrap her fists around the extended digits.
"Oh, come on now," he chided, "I know from experience that you can hold on much tighter than that."
"Well, you know that you have to hold on really tight to keep a grip on small things," she jeered, as she frowned and tightened her grip.
"Ouch!" he murmured, "and ouch," he added, nodding at her hands.
She released her hold.
"Good strength and symmetry," he said."Pizza time," he announced, raising his eyebrows.
She nodded and raised her hands in front of her, as if holding a pizza box.
"Eyes closed," he ordered.
"I'm not going to cheat," she protested.
But if you're looking at your hands and one of them starts to droop, you are going to compensate for it automatically."
"Oh, all right."She closed her eyes and waited.After what seemed a very long time, she opened one eye to peer at him.
"No drift," he assured her.
"I can stop?" she asked.
"Sure," he said.
"What took you so long?" she asked, opening her other eye and lowering her arms.
He shrugged."I was just wondering how long I could get you to keep your eyes closed around me."He nodded at his wrist watch."The answer is thirty seconds, in case you're interested."
"Is that relevant?"
"No, it's just something I've always wondered.It might be useful information for the future."
He ignored her scowl and reached out to wrap the fingers of his right hand around her wrist.Finding her pulse, he raised his left arm and once again consulted his watch.
"Do you always wear your watch to bed?" she asked.
"No, but I fully intend to in the future.In case you ever make that `Jackrabbit' crack again, I want some data to defend myself."
He released her wrist.
"Hmm, your pulse is a little rapid," he said, "But, then again, you are in close proximity to my naked ."
"Well, that explains the nausea," she murmured.
He shot her a quick, inquisitive glance.
"No," she said, shaking her head."No nausea or dizziness."
"Can't you ever be serious?" he admonished her sternly.
Turning to the nightstand, he leaned down and pulled out a drawer.After a few moments of rummaging around, he turned back to her with a penlight and reflex hammer in his hand.
"How long is this going to go on?" she protested.
"Oh, if I only had a dime for every time you've said that while we're in bed together," he replied, flicking the penlight on and off to check it.
"Just a few more things," he promised."I want to make sure it's safe for me to drive you to the ER or if we need to immobilize you and call in the ambulance."
"Do you think it's really that serious?"
He sighed and tossed the light and hammer onto the bed cover."Cuddy, it's been eight years since my leg injury."
"It's serious," she agreed.
"But, most probably temporary," he said.
Picking up the reflex hammer, he started by tapping on her right bicep.Cuddy found herself torn between trying to watch and grade her own reactions and studying House's face to see if it looked as though he was finding anything irregular.
He said nothing, his face remaining impassive as he continued testing her reflexes until he came to her left knee.Although she could have sworn it was an absolutely normal response, he frowned and repeated the test.She bit down on her lip and struggled to remain calm as he bent down to study the area more carefully.She remained still as he brought his right hand up and ran his fingers over her kneecap.A few seconds later his hand began to move upward, and just as his fingers slipped underneath the sheet that was still covering her thigh, her own hand shot out and slapped him away.
"You pig!"
"Well, I see that reflex is still working," he said, waving his supposedly injured fingertips in the air."And after all the time and energy I spent to override it"
"You said this was probably temporary," she stated.
"Yeah," he said, tossing the hammer aside.
She flinched involuntarily as he suddenly raised his hands to her head, but managed to hold still as he began to run his fingers over her skull.
"Probably is not a word you like to use," she observed.
"Neither is temporary," he said,
pulling a face."Reminds me of
"So-"
"So shut up and tell me if you can read those numbers," he said, gesturing at the clock which stood on the nightstand.
"Yes," she said, and then leaned over to study the clock more carefully.
It was an old and battered digital model, the kind where the numbers were printed on little pieces of plastic that flipped over on a rolodex-like cylinder rather than illuminated on LED.
"Oh, my god, House, that is ancient.Don't you ever throw anything out?"
"Hey!" he said, sounding insulted."If I didn't let old and creaky things into my bedroom would you be here?"
She stuck out her tongue and sat up again as he picked up the penlight.
"Keep your eyes focused over there," he said."I assume no double or blurred vision?"
"Pupils responsive and equal," he murmured."Now, follow the light!" he commanded.
She tried but did not quite manage to keep a straight face as he accompanied the movements of the penlight with whirring and whooshing sounds, like the landing of an alien spaceship.
"Any verdict so far?" she asked, as he clicked off the light.
"No sign of loss of either motor or neural function," he said."But, strangely enough, you do seem to have gained a sense of humor."
"Personality changes can occur after a stroke," she said, quietly.
He paused and rubbed his thumb across his forehead."I don't think it's a stroke."
"But you're not sure?"
He frowned and bent towards the drawer again."Damn, I knew I had a MRI and PET scanner in here somewhere," he grumbled, rattling around the contents of the drawer.
He straightened and nodded his head in agreement."ER time."
"I, uh, better go clean up."
"Bathroom's that way," he said, pointing to the door.
"Okay."She stood up and took a step towards the door before spinning back to look at him, a strangely guilty look across her face."Stacy?"
He immediately lowered his eyes and laughed shortly."Gone, briefly back, and gone.
She looked relieved for a moment and then another apparently disturbing idea crossed her mind.
"House, we're...not..."
He looked up at her again and raised his eyebrows.
"...married, are we?" she asked.
"That brain-damaged you aren't," he assured her.
She threw him a smile and turned back towards the doorway.
"Do me a favor?" he called out, as she took a few steps forward."Drop the toga?"
"Why?" she asked, suspiciously to tighten the sheet around her.
"Well," he said, rolling his eyes, "It's a little hard to assess your posture and gait with all that fabric in the way."
She hesitated for another moment and then turned away from him and began untying the knot she had made.The sheet tumbled to the floor and she walked swiftly and surely to the bathroom doorway.
"How was that?" she asked, looking back over her shoulder.
He was sitting with his arms crossed over his chest, staring at her with his head tilted to the side.After a moment, he gave a start and shook his head.
"Sorry," he said, "I was momentarily mesmerized by the sight of that giant ass swinging through the air.You better do it again," he urged.
"No problems observed," he assured her.
"Good," she said, and turned to step into the bathroom.
"Don't lock it!" he called out, as the door closed behind her."In case you don't remember, I'm not exactly physically capable of breaking down a door in case you decide to pass out on me," he warned.
He heard a muffled `Okay' from behind the closed door.
Closing his eyes, he took in a deep breath and brought his hands up to massage his temples for a few moments.Then he reached over to pick up the Vicodin bottle with his left hand and his cell phone with the other.He dispensed another pill onto his tongue, returned the bottle to the table, and swallowed as he punched in a number.
Foreman answered on the third ring.
"What the hell do you want, House?"
"', Sunshine, how are you?"
Please tell me what is so damn important at
He heard a snort."Since when do you go looking for cases on the weekend?
"This one came looking for
me.Heard I had the biggest, stiffest
cane in
"What is it, House?"
"Well, I kind of think it's one of those brain-thingy things and since you are one of them brain-thingy doctors..."
"Okay, I'll be in the office in about an hour."
"No, you'll meet me in the ER in a half-hour."
"The ER has a neurologist on call, you know?"
"Yeah, but this is kind of a VIP situation," House explained.
Foreman snorted again.
"No," said House, his voice suddenly sounding tight and tired."It is Cuddy."
There was a short silence.
"What symptoms?" Foreman asked.House could hear the sound of bed springs squeaking and fabric rustling in the background.
House sighed."Well, she's definitely blacked out on the past eight hours, but she's also pretty hazy going back years at the moment."
"Nope, everything looks okay on the limited neuro exam I just gave her."
"So, TGA?"
"Makes the most sense so far, but I need confirmation from the scans.And a complete exam by a NEU-RO-LO-GIST," he snarled, starting to get annoyed and feeling slightly anxious about the fact that Cuddy had not yet re-emerged from the bathroom.
"Well, the most frequently documented trigger factors for TGA are extreme physical exertion, exposure to cold water and ...sexual intercourse."
"Yeah, I've read the textbooks too, you know."
There was another pause.
"So, is there something you want to tell me, House?"
"Yes," he hissed."We were running a three-legged marathon at
House snapped the phone off and sat listening to the sound of water swishing in the bathroom sink.He wondered briefly if he should mention to Cuddy that, despite the fact she was at this moment so earnestly washing the traces of his semen from between her legs, a lot of people were soon going to figure out that they had been sleeping together.
With a muffled groan, he eased his legs over the side of the bed and bent down to retrieve his cane from where it was leaning against the wall.Being careful to keep the weight off of his right leg, he gingerly rose to his feet.He tried a step and then grimaced and bent at the waist, moving his hand down to massage the recalcitrant limb.After about a minute, he straightened and tried again, this time managing a few more steps.
He stopped for a moment and turned to look back at the disheveled bed, and then glanced down at his feet where the discarded sheet lay in a heap in front of him.He took his cane and, balancing on his left foot, pushed it out of his way.
The tap of his cane echoed in the silence as he hobbled over to retrieve Cuddy's clothes from where they lay mingled with his own in the hallway.