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Kisses Sweeter Than Wine - Chapter Two
by Evilida
Part Six
A Bored House is a Danger to Himself and Others
Every morning since his infarction had been the same for Dr. Gregory House. He should have been used to it, but he wasn't. In his dreams, he was whole; he could walk and run and even sometimes fly. Even if his dream was a nightmare - if he was being stalked by some nameless dreadful thing through a maze of endless hospital corridors - waking up was still a disappointment. At least he could run away in his dreams. In real life, he was crippled, in pain, and alone - conditions that seemed unlikely ever to change.
The clock radio went off at seven thirty Monday morning. House had set the radio to a country station with a particularly annoying playlist, so that he would be compelled to get up and turn it off. House groaned and opened his eyes. He reached out to the bottle of Vicodin he had left on his bedside table, and took two; then turned off the clock radio. He wanted to wait until the Vicodin had a chance to take effect, but his bladder wouldn't let him. He managed to get out of bed, wincing in pain, and limped toward the bathroom. He used the walls for support. His daily trips had created a grubby trail in the paintwork.
House didn't have a patient waiting for him at PPTH. He hadn't had a patient for the better part of a week, and his last patient had been a fairly straightforward case anyway. Psittacosis in a pet store employee was so predictable that only a real idiot (such as the patient's attending physician) could miss it. Without a case to solve, the week stretched before him blank and purposeless. He would try to hold the tedium at bay with video games and pranks, but only a new medical mystery offered any prospect of real relief.
House's two fellows were sitting in the diagnostics room at PPTH. They had come to dread the days when House didn't have a patient. A bored and cranky House found ways of amusing himself that were not entirely pleasant for the people around him.
"There has to be a case for House," Tony Crane insisted. "Did you check with internal medicine?"
"Of course, I did. I gave the nurses and the attending a whole box full of clairs in exchange for their promise to let me know about any puzzling cases. I think you should pay half," Rosemary said.
"I'm not going to pay half when it didn't work. What about e-mails?"
"Check them yourself," Rosemary said. "See if anything new and spectacular has come in in the past five minutes."
She grabbed her laptop and a pile of patient files and headed out the door.
"Where are you going?"
"To the woman's changing room. I can get caught up with patients' notes, and House won't follow me there. At least, I hope he won't."
"That's not fair!" Crane said. "You can't leave me alone to deal with him by myself."
"Yes, I can. I've got my pager. Let me know if anything interesting comes up."
Crane wanted to call Rosemary Lum every nasty name he could think of. Rosemary smirked at him, daring him to try it. She knew that Dr. Cuddy, the Chief of Medicine, had delivered Crane a stern warning about his behaviour. One more incident and he would be dismissed. If he insulted the staff or the patients, if he propositioned one of the cafeteria ladies, if he swore or shouted at his colleagues or superiors, Crane would be let go without a good reference. He had to change his ways, or his career would be over. Crane's ambition was battling his natural obnoxiousness; so far ambition was winning.
Cuddy spotted her Head of Diagnostic Medicine getting off the elevator and walked over to meet him. House was still wearing his jacket and had obviously just come in to work, although it was well past nine. House expected Cuddy to rebuke him for his lateness, but instead she smiled warmly at him. He was instantly suspicious.
"Morning, House," she said. "I have something I want to discuss with you. Let's go to my office."
House would normally at this point be running through a mental list of misdemeanours, wondering which one Cuddy had discovered. Cuddy wasn't in her stern headmistress mode today, though. She was being nice to him, and there had to be a reason. She must want a favour. Having nothing better to do, House willingly followed her to her office. Lisa handed him a cup of her own personally brewed coffee, much better than the cafeteria's slop, and offered him an clair. (She'd visited Internal Medicine earlier in the morning and had snagged the last one.)
"I've noticed that you haven't been quite yourself lately. You've been difficult to get along with. I've had complaints."
"Being difficult to get along with sounds exactly like me."
"More difficult than usual," Cuddy said. "I think that you're acting out because you're bored. I think that your work hasn't been challenging enough for you lately. It's become routine."
"That's your diagnosis, is it?" House said. "I'm bored. That's all. What about the constant pain? You don't think that might have an effect?"
"Your pain level is constant. Your Vicodin intake hasn't gone up, but you've become more irritable. There must be some other factor involved."
House didn't reply. Was it possible that Cuddy really did not know how miserable her recent marriage had made him?
"Do you remember my friend Andrea? " Lisa asked, appearing to change the subject."She was at the wedding."
""She was the one Wilson hated. Short but curvy. Blonde hair."
"James didn't hate her."
"Wilson didn't tell you that he hated her. He told me. Only he didn't say hate, of course. He said she was pushy. In Wilson-speak, that means that he can't stand her and never wants to see her again."
"Anyway, Andrea has an interesting proposition for you."
"Does it involve whips and chains?"
"She has this research project in mind for you. It sounds quite interesting, and the publicity that it generates could be beneficial. It would be good for PPTH and good for you. It would raise your visibility, which would have the effect of attracting more interesting cases your way."
Cuddy outlined the Billionaire's Brain Trust. House considered the offer. Everything that he knew about Alan Andersen told him the man was pompous, arrogant, and power-hungry. House despised him and didn't want to work for him. On the other hand, it offered him the opportunity to prove how very much more clever he was than Alan Andersen and his entourage of researchers. More to the point, it was the only project on his horizon - the only island in an apparently endless sea of monotony.
"If you're interested at all, I'll phone Andrea and let her know. She's going to be in the area for a few more days, visiting her family and old friends. We can set up a meeting and go into details."
House nodded his agreement.
Julie was on the phone with her ex-husband. She was crying.
"Carl took his girlfriend with him to New York," she said, struggling to catch her breath. "He introduced her to his business associates. They all know about her now. I'm so humiliated. I have to see these people regularly at business dinners and social functions. How will I face them knowing that they know?"
"You shouldn't feel humiliated," Wilson said. "It's Carl who should feel ashamed not you. He has a wonderful wife that he is incapable of appreciating."
"Carl isn't ashamed. He doesn't even know what shame is. I confronted him, and he got really angry. I thought he was going to hit me. He said that if I didn't like the way he lived his life, I could always leave."
"Maybe you should leave him," James suggested. "I know that would leave you in a bad financial situation, but you're miserable with him. And if you think he is potentially violent..."
"He's never hit me," Julie said. "I know he used to hit his daughter when she was growing up. She told me. He was facing child abuse charges, but they were dropped when he agreed to get counselling. He hasn't hit her since."
"There are organizations that help women in your situation. I can talk to one of the social workers at the hospital. She'll have names and phone numbers."
"I know the kind of place you mean. Battered women's shelters. Places for people to hide. I haven't been battered, at least not yet, and I'm not going to hide. I want the life I'm living - the social functions, the committees, all my friends. I've worked hard for it, and I don't want to give it up. I won't let Carl take it away from me. I won't let him win."
"Julie, honey," said Wilson. "This isn't a contest; it's your life. Even though we're not married anymore, I still want you to be safe and happy. Please think about leaving him. I promise to help you if you do."
"I'll think about it," Julie said. "I've got to go now. I'm meeting my stepdaughter for lunch, and I've got major work to do before I can go out. You should see me. I've got mascara trails down my cheeks. I look hideous."
Julie wanted her ex-husband to compliment her - to say that she could never be hideous in any circumstances.
Unfortunately, Wilson missed his cue. He just said good-bye and hung up.
Julie sighed and then surveyed herself in the full-length mirror that hung in her walk-in closet. Her eyes and her nose were red, her makeup was smudged, and her hair was a rat's nest. Still, the basics were all there. She had an excellent figure and good bone structure. Everyone said she looked years longer than her real age. Wilson was right; Carl was a fool for not appreciating her. Her marriage to Carl Bensonhurst was over. She couldn't afford to leave him yet, though. She needed to find a replacement first.
After work, James and Lisa went to pick up Emily at her pre-school. While James drove, Lisa looked though the first draft of the quarterly report she had been working on.
"Lisa, do you know a man named Carl Bensonhurst?" James asked. " Maybe you've met a hospital fundraiser?"
"I've heard of him," Lisa said. "He's a property developer. He has a bad reputation for cutting corners and a lot of dubious friends. I've heard rumours about bribes and criminal connections. Why do you ask?"
"My ex-wife Julie."
"She's married to him, isn't she? Well, I don't suppose his unscrupulous business practices would matter to her. All that she would care about would be his bank account, which is probably very healthy."
"That's a bit unkind," Wilson protested.
"Probably," Lisa agreed, "but I know Julie has said more than a few unkind things about me, and even worse things about you."
"Do you think Bensonhurst would hurt her?"
"Hurt Julie?" said Lisa, putting her report aside, and looking at her husband. They had pulled up outside Emily's preschool, but Lisa didn't make any move to get out of the car. "Why are you asking?"
"Well, I met Julie a while ago, and we started talking, and she mentioned that she and Carl Bensonhurst were having difficulties. What she said made me concerned for her."
"You just happen to meet your ex-wife, and she just happens to spill out her heart to you about her marital problems. Don't you see how inappropriate that is?"
"I know you think I shouldn't have anything more to do with my ex-wives, but I used to love them, and I still care about them," Wilson said. "Maybe I shouldn't, but I do. I'm happy with you, and I want them to be happy too."
"You aren't responsible for making them happy anymore. You should be making me happy. Me and Emily."
"I thought I was," Wilson said.
"Not right now, you're not," Lisa said. She got out of the car, slamming the door behind her. Wilson followed her.
Emily was subdued as they walked back to the car. She could sense the tension between the two adults.
"My assistant talked to Mrs. Albertini at the Purcell School. She was reluctant to even take the call at first. She has so many prospective students to choose from, that she doesn't bother with the ones with `unreliable parents'. "
"I'm sorry I missed the conference. I told you Agnes's funeral took longer than I expected."
"And I expect that you wanted to comfort Bonnie afterward."
Wilson didn't want to get into an argument in front of Emily, so he said nothing.
"Anyway, Mrs. Albertini finally agreed to meet with us. The new appointment is for Wednesday at one-thirty. I had to make some major adjustments to my calendar to make myself available, so I hope that this time you'll actually attend."
"I'll check my schedule."
Lisa nodded curtly, then turned to her daughter.
"Well, Lollipop," she said. "How was your day?"
It was midnight, and Lisa Cuddy was the only one awake in the house. Beside her, her husband muttered something indistinguishable in his sleep. When they'd first started living together, she'd been curious and had tried to make out what he was saying in his sleep. Unfortunately, he mumbled so much that she couldn't make out a single word. For all she knew, he could be dreaming in Portuguese. She gently stroked his arm, and the muttering stopped. Still asleep, he rolled toward Lisa, the source of comfort and warmth. Cuddy edged to the side of the bed to avoid his embrace. She turned on the bedside lamp, picked up the quarterly report, and went through it one more time.
Part Seven
In-Flight Refreshments
Lisa Cuddy leaned back, slipped off her high heels, and took another sip of the champagne. She regarded her travelling companion through half-shut eyes.
"I could really get used to this kind of life. Corporate jets, French champagne."
"Don't get used to it," Andrea said. "When you have to go back to the real world, the jolt is a real bitch. Oops, shouldn't have said that. Leonie, you didn't hear me say that."
"Leonie's asleep."
" So is House. We're alone, or as good as, so you can tell me. What's up? Why did you decide to come along with House? You and he aren't.. "
" a couple. No, of course we're not. It's just that the hospital board decided, and I agree, that House requires delicate handling. Last year, at a conference in San Diego, there was an incident that I shouldn't even mention. Can we forget that I mentioned San Diego? I think I've really had too much champagne."
"No such thing as too much champagne," Andrea said, taking another sip. "Want some more fresh strawberries? "
Cuddy shook her head, which seemed to make the whole plane spin. She giggled.
"Still if all he needed was a chaperone, sending the Dean of Medicine is real overkill. Couldn't they just send a burly orderly? "
"I volunteered. Well, not so much volunteered as insisted," Lisa confessed. "I needed a break."
"From the hospital," asked Andrea, "or from your marriage?"
"You know that's why I like you and James doesn't. You always ask straight out."
"But you don't always answer."
"A bit of both," Lisa said. "Mainly the marriage. Don't say ` I told you so.'"
"I wasn't going to," Andrea said. "I know I was a bit negative at the wedding. I was bitter about my divorce. Things got a bit ugly. You've got to know that I really want you to be happy. You're my best friend. Married or unmarried, I don't care, as long as you're happy."
"You were right about him," said Lisa. "You said he had secrets. House warned me too. He said Wilson was way too screwed up for me. He said, if I really wanted screwed up, I should just marry him instead of Wilson. `With me', he said, `at least you know what you're getting.'"
"Are we talking kinky?"
"No, not kinky. Sexually, James is vanilla, but really good vanilla. Haagen-Dazs vanilla not supermarket brand."
"Mmm....ice cream. You know what would be really good, right now? A champagne float. Ice cream, strawberries, and champagne. I wonder if this plane has any ice cream."
"No more champagne!" Lisa protested. "I'm supposed to be a responsible chaperone today. Anyway, we were talking about me and James and all James's little secrets and all his annoying little habits, such as the way he charms all the adult women in the hospital, all the gay men, and half the straight. I'm at a party, standing next to him, while they all flirt with him like crazy - I just want to say, look at me, I'm his wife, for God's sake, and I'm sexy as hell. If it weren't for House constantly hitting on me, I'd think I'd lost my looks."
"That could be really annoying."
"Then, there are his ex-wives who phone him up and ask him to do them favours and tell him all their problems. Julie and Bonnie and now even Michelle. She hadn't seen or spoken to him for twenty years after their divorce; now that she's found him again she's phoning him up every week just to chat."
"You shouldn't have to share your husband."
"Exactly! That's not the worst thing, though" Lisa said. " Let me tell you a story. A true story. James and I were at a budget meeting and we disagreed, and things got a little heated, but wasn't anything out of the ordinary. Then James got really upset and left the meeting, and House glared at me like I shot James's puppy. I had no idea what was wrong.
After the meeting, House told me I shouldn't have been so harsh with Wilson because he was so upset about his ex-mother-in-law's death. Apparently, he was really close to her and used to go visit her at her nursing home, even though he and her daughter have been divorced for ages. I mean I knew she died, and I knew James was going to take a morning off to go to her funeral, but I didn't know that he had this whole relationship with her, and I didn't know how he felt.
James went straight home, and I picked Emily up at pre-school, so I warned Emily that James was a bit sad today. And she said, `Yes, I know. He's been wearing his sad ties all week.'
It's like James is sending off these secret signals that House can read and Emily can read and I just can't."
"Well, maybe he doesn't want you to read his signals. Maybe he decided to marry you because you can't," Andrea said. "Like a poker player. He's one-up on you if he can tell what you're thinking and you can't tell what he's thinking."
"That is entirely possible," Lisa said. "And you know what that makes him? Sneaky. Very, very sneaky. He looks normal but he's complicated and tricky."
"Men are sneaky."
"Yes, they are."
"And most women."
"But not me."
"No, Lisa. You're not tricky. Neither am I. We're two straightforward people in a world full of deceivers, cheats and poker-faced liars. Which is why we really need champagne floats. "
"Okay, I give in - champagne floats."
There was an intercom to the tiny kitchen, which Andrea used to relay their orders.
"I shouldn't be telling you this stuff. James would hate it if he knew," Lisa said. "He thinks you're pushy and you ask too many questions."
Andrea laughed. "I've been called much worse." She put down her drink and looked thoughtfully at her fomer college roommate. "I don't think you're telling me everything though. Something else is bothering you. You already knew about the ex-wives, and the flirting, and the secret signals you can't decode before you married him. Something must have happened just recently."
"Something has," Lisa sighed, wondering whether it was a good idea to confide in Andrea. After a few seconds' deliberation, she decided that he couldn't keep her worries secret any longer. She had to talk.
"So here's a story about how screwed-up James really is. I want to get Emily into this really good school. It requires a really in-depth interview with the parents to see if they are the right fit for the school. James didn't want to go because he's not Emily's father. He's known Emily all her life. He first saw Emily twenty minutes after she was born; we lived together for a couple of years before we married; and we've been married for three months. He loves Emily to bits and she loves him. He's her father.
So I convinced James to go, and the interviewer, Mrs. Albertini, addressed some questions to me and some to James. And almost every time, James called Emily "Lisa's daughter." Not just once, but half a dozen times. As if he'd met Emily at a party and couldn't remember her name. Mrs. Albertini mentioned the good reports she's had from Emily's pre-school and James said, `Lisa is very proud of her,' not `I'm very proud' or `we're very proud.'"
"That's terrible!" Andrea said. "I'd have kicked him right there."
"I was furious. I kept telling myself, `you know he loves Emily, you know he loves Emily', just to stop myself from blowing up at him in front of Mrs. Albertini.
We'd taken my car so I was driving. I got into the driver's seat and James got into the passenger seat and he was waiting for me to drive us back to the hospital. I was too angry to drive safely, so we had to have our big argument out in the school parking lot."
The flight attendant delivered two ice-cold champagne floats. They were delicious, and Lisa took a long sip.
"Ooh, this is good. House is going to be sorry he missed this."
"Go on," said Andrea. "You were talking about the big fight."
"I'm getting to the screwed-up part, now," said Lisa. " I asked him straight out why he doesn't want to be Emily's father. "
"Very good, very direct."
"James said that even though he wants to be Emily father, he isn't her father and he's never going to be. He said, `Some day, Emily's real father is going to realize what a great person Emily is, how smart and beautiful and thoughtful she is, and he's going to want to be a part of her life.' He said, `When that happens, I don't want to come between them. I don't want Emily to have to chose between us or feel any guilt about loving her father.'"
"I thought Emily was conceived by a.i."
"Exactly. James had this whole weird scenario playing in his head that he never mentioned to me. It doesn't make any sense.
I said that it's highly unlikely that some anonymous sperm donor is going to come forward and want to be Emily's father.
He said he knows who Emily's father is. I'm stunned. I thought that maybe he'd hired a private detective to track the sperm donor down, though why he would want to do that....
I didn't say anything.
He said that Emily's father is House. He said that it's obvious that I would want the best possible genetic heritage for my child and that House is brilliant and gifted and athletic. He goes on and on about how wonderful House is, and how wonderful I am, and how Emily is going to be a really wonderful person and do amazing things. "
"Wow," said Andrea.
"Yeah, I had no idea this was going on his head. No idea at all," Lisa said. "I was so surprised. I couldn't think of anything to say. James looked so happy and excited. I thought, he's going to be so disappointed when he finds out House isn't Emily's father."
"And was he?"
"He didn't believe me. He said that he understood that this was something really private between House and me and Emily, but that he wouldn't tell anyone and he'd treat Emily just as he had before, and still love her as if she were his own. I had to offer to submit us all to DNA testing before he would believe me.
I asked him, `Did you only love Emily because you thought she was House's daughter? Now that you know she isn't, will you still love her?'
He said that he loved Emily for herself, not for me and not for House. I hope he was telling the truth. I don't know because I can never tell when he's lying."
"So he wanted Emily to be the daughter of his wife and his best friend. That's screwed up."
"I know," Lisa took another sip of the champagne float. Her eyes were full of tears. "James loves House. He loved House before he loved me. I don't mean that he loves House in a sexual way, of course."
"Are you sure?" Andrea asked. "If they're that close...sometimes the wife is the last one to know."
"James would tell me if he cheated. He promised me that, and he'll keep his promise," Lisa upended the almost empty glass to get the last few drops of her drink. "Besides, I would know. I've slept with both of them."
Part Eight
"Misty Water-Coloured Memories"
Lisa Cuddy had made love to Gregory House only once, and that had been years ago. It was easy to be nostalgic about those days. Cuddy had been a young and eager reformer; House, despite a few minor setbacks earlier in his career, was a rising star in his profession; and Wilson was living the "white picket fence" American dream. Cuddy tended to forget the many sleepless nights she spent, worrying that the next decision she made would be her last - the one that would destroy her career and ruin her plans for the hospital. House didn't like to be reminded that even in those blessedly pain-free days before the infarction; he had been lonely and discontented. His greatest successes provided him with only the most temporary and fleeting satisfaction. Wilson was perhaps the least inclined to be deceived by the rosy glow we prefer to give to past events. Even then, he knew that his apparently perfect marriage to Bonnie was crumbling, turning to dust and ashes before his eyes. He maintained the facade of a happily married man out of desperation, hoping that he might become what he pretended to be.
Cuddy was new to the position of Dean of Medicine, and still faced opposition from some of the doctors and staff, who thought that she had been appointed because she was female and because she was attractive. Lisa Cuddy had been chosen for the sake of novelty; she was only a figurehead, and the real power was still up for grabs. They jockeyed for position, waiting for her to fail.
Lisa Cuddy had no intention of failing. She had ambitious plans for Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. She wanted to attract bright and visionary staff, but PPTH didn't have the resources to pay the large salaries that would attract the best and brightest. Her plan was to hire people with natural ability and potential, but who had not yet proven themselves. She had to gamble that she could nurture them, develop their skills, and help them become the kind of physicians that she needed. It was a risky strategy, but she thought it was necessary for PPTH's long-term success.
Her clearly articulated vision had convinced the hospital board to hire her, but to make it work she needed the support of hospital personnel. Dr. James Wilson was one of the few Heads of Department who eagerly supported her strategy. Wilson had been appointed the interim Head of Oncology by Cuddy's predecessor. His appointment had been a compromise. The Department had been split by the rivalry of two strong candidates for the position. Appointing either of them would mean that the other would quit, likely taking a sizeable proportion of staff with him. Wilson had agreed to take the position on a temporary basis, knowing that the hospital was still actively recruiting for a permanent Department Head. The other members of the department appreciated his dedication to his job, he was popular with patients, and he was seen as the right type - dependable, sensible and predictable.
Because his was only a temporary appointment, it would be natural to assume the Wilson's opinions counted for little, but Lisa Cuddy quickly learned that Wilson was more formidable than he appeared. He had convinced the rival parties in the Oncology Department to call a truce, after a bitter battle for supremacy that had lasted for the better part of a decade. Under him, the Department of Oncology had become a model of efficiency and harmony. Cuddy thought that Wilson's achievement was a near miracle, and she intended to make his appointment permanent as soon as possible.
Gregory House was Lisa Cuddy's most controversial new hire. The man was undoubtedly brilliant, but he'd been involved in a cheating scandal at Columbia; he was suspected of abusing alcohol and drugs; and he was notoriously arrogant and difficult to get along with. He had worked at half a dozen different hospitals, averaging less than a year at each. Cuddy argued that his tarnished reputation was all to the good, because it made other risk-averse institutions reluctant to hire him and reduced the salary he would otherwise command. Had he been as conscientious as he was brilliant, another institution with bigger pockets would have snapped him up in an instant. She made a commitment to oversee House personally, knowing that her own job depended on House's success. She created the new position of Head of Diagnostic Medicine specifically for him.
House must have known that Lisa Cuddy had risked her career for him, but he never showed the slightest sign of gratitude.
House made her life more difficult, but also more interesting. He was a polarizing figure in the hospital. His fans were drawn to him by his magnetic personality and his contempt for authority. They liked his "rock and roll attitude" and his "cool". House enjoyed being the centre of attention, but he kept his distance from his followers. He used his quick wit and his unerring ability to spot other people's vulnerabilities to repel anyone who came too close. His detractors were vocal and tended to be older and more established. They saw House's arrogance and his disdain for rules as a danger not only to his patients but to the regular operation of the hospital. They wanted Cuddy to rein him in or fire him.
James Wilson didn't properly belong to either camp. Although he steadfastly supported House, he could not really be counted as one of his fans, since he was indifferent to concepts of "coolness" and he thought House's attitude towards authority was largely counterproductive. (When authority figures stood in Wilson's way, he found a way around them rather than confronting them directly.) Instead, Wilson admired House because he was a brilliant and inspired physician. He was in awe of House's diagnostic genius - his ability to save the lives of those who would have otherwise been lost. House's other gifts - his musicianship, his athleticism, his charisma - only confirmed for him what an extraordinary person House was, and how lucky PPTH was to have him.
Cuddy and Wilson were in her office. They had been discussing budgetary issues, but their conversation had veered away from its appointed course, as it often did, and now they were talking about House.
"We've received another complaint about House from one of the nurses. She's refusing to work with him and she's talking about legal action," Cuddy said.
"Does she have a case?"
"The legal department says that it's iffy. If she got the right jury, if she made a good impression and House made a bad one..."
"I think we can count on House making a bad impression."
"Then we could lose. He suggested a settlement."
"Would your House contingency fund cover it?"
"Yes, but that's not the problem. I think I'm losing control. I've tried everything that I can think of - rewards and punishments, logical argument, positive reinforcement - nothing works on House."
"House is easily bored," Wilson said. "He needs distractions, puzzles. Something more indirect might work with him. A bargain rather than an order. A game rather than a discussion."
"The work that we do isn't a game," Cuddy said. "Professional standards aren't bargaining chips."
"Of course not," Wilson said, "but if House wants to pretend that life and death don't matter, that everything's a game, why not go along with him?
House had already made you his adversary, just because you're his manager. You don't have to be his enemy, though. You can be his favourite opponent - his preferred sparring partner. It might work out better."
After her conversation with Wilson, Cuddy tried a different, slightly more playful approach with House. She was still his boss, but she had shown herself as a bit more willing to compromise and bargain with her problem subordinate. Of course, for every inch she gave, House wanted to take a mile, so the whole process required the most delicate judgement. Too firm a hand, and House would openly rebel and lapse into self-destructive behaviour, too lenient, and House would take advantage of her. She'd always been a straightforward person, and the manipulative aspect of what she was doing made her a bit uncomfortable. Luckily, she had Wilson to go to for advice. He was surprisingly good at manipulation and he understood House better than anyone else.
House's natural response to any authority was to try to subvert it. His repertoire was varied: from the subtlest dig to the most blatant sexist comment, but no matter what he said or did, Lisa Cuddy refused to be offended. She had too much at stake. House formed a grudging respect and affection for Cuddy. He had always been physically attracted to her. She was a beautiful woman, and he let her know how sexy he found her in the crudest of terms. On one level, he was perfectly genuine in his admiration, but on another, he was employing a familiar technique, using words as a barrier between them, keeping her at a distance.
One day, Lisa Cuddy decided to climb over the barrier.
They were attending an out-of-town conference, and alcohol, that wonderful disinhibitor, was, of course, involved. (Though neither one of them was actually drunk; they'd both had enough to skew their judgment and make them a little more reckless.) House started it. He made an openly provocative sexual statement. It was a challenge, and Cuddy did not feel like backing down this time. She responded in kind. It was very much like a game of chicken, a contest in sexual daring, each one challenging the other to take one more step over the line. But Cuddy was tired of games. She pulled House close to her and kissed him. She led him up to her bedroom. She took charge.
Cuddy had long recognized the sexual attraction between them. She was expecting his passion, but she was surprised by House's tenderness. For the first time, there seemed to be the possibility of a real relationship with him. It disconcerted her - maybe even scared her. House's personality was over-sized; Cuddy feared that being involved with him might make her lose her own identity and become subsumed in him. She also knew that House's genuine feelings wouldn't stop him from trying to use any relationship with her to his own advantage; it would be impossible for her to be both his boss and his lover. He would always want to come first - before her obligations to the hospital, and before her career. Her emotions did not blind her to his character.
House was equally confused. He avoided emotional complications. He saw himself as unsuited to romance, and distrusted his own ability to meet the needs of a partner. Although he was fully confident in his personal life, his experiences with personal relationships were limited and largely unsuccessful. In his opinion, love was a brief prelude leading inexorably to heartbreak and pain. Like every other human being, he wanted and needed to love and be loved, but he had been hurt so often that he lacked the capacity to trust.
Was it cowardice or common sense that turned them back - that stopped a one-night stand from becoming a real relationship? Even now, Lisa couldn't decide.
Part Nine
A Betrayal
House and Cuddy were provided with a luxurious two-bedroom suite a short distance from Andersen's corporate headquarters. The living room opened on to a large balcony with a table and chairs. The sun was just setting and the view was glorious. House took a bottle of wine, a corkscrew, and a couple of glasses from the small but well-stocked kitchen and went to sit out on the balcony. Lisa followed and sat next to him. He poured her a glass.
Cuddy took a sip of the wine. ``This is delicious, but I probably shouldn`t be drinking it after all the champagne on the flight.
"So what's up with you and Wilson?" House asked.
"Nothing's up," Lisa said.
"Really," House said, infusing that one word with entire universes of disbelief. "Do you want me to list all the reasons why I know you're lying?"
"We're having some problems," she admitted. "That's why I decided to go on this trip."
"Because running away from problems works so well."
"No, I came to think about things. To make some decisions."
Cuddy picked up her glass, took a long sip, and leaned back, the dying rays of the sun warming her face. The warm breeze played with her curls.
"Being in a relationship is so much work," she said. "I thought it would get easier but it doesn't. I thought there would be a point where it would effortless - where being together would be so easy and natural that you couldn't even imagine life without the other person. I don't think that's going to happen. Not with James."
"I wouldn't say WIlson's particularly hard to live with. Blow dries his hair at the crack of dawn, expects his host to wash half the dishes even when he's staying rent-free, but otherwise, no problem."
"It's not that he's difficult. It's just that I was expecting more than just sharing a home. More than just companionship. I was expecting "the marriage of true minds", some sort of deeper understanding and communication."
"You had pretty high expectations."
"Is it too much to expect your husband to talk to you? To let you know what he's thinking and feeling?"
"I would say that, yes, it's too much if your husband is James Wilson," he said.
He refilled Cuddy's glass and his own.
"So what do you think I should do?" Cuddy asked.
"That's your decision. Besides I'm biased."
Impulsively, House leaned over and kissed her. Her lips were soft and sweet with the taste of wine. At first, he felt a slight resistance, but that melted away. He touched her face, snared his fingers in the silken tangles of her wind-blown hair, and breathed in her clean, fresh scent. When at last they broke apart, House and Cuddy were both flushed and breathless. He leaned over and kissed her again. The first kiss had been slow and deliberate. This one was rougher and more passionate.
Cuddy stood up abruptly, knocking over her chair and almost upsetting the bottle of wine.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I have to think clearly and this ... confuses things."
She left him alone on the balcony.
Cuddy took a few moments to compose herself. When she returned to the balcony, she was carrying delicacies from the kitchen - fresh bread, cheese, pate and fruit on a tray.
"I really don't feel like going out for dinner tonight," she said, avoiding his gaze. "There's plenty to eat in the kitchen."
"This looks delicious," House said.
Cuddy went back to the kitchen to get plates and cutlery.
"Lisa," he said, limping after her. "I probably hate the idea even more than you do, but we are going to have to talk."
The phone in the kitchen rang, and Cuddy went to answer it, welcoming the interruption.
"Probably Andersen's people," she called out to House, as she picked up the receiver.
"Hello... Sorry, I forgot. I guess I turned my cell off on the flight and didn't turn it on again...Yes, I'll talk to Andrea... Very good, no turbulence...Strawberries and champagne...Yes, put her on.....Hello, lollipop!....How was your day?...That's sounds fun...Are you being a good girl for James and Marta?....Okay, it's getting late now, honey. I'm just going to say good night, now. Pleasant dreams. ...Bye, bye."
"Emily?" House asked.
Cuddy nodded. "She wouldn't go to sleep until I said good night to her. James wasn't happy. He had to call Andrea to get the phone number for the room, and apparently she wasn't very pleasant to him. She said that I'd probably turned off my phone because I didn't want to talk to him, and he should take the hint."
"She really hates Wilson. Did he jilt her at the senior prom? My alternate theory is that she's a closet lesbian and she wants you for herself." He smiled, and then became more serious. "Too bad for her. Tell her I'm next in line and I've been waiting for a very long time."
Emily had stayed up well past her bedtime, waiting for her mommy to call and say good-night. After the phone call, she went straight to bed and to sleep.
Wilson went to bed but his restless mind wouldn't let him sleep. He knew that his marriage, only three months old, was in danger, and that his wife was seriously contemplating divorce. He knew that he had to prove to Lisa that their relationship had a future, but the depressive side of his nature, always strongest in the lonely hours of the night, told him that it was useless to try and that divorce was inevitable.
At two-thirty in the morning, he gave up the futile struggle to sleep and went downstairs. He contemplated the medical literature he should read and the paperwork that he should complete, and then sat down in front of his laptop and played computer solitaire until dawn.
Julie looked at herself in the bathroom mirror. The puffiness around her eyes caused by too many tears and too many sleepless nights had been carefully concealed. Regular Botox injections kept wrinkles and sags at bay. Close examination, however, revealed a grey hair, which she pulled out, wincing slightly.
Her husband was in the foyer downstairs. He bellowed up at her. "I thought you told me you were gonna watch the gardener. The lazy bastard quit cutting the lawn halfway through. How many times have I told you - a smoke break here, una cerveza there, and pretty soon it's quitting time. I don't pay good money for Pablito to take a siesta!"
Julie could have explained that the gardener, whose name was NOT Pablito, hadn't been able to finish his work because of a sudden rain shower, but Carl didn't stay long enough to listen. The door slammed behind him.
Julie decided that there was nothing more that makeup could do for her. She was as beautiful as she was going to get. She wandered into her bedroom and opened the door to her walk-in closet. Which one of her ensembles was appropriate for visiting a sick friend in hospital?
Rosemary Lum sat in the empty diagnostic room, eating her lunch and looking at the most recent issue of The Journal of Diagnostic Medicine. Her article, "An Unusual Presentation of Paraneoplastic Dementia in a Thirty-Eight Year Old Male," started on page 887, and Lum felt a sense of accomplishment at making a contribution, however small, to the medical literature. She imagined another doctor, faced with a perplexing case just as she had been. She thought of him finding the answer to the puzzle, perhaps saving the patient's life, because of her own article.
"So that's it, is it?" said a voice behind her ear.
Lum was startled. "Yes," she said.
"Did they spell your name correctly?" Tony Crane asked. "It's your first published article, huh? Did I tell you that they published my first article when I was still in med school?"
"Yes, you told me." Lum said in a calm, steady voice.
She thought that if she never reacted to Crane's provocations, he would eventually tire of needling her. It hadn't worked yet. In fact, despite her good intentions, she usually ended up insulting him back. She was ashamed of herself for engaging in petty arguments, but Lum had never met anyone else who could get on her nerves the way that Crane could.
"You should have given it to House to review before you sent it off," Crane said prissily. "That would have been professional courtesy."
"Don't tell me that you care about courtesy, professional or otherwise! Besides I did take it to House for review, but it just sat on his desk. I got tired of waiting, so I asked Dr.Wilson to review instead. He was the logical person, after House let me down. He's an oncologist and he was involved in the case."
"It was a betrayal," Crane said.
Lum almost rolled her eyes. Crane's loyalty to House, his idol, was melodramatically excessive.
"Why do you care anyway?" she said, taking the last bite of her sandwich and checking her watch. "House wasn't particularly bothered; why should you be?"
"House was hurt," Crane said. "He just didn't want you to see how upset he was. I wouldn't expect better from that bastard Wilson, but I thought more of you."
"When did Dr. Wilson become "that bastard"?" she asked.
Crane didn't answer. He snatched the journal from her hands and pretended to read her article. She grabbed it back, gently smoothing a crease he had made in the paper.
"You're just jealous because House likes Dr. Wilson more than he likes you. You want to be House's new best friend, but Dr. Wilson's in the way. Honestly, Crane, you really need to grow up."
"Don't be ridiculous," Crane said. "I called Wilson a bastard because he is one. You know he went to Cuddy behind my back to try to get me fired."
"He didn't."
"Yes, he did. Cuddy said there had been complaints against me, but she wouldn't tell me who. I know it was Wilson; he threatened to get me fired before."
"He wasn't serious. You were pestering him, and he said that to get you to go away. He was just annoyed."
"Wilson's trying to destroy me," Crane said. "He's an unhappy middle-aged failure. He'd be nothing without Cuddy and House, and he knows it. He's jealous of me, because I'm brilliant and I have a wonderful future ahead of me."
Lum couldn't help laughing. "If he is trying to destroy you, I don't know why he bothers. I'm pretty sure you're going to destroy yourself."
Part Ten
An Act of Malice
Lisa Cuddy had planned to use the time away from her family and the office to reflect on her marriage, but now that she was actually in California, she didn't want to think about her problems. She wanted to enjoy the early morning sunlight. She wanted to drink fresh-squeezed orange juice on the balcony and feel happy. When House came out to join her, Cuddy shut her eyes to block him out. She didn't want to talk anymore. She didn't want to analyze her emotions or make decisions. She just wanted peace.
House poured himself a glass of orange juice from the pitcher on the table, and looked at her intently, as if this close observation would reveal to him what she was thinking and feeling. Even with her eyes shut, Cuddy could feel the intensity of his gaze.
"James loves me," she said, after a long interval of silence. She opened her eyes.
"Sometimes that's not enough," House said.
"You're thinking of you and Stacy," Lisa said.
"As an example. There are plenty of others. My parents. Fifty years together, and the only reason they've lasted is that they live completely separate lives. My mother has her friends and family and my father has the military. Look at Wilson's parents. They never talk; they hardly even look at each other. I want more for you. I think you deserve more."
"You said that you thought "the marriage of true minds" was an unrealistic goal."
"It is, but that doesn't mean that I think that you should settle for what you've got now."
"I didn't "settle" for James," Cuddy said angrily. "I didn't marry your sidekick because I couldn't land you. And if you think you're better..."
"I think that when it comes to personal relationships, Wilson and I are probably about even. Neither of us is a very good bargain."
"But last night you were asking me to leave James for you."
"I said whether or not you leave Wilson is up to you," he said. "You and I are a separate issue. What we have is between us. It has nothing to do with him."
"You can't honestly believe that," Lisa said. "Of course it has to do with him. We're talking about having an affair."
"If that's what you want to call it." House said, irritated by Cuddy's insistence on defining the terms of a relationship that didn't even exist yet.
Everything would have been so much easier if Lisa had just given in to her attraction the previous night. If they had been swept up by a passion they could not control, Wilson would have felt compelled to forgiven them eventually. Wilson understood human frailty, and it was his nature to forgive.
Now, every word that House and Lisa said made their actions more premeditated and deliberate - harder for House to justify to himself and harder for Wilson to forgive.
The buzz of an intercom mercifully interrupted a conversation which had become uncomfortable for both of them. The driver had arrived to take them to the Andersen corporate headquarters.
James Wilson's schedule was a nightmare - appointments, staff meetings and conference calls, one after the other. He spent the morning breathless and apologetic, leaving early from one meeting and arriving late for the next. There was no time for a coffee or even a bathroom break. He spotted Julie as he was rushing from one appointment to another, but stopping to say hello would have made him impossibly late. He waved to her as he squeezed himself into a crowded elevator just before the doors shut. At one-thirty Wilson finally had his first break of the day - twenty minutes to bolt down a quick sandwich and pour himself a much needed cup of coffee. If he was lucky, he might be able to squeeze in a quick telephone call to Lisa, as well.
He hadn't counted on the scene that greeted him when he got off the elevator on his floor. Julie was being confronted by his departmental secretary and a pair of security guards. Wilson's secretary was red-faced with anger, but Julie maintained an icy hauteur.
"You don't have an appointment. You've got to leave," the secretary said.
"I told you," she said, enunciating extremely precisely, as if she were talking to someone with a limited grasp of spoken English, "that I am waiting for Dr. James Wilson, and I have no intention of leaving until I see him. If anyone touches me, I am suing that person for assault."
The security officers did not look at all unnerved by the prospect of litigation and advanced towards her. A small audience began to gather, drawn by raised voices and the possibility of violence. Wilson spotted Tony Crane at the edge of the crowd. House's fellow was smirking, enjoying the prospect of seeing Julie dragged away like a criminal.
"Don't!" Wilson called to security, "I'm Dr. Wilson. There's been a misunderstanding. Julie was waiting to see me. "
Wilson ignored the baleful glance of the departmental secretary, which told him exactly what she thought about the company that he was keeping, and opened the door to his office for Julie. He followed her in. The disappointed crowd dispersed.
"Did you have to get into an argument with my secretary?" he asked. "She's going to subject me to the silent treatment for at least a week. I really don't like starting each day with her looking at me like I'm something the cat coughed up. "
Julie ignored his complaint and sat down on the couch. Wilson went to his desk and picked up his phone.
"I was going to get you a list of shelters, wasn't I? I'll call one of the social workers right now," said Wilson.
"Don't bother. I'm not here for a list of shelters," Julie said. "I came here to talk to you. I was going to say that I came to the hospital to see a sick friend and decided to drop by your office on a whim, but I know you've been avoiding me all morning, so that's not going to work."
"I've had a very busy schedule today."
"And obviously you think I have nothing better to do with my time then hang around here waiting for a few seconds of your time like some pathetic, desperately lonely stalker."
"I didn't say that," Wilson protested. "If you had phoned me to let you know you were coming..."
"Hiding in this horrible maze of a place. It brings back memories of our marriage," Julie said bitterly.
"I wasn't hiding; I was working."
"Yes, the sick and dying always did take precedence over me. And staff meetings, and paperwork and, of course, House. Where is House anyway? I would have thought he'd have barged in by now. He never could stand it when I came to see you at the hospital. He hates it when I invade his territory."
"House is out of town," Wilson said. "Julie, I really don't want to rehash old arguments today. I don't have the time or the energy. What do you want? "
"You are looking peaky," Julie said, eying her ex-husband. "A little worn around the edges. I'm not surprised. Lisa Cuddy is a very demanding woman."
Wilson sighed.
"Oh, don't look so long-suffering," Julie said. "You've kept me waiting all morning and I haven't had anything to eat, so I'm a little bitchy. What do you expect? Put me in a better mood by taking me out for lunch."
"Why don't you just tell me why you came to see me?"
"That was blunt bordering on rude. Cuddy is definitely rubbing off on you. "
Wilson stood up and faced her sternly, hands on hips. He was becoming impatient with Julie's games.
"Fine, I won't mention your new wife again. I've come to talk about Carl. I need some objective advice, and unfortunately I don't have anyone else to talk to. My family is an embarrassment, and my best friend Claire ...Claire died three months ago."
"I'm sorry."
"Ovarian cancer. It was very quick."
"I didn't know."
"She went to Princeton General. I told her that she should see you - that you were the best - but she thought it would be awkward. It was just like her to be more concerned about social embarrassment than cancer."
Julie eyes filled with tears. Wilson came over and sat down next to Julie on the couch. He put his arm around her to comfort her. Julie leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder. He pulled a tissue from the pocket of his lab coat and handed it to her.
Wilson held her and rocked her back and forth as she cried.
From the balcony outside Wilson's office, Tony Crane took another couple of shots with his cellphone camera. Lighting conditions were far from perfect, and most of the photos were unusable, but the remaining few told an interesting story. Quietly he edged toward the balcony wall and climbed over; then let himself back into House's empty office.
Andrea met House and Cuddy in the lobby, a cold and forbidding space of glass and steel. She handed them their visitor's badges and lead them to the elevators.
"Here's your agenda for the day," she said, handing Cuddy a sheet of paper. "House and the other subjects have a short meet and greet and then there's a questionnaire for House to fill out. We can meet for lunch afterwards. Then you're free until six, when Alan Andersen is hosting a reception for you all. I can't stick around, but you have my cellphone number if you need me."
The "meet and greet" was mainly an opportunity for Andersen employees to get their photographs in the company magazine. Various managers and supervisors had their pictures taken with the test subjects (the celebrity chef was especially popular) while House raided the food table, especially favouring the chocolate-filled croissants.
Then House and the other unconventional thinkers were led off for the first round of questions. The research assistant assigned to House had freckles and chipmunk cheeks. She looked like a child playing the part of a doctor in an elementary school play. She led House to a small room sparsely furnished with a table and two chairs and gave House a survey to complete and an HB pencil. She told him that she would be back in seventy-five minutes to collect it and disappeared out the door.
House looked at the "questionnaire". It was actually the Minnesota Multiphasic Personality Inventory, a widely-used psychological test used to assess and diagnose mental illness and one with which he was thoroughly familiar. It had absolutely nothing to do with innovative thinking.
House amused himself by answering the questions as if he were Samantha Hart, one of his favourite soap opera characters. Samantha was a pregnant seventeen-year-old shop-lifter with multiple personality disorder. When she felt frightened and in danger, she usually became Nikita, a tough-talking and sometimes violent lesbian. Once in a while, she became Savannah instead, a flirtatious Dixie belle with the most unconvincing Southern accent House had ever heard. House liked Savannah best, and he let her answer most of the questions.
Lisa had brought her laptop and cellphone with her so that she could keep in touch with the hospital. Sitting in the reception area with her laptop balanced on her knees, she reviewed grant proposals and requests for clinical trials. She checked her e-mail at regular intervals. Methodically, she deleted most of them, responded to a few, and sent others to folders organized by topic and date.
One of the e-mails was labelled urgent. It was from one of the emergency room physicians: "A serious problem requires your immediate attention. Please open the attachment for details." Lisa was annoyed by the cryptic wording of Dr. Ghoreshi's message, but she opened the attachment anyway. It was a photograph of James and Julie. James was embracing his ex-wife.
Lisa closed the attachment. She shut her eyes, wanting to erase the sight of that photograph from her memory, but the grainy, unfocused picture was much more vivid in her mind's eye than it had been on the screen. The photograph on the screen had been too blurry for her to make out either person's facial expression. Lisa's imagination gave Julie a triumphant, feline grin. Her memories of their wedding supplied James with a look of tenderness, devotion and love. She felt nauseous and dizzy. The pure pain the image evoked was astonishing. She had to gasp for breath.
While she waited for the symptoms of a sudden emotional shock to subside (putting a name to her physical symptoms did nothing to alleviate them), Lisa tried to decide what to do. Amidst all the confusion and uncertainty, only one thing was clear. She loved James Wilson.
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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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