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Kisses Sweeter Than Wine - Chapter Four
by Evilida
Part Sixteen
The Detective Returns
Lisa Cuddy was waiting for her husband to join her in her office for lunch. All morning, she felt herself being watched by the hospital personnel. Some regarded her with expressions of open sympathy and others with covert curiosity. The photo of Julie and James had by now made its way across town from the Ben Hur Land Development Company and everyone from departmental heads to janitors had obviously seen it. Cuddy had been cast in the thankless role of the wronged wife, and she did not find her position any less humiliating just because she had not, in fact, been wronged. Under the circumstances, she preferred to eat in her office rather than face public scrutiny in the cafeteria.
Cuddy had only been waiting a couple of minutes (though it seemed much longer), when Wilson arrived. He was carrying a tuna salad with low-cal vinaigrette on the side for Cuddy and a bowl of chilli for himself. He kissed Cuddy, poured himself a cup of coffee from Cuddy's personal coffee maker, and sat down on the other side of her desk.
"Good news!" he said. "Julie's finally woken up. She opened her eyes and she focused on the nurse. She even tried to talk, but of course her jaw is wired because of the fracture. When I spoke to Ortega, he seemed much more optimistic about her chances for recovery."
"The police will want to question her now that she's awake," Cuddy said. "She'll need to make a statement."
"I guess so. I don't know how they are going to communicate though. She can't talk, and she can't write either. I just hope whoever they send is going to be gentle and not distress her. She doesn't need that. If they send someone like Tritter..."
"Of course, they won't!"
"Anyway, someone should be with her when the police come, just to make sure."
"I'll have a word with her nurse and ask her to be present during the interview."
Wilson smiled, "Thank you. I know this whole situation has been very embarrassing for you, and I really appreciate your support. I've been so distracted that I haven't even asked you about your trip to California. How did it go? Did House behave himself, or did you leave early because he was driving you crazy?"
"He had a minor run-in with Andersen. Apparently you can see it all on YouTube. Oh, and Andrea is furious with me for leaving early. I don't think we'll be getting a Hanukkah card from her this year."
"You've been friends for twenty years. She'll forgive you."
"Eventually," Cuddy said. "Actually, I came back early because I came to some decisions about our marriage."
Cuddy had rehearsed this conversation in her mind and knew exactly what she was going to say. Wilson looked up from his chilli, concerned.
Cuddy said, "I think I've been letting things drift, and ignoring some fairly obvious problems. For one, thing, both of us have to be happy for our marriage to work. If it's going to be all about you giving and me taking, it's not going to work over the long term. If you feel unhappy or if you feel I'm taking advantage of you, you have to tell me."
"I don't feel that way at all. If anything, I just wish you'd let me help you more."
"Another thing I'd like to talk about," said Cuddy, ignoring the interruption," is Emily."
Wilson looked intensely uncomfortable. He didn't want to lie to his wife, but if Cuddy asked him whether he still believed that House was Emily's father, the prospect of telling the truth wasn't particularly inviting.
Cuddy wasn't interested in talking about Emily's biological father, however. She had a different topic in mind.
"I think I haven't been entirely fair to either of you. When you kept referring to Emily as "Lisa's daughter", I got angry at you, but you were just being accurate. I've been selfish keeping Emily all to myself. Emily needs a father and you need a daughter. I think you should consider adopting her."
"Really? Are you sure? What does Emily think?"
"I know she'll be overjoyed. We'll talk to her together, both of us, but don't worry, she'll be thrilled. She asked me last night, when I was tucking her in, whether you'd mind if she called you `daddy' instead of James. I told her I thought you'd be very pleased."
"You're sure about this?" James asked again. He sounded very happy, but also cautious, as if Cuddy had offered him something very precious, but might regret her offer and snatch it away again.
"Very sure," Cuddy said. "If something were ever to happen to me, I'd want Emily to be with you. It would be good to know that she would be with someone she's known and loved all her life."
Wilson still had concerns about House's role in Emily's life. House was Emily's biological father- he was sure of it - and stepping into House's rightful place in Emily's life wasn't entirely fair to his best friend. However, if this was what Emily and Cuddy wanted, (and it was certainly what Wilson wanted as well), than he couldn't put House's interests over those of his own wife and soon-to-be daughter.
"Finally, I want to talk about you and your ex-wives. I don't mind when Michelle flirts with you, because she only does it when Peter's there, and she just does it to make him jealous."
"I wish she wouldn't," Wilson complained, "She makes me very uncomfortable. I don't particularly want to be a part of their kinky love life."
"Well, the foundation that she and her husband run is one of the hospital's biggest benefactors at the moment, so I'm afraid you're just going to have to grin and bear it for now."
"Maybe you should introduce them to Dr. Fisk in Paediatrics. All the nurses say he looks just like George Clooney. You could tell her that Peter would be much more jealous of him than of me."
Cuddy looked mildly annoyed, since they were straying from her planned agenda.
"Getting back to the subject, I know you and Bonnie aren't romantically involved so I'm not worried about her in that way. I just think you're letting her depend on you too much. I think there should be a bit more distance between you."
"I owe Bonnie," Wilson said, "so if she asks me for a favour, I can't always refuse."
"Saying no once in a while wouldn't hurt, "Cuddy said under her breath.
She ate a forkful of salad and continued, "Julie's a different story though. She was obviously very unhappy in her marriage to a deeply disturbed man, so I'm trying to be tolerant and forgiving, but it's not easy. I'm convinced she was trying to steal you away from me. I think that maybe you were flattered by the attention and you didn't do as much as you could have to discourage her. Even though you weren't sleeping with her, you weren't exactly being faithful to me either. I want you to promise me that you will never see her again."
Wilson shook his head. "I can't," he said. "I've already promised Julie that I'm going to help her get her old life back, and I can't go back on my word."
Cuddy looked at Julie through the glass wall of her hospital room. Her rival looked insignificant and pitiable without her beautiful red hair and her expensive clothes, but she still represented a continuing threat to Cuddy's marriage and her family's happiness.
Julie was sleeping, and a woman casually dressed in turtleneck and jeans sat at her bedside. The woman's coat was slung on the back of her chair. She looked up at Cuddy, and then rose from her chair, picked up her coat, and went across the room towards her. She opened the door, and put out her hand for Cuddy to shake.
"I'm Detective Karen Little, " the woman said. "I came to talk to Mrs. Bensonhurst, but the nurse was very insistent that she needs her sleep. She refuses to let me wake her."
"Nurse White has Mrs. Bensonhurst's well-being very much in mind," Cuddy said. "I'm not going to overrule her. You're going to have to wait until she wakes up again naturally."
"Fine," the detective said. "In the meantime, can I talk to you? You're Dr. Lisa Cuddy, Dean of Medicine, aren't you?"
"Yes, I am," Cuddy said, turning away from the window and heading back to her office. The detective walked with her. "And as you probably know, I was in California at the time that Julie was assaulted. I don't know anything about it."
"I just need some background information. It should only take a few minutes. We can talk in your office, if you're concerned about privacy."
"All right," Cuddy conceded, "but my schedule today is full and I don't have much time to spare."
They made the journey to Cuddy's office in silence.
"I met your daughter when I was questioning your husband. She's a real cute kid. She takes after you," the detective took a seat on the other side of Cuddy's desk and pulled out a notepad.
"Really," said Cuddy. "My husband didn't mention that he had been questioned by the police."
"Questioned is probably the wrong word. We talked. He was obviously very upset by Mrs. Bensonhurst's condition. The two of them must have been very close."
"She's his ex-wife, as he must have told you."
"Yes," the detective said, "but if someone told me that my ex had been badly injured, I wouldn't rush to the hospital and cry over his bed. I'd probably hold a parade."
She took a small notebook and pen from her coat pocket.
"So while your husband was "comforting" his ex-wife on the office couch, you were in California. What were you doing there?"
"I was with a colleague. He's involved in a research project with the Andersen Media Group. My colleague, Dr. House, can be a bit difficult, so I was acting as an intermediary."
"Would you give me the name and address of the hotel where you were staying?"
"Andersen actually put us up in an apartment while we were staying there. We were sharing a corporate suite a short distance from their headquarters. I don't have the address for you right now, but I can get it for you."
"Okay, I'm beginning to get the picture here," the detective said. "If you and your husband have some sort of open marriage, or discreet arrangement or whatever you want to call it, and if that works for you, who am I to judge? Chacun a son gout, as we used to say in my high school French class."
"I resent your insinuation," Cuddy said. "I am not having an affair with Dr. House; we are merely colleagues. My husband was not having an affair with Julie Bensonhurst; he was just trying to help her through a bad patch in her life. Even if he were having an affair with her, which he was not, that would not in any way justify what Carl Bensonhurst did. This whole line of questioning appears to be totally irrelevant to me."
"Why is it irrelevant?"
"Because the only question you should be investigating is whether or not Carl Bensonhurst battered his wife nearly to death - not whether or not she deserved it because she had an affair. And from what I understand, you already have a confession."
"I never said Mrs. Bensonhurst deserved what happened to her," the detective said. "That's your insinuation there, but I'm going to ignore it because you're under a lot of stress. As for Bensonhurst, yes, he confessed, but he's trying to repudiate his confession. His lawyer is saying that Bensonhurst was so drunk that he would say anything he was told to say and that the police coerced him into waiving his right to an attorney when he was too drunk to appreciate the consequences. He's also arguing that since Mrs. Bensonhurst's injuries aren't consistent with her husband's confession, the confession should be thrown out."
"You don't think he's going to get away with it, do you?"
"I hope not. I sincerely hope he stays in prison until he rots.
You're right when you say whether or not Mrs. Bensonhurst was having an affair isn't strictly relevant. But the jury is going to wonder anyway. Your husband can deny that he had an affair with her; maybe he's even telling the truth. He's a very good liar, your husband - I can tell - though that doesn't necessarily mean that he's lying right now. My point is: doubt spreads. You introduce an element of uncertainty and it taints the whole case. The jury thinks, `I don't believe what the prosecutor is telling me here; why should I believe anything he says?' I'm just saying that the whole scenario will make a whole lot more sense to the jury if Mrs. Bensonhurst was actually having an affair. If Bensonhurst just thought she was having an affair, but she wasn't, it complicates things. Juries like uncomplicated cases."
"But when Julie testifies against him that should be enough to resolve any lingering doubts."
"If she testifies," Karen Little said. "I've heard a rumour that Bensonhurst's lawyer is going to offer her two point five million dollars and an uncontested divorce if she refuses to testify. I really want to talk to Mrs. Bensonhurst before she hears about the offer.
I don't think Julie Bensonhurst is the first woman he's hurt. His first wife suddenly disappeared about fifteen years ago. He claims she left him, but nobody's seen her since then."
"You think he killed her," Cuddy said.
"It's a possibility. We know that he was drinking heavily at the time and using drugs, but shortly after she disappeared, he sobered up and started taking anger management classes.
Dr. Cuddy, you can see this case is very serious. I believe that Bensonhurst is a danger to the community. If your husband was having an affair with Mrs. Bensonhurst, convince him to tell me the truth. I think saving another woman's life is more important than anyone's reputation."
Part Seventeen
A Parting of the Ways
House was an expert at securing upgrades on airplanes. He explained that his disability and his height made a regular seat very uncomfortable for him; he argued and grumbled and complained, until the airline employee decided that upgrading his ticket was less time-consuming and bothersome than trying to reason with him. All his techniques didn't help him this trip though, because his travelling companion had used her own initiative to get both of their tickets from the automated ticket dispenser. She actually smiled as she held up the tickets and offered House the aisle seat, as if she had done him a favour.
House's companion was the baby-faced researcher from Andersen Media Group. Andersen had reluctantly agreed to allow House to return to work but only if she went along to observe and make notes.
"Since we'll be sitting next to each other on the plane," she said, "I thought we could use the time to do some more testing."
"No," House said, "I plan on having a couple of scotches and going into a deeply contemplative, almost vegetative, state. I'm very Zen that way."
"Okay, then we'll have to arrange another time for you to do this round of testing," she said.
"No, we won't. Your tests are totally irrelevant," House said. "None of them are designed to measure innovative thinking or heuristic cognitive patterning or whatever buzzword you're calling it this week. So far you've given me a standard IQ test, a Myers-Briggs personality test and the Minnesota Multiphasic Personality Inventory. You might as well work up my horoscope or read the bumps on my head. They'd be just as informative."
"All of the tests we are using are well accepted by the scientific community," she said primly. "They are useful tools."
"A screwdriver is a useful tool but I wouldn't use it to hammer in a nail," House said. "I'm going to go about my regular day, and every time I say or do something brilliant and incisive and innovative, I'll ring a little bell to let you know, and you can write it down. I think that will work better, if you can stand the constant ringing in your ears."
Rosemary Lum had come to the airport to pick up House. He was disappointed; he had hoped that Lisa Cuddy would be there, and that he would have the hour-long trip from the airport to his apartment to talk to her alone. While House went to meet Lum, the researcher rushed off to the baggage claims area to retrieve their luggage.
"So what is this emergency case?" he asked.
"There isn't one actually," Lum admitted. "We had a case of hemochromatosis, but it was a pretty straightforward diagnosis. Dr. Cuddy's heard about a puzzling case over at Princeton General, and she's trying to get the patient transferred to PPTH."
"As a make-work project," House complained.
"It's quite an intriguing case, actually," Lum said. "None of the patient's symptoms seem to be related to each other in any sort of rational pattern, and the test results have been inconclusive. She seems to be failing and no one can understand why."
House nodded; this sounded like just the kind of challenge he liked.
"I'll want you and Crane to rerun all the tests. The lab techs at PPTH are bad enough; who knows what idiots they hire at Princeton General?"
"Crane's off sick," said Lum, "but I'll run the tests again."
"I think I should check up on Crane," House said. "We can stop by at his place for a few minutes on the way home. We won't be long."
"He just has the flu. Nothing interesting."
House's concern for Crane's welfare seemed uncharacteristic of him to Lum. House had never dropped in to see her when she was ill. She wondered why Crane merited such personal attention.
The researcher returned, pulling a baggage cart. She smiled at Lum and held out her hand.
"Hello," she said. "I'm Cynthia Brown. I'm part of the research team investigating Dr. House's methods. "
"Rosemary Lum."
"Yes, Dr. House mentioned you. He said you were the star of Bubblegum High School. I have to confess that I've never seen that particular program, but Dr. House spoke very highly of it."
Rosemary frowned. Her brief career as a teenaged actress had helped pay for medical school, but she didn't like being reminded of it. She thought it made other people take her less seriously.
"I still remember the very special episode where Mei Ling admitted that she was bulimic. You nearly made me cry," House said.
He hadn't forgotten Lum's insult, when his late night phone call had woken her, and teasing her about her `stardom' was his way of paying her back.
"I'm sure it must have been very exciting," Cynthia Brown said politely. "Shall we go? I'm staying at the Marriot. Could you drop me off there?"
After Lum had dropped Cynthia at her hotel, she drove House to Crane's apartment building. House rang the doorbell outside of Crane's apartment building. When Crane did not answer, he buzzed each individual apartment, calling out "pizza delivery" until someone let them in. They went to Crane's apartment and House pounded on the door.
"I'm not going away, Crane," he called out. "I'm going to talk to you about Julie Bensonhurst even if I have to yell at you through a closed door. I don't care if your neighbours hear."
Lum looked at House, surprised by his words.
"Just be quiet and listen," House said quietly. "I need a witness."
Finally, Tony Crane opened the door. He looked pale and there were deep circles under his eyes. He looked as if he did actually have the flu, but House knew better. Crane was worried, not sick. House stepped into Crane's apartment, and Lum followed.
"I want you to resign," House said. "I don't want you working at my hospital anymore."
"I'm not going to resign," Crane protested. "I didn't do anything wrong."
"I know you sent the photos to Cuddy and Bensonhurst."
"So what if I did? Didn't they have a right to know that their spouses were cheating on them?"
"So you acted out of moral outrage? Public-spirited concern for the sanctity of marriage?"
"What they were doing was immoral," Crane said, oblivious to House's heavy sarcasm. "I just didn't think that they should get away with it. I'm sorry about what happened after, but that wasn't my fault. I had no way of knowing the way that Bensonhurst would react. I didn't mean for that woman to get hurt, but it wouldn't have happened if she hadn't been cheating on him."
"I believe you when you say you didn't mean for Julie to get hurt. You wanted to hurt Wilson, didn't you? He was your real target."
"It's not fair, " Crane complained. "I'm brilliant and I work hard, but nobody gives me any credit. Nobody likes me. You should like me because we're the same: we both say exactly what we think and don't care about anybody else. I don't understand why you like Wilson more than me. I'm so much better than he is."
"You're wrong. Wilson is a good person, but you're malicious and spiteful and pathetic. You aren't suited to be a doctor, and you don't belong in my department. I want to see your resignation first thing tomorrow morning. Send it by courier. I don't want you setting foot on hospital grounds."
"I won't resign, and you don't have grounds for firing me. I took a couple of photos over my lunch hour. So what?"
"You took them from the balcony outside Wilson's office. I figure that you went through my office to get there. My locked office. I'm pretty sure that `breaking and entering' is grounds for dismissal.
I'm calling the police, whether you resign or not. Do you want me to call television stations and newspapers too? I've already thought of a really enticing angle for them. How do you like 'Peeping Tom Doctor'? I'll spare you that if I get your resignation before ten tomorrow. "
Rosemary Lum dropped House and his baggage on the doorstep of his apartment building and drove home. Wearily, House made his way to his apartment. Wilson was waiting for him in the hallway.
"I want to talk to you," Wilson said. He didn't bother to greet his best friend or ask about his trip. His voice was cold and without inflection, and he wouldn't look at House. Very bad signs.
House stepped past him to unlock his door. "What about?" he asked.
He opened the door wide and Wilson followed him in.
"About my wife and about my daughter," Wilson said, "and about whether you belong in my life anymore."
"What did Cuddy tell you?" House asked.
"She told what happened in California. How you tried to seduce her. We used to be friends, House. You betrayed me."
"I didn't intend to hurt you," House said, "but I had to tell Lisa how I feel. I love her. I've loved her for years."
"You had every chance in the world with Lisa before we got together. If you really loved her, why didn't you say something while you were both single?"
"Maybe I was afraid she'd reject me," House said. "I wanted to tell Lisa, but it was never the right time."
"But now is the right time," Wilson said. "Now that she has a husband who loves her, and a family that depends on her. Did you even care what you were doing to Emily? Did you think for even a second about your own daughter's happiness?"
"Of course, I thought about her."
House didn't bother to deny his paternity. Wilson already knew, and a DNA test could confirm it.
"You walked away from her when she was born. You put her down and walked out of her life," Wilson said. "I didn't understand it then, and I don't understand it now. I could never walk away from Emily, and I'm not even her real father."
"I walked away because I love her," House said. "I'm not the father type, and I know it. I'd screw her up."
"If you cared about Emily, if you cared about Lisa, if you cared about me..."
"I care about all of you."
"I don't think it matters anyway," Wilson said. "I tried to let you in, so you could be part of my life, and Lisa's life, and Emily's life. I worried that I was being unkind to you, because I was being a father to your daughter. Even though you turned your back on her, I always hoped you'd change your mind. I wanted Emily to know you and love you.
I think I could forgive you for trying to take Lisa away from me. I knew when I married Lisa that you still had feelings for her. I can't blame you for loving her, because I love her too.
Emily, though. I can't forgive that. She's so small and so vulnerable. If you'd broken us up, what would have happened to Emily?"
"Nothing would have happened to Emily," House said. "Half of Emily's playmates are children of divorce. You don't think they're all going to lead tragic lives as a result, do you? Children are tough."
"I see a lot of children in my practice," Wilson said. "They don't seem so tough to me. They feel pain just as much as the adults."
"She would have gotten over it," House said.
"The way that you got over what your father did to you?" Wilson asked. "I don't think I can trust you around my family, House. I don't think we can be friends."
Wilson wasn't angry any more. For the first time, he looked directly at House, his eyes reflecting his pain and sorrow. House's friendship had always been very important to Wilson, and banishing his best friend from his life hurt Wilson just as much as it hurt House. Wilson didn't see any alternative though; he had to protect his family.
"Good bye," he said.
Part Eighteen
Mothers and Fathers
When she first regained consciousness, the nurse had told Julie that she was lucky to be alive, and for a brief time, Julie actually felt lucky. She was still breathing and she was away from Carl, and that was enough.
Julie dozed through most of the day. Around three o'clock in the afternoon though, her painkillers had begun to wear off a bit. She wasn't in pain yet, but she could feel the pain lurking, waiting for its moment. It was then that she had a visit from a man in a suit. He told Julie that Carl had cancelled her medical coverage. She was uninsured and the hospital wanted to know how she intended to settle her bill. He would give her a day to arrange some other method of payment. Julie nodded her head slightly, since she could not speak. She knew that she had no means of paying the hospital, and was sinking deeper and deeper into debt every moment, but she pretended to be unconcerned.
The next morning, Julie's surgeon came by to talk to her. He told her that her recovery from the splenectomy would be slow, and that even after her broken bones had healed, her ordeal would not be over. She would need reconstructive surgery on her face, probably a series of surgeries. The surgeon was not an expert, but offered to arrange a consultation with a specialist in cosmetic surgery. He warned her that even after surgery, she could not expect to look exactly the same as she had done before Carl's attack. Julie again seemed to take the news calmly.
Julie had found herself with the communicative abilities of a newborn baby, but with the complex needs of an adult. She wanted to see what she looked like, but when had tried to articulate the word "mirror" through a jaw wired shut and broken teeth, she could only manage a couple of indistinct grunts. Even pantomime was beyond her abilities, and she felt like crying from sheer frustration. Fortunately, after a couple of wrong guesses, her nurse figured out what Julie wanted. She seemed reluctant, but Julie was insistent. The nurse held up a hand mirror, and Julie looked at her bruised and battered face, and tried to imagine what she would look like once the swelling went down. Her nose would be crooked, and her cheekbones were uneven. One of eyelids drooped, she had lost several teeth, and there was going to be an ugly scar on her chin. She knew that she would not be able to afford reconstructive surgery herself, and trying to force Carl to pay would be a long and arduous process. Carl would resist with ever trick his well-paid legal team had at their command. In the meantime, she would be disfigured. No one could ever love the woman she saw in the mirror. She saw the face of someone who lived in the margins of society, barely tolerated by those more fortunate.
Since that despairing realization, Julie had retreated inside herself. She existed in a perpetual twilight, neither awake nor asleep. When she slept, she was beset by violent and disturbing nightmares. When she was awake, she was overwhelmed by feelings of hopelessness and physical pain. The halfway point between the two was her only place of refuge. She drifted a bare inch beneath the surface of reality. Sound and sensation were muffled, as if she were floating underwater, and nothing came close enough to hurt her.
Sometimes James sat by her bedside, his voice gentle and his touch soft and delicate, trying to entice her back into the real world, James promised over and over again that he would help her regain her old life, but Julie knew that her old life was irretrievable - gone forever the moment her head hit that cold marble floor. There was nothing he or anyone else could do to bring it back.
At other times, the voice calling her back was female - dispassionate, professional and commanding. This voice spoke of justice, duty, and revenge. It urged her to testify against Carl, so that he could be punished for his crime. Julie found this voice easy to resist. Even if her husband could be brought to justice, what good would his punishment do her? She would still be disfigured, alone and poor.
After Julie had been in this state for the better part of a week, her mother came to visit.
A police officer had called on Mona Haskins, Julie's mother, to tell her of her daughter's injuries days earlier, and Mona had taken the news stoically. She'd lost touch with Julie years earlier and seldom thought about her any more. She hadn't seen the point of rushing to Julie's bedside, especially since it would involve the expense of a plane trip and a hotel room. Julie would have to get better, or not, without Mona's help.
Then a man had come to her door, smelling of money and power, and convinced Mona to make the journey.
"Julie, dear," she said, bending over her daughter, who seemed to be asleep. She clutched Julie's hand. To an observer, it seemed the gentle touch of a caring mother, but Mona was squeezing Julie's hand very hard, trying to make her wake up. When Julie didn't respond, Mona began bending one of her fingers backward. Finally Julie opened her eyes. Mona smiled.
"Good," she said. "With you doped up so much on painkillers, I was afraid I was going to have to break a finger before you'd pay attention to me. Don't bother glaring at me. You know I've never cared what you think of me."
She dropped her daughters hand and leaned in close.
"You're pretending to be sicker than you are. You always were a little actress. How long do you think you have before the hospital staff clue in that you're malingering and toss you out on the street?
You've got nothing and you are nothing. I predicted this the day you left home, didn't I? Can't say I didn't warn you."
She smiled and touched her daughter's bruised face. To an observer, it would have looked like a caress, but Julie saw the satisfaction in her mother's eyes. She tried to bat her mother's hand away, but Julie was still too weak. Mona looked up, making sure that no one had noticed Julie's agitation.
"Calm down. I haven't travelled halfway across the country just to delight in your downfall," Mona said. "I've got an interesting proposition for you. Your husband's lawyer came to see me and asked me to present you with his proposal. The lawyer tried talk to you himself, but your over-protective barracuda of a nurse wouldn't let him anywhere near you.
Carl will give you two and a half million dollars and a nice clean divorce if you agree not to testify against him. Personally, I think he's probably low-balling you there. I figure your husband really, really doesn't want to go prison, and he'd be willing to go up to five. With a good-sized sum of money like that, you could get your face fixed and you could start all over again. What do you think, Cookie? Doesn't that sound like a good deal?"
Mona waited for a response.
"You don't have to agree to anything yet. Just let me know if you might be interested in negotiating. Just blink to let me know you'll think about it. You've got nothing to lose."
Her daughter considered. Finally, after a long pause, Julie blinked once. Tears spilled from her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. Mona stood up and prepared to go; then abruptly leaned over and kissed Julie on her forehead.
"I'm sorry you're hurting, Cookie. I really am. But five million dollars will make you feel a lot better."
From his glass-walled office, House watched Wilson, Cuddy and Emily as they headed toward the elevator. The three of them made the very picture of a happy and united family, he had to admit. Wilson turned around, sensing that someone was watching him. He caught House's gaze for a fraction of a second and then turned back to speak to Cuddy. Apparently, he was able to dismiss House from his thoughts as easily as he had dismissed him from his life.
"Is it true that Wilson is adopting Cuddy's daughter?" House asked Rosemary Lum, who was going over the test results of their latest patient.
"Yes," she said. Since House and Wilson barely spoke anymore, she had pushed into the uncomfortable position of being House's spy in all matters concerning his former best friend. "They've already filed the papers."
"Wilson's taken Cuddy from me, and now he's taken our daughter too."
Lum looked up from the test results, surprised by the revelation.
"Emily is my daughter," House said. "Cuddy doesn't know."
"How is that even possible?"
"I was a donor at the sperm bank she used. I wrote up the little blurb in their online catalogue with Cuddy in mind. I knew what she wanted, and I wrote it to her specifications. It worked. She picked me. My sample was quite popular actually. Emily has a half a dozen little half siblings scattered across the country.
"Why would you do that?"
"It was a joke. To prove to Cuddy that I was her ideal man. I was insulted because she had considered Wilson as a potential father, but she never considered me."
"You should have told her that you were the donor."
"I was planning to tell her. I thought she'd tell me which sperm sample she had chosen. We were pretty close then, because I was the only person in the hospital who knew what she was planning. Unfortunately, things didn't go exactly as I intended. She chose my sample, but she didn't tell me which one she'd picked until after she'd gone through with the insemination. She was already pregnant. I couldn't tell her at that point; I was afraid of how she would react. Women's hormones, you know. You get irrational during pregnancy."
Lum resented House's insult to her sex. She was also deeply uncomfortable with her new role as House's confidant and recipient of all his secrets. Since Wilson had resigned from that particular position, Lum had been forced into it against her will. She wanted a strictly professional relationship with her boss - one without emotional complications - but was finding that difficult to achieve with House.
"I wish you hadn't told me. You've put me in a really awkward position."
House shrugged. "I had to tell someone. Wilson isn't talking to me. I could confess to a priest or a therapist, but I'm not Catholic and I'm not crazy."
"Now I have to decide whether to tell Dr. Cuddy myself."
"It's an ethical quandary," House agreed calmly.
Lum felt like hitting him.
Part Nineteen
Three Months Later
Lisa woke up in a fuzzy haze of happiness. Her bed was soft and comfortable, her husband's warm familiar body was next to hers, and today was a very special day. She couldn't quite recall why this day was so special, but she knew that it was. She leaned over James to see if she was awake yet. His eyes were shut and he looked oddly carefree and innocent, like a blameless angel tumbled to earth. She couldn't resist kissing him, a delicate brush against his whiskery cheek. He mumbled something indistinguishable in his sleep. She looked at the alarm clock. There had forty-five minutes before they had to get up, plenty of time for what she had in mind. She kissed him more earnestly this time, first on the nape of his neck and then just below the ear. She knew how much he liked that. James reacted: his eyelids fluttered, and he reached out for her. But he was still asleep.
Lisa had remembered why this day was so special.
"Wake up," she said softly. "Today's the day you become a father."
Detective Karen Little was already waiting for Wilson when he arrived at the hospital. This was the second time that month that she had come to see Wilson, and he had to admire her persistence. He opened the door to his office and allowed her to precede him.
"I assume this is about Julie again," he said, as he shut the door. "I don't have anything to add to what I told you the last time I spoke. I have no more idea than you do where Julie is right now."
He sat at his desk, and the detective took a seat opposite him.
"You arranged her transfer out of Princeton Plainsboro."
"Julie wanted to be transferred to a private hospital in Connecticut, and once her condition was stable, the hospital followed her wishes. Where she went after that, I have no idea. You`ll have to ask the Connecticut hospital."
"I did. She paid her bill in full and left without leaving an address. I find that highly suspicious. Julie Bensonhurst had no health insurance and no job. Her only liquid asset was a joint bank account with her husband, and that had been frozen by the courts. Where did she find the money to pay of the private hospital? Did Bensonhurst pay her off for agreeing not to testify against him?"
"I can't answer your questions, Det. Little," Wilson said.
"Can't or won't? You do understand that you face conspiracy charges if you were involved in any way."
Wilson sighed, declining to answer. Det. Little stood up. She put both of her hands on Wilson's desk and leaned forward. She was not a particularly tall woman, but she seemed to loom over him. Wilson tried not to appear intimidated, but he wasn't comfortable around police officers, and Det. Little could probably tell.
"We think Bensonhurst killed his first wife. Hid her body under the foundation of one of his projects, or dumped her in the woods. She had parents, brothers and sisters, a daughter. Don't you think that she deserves justice? Doesn't her family deserve to know what happened to her?"
"I find your commitment to justice very admirable, Det. Little," Wilson said, "but my own values are a bit less abstract. The first Mrs. Bensonhurst, whether she's alive or dead, I've never met her and there's nothing I can do to help her. Julie's alive and she needed me. In my profession, I have to focus on the patients I can still help, not the ones I've lost. Otherwise, I wouldn't be able to do my job."
"Julie isn't your patient."
"No, she isn't, but she is someone who needed my help."
"If you get off on helping people so much, consider helping Bensonhurst`s future wife or girlfriend. If he's released, the next woman he injures or kills will be your responsibility."
"I want Carl Bensonhurst convicted every bit as much as you do, Det. Little," Wilson said. "He could still be convicted without Julie's testimony. There has to be forensic evidence, and I saw on the news that the judge ruled that his confession to the police is admissible. That's got to be good news for your case."
"Did you also hear that he's hired the best legal team in the state? They can convince a jury that black is white and up is down. He's going to get away with it," she said pessimistically.
She looked into Wilson's eyes, and he could see the defeat in her gaze. It was a direct plea that he found difficult to resist.
"I wish I could help you. When I say I don't know where Julie is, I'm being absolutely honest. I really don't know. If I did, I still probably wouldn't tell you. Julie didn't trust the police to keep her safe, and I can't blame her for that."
"I would love to have you up on charges for perverting the course of justice," Det. Little said.
"I understand," he said. "If you don't mind, I have a pretty packed schedule this morning, and I'm running late. If there's nothing else..."
He put out his hand, and after a moment's hesitation, Det. Little shook it.
"Today's a very exciting day for me, actually," Wilson said. "I'm adopting my wife's little girl. We're having a little celebration in the cafeteria after I've signed the papers. If you're in the area at around four, come by and have a piece of cake."
"I don't feel much like partying," said Det. Little.
She slammed the door on the way out of the office.
After she left, Wilson went to his computer. He had received an e-mail from Julie, which had been sent to him by a circuitous route, through various anonymous routers scattered around the globe. There was no written message, only an attached photo of Julie. Wilson had deleted the e-mail but he`d kept the photo attachment It was an extreme close-up of Julie and showed as little as possible of her surroundings. Wilson had no idea where she was, but it was possible that trained investigators might find it more informative. With Det. Little showing such interest in him, he couldn`t take a chance that she might find it. He took a good look at Julie`s photo, imprinting it into his memory, and then deleted it.
The photograph told him all he needed to know. In the photo, Julie was sitting in a cheap white plastic chair in bright sunlight. A large floppy hat kept the sun out of eyes and offered some slight concealment of her disfigurement. She stared straight into the camera. She looked grimly determined, rather than happy or content, but Wilson wasn`t bothered by that. (He`d never known Julie to be content.) What mattered to Wilson was that she did not look afraid.
House was in his office, leafing through an expensive and glossy magazine. It was called Business Leaders Today, and it was essentially a fan magazine for M.B.A.'s. With the same breathless and uncritical admiration with which its counterparts wrote about the Jonas Brothers or the cast of High School Musical, it profiled the business elite. House was reading an article on Alan Andersen.
Andersen's ill-conceived research project had collapsed. The results were inconclusive and contradictory and none of his research team were willing to commit professional suicide by attaching their names to the resultant report. He'd fired the lot of them, and found a group of more tractable academics, those clinging on by sheer willpower to their positions in third-rate colleges or recent immigrants from failed economies. He'd told them what to write, they'd signed it, and he had submitted it to a prestigious research publication. The envelope he'd sent it in had come back unopened and with an unpleasant rejection letter. The legitimate academic community was boycotting Andersen.
Andersen was a stubborn man and not willing to admit defeat. The business press still loved him. This time he hired a professional writer to profile him and offered the resultant puff piece free of charge to Business Leaders Today. "The Art and Science of Creating Value: the Intriguing Mind of a Billionaire" hailed Andersen as a modern Renaissance man. There was only passing reference to the other participants in the project, who were never mentioned by name. House tossed the magazine into his trash can, next to a postcard showing the Honolulu hotel where Rosemary Lum had gone on her honeymoon.
Emily had been excited all morning. She finally going to have a father, as her friends did, and she was certain that her father was the best of them all. Certainly he was better than Katy's father, who smelled of cigarette smoke, or Caleb's, who was always blowing his nose.
Marta told Emily that an adoption was nothing like a wedding. There wouldn't be flowers or music, just grownups talking and signing papers. This didn't seem fair to the little girl - an adoption was just as important as a wedding, and it warranted spectacle, ceremony and celebration. Emily had been born with an innate sense of occasion. She insisted on wearing her flower girl dress.
"You should get dressed up too," Emily said, looking critically at Marta's practical but not particularly stylish outfit of jeans and sweater. "You could wear one of Mummy's dresses."
"What I'm wearing is perfectly fine, Emily, and besides your mother's clothes wouldn't fit me."
"Don't you want to be fancy?" she asked. "Watch this." She spun around rapidly and the skirt of her dress ballooned and twirled around her like a ballerina's tutu. "If you wore a dress, you could do this too." She performed another pirouette, making herself so dizzy that she had to sit on the floor.
There was a tiny pessimistic kernel in James Wilson that told him that what he wanted most dearly would always be denied him. He had worried that House might oppose Emily's adoption. (He'd actually phoned his brother, a New York probate lawyer, about what his legal position would be if Emily's biological father asserted his rights. Mike's flippant reply - "then you're screwed" - hadn't been particularly reassuring.) Wilson worried that the judge might look at his marital history and decide that he was too erratic to be trusted with a child. He even worried that he might get struck by a lightning bolt or hit by a speeding taxi on the way to the Courthouse, an ironic Deity choosing to snatch him up just before his dearest wish could be fulfilled.
In the event though, the adoption went smoothly. The judge had glanced through a glowing letter of recommendation from one of the hospital's social workers, looked at the united family in front of him, and granted the adoption. Wilson, who had been unconsciously holding his breath, sighed in relief, and Emily joyfully jumped up and hugged him.
The hospital cafeteria had been chosen as a party venue for convenience rather than atmosphere, but the hospital staff had tried to make it festive with streamers and a blown-up photograph of the happy family (taken at James and Lisa's wedding). A portable stereo and a stack of old cds provided the entertainment. There was a sheet cake with pink and yellow roses, assorted snacks, and a punch made from grape juice, Seven Up, and lemonade. Lisa and James had told everyone that this would be a family-friendly affair so many of the staff had brought along their children or their grand children. The afternoon was sunny and warm, and the children played on the patio and the hospital lawn, and nobody tried to enforce the "keep off the grass" signs.
Of course, a whole busload of Cuddy's relatives attended, and Wilson's side was greatly outnumbered. Only Wilson's brother Mike, his wife Melissa, and their daughter Leah came to the party, arriving just as Wilson and Emily were cutting the cake. Wilson was very pleased. He hadn't expected his brother to attend, because Mike rarely took an afternoon off from work and he had come all the way from Albany.
"We're cousins now." Leah told Emily, "and my father's your uncle and my mother's your aunt."
Emily was impressed. She hadn't realized that all these other extra relatives came with her new father.
"I'm going to give you a corner piece with lots of icing `cause you're my cousin," Emily said.
She impulsively picked off one of the hard sugar roses and added that as well. Her Cuddy cousins protested this obvious favouritism and had to be placated with jelly beans and punch.
By the time House dropped by the cafeteria at about seven, the party had become a smaller and more relaxed affair. The cafeteria was in semi-darkness, and the stereo was playing Chris de Burgh's Lady in Red. He spotted Cuddy and Wilson. They were holding each other and swaying to the music, almost dancing. As House watched, Wilson whispered something in Cuddy's ear. She laughed and pulled him closer, and then they kissed.
House left without saying a word to anyone.
Part Twenty
Forgiveness
Wilson was reviewing the lab results for one of his patients when House entered his office without knocking.
"We have to talk," House said, sitting down on Wilson's couch.
"Oncology consult?" Wilson asked. As a professional colleague, he could not avoid House totally. On those occasions where he had to interact with him, Wilson had adopted a brisk, impersonal manner that House found extremely irritating.
"No, a real talk."
"I don't think we have anything to talk about," Wilson said. "If you don't have anything medical to discuss with me, I have work to do."
Wilson looked down at the results he'd already read, waiting for House to leave. He didn't. It wasn't going to be that easy.
"What do I have to do to get you to forgive me? Just tell me. You want me to keep my hands off Cuddy. Fine, I understand. You and Cuddy are going to be together forever. Happily ever after. Die together, holding hands, at age 102. I get it."
"I've already forgiven you, House. I'm not angry with you or hurt or disappointed."
"Is it about Emily?"
"Please leave, House."
"You still think I'm her biological father."
"Well you are, aren't you?"
"You're afraid I'm going to waltz in and steal Emily away from you. She'll have a real father at last, and she'll forget all about you. You're pathetic."
"That's not true."
"You don't have to worry. I have no interest in being anyone's father. You're safe."
"That's not what I want! I want you to tell Lisa. Confess to her what you did. Switched sperm samples or whatever. I don't want to be the only person who knows your secret."
"You don't know anything," House said. "Have you ever considered that you could be completely wrong?"
Wilson refused to be diverted.
"Tell Lisa. Prove to me that I can trust you again."
"Then things will go back to the way they used to be?"
"I can't promise that."
House nodded. He considered his options.
"I'll think about it," he said.
"I'm trying to follow your advice, House. Remember, you told me not to start out my married life by keeping secrets."
"Yeah, I'm a genius," House said sarcastically. "I should write fortune cookies."
He got up from the couch and headed out of Wilson's office.
Wilson had missed his House's company each and every day since he had banished House from his life. Wilson's new "best friend" was his brother-in-law. Aaron was a decent enough man - you could never imagine him seducing his best friend's wife or abandoning his newborn daughter - but he was also deeply dull. He was obsessed with football, and talked about it constantly, but he had nothing interesting to say. He merely repeated the platitudes of television sportscasters and recited the same statistics over and over again, until Wilson wanted to beg for mercy. Wilson dearly missed House's quick wit, keen perception, and originality of thought. However, there had always been more to their friendship than Wilson's admiration of a superior intellect.
Wilson tried to be the person that other people wanted him to be. He succeeded fairly well, but the parts of Wilson that didn't fit sometimes got in the way. He tried to suppress his slightly cynical sense of humour, which he thought was unbecoming for a physician, and he hid his fear of being alone and unloved. It was exhausting, trying to be perfect, and sometimes Wilson was tired or sad or angry, and he slipped up. House saw through the image that Wilson projected more clearly than anyone else, but House liked him anyway. To Wilson's surprise, House seemed to prefer the real Wilson (whoever that was) to the idealized image. Wilson felt accepted, sometimes even loved.
That was, of course, before House had betrayed him.
House had asked Cuddy out to dinner, and she had politely refused.
"Knowing how you feel about me," she said, "I don't think that would be a good idea."
"Bring Wilson along. Not Emily, though. I'm planning an adults-only evening." House managed, with one carefully raised eyebrow, to imply a night of bacchanalian pleasures.
Cuddy dearly wanted a reconciliation between her husband and his former best friend, if only to make her regular meetings with department heads more comfortable. The waves of frustrated emotion they gave off whenever they were in the same room were enough to make a person seasick.
"Fine, we'll be there."
Dr. Fisk, the hospital's sexiest paediatrician, had recommended the restaurant to House. It was the place Fisk went whenever he wanted to break up with a girlfriend; the high walled booths and subdued lighting gave the illusion of privacy. It felt intimate, but it was still a public place, with waiters and other restaurant patrons passing by at regular intervals, which forced both parties to keep things under control. The food was decent too, he had added as an afterthought.
House was the only one at the table doing justice to the appetizers. Wilson, who knew what was coming, didn't have much of an appetite, and Cuddy never ate much anyway. Seeing Wilson so obviously nervous made House feel anxious himself. He offered Wilson one of his popcorn shrimp.
"Not kosher, but really, really good," he said. "Enjoy now, apologize to your God later."
Wilson didn't even smile. So far, the evening wasn't a brilliant success.
House hailed a passing waiter. "We're going to need some wine, here. A lot of wine."
The waiter put the last plate on the table. "And grilled mahi mahi for the lady," he said. "Enjoy your evening."
Wilson gave House a stern glance, and House knew that he couldn't put it off any longer. He plunged right in.
"Do you remember picking a sperm donor from that online catalogue? You chose a musician, college educated, tall, blue eyes, loves dogs and walking along the beach. Well, that was me."
"That's not funny, House," Cuddy said.
"I'm not trying to be funny. I'm college-educated and I am a musician; I used to play professionally in a band. I'm tall and blue-eyed. Everything I put in my blurb was true."
"I've never seen you walk along a beach, House, especially not with a dog," Wilson said. Wilson had had too much to drink.
House kicked him under the table. "Be quiet. I'm talking to Lisa."
Cuddy had turned pale. She believed House and the implications were starting to sink in. She felt violated. Her stomach turned, and she covered her mouth with her napkin.
"Did you know, James? Were you part of House's...what was it?..a practical joke?"
"No, Wilson didn't know about it," House said. "I never said a word to him. He guessed that I was Emily's father. I don't know how."
"She's sings like an angel, and she plays the xylophone, and she's so smart. It's obvious," James said.
One of the qualities that made Lisa Cuddy an excellent administrator was her ability to put aside her own emotions during a crisis and concentrate on the essentials. She took a gulp of wine and a deep breath.
"Who else knows?"
"Rosemary Lum. She won't tell anyone if you don't want her to. She respects you too much."
Cuddy nodded. "I'm not feeling well," she said. "I think this evening is over, don't you? James, would you ask the maitre d' to call us a taxi?"
James left the table.
"What you did was vile, House. Turning something so important into a sick joke. Did you think it was funny, watching me raise your child? Did it make you feel superior?"
"I'm sorry, Lisa. I wanted to tell you, but I was afraid how you would react."
"Sorry isn't good enough. Stay away from me. Stay away from my daughter."
It was Monday morning, and House and Wilson were meeting at a small cafe a short drive from the hospital. Wilson knew that Cuddy wouldn't be happy if she knew he was sharing coffee and blueberry muffins with House, but he had no intention of telling her about it.
Another secret, Wilson thought. I'm an addict; I can't give them up.
"Friday night was a disaster!" House said. He had finished his own muffin, so I reached out and took a piece of Wilson's.
"It went about as well as I expected."
"If that was what you expected, you could have warned me. You were no help at all, you know. You were drunk!"
"Never get drunk on red wine," Wilson said. "I wish you had ordered white."
"I was having steak. Red wine with red meat."
"But Lisa was having fish. You should have deferred to the lady by ordering white."
"So that was what went wrong with the evening!" House said. "I didn't follow the proper rules of etiquette. Did I use the wrong fork too?"
He made another grab for Wilson's muffin, but the oncologist popped the last bit into his own mouth.
"Do you think that Cuddy is ever going to get over it?" he asked more seriously.
"She forgives you everything because you're brilliant. Perform another one of your medical miracles for her, preferably on a president or a pope. Until then, keep out of her way. Give her time."
"But you forgive me."
"I told you already. I forgave you a long time ago."
Wilson took a long sip of his coffee. It was so much better than the watery sludge they served in the cafeteria.
"Once things are back to normal, I'd really like you to come around to dinner now and then. You should get to know Emily. She's an amazing person, and I'm not just saying that because I'm her father," Wilson said. "We'll invite Marta, too. She's Emily's nanny. Too young for you, of course, and no crude innuendo because she's a good Catholic girl."
House tried to imagine himself spending a family evening at the Cuddy/Wilson home, playing Sorry and eating popcorn, or whatever else it was that families did to amuse themselves. He couldn't fit himself into Wilson's domestic bliss, no matter how hard he tried. It wasn't going to happen.
House finished his coffee and stood up. Wilson took out his wallet to pay.
"Same time tomorrow?" House asked.
"Okay." Wilson said.
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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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