Would You Miss Me?

Story Title: Would You Miss Me?

Story Summary: Would you miss me? I'd be gone, yet you'd be here. Does that thought fill you with fear? If I left right through the door, would you miss me?

Genre: Angst/General/Reflection


Chapter Focus: #970 of 1000 Theme Challenge, "Would You Miss Me"

Chapter Rating: K+

Word Count: 1,500+

Spoilers: for "Joy to the World"


Author's Starting Notes: Would You Miss Me was written as a follow-up to my other oneshot "History Repeats Itself". Whether you've read that or not, this should flow well. Basically, I wrote this because I figured if Cuddy was to leave, this question would come up. She'd be curious and that curiosity leads to this. Please review after reading. Your comments make me happy.

I apologize in advance. I'm not an authority on adoption and foster care. I completely made up the numbers I used. No need to correct me since I'm probably wrong (though I guess you could if it bugs you enough...)

If you like this, check out my other theme work by going to my profile.

Time Stamp: Posted 5th of January 2009


(#970)

"Would you miss me?"

The question is so abrupt, so out of the blue, that it takes him aback for a moment. He pauses in his wavering steps, and glances over at her curiously. She had kept walking causing her to be a few feet in front of him. He cannot see her expression. Her body language clues him in enough to figure out what it is though. He begins moving again, limping faster to even out with her pace where she is.

"Depends. Do I get a show when you get back from wherever you're going?" he questions. He watches her face from the corner of his eye. She does not grin.

A sickening thought comes to him. He frowns, wondering if this question could possibly be un-hypothetical. If it's serious, she must be considering leaving. She must be so through with the hospital, so frustrated and drawn out that she needs a break from Princeton, from PPTH… from him. This disgusting feeling settles in his stomach, seeking refuge in a place barren of anything else. He makes a note to find Wilson after this. Maybe a sandwich could ease the harsh vibes within him. Then again, maybe a Vicodin could do the same thing.

His hand is halfway in his pocket when she clears her throat uneasily.

"I, uh, won't be coming back," she confesses.

He freezes once more, this one much less noticeable. He plays it off, slipping into another seemingly curious question.

"What are we talking about here when you say 'won't be coming back'? Is that an 'I'll be gone for so long you'll forget I was even here', or a 'I'm fed up with my life and I'm moving away from it in hopes of escaping'?" House asks.

Lisa bows her head. Her dark, chocolate curls fall from her shoulders, naturally framing her face. He almost wishes he were shorter so that he could see the conflicted look she no doubt holds.

"We're talking about me moving. I found myself another job, a new place. I'm moving on the thirty-first," she tells him.

He notes, shocked, "Cuddy, that's seven days from now."

"Brilliant observation," she mutters.

He isn't sure how deep into her thoughts she is, so he throws out something sure to bring her back.

"The whole foster parent-adoption thing will take more than a week," he mentions.

She nearly smirks at him, jumping into an explanation.

"Not necessarily. I become her foster parent tomorrow. Five days they let me run free. On the fifth day, they take her in for observation, and she also has a check-in at the hospital. I will have my furniture sent to my new place, and go pick up the keys that day. Then, I return back here to finalize the sale of my house and pick up Roxanne," she gives him a small, sad grin, "I'm out of New Jersey, permanently, by the new year."

House finds himself unable to look at her any longer. The amount of time and thought she must have put into the plans scares him a bit too much for his liking. They mark what he thought would never happen. She's Cuddy. She is not supposed to leave. Not again. It took him forever to find her the last time she disappeared. He does not want to go through that again.

He stares down at his shoes. He puts extra focus in the way it stays together, the way it works. An idea comes to him.

"Cuddy, let's think of this hospital as my shoe," House declares, he tries not to laugh when she groans hearing the beginning of one of his infamous metaphors, "Now, you are like the laces of these gorgeous, sixty-seven dollar beauties. Without you, the shoe falls apart."

"No, it just falls off your foot," she argues.

He frowns at her.

"You're missing the point here. The lace has to be there; ie. you have to be here. Yet, you're leaving and being replaced by a shoelace I'm sure won't be as attractive as the ones I found at Hot Topic last week. Obviously, someone came by and snipped at the aglets,"

He pauses for a second to ponder that. Her silence eggs him forward.

"And the naughty, little five-year-old messing with the bowtie is obviously someone I know, someone that you don't want to mention for fear that I'll find you even more pathetic than I already do for your little Rimsky-Korsakov move over here. Would you care to share with me who tied my ends together during nap time?" he concludes patronizingly.

Lisa rolls her eyes, turning to him. She crosses her arms directly below her bust. He forces his gaze not to stray from her oddly complacent face.

"I think you switched metaphors somewhere in there," she deflects, "Either way, you might want to rephrase that. It almost sounded like you cared why I was leaving."

"Of course I care!" he roars instantly.

"But not enough to miss me when I leave," she accuses lightly and bitterly. He hears it, and smirks.

"Who said I wouldn't miss you?" he asks. He notices a slight grin slither onto her face.

"You'd miss me?" she croaks out in disbelief. He knows the tone she is using well. It is one he hears every time he does, or days, something that doesn't fit in with the image of him she carries around inside her mind. Of course she believes he is incapable of actually missing someone. If only she knew just how much he missed her the last time she left him. Fifteen years he looked for her, all the while burying himself as much as he could into his career. And, then, he stumbled right into her hospital after golf one day, right back into her life the same way he entered it before. If what he felt the last time is anything to go by, simply missing her does not even begin to cover what he will feel. He can't let her know that, though. So, he tries to claw out of his little hole of truth.

"Yeah. Who else would let me do experimental treatments and exploratory brain surgery on a monthly basis?" he jokes. He pretends not to see the pain that flashes in her eyes as she turns back to the pristine hallway beneath their feet.

"My temporary replacement will probably let you," she mentions downcast, "It's Wilson."

"Wilson?" he repeats, "You've leaving Wilson in charge of the hospital? You might as well put Cameron up there!"

She chuckles a bit.

" I figured I'd choose someone attune to dealing with you almost as much as I am," she explains.

"Wilson will be a crappy Dean of Medicine," House states, "And an even worse administrator. He'll screw up all the parking spaces and everything."

She quirks an eyebrow, hands going to her hips.

"Are you saying that your best friend can't handle my job? I thought it was 'not real doctor work'," she quotes.

"It isn't. But only certain people can handle not being a doctor and keeping control at the same time. People like you," he adds.

She looks up at his face again, and he finds himself staring into those same blue eyes that he always does. Her emotions are so clearly laid out for him. Everything she's thinking sits right there for him to read. He wonders if his show the same things. The same confliction and resignation, pain and longing, trust and reluctance, better not be in his. He would hate for her to know that much.

The stare is dropped. She smirks just a bit.

"I would like to thank you, House. You've been a good friend through my time here. We've known each other for over twenty years. It's been fun. Goodbye, House," she finishes.

And she does not hold out her hand for him to shake, or drag hers down his arm in a parting gesture. She does not hand him a letter, or hold boxes filled with mementos. She simply claps her arms to her sides, takes him in a moment longer, and slips into her car. He looks at the door as it closes. Truthfully, he had not even noticed them reach it.

He pats the top of her car absentmindedly. She puts the car in reverse, backing out slowly from the parking space right across from the hospital doors. For a split second, right before she peels out of there, blue eyes meet one more time. It is brief, and not nearly the amount of contact he craves in that second. Sadly, he has no hold over her anymore. She drives away.

He slowly turns, spotting the new temporary Dean at the sliding doors. Wilson's face shows only sympathy and a certain realization that assures House that his friend has been watching them longer than the diagnostician would like. He sighs, teetering over to the man.

"You've got some big shoes to fill," House mumbles, "Don't screw it up."

Just like that, House goes back into the building. His hand is in his pocket, fingering the bottle of pills. It is only once he is in his office that he recognizes the pain for what it is. Something inside him tells him that it is one even Vicodin can't fix.


© Everything written above belongs to me (FF user, Paint Me a Symphony). If somebody is out there pushing this as their own, they are lying. I may not own House M.D, or its characters, but I do own this.