"Dr. Wilson, do you have a minute?"
Ally Elliot, the OR nurse, was standing in the doorway to his office, her hands shoved deeply in her pockets.
Wilson wasn't surprised to see her. She and House had been quietly dating for 4 months—he figured it was just a matter of time before she, like all women in House's life, sought him out for advice.
"Sure," he said, gesturing for his chair. "What's on your mind, Ally?"
She sat down, folded and then unfolded her legs, in a fidgety sort of way.
Ally wasn't really House's normal type—which is to say, she wasn't a glamorous, raven-haired beauty. She was skinny— scrawny almost. Her hair was light brown and usually looked like it badly needed to be combed. In fact, she was always just slightly askew—with a button in the wrong loop or a run in her tights. It was actually kind of endearing.
"I wanted to talk to you about Greg," she said, biting a nail. "You guys are pretty good friends, right?"
Wilson smiled at the understatement.
"I guess you could say that," he said.
"I'm just trying to figure out what he's so . . . afraid of," she said.
"Afraid?"
"Well, you know he and I have been. . .togetherthese last few months."
"I had heard something along those lines."
"But he puts up these walls. He won't come for dinner, he won't stay the night, he wouldn't even dream of meeting my son."
Ally had a 10-year-old boy named Isaac. Wilson had heard that he was some sort of genius, had won a Young Inventor's prize at a national competition.
"And you think this is because he's afraid of something."
"Well, yeah. Something is obviously holding him back. He told me he was never getting involved again."
"You should take him at his word, Ally."
"Why?"
"Because House doesn't lie. He says what he means."
"No, I mean, why won't he ever get involved again? I like him. I'm pretty sure he likes me. . .I just don't get it."
Wilson sighed, frowned a bit.
He remembered the first time he realized that Ally was into House. He and House had been sitting in the hospital cafeteria—by some miracle, House was actually eating his own food off his own plate that day—when she had materialized beside their table, slightly flushed.
"That was just amazing what you did in the OR today, Dr. House," she said.
"Thanks," House said.
"I never would've seen that ventricular abnormality—you just see things that nobody else sees. You make these connections."
"That's why they pay me the big bucks," House cracked.
"Just once, I'd just like to take your brain out for a test drive, you know?" Ally said. "Just to know how it feels. . ."
House gave her a curious look.
"Maybe we can work out some sort of time share," he said.
Ally laughed.
"I'd like that," she said flirtatiously.
Then she backed away from the table. "I'll let you two finish your lunch," she said. "See you around the OR, Dr. House—I hope."
And she scampered off.
Wilson beamed at House.
"What?" House said irritably.
"Someone's got a crush," said Wilson, watching her walk away.
"Let's not get carried away," House said.
"Oh House, you're sooo amazing!" Wilson said, in an imitation of Ally's breathless voice. "Your brain is soooo big and dreamy!"
"Shut up, Wilson."
"She's cute, huh?"
"I suppose," House said, skeptically. "In a stray beagle sort of way."
"You should ask her out." Wilson was trying to make his voice sound casual. It was the first time he and House had even broached the topic of romance in over three years.
"I know! I'll take her to the hospital mixer!" House said sarcastically.
"I'm serious, House. She's cute, she obviously likes you. Man can not live by hooker and Internet porn alone."
"Oh, you'd be surprised," House said.
"All I'm saying is, it's about time that you considered dating again, House. If not Ally, somebody else."
"Because that worked out so well for me last time," House muttered.
In the end, it wasn't House who asked out Ally, but Ally who asked out House—repeatedly, until he finally agreed to have a drink with her after work. Then, at least as House told it, she basically followed him home and took off all her clothing in his entranceway. They'd been sleeping together ever since.
And, of course, now she was attached and he was being a total dick.
"Did House ever talk to you about his last relationship?" Wilson said. "With Dr. Cuddy?"
"He told me he got dumped," Ally said.
"And?"
"And when I asked what happened he said, 'I didn't deserve her.'"
Wilson sighed. Poor House.
"And do you know anything else?" he said, cautiously.
"Only from gossip around the hospital. That he flew into some sort of jealous rage, right? Drove his car into her house?"
"Something like that," Wilson said. "And yet you still want to get serious with him?"
"We all make mistakes," Ally shrugged. "It's not like I'm some sort of choir girl."
In the coming weeks, Wilson would learn a little bit more about Ally's life: She had run away from home when she was 16, and got in with a pretty rough crowd. There had been drugs, even a minor arrest for disturbing the peace and vandalism (she got off with some community service). She got clean, moved back home, got her GED, went to nursing school, met a doctor, whom she married and had Isaac with. She discovered her husband one night, screwing another nurse in an exam room. Eventually, she found out that he was notorious for fooling around with all the nurses. Humiliated, she packed up Isaac and moved to Princeton.
"Everyone has their heart broken," she said now. "It's part of being human. You cry, you write bad poetry, you . . . crash a car into a house. You do whatever it takes to get over it."
"Well, he's not over it."
"Why?"
"Because he doesn't usually let people in, in case you hadn't noticed."
"He let you in."
"Right. It takes a lot, but once he lets you in . . . Put it to you this way, House is like one of those animals who mates for life. . ."
"So he can mate again," Ally said hopefully.
"I don't know. He got burned pretty badly, Ally. He feels like he failed at the two most important relationships of his life."
"Two?"
"Cuddy and her daughter, Rachel."
Ally scratched her head. She didn't know that Cuddy had a daughter. So Greg could love a child.
"How old?"
"Almost 7 now."
"And Greg isn't in touch with her anymore?"
"He hasn't talked to Rachel or her mother in over three years."
"I guess the whole car-in-dining-room thing kind of killed any shot at reconciliation," she said.
"You could say that."
"That sucks," Ally said, with genuine sympathy.
"Yeah," Wilson agreed.
Ally looked down at her hands.
"But, I mean, welcome to the human race, right?"
#######
This was how it went: They went to his place—never hers. Sometimes they grabbed a drink or a burger at a little dive near his apartment. Sometimes they drank scotch on his couch. Some nights, he played piano for her. Or they listened to blues on his perfectly calibrated sound system (if she ever wanted to stay in his company, she could ask about that damn stereo—he never tired of discussing its sub-woofers and audio spectrum analyzers). They played cards. They had sex.
There was no point in Ally trying to stay the night, even on nights when Isaac was having a sleepover at a friend's house. After sex, he got cold, aloof. His body actually tensed up—he acted like he couldn't wait for her to leave.
But he was hers: She took a small measure of pride in that. He was the most brilliant, exciting, unknowable man in the whole hospital and he had chosen her—okay, she had chosen him, but he had at least allowed himself to be chosen—and he liked her enough to let her stick around.
She wished she could be the kind of woman who was happy with what she had—companionship, a front row seat to his genius, and pretty fucking great sex, if she did say so herself—but she found herself craving more.
She wanted to have lunch with him at work, but that was a no-no. She wanted him to meet her son, who needed to know that there were other restless, inquisitive, beautiful minds out there, but that was totally out of the question. She wanted him to hold her after sex, tell her she was beautiful—just once. The closest he'd ever come to that was when he asked her if she was using a new shampoo.
"It smells nice," he had said. (And like the lovestruck fool she was, she had practically floated home that night.)
But because she was an eternal optimist, Ally was strangely heartened by her conversation with Wilson. House was capable of love. All-consuming, romantic, passionate love—the kind every woman craved.
The question was: Could he ever love her?
#####
A few nights after her conversation with Wilson, Ally was in a familiar position—getting dressed while House half watched her, half flipped through a magazine, from his bed.
He was shirtless, but he was wearing his jeans, with the top snap undone.
"Goodnight," she said, leaning down, kissing him on the cheek.
"I had fun," he said, breezily, like they had just played a nice game of checkers.
She lingered, awkwardly, by his bedside.
"Greg?" she said.
"Yes Ally?"
"What are you doing this weekend?"
"That's a loaded question," he said.
"No. Really it isn't. It's a pretty standard one," she said.
He sighed.
"Why?"
"I thought you might want to come over for lunch on Saturday. Help Isaac with this science fair project he's working on."
He looked at her.
"Ally, don't do this," he said.
"Do what?"
"You know what."
"What? Ask you over for lunch? Ask the man I've been having sex with for four months to see my house? Meet my son?"
House closed his eyes and rubbed his temples.
"I told you I didn't want a relationship. I told you I wasn't going to get involved. You knew the terms."
"I know you did. It's just that I thought that. . ."
"That what?"
"That you were going to change your mind," she admitted.
He looked at her.
"I'm sorry," he said finally. "It's not you, it's me."
"Great," she said, staring down, kicking the toe of her cowboy boot into his hardwood floor. "That's just fucking great."
"I understand if you don't want to come back," he said evenly.
"That's not what I want," she said. Her lower lip was beginning to tremble. "I just wish. . . things could be different."
"They can't."
"Why not Greg? Because you got your heart broken? Join the club! Because you fucked up and did something you regret? I could fill volumes with my regrets."
"Because I can't," he said.
"Why?"
"Because I have no business being in your life, or Isaac's life, or anyone else's life. Trust me."
"Why Greg? Why?"
He folded his arms, weighed whether or not to tell the truth.
"Because I'm fucked up, Ally," he said. "I'm a monster."
She looked at him, shocked.
"No you're not."
"Yeah, I am."
"You're just saying that as an excuse to keep me and my son at arm's length."
"Really?" he snarled. For the first time, there was real anger in his voice. "Ask Lisa Cuddy if I'm a monster. Ask her if I deserve to be loved. She'll tell you the truth."
"Maybe I will," she barked. She stormed out of the room in a huff and clomped into the hallway.
"Ally?" she heard him say.
"Yes?" she said hopefully.
"That was a very dramatic exit but I don't think you're going to get very far. You forgot your keys."
#####
Lisa Cuddy was in her home office at about 10 pm on a Tuesday night, answering some emails, when the phone rang.
It was an unfamiliar number, but she recognized the area code as New Jersey.
She picked up.
"Hello?" she said.
"Is this Dr. Lisa Cuddy?"
"It is. Who's this?'
"You don't know me. My name is Ally Elliot. I'm a friend of . ..Greg House."
Cuddy felt a chill run through her body. She had been dreading a phone call like this for three years. So he had overdosed, or hurt himself somehow, or crashed his bike—he was dead. She inhaled sharply.
"Yes?"
"I realize this is somewhat unusual, but I really wanted to pick your brain about Greg. I was hoping maybe we could get together to talk. I'm happy to drive to Westchester."
"Wait. What?" Cuddy was confused. "So he's okay? He's not dead?"
"Dead? No, he's very much alive. . ."
"Oh, thank God." Cuddy exhaled. Then she furrowed her brow. "Wait. Why are you calling me again?"
"Like I said, I'm a friend of Greg's and I. . .need some insight into his behavior."
"Insight? What?" And then it dawned on her. "You're seeing him," she said.
"Only in the loosest sense of that phrase," Ally admitted.
"Listen. . ..what did you say your name was again?"
"Ally."
"Listen Ally, I'm sure you're a lovely person, but you are very misguided here. I haven't seen House in over 3 years. And the last time I saw him, well, suffice it to say, things ended very badly between us."
"I know. That's what I wanted to talk about—if you would just let me come see you. We could meet for lunch somewhere near Westchester General. You're the Dean there now, right?"
Cuddy bit on a pencil that was on her desk.
"Yes," she said.
"Just lunch. Just one time. I need your help. And Greg needs your help, too. He's just too blind to realize it."
And maybe it was the relief over House not being dead, or maybe it was the slight edge of desperation in this woman's voice, or maybe it was just curiosity—ill-advised, unshakable curiosity—but Cuddy found herself saying yes.
"Is tomorrow good?" she asked.
"Tomorrow is perfect. I have the afternoon off," Ally said.
Cuddy gave her directions to a little diner around the corner from the hospital and they said goodnight.
Cuddy stared at the phone for a long time, finally trudged into the bedroom.
"Who was that?" her husband asked. He was grading papers on the bed.
"Nobody, Leonard," she said. "Just someone from work."
"Oh," he said. He waved a student's paper in the air.
"Listen to this," he said, reading. "'The bureaucracy in Kafka's The Castle is like the bureaucracy of the university: Unknowable forces, supposedly acting in your best interest, but secretly trying to sabotage your free will.'"
He laughed. "Pretty good, huh?"
Cuddy kissed the top of his head.
"Genius."
"Hey, he's only a freshman," Leonard said, smiling. He wrote an A at the top of the page and moved onto the next paper.
######
She was older than she sounded on the phone. Probably her mid 30s.
She was wearing a peasant blouse, jeans, and cowboy boots, and her bangs were overgrown in a somewhat unflattering way. She had a little bit of lipstick smeared on her lips, but besides that, she wore no makeup.
Cuddy, by contrast, was wearing one of her impeccable powersuits. Her hair was perfect, her makeup was perfect, her fingers were freshly manicured. She was, as ever, a knockout.
"You're so. . . pretty," Ally said when she sat down.
"So are you," Cuddy said. Upon closer look it was true. The girl was just in desperate need of a makeover.
"I can't tell you how much I appreciate your meeting me like this," Ally said.
"Not at all," Cuddy said.
The waitress came over and they ordered: Grilled cheese with tomato for Ally; a Cobb salad for Cuddy.
"So what's going on with House?" Cuddy asked after they ordered, figuring there was no point in beating around the bush.
"He's scared," said Ally.
"Scared of what?"
"Getting in another relationship."
"With you?"
"Yeah, with me."
"Aren't you already in a relationship with him?"
"We're sleeping together."
Ally had a bluntness about her that Cuddy appreciated. She hated wishy washy people.
"Oh."
"We've been together for four months. But he hasn't been to my place, hasn't met my son."
"You have a son?"
"Isaac. He's 10."
"My daughter Rachel is 6."
"I know."
"House . . .talks about her?"
"No, Dr. Wilson told me about her. All Greg said is that he has no business being around a child."
Cuddy had a brief flash of House showing Rachel how to build a pillow fort—it had devolved into a pillow fight and a Rachel fit of giggles.
"Actually, he was good with her," she said, lost for a moment in the memory.
"I'm sure he was."
Cuddy snapped out of it, looked up.
"I still don't know what you want from me."
"I want you to forgive him," Ally said.
"Forgive him?"
"Yes. So he can forgive himself."
"And you think if I forgive him, give him some sort of amnesty, that he's going to magically want to get involved with you?"
"Yeah. Something like that."
"Ally, it took House and me 20 years to finally get together. Four months is a drop in a bucket. I laugh at the impatience of four months."
"I have all the patience in the world," Ally said. "But you haven't seen him."
"So what?"
"He hates himself."
"House loves himself far too much to hate himself," Cuddy said knowingly.
"No. He doesn't. Maybe he used to be like that. But not anymore. He told me he was a monster."
"A monster?"
"His exact words: 'Ask Lisa Cuddy if I'm a monster. Ask her if I deserve to be loved'. . .I don't think he meant it literally, and yet . . . here I am."
"Wow," Cuddy said. She suddenly felt a little dizzy.
"Do you think he's a monster?" Ally asked.
"No, of course not."
"Do you hate him?"
Cuddy considered that for a second. She had loved him for 20 years and hated him for three. But, in truth, she had never really hated him at all.
"I could never hate House," she said finally.
"Then tell him."
"I don't owe him anything."
"I know you don't. I'm just asking you to think about it. That's all. He needs closure. So he can move on with his life. Who knows? It might end up being good for you, too."
######
Cuddy was totally distracted the next few days at work, thinking about Ally's visit.
Of course, she had thought about House a lot these past three years. Once her initial fury had abated—and it had been blinding, all-consuming—she worried about him. (House in prison? Would he be safe? How would he manage his pain? Would his stubborn bravado get him in trouble? She could barely wrap her mind around it.)
She often reflected on the what she had said to Wilson a few days after she dumped House: "I can't fix his problem. I am his problem."
This made her feel sorry for House, despite herself. She and Wilson had always been his primary anchors. Without her, he was bound to be adrift. Only you would worry about the mental state of a man who nearly killed you, she scolded herself. But she couldn't help it.
Still, she'd managed to move on. Met Leonard, who taught English at nearby Sarah Lawrence, at a book reading. In many ways, Leonard was the opposite of House: He had an enthusiasm for life, an unshakable optimism. He loved his students and they loved him—some of the female students loved him a little too much, but Cuddy didn't worry. He was as loyal as a Golden Retriever.
Leonard had a wide group of friends, from all walks of life. (Despite his own intellectual gifts, he was no snob: One of his best friends owned a small barbershop, where Leonard sometimes hung out in the afternoons when he wasn't teaching, having lively arguments about the frontcourt of the New York Knicks.) He adored Rachel and she adored him right back. (Rachel had stopped asking about House some time ago; kids moved on, they were resilient that way.)
But when Leonard proposed, Cuddy was alarmed at how quickly her thoughts turned to House. How would he handle the news? Should she tell him herself? She actually picked up the phone once, even went so far as to dial his number. Then she hung up. Called Wilson instead.
"You should tell House I'm getting married so he doesn't hear it from anyone else," she said. "Be gentle."
So Wilson steeled himself, wandered up to House's office and told him the news.
"Good for her," House said.
Wilson offered to buy House a drink, hang out with him, go bowling—anything so he wouldn't be have to be alone—but House, predictably, had deflected and said he was fine. The next morning, however, his team found him passed out in his office, a drained bottle of scotch on his desk, still wearing the clothing from the day before.
Of course, when Cuddy wasn't worrying about House, she missed him, too. She missed the sexy, knowing way he would look at her, the chills she felt when he touched her, the excitement of matching wits with him every day. She loved Leonard, but it was nothing like the way she felt about House. House was the love of her life, she knew that. But that didn't mean she couldn't have other loves, too.
She was weighing whether or not to call him, to do as Ally said and release him from his burden of guilt, when the decision was practically made for her.
She received a brochure for an upcoming medical convention in Cleveland. There was a panel on diagnostics with a star panelist—Dr. Gregory House.
"Is this for real?" she asked Wilson on the phone.
"As far as I know, yes," Wilson said.
"How'd Foreman pull this off?"
"He gave House a month off clinic duty. And promised to install a Wii in his office."
"The more things change. . ." she chuckled.
"The more they stay the same," he said back. "Especially when it comes to Gregory House."
There was a small silence.
"So. . .you going?" Wilson asked.
"Ticket's already booked," Cuddy said.
"What's your plan for avoiding him?"
"I think maybe it's time I stopped avoiding him."
"You sure about that?"
"Of course not, Wilson. I'm not sure about anything."