Rating: T
Disclaimer: I don't own them, because if I did, it would be a lot different.
A/N: Another one-shot based off the scene that keeps giving. I can't get that awful conversation over the table at the conference out of my head.
Music: Unchained Melody by the Righteous Brothers. Send in the Clowns by Stephen Sondheim.
***
Cuddy heard the door of her office open without a knock and sighed softly under her breath. Fantastic. Rachel was teething and hadn't slept well last night, and Lucas had been out on an all-nighter on a job and had taken a hotel room today to get some sound sleep without being disturbed by the baby. Cuddy herself was filled with an inner turmoil that she put down to pure fatigue. Of course it was due to Rachel that she couldn't sleep last night. No other reason. She'd have to get used to it as a mother. Still, the last thing she needed today was a confrontation with House.
She suddenly realized that she hadn't heard any comment since the door opened, and she raised her eyes from her desk. He was standing still halfway between the door and her desk, his eyes on her. "What do you want, House?" she asked.
His eyes swept over her in that annoyingly perceptive way he had. "Couldn't sleep last night?" Surely that wasn't concern in his eyes, more likely House barking up trees that weren't even planted yet.
She spoke a bit sharply, determined to cut his conclusion jumping off at the pass. Nothing was wrong with her and Lucas. Why should there be? She finally had what she wanted. "No, I couldn't. Because Rachel is teething and would only sleep intermittently when I was holding her. Again, what do you want?"
The briefest flicker of hurt swept through his eyes before it was quickly damped. He approached and dropped a patient file on her desk. "Need a brain biopsy."
"No," Cuddy replied. She was starting to develop a headache.
"You haven't even looked at the file yet."
"I don't have to. I've learned your body language over the years. This is some crazy, hare-brained idea that you don't have enough proof for yet. So no."
"Should the patient die while we get more proof? I guess you could do a brain biopsy on him after he's dead, but then you'd usually call it an autopsy."
Cuddy sighed. She didn't feel like a full round with House right now. "No, House. Bring me one medically documented reason why you have to have this instead of a lesser procedure." She handed the file back to him firmly and returned to her paperwork. After a few seconds, she realized that he hadn't left yet, and she looked back up. "WHAT?"
"Are you sure you're okay?" he asked, sounding almost tentative.
Cuddy slammed a file shut on her desk. "I am FINE. Look, I know that you would just love it if Lucas and I were having problems, but we aren't. I'm just tired because Rachel kept me up last night; that's all. Everything else is not only absolutely fine but absolutely none of your business. I do NOT discuss my personal life. So put your overactive imagination on hold and go do your job."
He stared at her for a minute, wounded confusion in the blue eyes. She hated it when he looked like that, making her feel like she'd kicked a puppy even though House was about as far from a helpless puppy as you could get. "No," he said finally, softly, "you just discuss mine." He turned and limped to the door, leaving her sitting behind the desk fighting back a mixture of fury and tears.
How dare he bring that up? How dare he be right? Her headache was increasing, and she rubbed at the bridge of her nose frantically, trying to ease the pain. The paperwork was forgotten.
***
Lucas pushed back from the table. "Thank you, Lisa. It was good."
"You have to work all night again?" she asked.
"'Fraid so. Stakeout, it goes with the territory." He walked around to give her a kiss. "I'd kiss Rachel, but I'd wake her up. I know she hasn't slept much. So tell her bye for me."
"I will." Cuddy sighed as the door closed behind him. At least Rachel was asleep for the moment. Maybe she could grab a quick nap. She went into the bedroom and lay down, but her mind was immediately filled with an image of wounded blue eyes. No, you just discuss mine. Why, oh why had she shared everything with Lucas?
Her cell phone startled her out of her thoughts, and she glanced at Caller ID as she picked it up. It was Wilson. "Hi, Wilson."
He sounded anxious. "Cuddy, have you seen House?"
"Not since he came in this afternoon to request permission for a brain biopsy."
"He didn't come home. Totally missed dinner. I called Foreman, and he said he'd been in an awful mood most of the afternoon, then just stalked out. I was hoping you had some idea where he might be, maybe talked to him on his way out."
"I am NOT House's keeper. Not off the clock, at least. Have you tried his cell phone?"
"Goes straight to voice mail." He sighed, and Cuddy could picture him running one hand through his hair. "Well, I guess I'll go out bar-hopping. I just hope he's drowning his sorrows somewhere and hasn't picked up some Vicodin on the street."
"Wilson, let me know when you find him. Okay?"
"Will do. Bye." Wilson hung up, and Cuddy resumed her contemplation of the ceiling. Sleep wasn't any closer than it had been, despite her tiredness. Where could he be? He'd been in an awful mood this afternoon, the team said. But surely that wasn't her fault. She'd just been shutting down his overactive imagination. He couldn't have been genuinely expressing concern for her; he had to have been scheming somehow, running an internal differential on a case that didn't exist. She had moved on. She was with Lucas. She was happy.
Across the hall, Rachel woke up again, and Cuddy sighed and stood up, going across the hall to the nursery. "Hey, little girl. Are your teeth still bothering you?" She reached for the topical anesthetic and rubbed it across Rachel's gums. Rachel settled down in her arms but still was awake, her eyes as determinedly open as Cuddy's were. "Surely you aren't having problems with your love life, too?" Cuddy asked her with a chuckle, only to say immediately, "Not that I am myself." She was not thinking about House. Nope, not at all. He was irrelevant to her love life.
Suddenly, an inspiration flashed through her, and she picked up the phone, thinking she knew where House was. Before she could speed dial Wilson, though, her fingers stopped. No, that was a crazy idea. Bars were a much better option. She shouldn't pull Wilson off the right track to send him on a dead end. Before she knew it, she was gathering her purse, putting on her shoes, slipping Rachel into a coat. She'd drive over herself and just make sure House's old apartment was dark, and then she'd drive back home. Maybe the trip would even coax Rachel back into sleep. See, it had a valid purpose, one related to her child. Car rides often put babies to sleep.
***
House's apartment was dark, but she got out of the car anyway, picking up Rachel - still awake - and walked to the door, getting close to it, listening for limping steps.
What she heard instead was music. Softly but surely, a ripple of piano keys entered at her ears and reached clear to her soul, accompanied by a beautiful baritone voice. He was trying to keep it down, but she could hear.
Oh, my love, my darling.
I've hungered for your touch a long, lonely time,
And time goes by so slowly,
And time can do so much.
Are you still mine?
I need your love. I need your love.
Godspeed your love to . . .
His voice trailed off on the last word, and the sure fingers faltered, dissonance fracturing the beautiful melody. Cuddy felt her eyes well up with tears. He sounded so lonely. She glanced at Rachel, who had been mesmerized by the music and was looking around to see where it went. Cuddy raised her hand to knock, then snatched her fist away in time as the music started up again. Different this time, though, a bit louder, a lot more sardonic lilt in the voice. Before, he had sounded longing. Now, he just sounded bitterly hopeless, as if laughing musically at himself, and her heart twanged painfully as she recognized the song he had switched to - Send in the Clowns. She blinked back tears, listening to his voice and the music rising now to the middle of the song, as if propelled by an internal storm.
Just when I stopped opening doors,
Finally knowing the one that I wanted was yours,
Making my entrance again with my usual flair,
Sure of my lines . . .
No one is there.
Don't you love farce?
My fault, I fear.
I thought that you'd want what I want.
Sorry, my dear.
And where are the clowns?
Send in the clowns.
Don't bother; they're here.
Cuddy felt a tear escape and run down her face, and she fiercely blinked the others back.
This was wrong, standing out here eavesdropping. Once again, she was violating his privacy. She should either announce herself or leave. She knocked before she could stop herself this time. She heard the music stop, and then there came a slow, heavy limp to the door.
"Finally tracked me down, Wilson?" He opened the door and stared at her and the baby.
"May I, um, come in?"
"How long have you been here?"
"Since Unchained Melody," she answered.
"Should have let me finish out the last song. That way you'd have a more full report to give a blow-by-blow to Lucas."
She sighed. "I'm not going to tell him. May I come in?"
He shrugged and simply walked away, leaving the door standing open. She came in and shut it. The place was dark, dimly lit by the street lights through the window, and she flicked the light switch, then flicked it again, annoyed at the first response.
"Utilities are turned off," House said, stating the obvious. "Wilson did that, for my own good. To keep me from sitting over here alone at nights and thinking about Vicodin. Unfortunately, no piano at his place."
"Did you take Vicodin?" she couldn't help asking.
Even in the dim light, she saw the flash of anger in his eyes. "What would it matter to you? Besides something else to share with Lucas. Yep, here's his downfall, just like we all expected. None of us really believed that he could change. We knew this would happen, so see, we were all right. That's what really matters, after all." The bitterness in his tone was sharper than a knife, and it clearly was cutting himself as well as her.
"House, I'm sorry." She sat down on the couch, Rachel on her lap. "You're right. I shouldn't have shared everything with Lucas. I was just feeling so overwhelmed with everything that had happened . . ."
"You think I wasn't?" he snapped. He had sat back down on the piano bench. "Do you have any idea what Mayfield was like? And you know what kept me going through it? Thinking about you. But obviously, it was just a hallucination. All of it. I'm sorry."
She stood up and crossed to stand beside him, touching his arm. He flinched. "House, it wasn't a hallucination. Not all of it. We . . . had something."
Unerringly, he picked up on the past tense. "Had."
Cuddy flinched herself. Every time she tried to say something today, it came out wrong. Rachel chose that moment to reach out curiously to the keys, and the piano clanged in protest. House moved her hand away, and she gave a short, temperamental squeal and reached back again. With a sigh, he started to play again, something Cuddy didn't realize this time, and Rachel settled down, mesmerized again by the music.
"I understand," House said, his fingers moving unerringly across the keys. "You deserve somebody who never went insane."
"House, that isn't why I got with Lucas. He's good with kids. I'm a mother now. What I want doesn't matter."
"What you want isn't Lucas?"
Damn, she'd misspoken again. "That's not what I meant. He's nice, smart, got a good sense of humor. I think I might be happy now."
"Wow. What a ringing endorsement. You think you might be happy now. They ought to put that on a card." He stopped playing, and Rachel gave a complaining murmur. With a sigh, he started again. "You'd better appreciate this, kid. I'm doing something for you, which your mom thinks I'm incapable of. So nice to have people believe in you."
Cuddy sighed again. She sat down on the bench beside him, and he scooted over a bit, making room. "It isn't that I don't believe you can improve, House. You've made a lot of progress. I'm proud of you for that." A fault line rippled through the music briefly, and then the tempo steadied again. "And I really am sorry for violating your privacy like that. I shouldn't have. It was wrong."
He played on for a little while, his fingers unerringly finding the notes even in the dim light. Finally, he spoke. "Cuddy, seriously, are you sure you're okay? I really was asking earlier."
Another pang of conscience went through her. "I'm just tired. Rachel kept me up last night, like I said."
"And that's it?" She bristled again next to him. "Cuddy, if you really are convinced that this is what you want, not just for Rachel but for yourself, I'm glad for you. I can live with that. But you still seem confused."
"No, I seem guilty, because I broke your trust as a friend. There's a difference between guilt and confusion."
"Yes, there is, and you seem confused."
Damn the man for being right again. "And if hypothetically I were confused, what would you do with that? Some new scheme? Some plan to use it to stir up things?"
His hands banged down on the keys, and the piano yelped in protest. "Damn it, why doesn't anybody believe in me? If I saw you truly happy with him, I'd forget about us. I can take being miserable; I've had lots of practice. But Cuddy, you don't seem truly happy. And I'm not saying that for my sake. I'm saying it for yours."
The tears suddenly welled up and threatened to spill over again. She fiercely blinked them back.
"Are you truly happy?" he insisted.
"I . . . don't know."
Rachel reached out to plink the keys again, and he resumed playing. "If you won't think about yourself at all, think about Rachel," he said.
Anger flared through Cuddy like a forest fire. "I AM thinking about Rachel. I know you think I'd suck as a mother, you've made that perfectly clear, but she is my ENTIRE reason for this." She trailed off in mid rant, again realizing that she probably had made that sound wrong. "No, she isn't. I like Lucas. He's a good man."
"Should have stopped after the first part and left it honest," House said. "And I don't think you'd suck as a mother. I'm . . . sorry I said that. I tried to undo it, even, the night after you found out about Joy."
The night after she found out about Joy. Why did he have to remind her of the one time he had been gentle and compassionate and human? Only it hadn't quite been the only time she'd glimpsed a softer interior behind his wall.
House went on playing. "I know you're thinking about Rachel. But Cuddy, don't ever tell yourself that your child won't know if you yourself aren't happy in your relationship. If you're just together for the kids, they will know that you're lying to them. You might as well send them a letter spelling it out."
She would have slapped him if she'd had a hand free and hadn't been holding her daughter. "You bastard. You, of course, are the expert on being happy. You couldn't be happy if you tried."
"I know," he said almost inaudibly. The tune switched back to Send in the Clowns, although he wasn't singing with it now. "I'll never be happy without you, so yes, I'll never be happy. But if you could truly be happy without me, I'd wish you well anyway and be glad for you. It would be better, actually. You deserve that."
How could one person make her flip flop from fury to being touched so quickly? Cuddy sat there for a moment, silence lengthening. She lowered her eyes to Rachel and realized that the child actually was asleep, soundly asleep, for the first time that day. The music had carried her off. "You've put her to sleep," she said. "Thank you for that."
He flinched slightly at the qualifier. "You're welcome." He played on for a minute. "I know I'm not the expert on being happy, but I DO know about being a child when your parents are living a lie in front of you every day. Please think before you do that to her."
A pang went through her. "Your parents weren't happy? They seemed . . ." She hesitated. No, they hadn't seemed happy. They had seemed like they were putting on a public front to the world. She did know enough about that.
"Right, they seemed. Even if there was no other reason than that, I wish she would have left him. She deserved to be happy. Maybe . . . she'll find somebody for her now."
Cuddy had never heard him really talk about his parents. "House, I'm sorry. I never knew . . . " Her voice trailed off as another phrase clicked. "Even if there was no other reason that that? Were there other reasons?"
The music fractured and broke apart, and she felt his entire body tense up. "I didn't . . . mean to say that. Nevermind. Forget it."
"House, what . . .?"
"FORGET IT!" he snapped, and Rachel murmured in her sleep. "Sorry," he said. He resumed playing, a song full of mixed dissonance and possibilities, music like a river, now flowing smooth, now running through rapids, but always progressing. Cuddy felt herself caught up in the musical current, helplessly carried along on it even as her mind tried to keep control, to keep thinking. What other reasons could House have for wishing his mother had left? He hated his father, he had said. Said it with a cold finality in his voice that she had rarely heard. She shivered slightly.
"Blame Wilson for it being chilly," House said. "He's the one who shut off the utilities."
"House, what . . ." She felt him tense up even more again, even the music becoming stilted, limping as he himself did. He wasn't playing a game with her here, not with that kind of physiological reaction. For the first time in a while, probably in too long, she decided to respect his privacy, and she grasped for the first change of question she could think of. "What is that piece? It's beautiful. I've never heard that before."
His hands relaxed, and the musical river resumed its fluid course. "I wrote it," he said after a minute.
"Does it have a name?"
He sighed. "Cuddy's Serenade," he said softly. It was her turn to tense up. "I wrote it for you the night of Rachel's simchat bat, after you didn't want me to go."
Overwhelming guilt lashed out in viciously barbed skepticism. "Yeah, right. I'm sure you were home composing music for me that night. Admit it, you were glad not to have to come. Probably went out to a bar or picked up a hooker instead."
The music fractured wide open, coming to a dead halt, and House pulled himself away from her, levering himself to his feet. He spoke softly, obviously trying not to disturb Rachel again, but she heard every word. "That's really what you think? Because you don't think I'm capable of feeling anything?" He limped heavily over to a bookcase, his hands sure in the dark, and when he came back over to the piano bench, he held an expandable file folder. He snapped the elastic band off of it and pulled out an entire stack of manuscript music, flipping through it and actually discarding some onto the floor until he found what he was looking for. He thrust it in front of her, tilting it to catch the street lamp light. She could read clearly, even in the dimness, the words Cuddy's Serenade across the top with a date she remembered well below it and then in parentheses "written while not wanted there. GH." Tears welled up again in her eyes. He folded the music and thrust it under her arm. "Take it and go. Give it to Lucas - he can play the piano, in case you haven't discovered that yet. Ask him to play it, and he'll prove to you that it's what I just played. But he will NEVER be able to play it like I can."
"House. . ." She didn't know what to say. Any apology seemed inadequate. "I'm sorry. I spoke without thinking; I shouldn't have said that. Take it back, House. Keep it."
He shook his head. "It's yours. I always wanted to give it to you. Never thought it would be like that. Just take it and go. I'll always remember it."
She shifted Rachel to free up a hand and reached out to catch him, to pull him back. "House, I'm sorry. Truly. I won't give it to Lucas."
She saw the dim light run across his thin features as he turned his head toward her at that. "Why not?"
"Because it's . . . it should be just for us."
He huffed softly. "I thought you believed there is no us."
"I . . ." Her voice trailed off. "I might have . . . misjudged some things. I need some time to think. Please, would you play it again for me?"
He paused so long she thought he was going to refuse, but then he reached for the keyboard again, caressing it with his fingers, and the music reached into her soul. She did know Lucas could play. She'd heard him play a few times over the summer on what she thought of as House's piano at the hospital, but House was right. On this song especially, but really on any of them, Lucas did not play like House could. Lucas' music seemed almost . . . superficial. All surface lightheartedness, no real texture or depth. The dissonances were required to set up the harmonies.
He finished and sat there, his hands still resting soundlessly on the keys. It was Cuddy's cell phone that broke the silence. She passed Rachel to House without thinking and grabbed for her purse, not wanting her daughter's sleep to be disturbed. Oddly, though, Rachel seemed sounder asleep than she had in her own crib. "Hello."
"Cuddy." It was Wilson. "I've been to every bar in Princeton, and nobody's seen him. I'm going to go check home and then go to the hospital. Have you heard anything?"
"Actually . . . yes, I have heard from him. He said he had something that needed doing tonight, but he's fine. He'll probably be back to your apartment before long." She saw even in the dim light the surge of gratitude in House's eyes. "Yes, he sounded fine. I'm sure he can take care of himself. I'll see you at the hospital tomorrow; got to get back to Rachel now. Okay, bye."
She hung up and looked over at House. He looked oddly comfortable holding Rachel, his body language at odds with his expression. Her daughter was cradled securely and sleeping peacefully. "Thank you for not telling him everything," he said.
"It was personal." She smiled at him, still with some guilt behind it. "And I won't tell Lucas, either. I promise." His lips twisted sardonically in response. "And . . . thank you for giving me several things to think about tonight. I will . . . think about them." She walked over and took Rachel out of his arms. "You'd better get back before Wilson sends out a posse."
"In a little bit," he said. "I want to play a little longer."
She nodded, accepting his request for space, and then leaned over and kissed him lightly. "House . . . no matter what conclusions my thoughts lead me to, don't ever tell yourself it was all a hallucination." She set the music down on the edge of the piano. "Keep that for me, okay?" He nodded. "Good night. See you tomorrow."
"Night, Cuddy. Night, Rachel." She had to smile at the inclusion of her sleeping daughter. He limped to the door to open it, and then she was gone.
House slowly limped back to the piano. He knew he needed to get back to Wilson's, but he wanted to savor the privacy and the music for a little longer. He picked up the manuscript to Cuddy's Serenade, then stiffly knelt and gathered the other songs from the floor. Maybe one day he would show her just how many of them bore her name. He carefully returned them to the folder, then snapped the elastic band around it again and replaced it in the shelves. Limping back to the piano, he sat down and began to play. She would think about it, she said. He hoped that she truly would, for Rachel's sake as well as her own. He didn't want Cuddy's daughter to grow up watching two mismatched people as her parents. But for himself, maybe, just maybe, there was still a chance. She would think about it. He would accept that for now - but keep himself visible to remind her, of course. The song changed again, and once again, he sang with it, this time all the way through.
I need your love.
I need your love.
Godspeed your love to me.