How to Fix a Broken Window

It was well past eight in the PPTH cafeteria and the lights were down low in anticipation of closing time. The sky outside burned a brilliant orange as the sun set over the campus and the unexpected heat of the day finally let up. In the farthest corner, House poked at the fries on his plate and made little trails of ketchup run across the knife. Sitting in this spot meant he was easily in the best position to see just who was coming in and who was going out. He often found that the best place to be inconspicuous was where you were least expected, or most expected. He had never figured which way round it worked, just that it did.

Fully aware that the waitress wasn't able to finish her shift until the last customer had gone, House drew out his meal by arranging the fries into a Jenga tower, unable to resist annoying just one more person, before the day was out.

He slurped at his coke and shook the paper cup, listening as the ice cubes crashed about inside, like glass… He hadn't actually meant to smash the window in his office. That was where Cuddy had it wrong. No point trying to convince her of that though. Another lesson hard learned, just suck it up and move on.

The sound had been spectacularly loud as thousands of tiny shards of glass had burst out from the window, falling across most of his office. At first, he had stood there mouth open, transfixed like a moth in the light.

Lethal flakes of glass had scattered over everything, the bigger pieces catching the sun-light as it shone through the gap. The effect had been intense, rainbows of refracted light shone all over the office walls and it had all been so very overwhelming.

It was all so predictable really, the stifling heat had got to him like some idiot red-neck worked up before a summer storm. He wasn't intentionally trying to push at this new thing between them. It was just that it seemed so unreal and fantastic that he didn't quite know which way was up anymore. Better then to fall back on reliably antagonistic behaviour that would guarantee a sure, time-honoured response. She would get mad, she would sulk for a few days, add time to his clinic hours and that would in turn give him some sort of bench-mark from which to figure this whole thing out. Too bad he couldn't actually articulate this like a normal human being – whatever that meant.

Deciding that Cuddy had almost certainly left the building, he figured he was safe to leave. He drew himself up to his full height, giving his thigh a quick reassuring rub, then limped out of the cafeteria much to the relief of the bored waitress who knew better than to challenge this particular doctor.

Struggling with the interminable fight between cane, hands, and pockets, he stood at the admit desk searching for the sunglasses in the bottom of his bag. It had been incredibly hot unexpectedly, and nobody had been ready for it. He had sweated gently like a slow-roasted pig in inappropriate clothes for much of the day – out of season and very much out of favour.

It was with a growing sense of urgency as he thought of the waiting cool shower in his apartment, that he hooked the bag onto his shoulder, swapped the cane into his right hand and made for the exit. Though there really wasn't anyone around to care, he thought he had managed the whole thing beautifully and let a sly smirk raise the corner of his mouth; another thing that any given audience would read wrong.

He had tuned out the nagging pain gnawing at his leg for a whole twenty minutes by driving home with the windows down, wind filling the space in his head usually given over to that chunk of missing muscle. He'd tuned the radio into some news station and turned it up loud, the endless drone competing with the sounds of the city for his attention. For as long as it took him to circle his block, he had considered driving on, setting off on some juvenile road trip to just break out of whatever Princeton had in store for him. Sometimes he felt trapped, hemmed in with the old coping strategies - pre and post infarction - no longer open to him.

Now he didn't have that little bottle of pills to hide behind and the effect he had on other people had been brought into stark relief as though the end of the Vicodin years had lifted some horribly metaphorical veil from his eyes. Now, his actions had repercussions and he didn't have the emotional experience to even begin to deal with that. Nolan's words rang loud in his ears as he fought off the compulsion to play nice and face up to what he had done. Stepping into his apartment meant he could store it all away, pretend it hadn't happened – if he wanted to. Hadn't it always been easier to hide, brood and take one too many pills so he could sleep at night?

The cool shower forced his mind away from its internal ramblings, to the shock of the water as it hit his body. As soon as he couldn't stand it any longer and he felt that he might just pass the next half hour at a comfortable temperature, he shut off the water and lifted his leg up over the side of the bath. He stood dripping on the mat and let his body dry on its own. He pulled on a pair of shorts and relished the dampness of his wet skin seeping through, knowing it would keep him cool.

He limped then into his bedroom, flicked on the fan and lay flat on his bed like a snow angel. As he stretched out, he wasn't sure if the tremors in the aching muscles running up his back were the remnants of the bug he'd had last week or of the hangover he'd given himself a whole twenty-four hours before. Either way, he was one sorry ass.

And he'd never been so tired. Those promises of easier sleep, of nights filled with nothing more than dreams and peace and recovery all came to nothing and he was still stuck, pacing, mind whirring and alone. Most of all though, he was tired of the constant effort it took to engage with the people around him, he felt like some sort of new born in a man's body. He had spent years in an emotional void, and suddenly, he was back, a fully functioning member of society having forgotten how to play by the rules and just how damn hard it was to get through the day… when you cared about the people around you. It was easier back then, to piss people off and forget about bonds and friendships in the bottom of a bottle. Still, somehow, someone – he suspected it might have been him – had made the decision to reconnect with the rest of his race, and this is where he had ended up.

It was then that he regretted giving her a spare key.

'You should know I will always track you down eventually.'

He sat up, sucking in a deep breath to get over the shock of unexpected company, immediately hot once again.

She crept forward taking baby steps, probably so as not to freak him out on his own territory. 'It wasn't that hard actually, I watched you, for a while in the cafeteria, saw you walk out of the building and tracked your car as you made it here.' She spoke softly and he registered the amusement in her eyes as the words formed on his lips.

'You know that's a little freaky don't you? Isn't there some kind of law against stalking?' he couldn't gauge what ever it was that might come next. She'd played a wild card and he didn't like it.

'Then there's the cane, it kind of makes you stand out - hey did you see a guy with a cane go by just now? See what I mean?'

He sounded a warning by dropping his voice and all but growling as he spoke, 'Lisa…'

'What?' she inched closer, slithering almost across the wooden floor.

'I…'

'Can't finish a sentence tonight?' finally, the light of a smile broke out across her face.

He wouldn't have cared two years ago. Then again, two years ago, there was no way he would imagine her standing here in his apartment, watching him prone and vulnerable on the bed. Now though, he had to adjust to rules long forgotten. He had to lay himself bare, regardless of the consequences and he was trying, boy he was trying.

'I'm sorry, about the window.' He said.

'It's ok.' An answer he hadn't expected.

'Seriously? I broke the window, and your saying now that it's ok?' he sat up disbelieving some of the spell cast vanished with her words.

'Nobody said this would be easy Greg,'

He didn't feel like he knew how to respond so kept his mouth shut instead to see where this would lead, there was more going on here than he had first thought.

'When I came to you that night,' she went on, 'I didn't know what you would say, what you would do. All this is so strange – way back when, in school you know? Then Stacey…' she let her words trail off, let him draw his own conclusions. So much of what was between them went unsaid and he didn't know if that was the problem or the solution.

'What about Rachel?' he asked, surprising himself.

'You wouldn't believe what the nanny charges for an extra hour.'

'Oh.'

'May I?' she gestured to the bed, asking his permission to sit down next to him suddenly conciliatory.

Without waiting for a response, she walked over and ran her hand over his back, avoiding the bruise he'd acquired when he'd fallen last week. 'Does it hurt?'

'Yes.' He wasn't exactly sure which part of him she was referring to but the affirmation would serve any answer he could give and suddenly he felt like this was all too much and he was exposed for the pathetic, brittle freak that he was.

'I'm sorry, ' her hand trailed up across his shoulders, feeling the tension there and ran down the side of his face to his chin. 'Look at me.'

'I…don't…'

'Look at me,' she repeated.

She kissed him and he responded suddenly desperate for the connection to her. She pulled away first, smiling and running her hands down his arms before standing and walking out of his bedroom.

He watched her walk out and listened to the creaks he knew would sound as she made her way out of the apartment. When he heard the front door close, he lay back down and closed his eyes.

The sun had finally set, putting an end to the day with the promise of tomorrow hanging hesitantly, expectantly in the warmth that had soaked into the brick. The darkness seemed to suit his need as he padded into the kitchen for a glass of water. He drank it down in one long draught and when he had finished, made his way back to the bedroom sure that sleep would find him quickly.

In the morning, she would be there again, waiting for him and they would figure this all out. It didn't have a name, it didn't seem to have any established rules or codes of conduct. Both of them had too much at stake, too much history and their own independent lives. Lisa revolved around her daughter and that made him some distant star forcing his own orbit, as separate as he'd ever been. In the still of the cool night though, the distance between today and tomorrow afforded a sense of acceptance of all he could offer.

Whatever would be, would be, like the old song said, Greg and Lisa sittin' in the tree.