Disclaimer: I unfortunately own nothing but my deranged mind and my exquisite taste. House MD belongs to David Shore and FOX.
This FIC, like all the others I've written – and the ones I plan to write eventually – is dedicated to a sweet, intelligent and hardworking girl from Alabama I was very lucky to meet. B, this one's for you, and for all the readers that are brave enough to go on with the reading. :D
Andie.
Incubus
The icy wind blows fiercely against my face as I shiver, opening my eyes abruptly. Where am I? After some minutes of denial I finally give in; the leafy and imposing trees spread around an emerald green carefully maintained lawn. Smoky grey clouds move sluggishly in the sky, making the scenario utterly depressing and somehow threatening. The centenary and enormous stone building protrudes from the land like an old gravestone. It is all way too fresh in my mind for me to forget: I am back at Mayfield.
But, why? What did I do wrong, how did I screw up? I'm still going to therapy every week or two, I'm haven't been on Vicodin for more than a year now, things are fine at work, things are great at home... There must have been a misunderstanding; I need to talk to Nolan... With that in mind, I reach for my cane and it surprises me how numb my arms feel, my muscles clearly ignoring my brain's command. What the hell! Have they doped me? I try once again to move, and nothing other than my mind seems to be working properly in my system. I can feel the fear flooding through my veins, raising goose bumps as it goes. Good, at least my peripheral nervous system is intact.
My stomach churns as I glance at the navy blue iron benches ten feet away from me. Wait, if I'm not sitting on them, then I- I move my heavy head down - my neck kills me – and my heart races inside my chest when my eyes get the confirmation: I'm in a wheel chair. The fear automatically turns into panic. Shit. No, no, this can't be. My mind screams at my body to get up and walk, but it's useless. My limbs have a will of their own, and apparently they don't feel like moving a single inch.
I hurriedly scan the area around me. There used to be always a nurse watching the patients from afar to give them a false sensation of freedom and privacy when they were actually being observed more attentively than lab rats, but that was before. I can't see anyone around; I'm all alone in the chilly and desolated yard. The freezing wind penetrates easily through my jacket, making me sneeze. My nose is running, and I reflexively motion to raise my arm to clean it on my sleeve. Again, no movement whatsoever. My lachrymal glands do react though. I'm in the verge of tears.
Help! Somebody help me! I scream at top of my lungs in desperation, but my vocal cords don't vibrate. The weep forcefully restrained rolls free and warm down my cheeks, I'm no longer able to hold it, or even brush it away. A hole is brutally torn inside my chest, it's almost like I can feel it hemorrhaging. The oxygen poorly invades my lungs, and scorches its way to my alveolus; I suffocate. My still functional and restless mind doesn't take long to diagnose a panic attack.
I close my eyes and struggle to even my breathing. A loud and scary thunder breaks the dead silence, startling me and putting all my calming attempts to waste. It's ok, at least I can still hear, I rationalize, genuinely comforted for not having turned into a complete vegetable. My heart still hammers mercilessly against my ribcage, though, and now my head starts to spin. I'm hyperventilating. I know it won't be long until I faint and my eyelids involuntarily drop despite all of my effort to keep them up. In seconds, I'm out.
The intoxicating scent of Chanel no. 5 invades my nostrils and I'm immediately dragged back into consciousness. I dry cough, and my throat feels raw and sore. I don't want to open my eyes, there's no point in doing so. That's when a delicate hand slaps my face ever so gently. "House, please look at me", a velvet voice pleads concernedly. I automatically recognize it and concede. Her beautiful figure stands before me, and her terrified expression instantly softens into a relieved one. "Oh my God, you scared me!" she cries, hugging me and managing to cradle my head against her chest despite the awkward angle.
I notice her smell has changed; no more roast coconut body butter that I love. Her sobs subside and her heart slowly returns to a normal rate. She entangles her fingers in my thin hair and I can feel a sudden fluttering on my stomach that comes from hers. Reluctantly, she lets go of me and I glance at her pregnant belly: it looks huge. From its size I can tell she's just 2 or 3 weeks from delivering. You've just turned four months, we've just found out it's a boy… What's going on, Lisa?
I stare at her questioningly, and she stares back, misery coating the beautiful pair of jades that used to light my world. Or is it pity? The earth shatters slightly when the sky ferociously screams again with another thunder clap. Maybe it's trying to speak for me. Her left hand goes to rest on her belly in a reflex; she hates storms, they've always freaked the hell out of her. Hey. That is not the ring I gave you… She takes a deep breath and looks into my eyes again. "I'm sorry it's been so long since the last time." she apologizes.
Four months, I calculate. She must be almost nine months along, so that makes at least four months since my last memory. "Dr. Nolan said you're getting better." she affirms, a weak smile adorning her worn out features. If I am better, why do you look so hopeless? "He told me your brain seems to be regaining some functions that were lost during electroshock therapy. He's very optimistic..." she reassures, suddenly cut midsentence by her cell phone that rings inside of her purse. My stomach somersaults and I feel I'm about to throw up. Electroshock therapy? "Yeah, you can bring her. He's conscious." she mutters, flipping the device shut without any more saying.
What do you mean, 'he's sane'? Have I lost it, again, is that it? The panic has suddenly returned in full force, and I proceed to close my eyes in an ultimate and desperate try to regain control. She doesn't seem to notice I'm hyperventilating, because she doesn't bother on soothing me or anything for that matter. Lisa, what happened? Help me, please…She's obviously ignoring me, but I can still sense her presence before me.
After almost five minutes of intense struggle and shallow breathing, I manage to open my eyes again, and catch her waving at two people who walk in our direction. Who are they? My blurry vision keeps me from recognizing them until they are only a few feet from me and Lisa. Douglas? What are you doing here? "I'm sorry, I had to take her to the bathroom", he explains before giving her a quick peck on the lips.
My hands get gelid as the realization sinks in. They are together now. You left me for him, didn't you? You told me you never would, and you did… As my heart shatters in a million pieces and my life begins to drain out of me gradually, I divert my attention from the absolutely revolting and disrespectful PDA before me to the small person also present. A dark-haired five or six-year-old girl, dressed in a fancy purple coat and matching boots, a set of white and purple scarf, beret and gloves protecting her from the hostile weather. Those hazel eyes look very familiar… Nah, it can't be… Rachel?
I incredulously scrutinize my daughter, while her mother finally acknowledges her presence and lets go of the man who apparently has stolen my family."Come here, sweetie, come say hi to daddy". Cuddy encourages and ushers Rachel close to me. She looks so grown up in these clothes, the spitting image of her mother, despite the non-related genetic information. Her eyes exam me curiously, she obviously doesn't remember me at all. For a moment I think she's about to burst into tears, but she simply introduces herself nonchalantly "Hi. I'm Rachel House."
The betraying tear is back and stinging my cheek. My lower lip trembles vigorously. The four months have just grown into four years. I've just missed four years of my life. "Why is he crying, mommy? Did I say anything wrong?" Rachel wonders, worriedly. No princess, it's not your fault. "No, honey, daddy's just happy to see you." Cuddy stutters, barely managing to contain her own tears. Watching my daughter pitting me is far more than I can take. Why the hell did you bring her here? Get her out of here; I don't want her to see me like this!
This is not what I intended when I gave her my name, two months after she solemnly communicated me I had been chosen to be her dad and I accepted the title, secretly flattered. She was two and I had just picked her up from day care. I'm sorry princess, I can't keep my promise. I can't be your daddy anymore. I bow my head with difficulty, averting my gaze from Rachel in shame. She doesn't get my rejection attitude though. Instead of leaving me alone, she brushes my tears away with her tiny fingers "Don't cry daddy. I'm here with you."
"Lisa, are you ok?" The anxious tone of Douglas diverts my attention from Rachel back to Cuddy. She's holding her belly and wincing in pain, and he helps her to stand. Apparently, she's just got into labor. "Mommy!" Rachel rushes to her, placing her hand still wet from my tears on her mom's stomach. "Is my little sister coming?"
Sister? But our baby is a boy. Wait, this isn't… Where's my son? If four years passed since my last memory, it means that this is not my baby. It is Douglas's. Lisa, where's our son? Was he born ok? Why didn't you bring him? The questions burn through my head and a third thunder causes the floor to quake under my chair. The sky darkens menacingly, and the first drops of water fall heavy on the grass.
I glare at Cuddy anxiously, as if expecting her to read my mind. She's oblivious to me though, her face contorts in agony. She reaches to touch her thigh, the scarlet blood gushing freely. "I told you this wasn't a good idea." Douglas scolds crossly "He made you lose his baby four years ago, and now he's doing the same to mine. Son of a bitch!" I made her lose my baby? Oh my God, did I kill my son?!
"Mommy!" Rachel shouts as Cuddy passes out in Douglas' arms. "Mommy, don't die!" she starts to cry, as Douglas tries to reanimate Cuddy in vain. The thundering is back, angry and powerful, and the rain is now pouring down mixing with the blood that flows from Cuddy's womb. The sky is about to fall down on our heads. Douglas stands there cathartic, not knowing what to do. Go get some help, you moron! After some precious moments lost in shock, he's finally out of his reverie, as if he has actually heard me. "Rachel, Rachel, look at me. Mom's not gonna die, ok? I need you to be brave and do a favor for Uncle Luke…"
Douglas asks Rachel to take care of Cuddy while he runs back to the building to get help. I watch everything passively. The rain soaks me to the bone, water abandoning the purple inflated clouds as the thick blood abandons Cuddy's body. "Lisa, come on, don't give up…" The piecing pain is back in my chest, far worse than before. My throat is blocked, I can't breathe, my vision is a total blur, it must be a heart attack this time… Lisaaa!
I open my eyes abruptly. My breathing is shallow, and my forehead is sweaty. My heart is about to perforate a hole through my sternum and my eyes are full of tears. I look around me and relief washes over me like a bucket of cool water when I realize where I am. It has all been a nightmare after all. Good that I have an hour with Nolan later today. Nightmares are full of meaning, and this one has just been an assembly of all the skeletons I keep stored in my closet.
My shirt is wet from my cold sweat and I carefully sit on the bed to remove it. I peek out the window, uncovered by the ivory curtains. The rain is still falling noisy and merciless outside. Feeling calmer, I lie back on my left side and spot them sleeping peacefully. Lisa is spooned on the other side of the bed while Rachel lies between us, sucking on her pacifier. I kiss her temple and smell her delicious baby scent. She's still two, she still remembers me, and I'm still the dad she chose some months ago. As I relax my head on the pillow I stretch my arm to touch Lisa's stomach. It's still a bulge, and I get to watch it grow patiently every day. I stroke it ever so lightly, wishing my son – well, Matthew - could actually feel my fondling. Matthew House. That is indeed a beautiful name. Lisa told me it meant "gift from God". Well, I don't believe in God, but my family is definitely a gift to me.
A bolt lightens through the window and I can tell a loud thunder is on the way. I scooch close to the girls and hug them protectively. The thunder comes, and it's pretty startling. They don't wake up though, there's no reason to fear. I'm there for them, and they know it. With a smile on my lips, I let go and drift off to sleep.
Reviews are love, especially the long, thoughtful, positive ones... LOL! Just kidding. Speak your mind and make us both happy. :D
Oh, and if this story made a big impression on you for whatever reason, stay tuned for the sequel. I guarantee you've never read something like it before.