Stave II: The first of the three spirits
House was woken from deep slumber, startled from sleep by an odd noise that he didn't recognise and now could no longer hear. He checked the clock and found it was 12.59am, only a few hours since he'd gone to bed. He'd slept so deeply it felt as if it should be much later. The image of Dr Marley's ghostly visage swam up from somewhere in his memory, but House couldn't be sure what exactly he recalled. He reached a hand up to his own forehead and could tell he was feverish. He sniffed and the dull ache in his sinuses told him he was definitely in for a full dose of the flu.
He turned over in bed, facing the door, and was about to try to settle back to sleep when he was overcome by the smell of lavender. Lavender, baby power and butter, mixed with the slightly sour, musty smell that House associated with elderly people.
A girlish but thin and reedy voice seemed to come from the corner of the room.
"The healer with his magic powers, I could rub his gentle brow for hours. His manly chest, his stubbled jaw, Everything about him leaves me raw—with joy. Oh House, your very name, Will never leave this girl the same." The recitation ended with a giggle.
House cringed, just as he had cringed the first time he'd heard those words read aloud. Of course he now knew the words by heart. Not that he'd ever admit it, but he kept the piece of flowery notepaper the verse had been scribed on in flowing script in the second drawer of his desk, hidden inside a New Kids on the Block CD case, safe in the knowledge that no one would ever open it.
"Georgia," House said wearily, "I told you stalking me wouldn't work." He sat up, groaning with the effort, the ache in his thigh mirroring the ache in his head. This was the last thing he felt like dealing with. Sure enough, sitting in the chair in the corner of the room near the door was the little apple-cheeked poet whom he'd cured of syphilis a few years ago. "Where's your son?"
Georgia giggled again and gave him a flirty look over the top of her wire-rimmed spectacles. "Off spending his inheritance."
"Isn't he a little premature—" House broke off as a sinking feeling began deep in the pit of his stomach. "Are you dead?"
Georgia gave him a beatific smile. "Yes dear, I'm dead."
"How? I mean . . . when . . . " House began stuttering, unable to pull his brain together to cope with the multiple system errors it seemed to be experiencing.
"It was a stroke, right in the middle of a game of Canasta. Sure, I'd prefer if it had been in the middle of something a little more spicy," she gave him a cheeky wink, "but we can't chose these things."
"Were you winning?" House asked faintly, still wondering if he should dial 911 for what was obviously a serious brain injury or infection affecting his perception.
"The Canasta game? Oh, yes, yes, I think I was. Pity. Still. It was a good way to go, very sudden and very quick."
"Right." House was uncharacteristically lost for words. He had no idea how to comment on a dead person's reflection of their own death.
"Come on dear, we need to get a move on."
"Let me guess—"
"I am the ghost of Christmas past," Georgia said pleasantly.
"Long past?"
"No, your past, my darling."
House shuddered; he did not want to be Georgia's – or any other dead person's – darling.
"Come on, up you pop. Walk with me." Georgia held out a hand and somehow, without the usual agonies and groaning that accompanied his usual rising from bed, House found himself out of bed, following Georgia through the bedroom across to the window.
"Georgia, I don't know what you have planned, but I can't walk more than a few blocks, let alone—"
"Let me," Georgia interrupted. "A touch there, and . . . "
Georgia pressed her hand against his chest, over his heart, and suddenly House found himself rising from the ground, floating through the walls. He reached out and grabbed a handful of Georgia's beaded pink cardigan in surprise, but all she did was turn and give him another of those suggestive winks.
They were surrounded by fog which suddenly vanished, revealing a cold, clear, wintery day, with snow upon the ground.
House gasped. "Michigan."
Following Georgia's lead in some form of transportation that defied explanation, House found himself zooming over the grounds of the university, homing in on one particular building, then he was in the corridors, then in a room. Georgia seemed to touch the ground like a particularly talented sky-diver, stepping onto the carpeted floor lightly, balanced and lithe in the way no seventy-something-year-old had the right to be.
In contrast, House staggered, hitting a boldly patterned armchair before coming to a final halt. In an instant he recalled where he was: his dorm room, the posters of Led Zeppelin and Oscar Wilde and multiple stacks of teetering books immediately familiar. He looked across and sitting on the sofa in the middle of the room was himself – a version he barely remembered, twenty-five years younger, almost clean shaven, full head of curly hair, two fully functional legs. He was laughing, drinking a beer, books open on his lap. Next to him was a woman with long, curly dark hair, also laughing, laughing so hard she had snorted beer through her nose, which was what had provoked a further laughing fit in the both of them.
House couldn't help but smile – somehow, through the magic of whatever fucked-up thing was happening to him, he had an immediate and visceral recollection of what that moment had been like. The future still shining in front of him, the knowledge he was gaining at that moment in his life rushing through his brain, the woman next to him and the smell of her patchouli-scented perfume.
He watched as the two people on the sofa laughed, pulled precious textbooks out of the way of their spilling beers, and comfortably touched one another. Suddenly he realised what was about to happen next, and it was something he didn't want Georgia to see.
"Georgia?"
"Yes?"
"I think we should leave."
"And why's that dear?"
"Because I know what's going to happen next."
"Oh, so do I dear." House didn't miss the suggestive tone in her voice. It made him feel slightly nauseous.
"So, then you'll understand why it's a good time for us to leave."
"Oh, no. This is one of my favourite places to visit. It's so . . . " Georgia sighed, like Scarlett O'Hara sighing over Rhett Butler, "romantic."
"No," House said on an exhaled breath, watching as his younger self leaned in, surprising the giggling woman next to him with a kiss. He remembered the kiss, how it had felt, the warmth and softness of her mouth, the feel of her hand as it crept around the back of his neck, the silkiness of her skin as his hand rose to her arm, running along her bicep.
He watched as the couple on the sofa kissed, touching one another with the familiarity of well-known friends and yet the tentativeness of new-blown lovers. Each stroke provoked new sensations, each kiss brought never-before felt feelings. The curly-haired woman on the sofa groaned and House did too – knowing what would inevitably happen next, how good it would make the younger version of himself feel, and what this single act would mean for the rest of his life.
"Georgia?"
"Yes Dr House?"
"Why did you bring me here?"
"Because it's the single most romantic moment of your life. The one time you let your heart rule your head."
"And?"
"And what?"
"What does that mean? Romantic? What the hell is that about? Why is that important? If what Marley said is true, if the point of all this is to show me how I need to connect with other people, why didn't you show me the first person whose life I saved? I still remember that – Amanda Clarke and her unborn daughter. I diagnosed her with preeclampsia when no one else picked it, saving both her life and her child's – neither of them would be alive if it wasn't for me. Surely that's proof of a connection with humanity?"
Georgia gave him a sad smile and shook her head. "No dear, that's not it."
"Greg," the woman on the sofa sighed his name against his younger-self's mouth before pulling back from him. "Is this a good idea?" Her voice was tentative, hopeful, cautious and yearning all at once. "You're my tutor, isn't there a law against it or something?"
His younger self laughed, and House was sick with jealousy over the light-heartedness in the chuckle.
"There's no law, Lisa. Besides, breasts like yours are illegal, so you're already in trouble."
Lisa Cuddy giggled, girlish and flirty, but still so much like her hospital administrator self, House was amazed. He had clearly aged: now his hair was thinner, face lined, his whole persona somehow tainted by being alive for almost half a century. But Lisa Cuddy? Apart from a few lines around her eyes and mouth, her hair being a little shorter and her clothing more sensible than the hippy-ish peasant skirt and blouse she currently had on, well, it could easily be the woman he knew as his boss sitting on the sofa in his dorm room, right there in front of his eyes.
"Georgia," House protested loudly, turning to face the old lady, hands on hips, putting on his most intimidating voice. "I know what happens. I was here, obviously. Let's just get on with it. Take me to whatever it is I'm supposed to go next."
Georgia just smiled.
"Greg."
The sound of his name, whispered by Lisa Cuddy through barely parted lips, made him spin around again and face the couch. He watched as his other self reached out a hand and brushed a tendril of hair away from her face.
"Lisa," he said, and House cringed at seeing the raw emotion on his own face. But it wasn't for long, the two lovers leant in and kissed softly again. The kiss deepened, their tongues duelling, and Lisa fell back onto the arm of the sofa, young House following to lean over her. Her legs tangled with his, and House raised himself, leaning against the back of the sofa, freeing one hand to caress her breast.
"Georgia," House groaned, turning to the older woman with a pleading look. "Can we not watch this?"
"What happens next?" Georgia asked.
"I think it's pretty bloody obvious what happens next," House said sarcastically.
"What happens next?" she repeated.
House sighed, frustrated, and turned back to the couple on the sofa.
They moved against one another, both groaning, and then almost fell off the couch. The mishap had them both laughing again.
"Should we go into the bedroom?" young-House asked young-Cuddy, his eyebrows arched, a silly, seductive look on his face.
"Sure."
House climbed up from the sofa and then reached down and gathered Cuddy up in his arms. She squealed, and yelled out for him to put her down, but wrapped her arms tightly around his neck in spite of her protests. The older House groaned, half with embarrassment, and half with jealousy at the fact that there was no longer any way he could scoop a woman up in his arms and carry her to his bed. The young couple disappeared into a room off to one side, and House was blissfully relieved to hear the click of the door closing behind them.
He sat down heavily on the sofa, the cushions still warm from the passion of the two bodies that had just been lying on it. Georgia perched next to him, laying one hand gently on his arm.
"What happens next?" she asked softly.
"Lisa and I make love," House said, realising that she wasn't going to stop asking until he answered.
"And then?"
House frowned. "And then? What do you mean?"
"I mean what happens after that, sweetheart?"
House sighed. "We go to sleep."
"Yes." Georgia waved a hand and House was disconcerted to watch the hands of a clock on the wall spin sickeningly. The stars and clouds visible from the window flew by and, within just a few seconds, light was blooming on the horizon; a new, and yet long-past, dawn.
As the light was growing steadily stronger, the bedroom door opened and Lisa Cuddy stepped out quietly. Her hair was mussed and her mouth still looked red and swollen from all the kissing and the burn from the stubble that House had been playing with, but hadn't yet perfected back then. She collected up her belongings from around the tiny living room, paying no attention to the older House and ghost-Georgia sitting on the sofa. She shoved everything into a ragged, frayed backpack and was heading to the door before she bit her lip in indecision. After a moment's thought she turned around, put her backpack on the ground and pulled out a notebook. She quickly scribbled a note in it, tore out the piece of paper, and left it on the coffee table.
"What does it say?" Georgia asked innocently as the door closed quietly behind Cuddy.
"Like you don't already know."
Georgia giggled. "Read it to me anyway."
House picked up the torn piece of paper and noted that Cuddy's loopy scrawl hadn't changed since college.
Greg – I have a mid-term paper due tomorrow, but maybe we can see each other again on Friday? Call me today – I'll need a break from study. L x
House couldn't bring himself to read it aloud. Instead, he handed it to Georgia. He remembered what it had been like reading it the first time, the initial rush of excitement, the thrill of requited passion, the endless possibilities. Then, the inevitable battle of logic. Of why a relationship at that point in his life would have been such a bad idea.
"So what happened when you called her?" Georgia asked, placing the note back down in the exact position Cuddy had left it.
House could feel the flush rising in his cheeks, the blush doing more to make his guilt evident than any confession.
"Oh no," Georgia looked crestfallen. "You didn't."
"I didn't." House confirmed, although he was sure Georgia already knew that.
"But you stayed friends?"
"Sort of. I was an intern. I got called in for a long shift. I didn't get back home until Friday. Then I slept for twelve hours. She called me – wanted to know if I would still be her tutor. She was so proud, didn't say anything about what had happened. So . . . so, I didn't say anything either."
Georgia shook her head at him, like a disappointed grandmother. "I want to show you something," she said quietly.
House felt a little sick. He half expected her next comment to be something clichéd like, "this is going to hurt me more than it's going to hurt you". Yeah, his dad used to say that, and House knew for a fact it was a lie. "I don't think I want to see it."
"One more shadow you need to see," Georgia said, her voice firm.
"No."
Georgia, much stronger than House could have ever expected, pulled him to his feet and held his arms tightly.
"You fear the world too much." Georgia's voice became harsh. "All your other hopes have merged into the hope of being beyond the chance of its sordid reproach."
House rolled his eyes, covering his anxiety about what might happen next. "I'm sure the literate folks of Dickensian London know exactly what that means. As for me, I have no idea."
Georgia smiled, but it wasn't kindly. "You know exactly what it means."
House wondered if he was fainting, the room darkened, the gloom growing inwards from the periphery of his vision. But he was conscious, could feel wind whipping past his face, could feel Georgia's arms tightening restrictively around him.
Slowly the darkness cleared and House was in Cuddy's dorm room. At least he figured it was hers, he'd never been there, but it looked like it belonged to her – some of the clothes lying around looked familiar, books and other items seemed like they'd be the sort of things she'd own. It was feminine, but not girly.
His suspicions were confirmed a moment later when Cuddy came storming in, followed by another girl.
"I'm not going out, Fiona," Cuddy said warningly to the other girl. "I'm wrecked. I stayed up all night doing that stupid mid-term paper."
"All night?" Fiona said, curious. It became clear that Fiona must have been Cuddy's roommate, as both women comfortably moved about the small space. "The paper on nephrology? It wasn't that hard. I was sure you would have aced it. Especially with that tutor of yours." Fiona giggled and Cuddy gave her a withering look.
"Okay, okay." Fiona held up her hands in defence. She picked up her purse. "Well, if you change your mind, you know where we are."
Cuddy gave her a grim smile. "Have a good time."
Fiona closed the door with a bang and Cuddy sagged, as if she'd been holding herself together by the barest thread. She flopped onto the sofa, her breath leaving her in one long sigh. The next breath she drew in was shaky and her eyes welled with tears. One blink, and two fat droplets slid down her face.
"Oh, Georgia, don't make me . . . " House pleaded. He hated watching women cry. Especially when he was the reason for the tears. But Georgia still had her hands on his arms, and her steely grip prevented him from moving away. Instead, he did the only other thing left to him: he closed his eyes.
He heard as Cuddy took a few shaky breaths, then a rustle that he figured was her hand rising to wipe her face. She didn't break down into sobs, didn't throw herself face down into the cushions. Instead, she simply sat there, crying quietly, and for some reason it was more heartbreaking than the most wretched hysterics.
House heard her take in a deep breath and rise from the sofa, then the unmistakable sound of tissues being pulled from a box. House dared to open his eyes again, and watched as she visibly pulled herself together. She walked over to a mirror set on the wall near the door and looked at her reflection sternly.
"That is absolutely the last time you will ever cry over him," she told herself.
Despite the churn of his feelings, House snorted. "Oh Cuddy, I don't know about that," he said, not sure if he was proud, ashamed, or deeply saddened by the fact.
Cuddy spun around, startled, as if she'd heard him. Her eyes searched what she saw to be an empty room, before sighing again. She made herself a cup of coffee, then pulled a couple of text books down from the shelf, making herself comfortable on the sofa again before bending her head to further study.
"What?" House asked Georgia. "What just happened? Could she see us?"
Georgia released her grip on his arms and let House turn to face her. Her expression had returned to the kindly, grandmotherly set that House remembered.
"Nothing happened. She simply felt a shiver. You've felt it before. It's that prickle that you get sometimes when you step into a darkened room, or a flicker you see from the corner of your eye, or a chill you get for absolutely no reason. It's a moment in your life that's important, although you don't know it at the time."
"So this moment is important in her life?"
"Yes. She's made a decision. It's a little decision for now – she's going to pretend your night together didn't happen. She's going to stop your tutoring sessions. She's going to concentrate on her study, give up searching for a relationship for now and put all her energy into becoming the best doctor she can be."
"So? That's the same decision I made."
"I know, dear." Georgia smiled sadly at him and House suddenly felt as if there was some big secret he was missing, some vital piece of the puzzle that had yet to fall into place. He was annoyed and frustrated by Georgia's vague responses.
"Tell me what's going on, or get me out of here."
Georgia put a hand on his arm.
"Leave me alone!" House pulled his arm away. Then he and Georgia were tussling, fighting, although her former strength had deserted her, and House felt as if he were sparring with a mist, a glowing mist that grew brighter and brighter as House tried to get himself away from it, the light obscuring the features of the room, blinding him.
Suddenly, the fight left him. He was conscious of feeling exhausted; overcome by an incredible drowsiness, and then realised that somehow he was back in his own bedroom. He barely had the capacity to think, and all he could manage was to fall back into his bed before he sank into a heavy sleep.
