III. Kaleidoscope
A pearl earring and a pearl necklace, and an engrossed audience. Present tense, yes. Loosening his tie to reveal a bobbing adam's apple, House stands at the podium still, now completely aware of what his dream means. Noise fades and soon he is staring at silent faces, waiting for him to say something.
House looks down at the speech Cuddy prepared for him in his now unsteady hand. And begins reading it,
"The Medical School was the University of Michigan's first professional school. It is with collaboration and innovation that..."
A beat.
Putting the speech in his pocket following a sardonic snicker,
"I'm supposed to give a speech about medical education. But, the truth is... "
Lost blue eyes find each other.
"The truth is, I don't know a damn thing about it. I wouldn't even have this job if it weren't for that woman (pointing) there. I mean, she wrote the goddamn speech for me.
What I do know is..."
Another beat. House inhales, about to make a connection nobody else sees.
"Is that the term nostalgia is comprised of two greek roots. Nostos, meaning 'returning home' and algos meaning 'pain'. It was considered a legitimate medical condition until the 19th century. It is,"
Voice ing, almost imperceptibly.
"It is an infectious disease. One of my specialties. It both is treatable and preventable.
You can avoid contracting it by - stop wasting time.
Just don't."
Looking at Cuddy but directed at the woman in charge,
"She deserves to be up here."
Walking off, "Not me."
Following a few audible confused claps, Lisa Cuddy takes the stage.
As a doctor.
She gives a riveting speech the duration of which is twice as long as it should be. After the other two lecturers after her give their short synopses, she attends a brief reception and is thrilled to have female students approaching her and confessing their admiration of her status and accomplishments. They complain about how the other lecturers were just misogynistic men and how much more challenging it is being a woman in the field of science.
Amidst this praise and past her posse, Cuddy sees a familiar piece of rubber bouncing up and off the carpet. She goes over to him,
"What the hell was that?"
House smiles and shrugs, standing.
"That was your speech. Given by you."
"Why must you sabotage even the smallest..."
"Wait. I didn't sabotage anything. I righted a wrong. You wanted to give that speech."
Bending down close enough to kiss her,
"You needed to give that speech."
And he turns around, jacket already on, heading for the door. Cuddy races back to get her coat, and then goes out behind him.
It is night but the campus is so sufficiently lit that it hardly matters. When she steps out Cuddy doesn't see House. Walking around a few minutes,she wanders to a building and realizes it is the library. She goes up, peers through the glass and then goes in. When she comes out a few minutes later continuing her search for House, she explores to the end of the sidewalk, decides she can't find him and starts toward the car. Then something hits her in the back. Or really, the bottom. Cuddy turns to see House standing a few meters away, a huge grin on his face and another snowball in his hand. Without hesitation he throws it at her.
Feigning disdain she sneers. But when another one hits her, this time in the face, she can't help but smile. And enact revenge. Cuddy picks up as much snow as she can, condenses it into a perfect sphere and hurls it like a major league pitcher.
War commences.
Utilizing guerilla tactics they learned as children, these doctors successfully forget they are adults. Ducking behind cars and catapulting snow overpedestrians they achieve a kind of wintery nirvana. A glimpse of joy. Of what it was like to be careless. To be young.
Continuing on this way, completely ignorant to the stares they are getting from the people slowly evacuating the premises, House slurs something about her ass being an unmissable target. The defense's weakest point (her Achilles ass). And Cuddy, playfully aggressive, throws one directly at his Trojan horse. He tries to block but drops his cane in the process, staggering and then collapsing on the ground. Laying in the snow, very aware of the concrete layer beneath it.
Cuddy comes over, knowing she's only bruised his ego, and reaches a hand out to help him up. House pretends he's getting up but pulls her down beside him instead.
"House!"
"Shhhh."
And he points to the sky. Both of them flat on their backs now, limbs tangled,staring only upward. Cobalt heavens. Spotted with stars and planets and probably a few planes. They lay like this until Cuddy's bare legs begin to go numb. Before House stands he makes a crooked snow angel,watching this woman beneath the glow of a crescent moon and beside the streak of a stray shooting star, seeing for the first time, a specter of the girl he once knew.
Leaving curious footprints as he limps to the car House is determined no, certain that recapturing what has been lost for so long is perfectly possible.
Tonight.
tight rope
When they return to the hotel, seeing her shivering House wraps his coat around Cuddy and she smiles, appreciatively. He considers putting his arm around her but doesn't. They cross the slippery parking lot and go inside.
Up an elevator and to their floor, as they part,
"See Dr. Cuddy, going back to school wasn't that bad."
And they go inside their separate rooms. House is still standing by the door when he hears her holler for him. Sticking his head out he sees Cuddy standing in her doorway holding his coat as if it's radioactive.
"Ahhchooo!" and she goes inside.
While she searches for a kleenex, House enters, tissues in hand, and gives them to her, picking up his coat as he turns to leave.
"House,"
Half nodding as he turns back, almost hopeful.
"Thank you."
"It's just a coat."
"No, I mean for tonight."
House knows this and stops. Tries to formulate a response. But just nods and mutters,
"You're welcome."
'Do something, anything,' his mind is telling him. 'Stand on your head, take off your pants. Do something instead of nothing.'
"Things don't change,do they?"
House is blank so Cuddy answers her own question.
"I thought this place would be so different. It's been twenty years. And, it is different. Security is ridiculous, and tuition has quadrupled. But..."
Taking a step toward House, rubbing her arms in a shiver,
"...Like the library. I spent more of my undergraduate years in that library than in any class room or my own apartment. And it's the same. The exterior is remodeled, shinier, the paint's brighter but inside, the aisles of books are identical, the card catalogue is in the same place. It smells the same for God's sake. It's no diff-"
"Basic and Clinical Endocrinology. Greenspan. Third edition."
"What?"
An insurmountable beat. House takes a step toward her, bows his head, licks his bottom lip as she realizes what he's done.
"I didn't think you-"
"I remember."
Two words she's been waiting two decades to hear.
House knows it's true, he never forgot. Tried. It got lost, misplaced. Maybe even replaced by more aesthetically pleasing images of the woman's cleavage, but never forgotten.
He just couldn't forget.
While Cuddy's mind debates the accuracy and reality of what was said, House's hand rises to her face, the empty space between them vanishing. Absence or thin air, it is gone now, filled instead with an uneven posture, a friend, a memory. The past incarnate. An image retained for so long, standing before her as she remembers it. Not necessarily as it is.
With the lightest caress her eyes ascend to his and House sees in them not just the same girl he saved one September twilight but the same longing, the same frailty that is consuming him.
The promise in his eyes, the scar on his nose, the always present shadow growing back along his jaw, Cuddy knows she wants it all. Always has. Hand rising, her thumb passes over his temple, brushing his sideburn and House blinks, almost flinching.
In witnessing this susceptibility Lisa Cuddy has an epiphany of her own. That their relationship, despite its ultimate unresolution, has been sustained this entire time because of a delicate balance. A steadiness. Friendship. They could easily lose this constant, their only stability, because all they're standing on now is a tight rope. In this embrace, they are towering from immeasurable heights, a gymnasium of eyes is all that's holding onto them. It's a balancing act and when she looks down, lifting one foot to cross the other she starts to slip in. It is a small mistake.
Sometimes that's all it takes.
As his lips faintly graze hers, Cuddy pulls away, wincing. It is her attempt to stay on her feet. Uncertain if there's a safety net, she doesn't want to jeopardize what little permanence they have for something she knows will only be temporary, fleeting.
"You should go," she says, regretting it immediately.
"Change I mean. Get out of these wet clothes. It's late."
A nonplussed House nods. Unsure what to say, and doing what he's told, this man is going to have to settle for those few brief moments that ultimately dissolved into a single second. It was a glimpse, it was a grasp, and now it's gone.
Limping out of her room, strangling his cane, House is not surprised. Disappointed, angry but that's what he gets for having expectations. Walking down the hall too anxious to go back to his room, to hear her shower, to watch the numbers change on the clock until morning, until he's out of time, and they have to leave, return to a place they don't want to be, he paces down the hall. It is different here. They aren't dean and diagnostician. They are alumni, they are in college again. They are friends. They are who they were and will never be again.
The word 'chance' trespasses through his thoughts. That was his chance, and he threw it away. He hesitated, he folded. House's face heats up, pupils dilate he is panicked. Thinking,
'This is wrong. I should be in that room. With her. We should be stripping off each other's clothes, tumbling to the bed, nibbling, licking, grabbing, groping, bumping, grinding, stroking, combining. We've both been waiting for this, we both...'
And he starts back toward her room without finishing the thought.
kaleidoscope
Not entirely certain what he is going to do when the door opens, House knocks. Chest heaving, mind racing, heart pounding, he must prove a hypothesis. As soon as he hears her unlock the door, House throws his cane as far down the hall as possible. Clutching Cuddy's shoulders without even seeing her, his mouth falls onto hers. It's not a collision, it's a perfect landing. Acquiescing to magnetic attraction. A voluntary submission to gravity. Neither mundane nor maladroit it is a transcendent first kiss. Endearing, not lustful. Tender but still intense. Before his tongue can escape, House dips his head to her shoulder, exhaling, stopping at her neck before coming back up and planting another soft kiss, eyes closed, on her bottom lip,staying there until he can hold his breath no longer. Inhaling finally and deeply as he pulls back, opening his eyes, House doesn't blink. Just waits to be punched or pummeled by his boss.
But when Cuddy looks up all he can see are tiny rain drops forming in the corners or her cerulean eyes. Then a smile begins to shape. It's not a look of surprise or bewilderment, he can't name exactly what it is. Before either of them can speak Cuddy's hand tunnels through House's hair, resting on the back of his head, and she's on her bare tip toes, rising to kiss him. It is a reckless kiss, rash, brute. Trying not just to meet his mouth but to combine with it. To get lost in it. The urgency builds, it peaks and with her enveloped in his arms, tongues knot, teeth scrape.
Adduction, their torsos clash, pelvises meet, Cuddy's frenzied hands knead his back in an attempt to decide where they belong. When she finds this place,they stand, tranquil and motionless , exchanging taste, marveling in the flavor of each other's mouths. Forgetting to breathe, pretending time has stopped, passion unrequited for so long finally crests. But it is not a hurricane, or a sudden torrent. The locks did not open, the dam did not fail. This has been a slow rise. Less perceptible than disaster. A leaky faucet that has finally flooded their refuge. And denial any longer means drowning.
Cuddy comes off hesitantly, House remains in the doorway, unaware for a moment that the kiss has ended. Before he loses his balance, she pulls him in, slams the door shut, quickly locking the bolt, and hooking the restraining chain for good measure. When it sinks in, House thrusts his body toward her, uniting their lips as his weight leans heavy on this woman. A tear builds, brims, and rolls down Cuddy's cheek, a spontaneous response and he knows, brushing it away with his thumb They waltz clumsily to the mattress. Kissing cold, damp skin, House's fingers lace through her wet hair, a few snow flakes have yet to melt. They tumble to the bed, lips locked while she is attempting to loosen his tie.
A floral atrocity of a comforter catches them. Cuddy's finger is caught in the loop of his necktie, nails scratching his chest lightly and she leans forward kissing then licking the nape, lapping up what's left of aftershave. She nibbles on the collar of his shirt relishing in the familiar pressure. Laying on top of her now, House almost sighs as she unbuttons. The heat begins spilling out of dusty vents and fills the room. It is an uncomfortable heat, and before she can finish with his shirt, he brings a prescription bottle to his mouth and swallows however many are in it.
House is thinking of a time when could walk. When he could carry a woman to any part of any room and commit unnatural acts in any position his imagination could manifest. He wishes he could do that with her. For her. Be more.
Another tear crawls down Cuddy's cheek. A reaction to the sound of the pills and and the sight of him taking them. House returns to kiss the salty skin and then rests his lips on her forehead a minute. When he sits up, they look each other in the eyes, a stare, a complete conversation.
No words could ever communicate what they are feeling. No description would be entirely accurate. A wordless dialogue takes place now during which there is a confession on both their parts. It is a mutual refusal to be defeated by time. It is her admitting she has always loved him and him answering why he never forgot.
Blinking, House slowly flicks open each button of her blouse with his dextrous fingers. It drops from her body in slow motion. Cuddy's skin tightens over her stomach as a hand descends. Nuzzling her neck, his lips move to her breasts and rest there while he unhooks her bra. Goosebumps when the tips of his fingers finally touch her. Tongue skimming across a spiked nipple, Cuddy squirms, moaning for the first time tonight. House returns to her mouth. Devouring her, waiting, wanting for her to relax. So tense, still hesitant. Their mouths meet, tongues meshing. lingering,lithe. When House rises for air he sees this woman in nothing but pearls and a pencil skirt. Gorgeous. His tongue outlines a half circle around the necklace. Cuddy arches up, his warm mouth uncovering sensitive and uncharted territory. He kisses along the curve of the pearls sucking, licking all the way to the back of her neck. Nipping her ear, he comes back, rubs his sandpaper cheek to hers and then noses collide as they kiss again.
House's hips push, grind, twist against hers.The weight of him on top of her, introducing now, his hardening length. Cuddy moans before seizing him in another toe curlingly fantastic kiss. A hand smoothes down over his chest, splaying her palm over his heart and kissing his neck, his chin, his open mouth. Tiny fingers tickle his belly and then lower quickly to flip open the fastening of his pants with one practiced move. The zipper splits against the back of her wrist as she sweeps a hand deep inside. Strong fingers wrap around him and House mumbles some profanity as she gives one firm stroke through the cotton.
Hips crash again. House slides up, mounting, heaving pelvises coincide. Pants slide a little farther down. Under his labored breaths, House speaks into her shoulder. Kissing down her arm, her hand rises to his face, softly cradling his cheek, Cuddy sees the lacrosse scar, obscured now, under the growing beard. Maybe it's not really there, maybe she's imagining it, it doesn't matter, her lips meet his chin anyway.
And House closes his eyes, aware of exactly what she's doing.
Visible or not, they are both scarred. They are both scared. Neither one is prepared for what they have successfully reached the middle of.
House kicks his pants away and Cuddy's toes edge them off the bed. Her foot scales up his bare hairy calve, and back down, resting in the alcove of his ankle. Hands graze over his shoulders and around his back, holding him unfathomably close as her lips find his once more. A drop of sweat, or a tear, drips off his face. House doesn't look at her now but buries his face in the corner of her neck. Kisses the collarbone, her chest and shoulder. Licks the flat surface beneath her chin. Both are barely breathing now, Cuddy's aimless fingers run through his hair, his sweat on the tips, and erection pressing into her . Moving lower, House sucks one nipple , and lets his tongue snake between her breasts gnawing, wanting to eat, to consume every inch of her. Closed eyes, inhaling, tasting. Cinnamon. Savoring the flavor, an involuntary moan at how delicious this all is. How delectable she tastes beneath him. Continuing down, his beard scratching along her abdomen, he unhooks her skirt then stops and dips a finger into her belly button. Cuddy smiles, almost giggling as he draws circles, reveling in responsibility for that smile. Looking up at her, grinning, he pauses for a long beat.
As he rolls off of her, House braces on an elbow and examines this woman. Trying to hold onto these moments as they pass. A hand still on her hip, he needs to get her out of that skirt. But it rises instead, to her face, a moist finger graces her cheek and his thumb traces over a full lower lip. An urge to speak but he knows words would only spoil all of this. So, his hand comes back down resting just below her hip, rubs her leg through the skirt and then fingers find the zipper. Cuddy takes a deep breath and raises up so he can slide it off. An expression on her face indicative of prom night. Amid her anticipation she seems so nervous still, uncertain. She bends her knees a little when the skirt is gone. As a kind of protective reflex, as if to cross her legs. And although he'd like nothing more than to dive in now, rip off her panties,devour, penetrate, lick, thrust,suck, bite, kiss, grope, and generally copulate with this woman until the first day of spring, House stops.
Hovers a moment. He can sense her hesitation, and isn't sure what it means. Holding her foot a minute, he massages the arch while he thinks. Traveling up to her ankle, trying to force relaxation, he looks at her. House bows his head and kisses her knee, the touch loosening the joint that's keeping her thighs clasped shut. Their gaze is kept as his lips trail up the leg, nose dragging intermittently until it reaches the inner most part of her thigh.
Eyes finally part. Seeing a birthmark, House's head tilts and he blinks. But s demoting it to such mundane status. It is a mole, really.There's something unique about it, though, maybe moreso than any of her other features. It is anything but ordinary. An anomaly. Static breath builds and he kisses this mark letting his mouth until he decides it is perfection. Air from his nose circulating between her legs, the humidity is making her more taut, tight. Resting his head here, a sideburn tickles the porcelain limb, and House closes his eyes attempting to dream.
It is an awkward position. It usually is. Like puzzles pieces, forming a strange shape, but they fit. They belong together. Like this. It is the only way to see the whole picture.
In this embrace they are not cold anymore. Or alone anymore.
They are home.
With his vain attempt to dream, Greg House discovers that as much as he wants to deposit his mouth a few inches over, trace out letters with his tongue and murmur all of his life's secrets into her while letting his long fingers curl inside and...
He can't. Not now.
So he sits up, stares at her, entranced by the possibility. And he sees it in her eyes. Summer. Pain. Fear. The same expression from September, when she awoke about to fall. It is a fear of falling, of losing control, slipping away. Radiating reluctance. She looks so young now. House stares at her suddenly sad, concerned, aware. Incapable of even blinking.
"What is it?" Cuddy asks.
House shakes his head, knowing he can't say exactly what he's thinking. Knowing he doesn't deserve her. Knowing this isn't the time.
"You're beautiful."
The only thought his brain would let his heart to concede to his mouth. And in the glow of dim tungsten incandescence it is true. A single lamp, a cheap light with an even cheaper bulb, is the only thing illuminating this couple. The woman is more than beautiful beneath him. More immaculate than he can remember her ever being. She is someone he used to know.
A again, fragile, , at his mercy.
Flawless.
And he is just a defect, wavering between her legs, preparing to take that all away from her. There is no reason for dulling the er of this pearl.
So he comes up, abruptly ending the stillness, brings his face to hers and kisses her gently on the lips, the eyes, the forehead, and collapses at her side. Not sighing, not even breathing, just knowing this is right.
An arm behind but not around her, Cuddy lies still a few minutes, not entirely certain what just happened. Then she reaches over, turns off the lamp, returning to nestle herself in his embrace. House covers them both in the blanket, and their body temperatures return to normal. Eyelashes tickle his bicep as she dozes off, quickly asleep.
Tonight House doesn't need to dream. The dream has been realized. It is tangible, breathing, dreaming itself, beside him. Staring out at the cloudless sky, observing the way moonlight attaches to this , he is still consumed by retrospection. Looking through the window, where starlight bends at the , he wonders if it is in fact, the light of the past.
Shining through.
But is can't be that simple. No, perhaps it is more like a lens. Convex and concave elements aligning, a specific quantity of yesterday's sunshine beaming through an iris, producing an upside down latent image on our consciousness that can only be revealed through recollection.
But really, it is much more abstract. The transparent thing through which the past shines is constantly changing. It is a window and a lens. A mirror and a projector. Intangible optical translucence. A kaleidoscope constantly rotating. Varying symmetries, faces, places, moments, remembrance. Colorful patterns, coalescing, combining are experiences. Youth fades, the shades of the rainbow change, residing at a seemingly reachable end of a tube.
But this spectrum of light and color is inaccessible. The scope immeasurable, the images infinitely transient, perpetually regretful. Yet we are compelled to turn, continually finding altering beauty, evolving forms, variegated reflections, pictures, shadows that comprise memory, youth, life itself.
Looking at the woman by his side, House now understands that it is no longer merely a memory he is in love with. It is the flesh, the , the hair, the body, the soul beside him. And though her heart may not belong to him, this doctor falls in love and then he falls asleep.
