Notes: I should be unambiguous about this work: this is not a House/Cuddy story. I'm writing this story to examine their relationship instead. So, if you're not comfortable with the Cuddy/OC pairing, please stop reading now.

Also, I've never written explicitly 'happy' endings for my works, fan fiction or otherwise. John Updike's "A&P" is a stroke of genius.

THE apparition of these faces in a crowd,
Petals on a wet black bough
-Ezra Pound, "In a Station of the Metro"

But out of that swinishness there was bound to come reaction, and out of the reaction there was bound to flow a desire to re-examine the whole national pretension-to turn on the light, to reject old formulae, to think things out anew and in terms of reality.
-H.L. Mencken, "The American Novel"

Four: Stalking Memory (Clinamen)

It wasn't obsessive, really, what she was doing.

Cuddy read all the brochures and noted when he would be presenting and where it would be held. She weighed her options and assessed which presentations she could opt to miss, maybe one or two, just to see him. She wasn't surprised when she read the descriptions from the brochures. Phillip was still a world-renowned geneticist, but he was here representing a biotech firm. She'd heard of the company before, but she wasn't familiar with it. Curious, she searched for him on the internet. He was now head of development at a Swiss biotech company. She wondered why he was here, though. Was the company branching out here? Does this mean that he would be back for good?

She browsed the results for him a bit more, and mentally traced his whereabouts after she stopped checking on him. He had been doing research all over Europe, in Hong Kong, and in Singapore all this time, and even managed to be involved with a biotech company. She couldn't help but get worried about him. All these must have taken a toll on him. She needed to see him.

When she woke up on the second day of the conference, she checked her calendar on her phone. Her schedule was set for today. After some stretching, a bath, and dressing up, she took an elevator down to the dining hall for some breakfast. Phillip wasn't there. She decides to attend the morning presentations she had been meaning to attend. She was fascinated by all of them, and was impressed by how the conference was organized. If yesterday was centered on communities, today was all about the macro; the larger picture. She took down notes, asked some questions, and mulled over how that would affect her hospital. She had been so engrossed with the sessions that 12.30 took her by surprise.

As lunchtime comes, she prepares herself. She checks her phone for the schedule, finishes her aglio olio, and attends two presentations. Again, she takes down notes, asks questions, and mulls over solutions. She was systematic, methodical. The end of the two sessions take her by surprise again and even if she has prepared, she realizes that it isn't actually the case. She doesn't know what she wants; she doesn't know why she's doing what she's doing. All Cuddy knows is that she needs to see Phillip again.

Screw it, she thinks.

She's at the back of the conference hall, since she lets doctors, hospital representatives, and company reps take their seats. This is her tactic: she doesn't want Phillip to see her. As he begins talking, she's careful at first. She tries to convince herself that she just wants to see how he does, nothing more. She discreetly looks at the members of the audience, and she isn't surprised to find that they're giving him their full attention. They laugh at his acerbic comments, and they seem to be convinced about what he's trying to tell them.

He doesn't have crib sheets with him. Just a remote for his slides. She focuses on him now, and she's drawn to him. He's always been like that, even in med school. It used to make her furious; it used to make her push herself more just to beat him. There had always been competition between them, rooted in academics. When they started seeing each other (and fucking each other senseless), he drew her in. Now, he still has that impact on her. She exits the room politely, anxiety and panic in her mind.

She sighs and bites her lip.

It's half past six. And Cuddy is feeling restless again. This time, it isn't because of victory. This time, it's her impending doom. It's overly dramatic, she supposes, but that will do.

As she reviews her paper for tomorrow, she's a bit frantic. She's presenting right before dinner, and she knows that it will be a tough crowd. Tomorrow's theme is on women, and she's second-guessing her presentation. She knows that what she chose is a difficult topic, because she deals with difficult situations daily. More specifically, she deals with a difficult man daily. Cuddy thinks of House, and hopes that he hasn't been causing more trouble. She knows that Dr. Taylor is competent; she trusts him. It's House she doesn't trust.

She misses him, and that thought adds to her agitation.

"Hey. I need to sit down. There aren't any tables left." Of course. It's Phillip. He has a tray that's practically a sampling of the whole dinner buffet. She can't help but stifle a snort. She pulls him a chair beside her own and he sits down. He sets his dinner tray on the table. "You look worried," he casually remarks as he puts a napkin on his lap.

"That's because I am," she can't help but be more honest when he's around. "Do you have some sort of radar? Because you practically appear whenever I'm worried," Cuddy tells him. She moves her paper on her right side so she could give him space for all his food.

He has three plates. Two are for mains and entrees, while one is reserved for a helping of fruit. "I don't think so. You don't. You're always surprised when you see me," Phillip gives her a look. It's disorienting. "So I guess, a more apt metaphor for me would be an F-117 Nighthawk," he continues.

She decides to acknowledge the fact that she hasn't a clue when he's near her these past two days. Something's off. "Yes, you're a prime example of stealth aircraft," she says dryly. She resumes eating her trout. It was a bit spicy, and she liked it.

"I'm unusual and I'm all angles and edges? I'll take that as a compliment," he grins at her. She looks away, smiling. "I think I should've alluded to a submarine, though," he says with more than a hint of lasciviousness.

She bites her lip and looks at him. She chooses not to flirt and lets a few seconds pass. She hasn't anticipated how complicated this will be. She feels a palpable longing for him, and she pushes the thought away quickly. She takes a sip of her water.

"What's with all the anxiety?" Phillip was deftly cutting what looked like chicken with his fork and knife.

Before she can stop herself, she says, "I…I'm doubting my capacity on a topic I'm supposed to be an expert on. I'm not." She always hates how insecure she gets, how she always tells him, and how helpless she is like this.

He stops eating for a moment and swallows his food. Cuddy glances at his throat, then looks away again. "Then don't be an expert. You're the last speaker for tomorrow, right?"

"Unfortunately." she plays with her fish, swirling it around in its light sauce.

"Ever heard of ethos, pathos, and logos? I'm sure you have," his voice is a bit raspy, and Cuddy feels him looking at her.

"Yes. It's Aristotelian rhetoric," she risks and locks her eyes with his. "Ethos is credibility, pathos is the affective aspect, and logos is more intellectual. It's argument," she says all of this automatically, easily.

Phillip has a hint of a smile on his face. "And I'm sure you've read why they're all related."

Cuddy stops playing with her food. "Well, if you need to persuade your audience, they need to believe you. If you're not credible, if you don't move them, or if you don't appeal to their logic, you can't convince them. Are you saying that I need to emphasize them?"

He answers her question with his own question. "What's your topic?"

"Power dynamics, gender roles, and female leadership in a private hospital," she involuntarily places her hand on the paper she had been reviewing.

"I already know that." Phillip knows the title by heart now. "But why are you credible? Why will you, as you said so yourself, move them? What will the appeal to the mind be?" He moves closer to her, lazily placing his chin on his hand.

"You're making it sound like I'm running for office," she chuckles. She doesn't seem to be fazed by his closeness. "But I get your point. Running a hospital is great, but it's more challenging for women. You're constantly the subject of scrutiny. People always wonder if you've slept your way to the top. God, there's always some bet running at the hospital or some wild rumor."

Phillip furrows his brow. "About what, exactly?"

Cuddy is tactful, and thinks about what she will say next. "I have this…head of diagnostics. Remember Greg House?"

"Of course. You told me about him back in med school when we were together. Then you told me about him before we, um…Wait," Phillip is surprised. "He's working for you?"

"It's been a long time," Cuddy begins, defensive. "He's…something. He makes lewd comments about me whenever we see each other, which is every day. He's hard to control, he's obstinate, and he's brilliant." Cuddy's thoughts turn to House. He's infuriating, he's challenging, but she's grown fond of him. She takes a bite of her trout.

"Someone you've always liked. And someone you respect," Phillip's tone is neutral. He thinks that there might be something going on between his ex-wife and Greg House. It doesn't necessarily have to be overtly sexual. "Why don't you talk about that, then? I'm sure you've written an excellent paper, as usual. Just bring him into the mix." He gets back to eating, but he's lost his appetite. He hears her laugh softly.

"You're doing it again," she remarks playfully.

"What?" he says, feigning innocence. He doesn't look at her.

"You're helping me."

His eyes find hers. They're bright, he finds. "Does it make you uncomfortable?"

"Honestly, I don't know. All I know is that I want to thank you," Cuddy's voice is low now.

"I saw you during my talk-thing," Phillip confesses.

Cuddy starts blushing, her cheeks rosy-pink. So she got caught. "I was at the back!"

"I had my glasses on. You left early," he teases her and nudges Cuddy with his elbow.

Her blushing reaches her neck. He did look damn good with them on. "Oh. I-"

"Don't worry. I left early too. Yesterday."

Cuddy's touched and flattered. He was being sweet. So she wasn't the only one stalking or being borderline creepy. "Phillip, you came to check on me?" Cuddy smiles warmly.

She's gorgeous, he thinks. "You didn't see me?" he says in mock-hurt.

"I didn't wear my eyeglasses," she doesn't miss a beat. They both burst into laughter.

Her eyes are dancing, and she's closer to him now. Phillip wants to kiss her. He's always loved it when she's like this. He's the first to move away, pushing his plates and carelessly returns his napkin. He feels hurt, jealousy, and wistfulness.

"Talk about Greg House. You'll kick ass again." he stands, gives her a smile, and walks away, his hands in his pockets.

As she watches him go, she's strangely sad. He didn't even say good night, she thinks. She tries to finish her dinner alone, but she sees his leftovers. He was able to finish three-quarters of only a single plate. That was odd.

He didn't even have fruit. She replaces her plate of fish with his fruit platter. She picks up a strawberry with her left hand and eats it, licking her fingertips.