"Did you ever meet his father?" Cuddy asked Wilson as he reached for the complimentary nachos.
"A few times," he answered. "Does House know we're having lunch together?"
"No. What was Mr. House like?"
"Cold and to the point. One of those 'my way or the highway' people. House definitely picked that up from his father. But there wasn't any love lost between them. The tension between them was almost palpable…to say that it could be cut with a knife is the understatement of the year. You could scoop it up and make sundaes with it."
The waiter brought their drinks: water for Cuddy and iced tea with lemon for Wilson. After the waiter left Cuddy asked, "Tension from what?"
"They couldn't stand the sight of each other," he said between munching on the nachos and dipping them in salsa. "Just being in the same room without screaming at each other was a miracle. I really hate to say this but I think House had more than a few good reasons to not care that his father died."
Cuddy sipped her drink and asked, "Like what?"
"Nothing House did was ever good enough for dear old dad. Daddy Dearest was never there for Junior. Crap like that."
"What else?"
Wilson looked up at his former boss, now soon-to-be current boss. "Why are you giving me the third degree about a man neither of us know? Why don't you ask House?"
She ignored his questions and had another one of her own. "Did House ever mention any….abuse?"
"Cuddy, I think--"
"Did he ever mention it, Wilson?" Her tone demanded an answer.
There was an unspoken agreement between House and Wilson that their conversations about things outside the hospital were held in the strictest confidence. Translation: it was nobody else's business. Betraying House's trust was the last thing he wanted to do now that he winning that trust back. After a few moments Wilson said, "We never had this conversation."
"I know." Cuddy rested her chin in her hands and waited.
"If House asks we were just having a nice lunch to celebrate me returning to the hospital."
"Of course."
Wilson took a sip of his drink. "He never actually came out and said he was abused, but a few of the things he told me over the years certainly sounded like abuse to me."
"Go on,"Cuddy encouraged him. From the corner of her eye she could see the waiter arriving with their meals.
After the waiter flitted to another table and a napkin was on Wilson's lap, the oncologist said, "He said that his father wasn't shy about using his belt, among other things. Whether House actually deserved a whipping as punishment for misbehaving--or if he was even misbehaving at all--was beside the point."
"Good God." Cuddy pressed her lips into a thin line. She looked down at her enchiladas, her appetite coming to a screeching halt. But she couldn't bring herself to waste a plate of perfectly good food and took a bite. "What do you mean by other things?"
"Do you really want to know?" Wilson peered across the table at her, his expression dark and serious.
After glancing around to see if anyone else was listening, Cuddy leaned over and quietly told him, "You don't have to give me the gory details. Just the 'in a nutshell' version."
"House told me that his dad sometimes got creative with his punishments. Like the time he didn't talk to him for an entire summer."
"He told me about that this morning." Cuddy paused with a forkful of cheese-dripping enchilada halfway to her mouth. "He said his dad slipped him notes under the door."
"Really? House told you that?" Wilson sounded skeptical.
"How else would I know about it?" she countered.
He shrugged while pushing the beans and rice around his plate, then said, "He must trust you."
"I like to think I earned that trust."
"You have. So what are we doing here, talking behind his back?"
"We're not; we're having a nice lunch. You were saying…?"
"He also mentioned that his father sometimes made him sleep outside in the doghouse and take baths in ice water."
Cuddy managed to set her fork on the plate before she dropped it. The restaurant seemed to tilt; her stomach felt hollow and legs shaky even though she was sitting down. "Wilson…is that true?"
"I believe it is," he replied solemnly.
She believed it, too. Reaching for her water, she muttered, "Jesus…no wonder he had to be dragged to the funeral."
"I totally kicked his ass," House gloated, sitting at Cuddy's kitchen table while waiting for the coffee to finish brewing.
"He beat me by five whole points," Wilson clarified to Cuddy. "If I hadn't got that damn split…"
"One point is all it takes, my boy." The diagnostician grinned devilishly. He always looked so damn good when he did that, especially when the grin was a little crooked, like it was right then.
Wilson rolled his eyes. "How long are you going to brag about it now?"
"As long as it takes to drive you insane."
"You already are."
"My point exactly," House said, while taking the cup Cuddy handed him.
"Do you boys have any other plans in the future?" she asked, joining them at the table. "More bowling, perhaps?"
As the two men began to make plans for another bowling date, Cuddy surreptitiously kept an eye on House. She was elated to see he was perfectly relaxed and calm and happy with the two people he cared about most. House hadn't asked where Cuddy was on the day she and Wilson had lunch, and she wasn't about to tell him something he could go the rest of his life not knowing. Laughter and jokes were shared with the best friends. House tossed a few smiles and smoky glances in her direction. This cheerful and carefree House was something she wanted to see more of.
But she knew the bitter, cynical man who had been abused by his father would show up again sooner or later. And she would be there for him when he did.