Probably the last chapter for the weekend. The next one is obviously complicated.
5:55 a.m.
Cuddy sat on the couch, waiting. The yoga routine that usually started her morning had never even crossed her mind today. Down the hall, Abby and Rachel were still asleep, though due to wake up soon, but she had just called Marina, making arrangements to have the nanny take the girls to her place for the day, something they'd done before on occasion, and then Cuddy left a message on her secretary's voice mail that she was taking a personal day.
Wilson had called her a few minutes ago, catching a brief private moment while House was in the bathroom, giving her a heads up. "Time of death was 5:10. House shocked the kid EIGHT times. I all but had to pull him off physically. The mother went into hysterics and was saying, 'You said you'd help him.' Chandler was just looking at House. Never said a word, but you could tell House was hearing what he was thinking." The oncologist's voice was nearly flat, reporting all of the above like a news recap on the hour, but from excess emotion rather than lack of it. There simply was no way to adequately express the scene in that room, and he was floundering.
Cuddy closed her eyes. Oh, Greg! She should have been there herself instead of asking Wilson to stick with him through the night. But the girls. . . "Thank you for getting him out of that."
"It wasn't hard, actually. Once he gave up on the kid, it was like all the fight went out of him at once. He just seems numb. I think he would have stood there for another hour and been blamed and yelled at, or he would have gone with anybody who tried to get him to move, no difference. I'm going to drive him home; we'll be there in about 10 minutes. He's coming out, got to go." He hung up without waiting for a goodbye.
So now Cuddy sat here waiting. She knew she needed to call Jensen, but that conversation would take a while, and she didn't need to be part way through it when House got home, the girls woke up, or Marina arrived. Besides, Jensen was in the next state, a couple of hours away, and Cuddy knew that simply shoving a phone at her husband as he limped through the door was not likely to be a good strategy. She'd call Jensen the first uninterrupted extended chance she got, but the emotional first aid was going to fall to her, not to the psychiatrist. She would be the first responder to the crisis, after Wilson getting him home, that is. She just hoped House would listen.
The headlights of Wilson's car splashed up against the house as he turned into the driveway. Cuddy stood up and walked over to open the door. House slowly limped up the sidewalk and inside. He looked like a zombie, face drawn, eyes bloodshot, obviously both physically and emotionally exhausted, the limp much worse than usual. The black eye and cut cheekbone only finished off the picture. Cuddy embraced him and was relieved to feel a little bit of returning pressure of his arms around her. After a moment, she let go. "Sit down, Greg." He dropped onto the couch obediently, and Cuddy turned to Wilson, hovering uncertainly just inside the door. Honestly, Wilson looked pretty worn out himself. "Go home, Wilson, have breakfast with Sandra, and then sleep all day. You've got the day off." She dropped her voice to just above a whisper, although House gave no indication that he was listening to them. "Thank you for staying with him through last night."
"You're welcome." Wilson's chocolate eyes, as worried as they were tired, went to House. "You need to call Jensen."
"I will, but not in his first 5 minutes through the door. He needs me right now, Jensen a little later. Go on home. We'll be okay." She glanced back at House. "I hope."
He hesitated, reluctant to leave, even though he knew he needed rest himself. "Call me if you need me."
"I will."
Wilson finally left, still casting sidelong glances back, and Cuddy turned to House. He was sitting on the couch where he had landed, eyes on the far wall, looking at nothing. "Greg." To her surprise, he did react immediately, looking back at her. She went over to join him on the couch, sliding up close to him, pulling his head over to her shoulder. He was as compliant as a ragdoll. "I wish there had been anything you could have done, but you did your best," she said, carefully avoiding the phase I'm sorry.
"I know," he replied softly after a minute. "It just wasn't enough."
"It was still your best. It wasn't your fault." She pulled him more tightly against her. His skin actually felt chilled to the touch, and she pulled a throw off the back of the couch, wrapping it around both of them, making a cocoon of warmth. He didn't say anything else for the moment, just leaning against her, closing his eyes on the world. Were it not for the tension in his body, she might have thought he had fallen asleep. She just held him for several minutes of silence.
Rachel was heard down the hall, with Abby as a slightly delayed echo. Cuddy pushed the throw back and then wrapped him up again. "I'll get them. Marina will be here shortly, and she's going to take the girls to her place today." He nodded. "Unless you want them here. I figured you'd be so tired." And in shock. And battling mental ghosts. She didn't think he'd want his daughters going through today with him, and they would also divide her attention, which didn't need to be divided. Not today.
He shook his head minimally. "I'll be okay alone," he said softly.
She leaned over to kiss him. "You aren't going to be alone, Greg. I'm taking the day off myself."
"Okay," he mumbled. No positive or negative reaction, just a response. Rachel was getting more demanding, and Cuddy turned away to head down the hall, but she was still looking back several times on her journey to the nursery.
When she returned a few minutes later, carrying Abby with Rachel scampering ahead of her, House didn't appear to have moved an inch, still sitting on the couch, wrapped in the throw, studying the far wall blankly. Belle had jumped up into his lap, nesting into the throw with unerring feline warmth radar, and one hand rested lightly on her, not stroking, just resting there. Other than that, it might have been the same snapshot she left ten minutes ago. He just seemed numb, like Wilson had said.
Rachel, of course, spotted him instantly. "Dada!" She pulled herself with difficulty up onto the couch. "Good morning."
That actually got the strongest reaction so far. House's fixed gaze broke, and he looked down at her. "Morning, Rachel," he replied.
She reached up to trace the discolored, swollen eye, and he flinched. "Ouch?"
"Right. I . . . hit it against something." Like a fist, Cuddy thought.
She still didn't think he'd be able to deal with putting on a front for the girls all day, and furthermore didn't think he needed to, but for the moment, she seized the diversion. At least he seemed to have thawed a couple of degrees. "Greg, could you hold Abby while I start breakfast?"
"Okay." He held out his arms, and she passed Abby to him. Rachel had snuggled down against the side not occupied by Belle. The scene almost looked tranquil, until she looked at House's eyes. They had been inserted from a totally different script.
"Dada," Abby said, reaching up as Rachel had to explore his eye.
"I'm okay, Abby," he told her. "Just whacked it. It will be fine in a few days."
Cuddy went into the kitchen to start breakfast, keeping her ears peeled, occasionally coming to the door to look back over at them. The girls, content to be held by their father after his absence last night, were happily snuggled up with the cat, but House's eyes were on Abby, and the expression there was heart-wrenching, both regret for the life lost and for the pain suffered beforehand.
Marina arrived before breakfast was ready, and there ensued the first battle of the day as Rachel decided that she didn't want to leave her father. Rachel had quite a temper and could use it at times. Cuddy won, of course, but the cries weren't doing much for House. The fact that he did not capitulate, only watched, reconfirmed for her, though, that he didn't have the strength to keep up the act in front of them all day today, and he himself knew it.
Finally, Marina was gone with the girls, agreeing to feed them at her place, and Cuddy finished cooking and then brought two plates into the living room for them. He eyed the food as if meals were a new invention. "You need to eat, Greg. I know you're not feeling like it right now, but it will help. You need your meds, too." Again, he gave in without any show of spirit, simply started taking numb bites.
Cuddy was revising her plans as she watched him. More and more, she was convinced that his body as well as his mind had hit complete overload. He badly needed to talk things out with her and with Jensen, but she thought that might be more effective after he had gotten some rest. The stress of the last 24 hours had utterly drained him. Going into a session with him this worn out seemed too much like it might backfire. "Greg, why don't we take a nice soak in the hot tub after we eat - it will help your leg - and then take a nap? I know you were up all night, and I only catnapped myself."
He looked up from his plate, another flicker of reaction in his eyes. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine. Just tired, and so are you. Let's be lazy for a while. We both need the rest."
His eyes dropped back to his meal in progress. "Okay."
She hesitated. "And I really think you might ought to take the sleeping pill." She couldn't imagine his subconscious missing the opportunity to trot out a string of nightmares. He needed rest, not an even stronger return to his childhood.
"Okay."
This was uncanny. Her concern was growing; he seemed to have no spirit at all. Maybe the hot tub would thaw his soul a bit.
The hot tub was an addition last spring, one they had picked out together, and it did wonders for her own administrative muscle aches after long days as well as for his leg. It seemed to have some effect today, at least warming him up. They lolled around together for almost an hour in the heated water, more reassurance of presence than passion, and his skin no longer felt chilled when they got out, his leg not quite as cramped. He took the sleeping pill without protest, and they climbed into bed, joined by Belle. Cuddy, relaxed in spite of herself by the warm water, fought to stay awake. Just a little longer. Once she was sure that he was completely out and then had held him even longer to make double sure, she climbed out of bed, tucked the covers back over him, and then stopped for a moment, looking at the cat. Belle was curled against him, but her own eyes were open and looking back at Cuddy, and there was almost feline concern in them. "He had a rough night, Belle. You keep him company for a few minutes, okay?" The cat blinked as if agreeing, and Cuddy smiled briefly. You're losing it, Lisa, she scolded herself, but she still felt a little better about leaving him momentarily as she retreated to the living room.
She looked at her watch. 8:40. She called Jensen's office number, only to be told he was in an appointment. "Please ask him to call me as soon as possible," she emphasized. "It's urgent. Use my cell number."
"He should almost be done with his first patient, Dr. Cuddy. I'll give him the message."
She hung up and sat there mentally chewing her fingernails - she refused to allow herself to do it physically - until the return call came at 8:50.
Jensen sounded concerned. "Dr. Cuddy? What's wrong?"
For some reason, the question nearly made her break down herself as the magnitude of the last day hit her. "We . . ." She paused, taking a deep breath. Talk, damn it. You can cry later.
"What happened?" Jensen was really getting concerned now.
"There was a case yesterday." She launched into the tale. It was a long one, but she made it through without totally losing it, grateful that the psychiatrist was such a good listener, just absorbing details unfailingly. "He needs to see you," she finished.
There was a slight pause. "I definitely agree," he replied. "But it must be his choice. We can set something up, but he has to know in advance where he's going and why. If you blindside him with this, it will backfire."
"I'll tell him. I think he'll probably agree, though. He's just agreeing to everything at the moment. He seems absolutely numb."
"Is he still hearing his father?"
That was a good question. "I haven't asked him since he came home. I haven't seen him react to him, but given that he isn't reacting much to anything right now, that's not conclusive."
"Hopefully getting some sleep will help, too. Physical and psychological feed off each other. I could see him over my lunch hour, but that puts you all on a tight schedule and doesn't allow him much of a nap."
"Wouldn't work anyway. I talked him into taking a sleeping pill around 8:00. He's going to be out for around 7 hours. I decided watching him that he really needed the sleep first, and I'm sure he would have had nightmares."
"A wise choice. Okay, I can stick him on at the end of the day. My last appointment is 4:00, over by 5:00, but it doesn't matter when he gets here. I'll wait."
"Thank you. I know he had an appointment with you tomorrow anyway, but this won't wait."
"No, it won't. One more thing in the meantime, Dr. Cuddy."
Had she left some other important psychiatric first aid step undone? "What?"
"Get some sleep yourself while he does. You sound far too close to the edge on your own behalf, and I doubt you slept much last night either."
Jensen was near as perceptive as House. "I will," she promised. "I'll probably drive him up this afternoon, if he'll let me, but I won't go in with him. I know he likes to keep the sessions private."
"They tend to work better for him that way. See you this afternoon."
She hung up and glanced at her watch. She'd been talking to Jensen for a full hour. She felt a little better, though, feeling a strong ally in the battle. With a mental apology to his second patient of the day, waiting in line, she walked back to the bedroom, where House was still sound asleep under the watchful eyes of his feline guard. Rolling under the covers with a slight groan, she joined them in rest.
