Chapter 10

Author's Note: Massive spoilers for Season 5 finale!

"In vain have I struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you."

[…] she could not be insensible to the compliment of such a man's affection, and though her intentions did not vary for an instant, she was at first sorry for the pain he was to receive; till, roused to resentment by his subsequent language, she lost all compassion in anger. [Pride and Prejudice Ch. 34]

Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital, May 2009

She sat on the couch in her office, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue and scrunching up the floral decoration that her assistant so prided herself on. The rush of adrenaline that had seen her through the last scene with House had subsided, leaving her tired and infinitely sad. She knew that sooner or later House would follow her into her office, that he'd find some completely over-the-top explanation for his behaviour, that she'd buy his excuse and let him appease her enough to withdraw his dismissal; but she also knew that things would never be the same again.

He had made her angry. Oh yes, ultimately he had succeeded in doing so with his wild stunt in the hospital lobby, announcing to all and sundry that he'd slept with her. She admittedly couldn't remember a time that she'd ever been so angry with him, but even in the first flush of fury she had known that the anger would pass; she had intended to shout at him and expected that he, having achieved his aim, would back down with ill grace and an inappropriate comment or two, accepting whatever punishment she meted out for him (clinic hours) with the intention of wriggling out of it somehow. That was how things had always worked between them.

In the first moment it had seemed to work that way. She had followed him and had caught up with him just short of his office, and she had yelled at him from the depth of her heart. He had listened to her rant as expected, but then he had stopped following the script. He had broken out.

"I was wondering whether we should move in together."

For one short delusional moment she had hoped he was making the obligatory inappropriate comment, being his usual jackass self, joking, deflecting, whatever. But she had searched his eyes and had known that he had meant it. The secret of their successful working relationship had always lain in the fact that she could tell whether he really meant the things he said or not, whether he was manipulating or whether he was sincere. At that moment he was sincere, horrifyingly so.

There were people who believed House was slightly autistic, some sort of medical Rainman, but that wasn't the case at all. His antenna was so nicely attuned to social niceties that he could pick up nuances in other people's words and deeds that everyone else missed completely. If he himself did not conform to social norms, it was not because he couldn't, but because he wouldn't. So, if House seriously thought that she might want to move in with him, it was not because he didn't have the ability to sense that he'd overstepped all boundaries of decent behaviour towards her these past twenty-four hours. No, it was because he believed that, despite what he'd put her through, she'd still want to have a relationship with him. And that hurt, it really hurt!

Granted, this past half year she had been wearing her heart on her sleeve, but how could anyone, even a narcissistic egomaniac of House's calibre, imagine that he could insult her family (for that was what Rachel was to her), humiliate her in public, and still command her affection? Was that how he saw their relationship – he just had to snip his fingers and she'd come running, no matter how badly he trampled over her feelings? She must come across as completely desperate, deprived and frustrated for House to treat her in such a casually callous fashion, and she could only berate herself for having missed the streak of sadistic cruelty that underlay his male arrogance. Why blame him – he'd never pretended to care – when she'd been the one to interpret more into their relationship than actually existed.

She saw him approach the door to her office, but she didn't even try to hide the signs of her distress. His actions today had made his opinion of her abundantly clear, so she had nothing to lose. Let him mock her tears or jeer at her distress: nothing he could say or do could possibly increase her misery or self-loathing at this point.

Two days later

With the carrier in which Rachel was sleeping hooked firmly over one arm, Cuddy unlocked the front door with her free hand. She kicked off her heels as she walked into the house, dumped the carrier-cum-child unceremoniously onto the sofa and collapsed next to it. The Chase/Cameron wedding had doubtless been lovely, but she had been too distraught to enjoy herself or even take much notice of the proceedings. She had excused herself early on, claiming that Rachel was teething and feverish, and everyone had politely pretended to believe her excuse, but she knew that behind her back there had been a lot of raised eyebrows and wild speculation. The news of the events of the day before yesterday had spread through the hospital like wildfire, and as a considerable portion of the wedding guests were hospital staff, it had been an effort to keep a cool demeanour and a smile pasted to her face. Few had dared to ask about House, but when someone did, she had evaded, uttering non-committal phrases such as, "a long-postponed vacation" or "stress-related issues". She supposed the team would have to be informed soon, but it could definitely wait until Monday.

Not that she could have told her questioners much more, given that she herself knew next to nothing. House had been as tight as a clam after his break-down in her office, only asking to be taken to Wilson, and Wilson had waved her away quickly, indicating that he would take over from there. Apart from that, he had also been fairly uncommunicative, only leaving a message to the effect that he was taking House to an institution called Mayfield on Saturday. She had tried to phone him, but so far she had only reached his answer phone. Finally, she had left a message asking him to come over for a talk once he returned from dropping House off.

Two hours later there was a gentle knock on the door. That was so like Wilson, to time his arrival that she'd have Rachel well settled in bed and to remember not to ring the bell, so as not to wake her. Nevertheless, she was not placated. She opened the door, but spread herself across the doorway denying him entry, one hand on the doorknob, the other on the opposite frame. She fixed him with an icy glare.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Wilson drew his hand through his hair, obviously for the umpteenth time that day, and squirmed. "He didn't want ... we weren't sure what it was ... we were still diagnosing it ..."

She pushed herself off the doorframe and marched to the living-room, leaving him to close the door behind him. When he caught up with her, she nodded her head at the sofa. He sat down, much as a defendant in court, while she took up a position in front of him.

"How long has this been going on? How long has he been in that state?" she interrogated him.

"I'm not sure," Wilson admitted, "but I think he's been hallucination for two or three weeks now."

"Hallucinating? He's been hallucinating?" Cuddy's voice rose despite herself. "House has been hallucinating, he continued diagnosing patients and you helped him to cover up?" Wilson had the grace to look guilty. "Are you completely mad? What if he'd ..." The words left her at the thought of what might have happened, if House had misdiagnosed a patient or implemented some outrageous treatment in a state of hallucination.

"He did ask me to sit in on his differentials," Wilson defended himself, "so that I could stop him from doing something completely insane – I mean, insane even by his standards. And he does have his team."

"Wilson, you are an oncologist. You are hardly in a position to judge whether any of the complex diagnostic procedures or treatments that House's team implement are justified or not. And since when does House listen to his team?" She went off on a different tack. "Just what has he been hallucinating?"

Wilson was silent, playing uncomfortably with the knot of his tie. This was obviously something House was touchy about, but then, who wouldn't be? A hallucination told you all about someone's inner fears and aspirations, and House had never been one to share even the most superficial confidence. After almost twenty years of friendship, if one could call it such, what did she actually know about him?

Cuddy sat down in an armchair opposite Wilson and leaned forward, emphasizing her words with an adjuring look. "Wilson, you know that House caused endless havoc in the hospital the day before yesterday. I fired him. That's his official status at the moment: he is fired, and he stays that way unless you give me a good reason why I should rescind that decision. I need an explanation for his behaviour that convinces me that there will be no repetition of those events when he returns from detox in three weeks or so."

She was blackmailing him emotionally and she knew it. She was almost as manipulative as House, but she had to be in order to reconcile all the different interests and claims that clashed in a big teaching hospital such as PPTH. Then again, Wilson knew that she was manipulating him, and she knew that he knew ... It was an unspoken deal that they had: she wanted some information, he wanted to unburden his soul. This way they both got what they wanted; Wilson could justify his indiscretion by pretending he was trying to save House's job and Cuddy could fool herself into believing that she had no personal stake, but only the hospital's best interests at heart.

Wilson threw up his hands in defeat and said, "He kept seeing Kutner." He hesitated a moment, casting his eyes around the room to avoid Cuddy's, and then he added quietly, "And Amber."

Cuddy leaned back, shock clearly written across her features. "Oh my god," she whispered. "He's been seeing people he believes he ... people for whose death he feels responsible." Wilson nodded.

They sat in silence, Cuddy chewing on her lower lip and castigating herself inwardly for not noticing that anything was amiss. Finally she asked, "How did you notice?"

Wilson roused himself from his own thoughts. "I didn't. He came to me when he needed help excluding other possible causes. We finally narrowed it down to his Vicodin abuse."

"Are you sure?" Cuddy asked, frowning. "Schizophrenia seems a more likely explanation in view of his escapades the day before yesterday. A voice from heaven (or wherever House's voices might come from) telling him to expose me to the whole hospital as a whore!"

"No, we excluded schizophrenia," Wilson replied, shifting uneasily on the sofa.

"Wilson, hallucinating about Kutner or Amber doesn't explain his behaviour towards me. You're hiding something from me!" Cuddy accused. "It would make sense if he'd yelled to the world at large that he'd slept with Amber, or Kutner for that matter, but .... oh!" Realization hit her and she looked to Wilson for confirmation, her face slowly suffusing with a blush, but he was studying his hands. "Wilson, please tell me he didn't hallucinate what I am thinking!" she implored, but Wilson only shrugged apologetically.

A heavy silence fell as Cuddy tried to gauge her emotional response to this revelation. It was one thing to be the subject of someone's sexual fantasies. Everyone had those, she had them too and she certainly wouldn't like the subjects of her fantasies to know that they played a leading role in her mental pornography, but essentially they were of no significance. Just the idea of having real sex with some of the principals of her fantasies was ludicrous. If they came near her in real life she'd probably gag in disgust. A hallucination, however, was a completely different issue. Having sex in a hallucination was like the real thing for the person concerned, hence it was safe to assume that House had wanted to sleep with her in reality, and would have done so, had the real Cuddy been present and willing. This was news. And if that weren't enough of a revelation, judging by his words the next day he had also been disposed towards a permanent relationship. Cuddy would not have been surprised to hear that she was a regular in whatever sexual fantasies House chose to indulge in, but she had never been quite sure whether he really wanted anything other than whatever kick he got out of their continual banter and his inappropriate verbal attacks. Apparently he had wanted more, and if the whole situation weren't so tragic, she'd glean some satisfaction from this knowledge.

"So that was what he meant when he said I was over-reacting to what happened the day before," she mused. "I was talking about Rachel and he was talking about ..." Wilson looked at her questioningly, so she elucidated, "Before I brought him to you, we had a very cryptic conversation. Well, cryptic to me. He was exceptionally rude to me the day before, even by his standards – I suppose it was a call for help – and I ... just left him standing there in my office and went home. I was furious with him." She fell silent, guilt washing over her. "Of course, if he thought we'd made it up somehow and I'd actually slept with him ... no wonder he was going through all those antics!" Another memory nagged at her. "The day before yesterday, before he broke down in my office, he said that I'd helped him." She frowned in thought. "Wilson, what exactly did I help him with in his hallucination?"

Wilson sighed. "He hallucinated that he told you about his other hallucinations and asked you to help him detox. You did so, and then ...." He rolled his hand trying to put into the gesture what he wanted to avoid mentioning.

Tears shot into her eyes, and she had to turn away to hide them from Wilson. Hallucinating about sleeping with her was a compliment in some screwed-up way, she supposed, but one that was slightly difficult to accept. Hallucinating that he'd asked her for help in order to detox - her, not Wilson - touched her deep down in some emotional layer she hadn't known she possessed.

"Oh, House," she whispered, "oh, House!"

[…] when she considered how unjustly she had condemned and upbraided him, her anger was turned against herself; and his disappointed feelings became the object of compassion. [Pride and Prejudice Ch. 37]