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It is difficult to know at what moment love begins; it is less difficult to know that it has begun -- Longfellow—Kavanagh. Ch. XXI.
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He sat and thought and thought and sat. Something he'd been doing for days, weeks… months. Round and round in his head went the pros and cons. If he could have been bothered to list them side by side on a white board, the cons far outweighed the pros --- he was sure he was being objective. As it was, he had them in his head, it was safer that way – nobody could accidentally uncover the 'evidence'. So, by sheer numbers, there should have been no further thought needed on the matter. Unfortunately, there was that pesky little thing which he'd put in the cons column but which seemed to carry far more weight than its size would dictate and somehow the weight seemed to spin it over into the pros column.
It didn't help that he didn't understand it. Oh, he understood about brain chemistry, biological imperatives, pleasure and reward mechanisms, how feelings could be triggered – love, fear. He understood the sympathetic part of the autonomic nervous system that regulates unconscious functions – the automatic, involuntary response that bypasses the rational mind. Fear, the acute stress response, made sense -- a primitive survival mechanism triggering a bodily reaction otherwise known as the "fight or flight" response. A combination of neural, physiological and psychological processes rapidly preparing the body to fight or run with an almost instantaneous surge in heart rate, blood pressure, sweating, breathing, and metabolism, and a tensing of muscles. So, hear Cuddy roar his name, sympathetic nervous system kicks in using the subcortical pathway (eye to thalamus to amygdala), a fast-track route through the brain, resulting in a rapid physical response which has him running from danger. Only when the slower, conscious processes catch up are decisions made like 'is this a good direction to be running?'. His nervous system seemed to be perverse, hear Cuddy shriek his name and he headed towards danger like a moth to a flame, even when his thought processes caught up, he still thought it was a good direction to be headed. He didn't understand this either, he'd never been an extreme sports person, enjoyed sports, yes, but deliberately courted danger… okay, there was his bike and speed, but that was a general testosterone driven thing, not necessarily confined to males. That was the pleasure and reward mechanism, linked to all sorts of weird and wonderful human behaviour -- drugs, gambling, love.
Then there was his self destructive tendency but that wasn't usually driven by thrill seeking behaviour – unless you counted his power plays with Cuddy as thrill seeking – they certainly turned him on… seeing her angry, chest heaving, eyes flashing, focused on him to laser accuracy turned him on, matching wits with Cuddy turned him on. He'd deliberately provoke her just to get her attention. He sighed. When had it gone from hatred to lust? He'd obviously missed that point. Not that hatred and lust were mutually exclusive. She was smart, funny, zesty body… beautiful eyes… heart stopping smile -- a lot to lust over, no denying that – biological imperative, testosterone driven, at least he could understand that.
Actually, it had gone full circle and he hadn't missed the point where it had initially gone to hatred. She'd conspired to take his control, her and Stacy. Then she'd given him a job, a job he could enjoy, when no one else would have employed him. He should have felt gratitude, instead he was angry and bitter. He'd oscillated between avoidance as a means of provoking her and confrontation as a means of provoking her. He'd used his assets, his powers of observation, to improve his game against her. Paid attention to what she did, where she went, who she was with as a better means to manipulate her, to hone his negotiation skills with her. Then it finally penetrated his conscience that she felt guilty.
Guilty that he'd been misdiagnosed. Guilty that the operation on his leg was against his wishes and had left him in chronic pain. She had sympathised with Stacy and the need to keep him alive. They'd both expected him to be angry but then thought he'd get over it. Stacy always thought she'd done the right thing. Cuddy finally understood that it hadn't been the right thing for him and felt guilty for her betrayal. The thing was she had done the right thing in suggesting the alternative course of treatment. He wouldn't have accepted it, but the final decision had been Stacy's. Logically, he shouldn't have taken it out on Cuddy, practically, he was so angry at life, the universe and everything that he hit out at any one within striking distance. At some point, his rational mind had triumphed and he'd stopped hating her. He couldn't say he'd forgiven her – if she'd done what she thought was right there was nothing to forgive. He'd kept up the hostilities out of habit maybe, because she was his boss and there were bound to be points of disagreement, because they thrived on conflict, because he could hide behind it. All the above, but mostly it was about control. Sometimes he felt the need to take her control. He didn't like it when she had control, although rationally, he knew he needed her to stop him doing something insane. He liked challenging her, he liked that she fought back, sometimes he even liked that she won. He liked playing games with her, although to her they weren't games… occasionally, maybe.
So, he'd stopped hating her. This hadn't stopped him gathering information about her – not quite obsessively… well, perhaps not compulsively. But it was all part of the game, 'how to get one over on your boss'. She should have fired him years ago… she should never have hired him. If he didn't like it he should have walked out – but that would have been change… and not necessarily for the better.
He didn't want things to change but recent events had brought into sharp focus how fragile life was, how vulnerable his existence, how dependent he was on certain things being constant when the whimsy of fate could in fact whisk them away in an instant. He'd taken far too many things for granted, him being an arrogant, egomaniacal, control seeking narcissist. As much as he tried to avoid self-analysis and introspection, he was good at problems, and once he put his mind to something he did tend to stick with it. He'd accepted that a miserable life was better than no life. This wasn't a particularly big acceptance, he'd always been miserable. He'd had moments of happiness, of pleasure, some not of the sexual kind but happy and carefree? No. But life could be less miserable, less… lonely. He was a misanthrope but certain individuals made life more interesting and some more pleasurable. Some could even stand his shit. Some actually seemed to like him, despite himself, which brought him back to Cuddy.
Why Cuddy? Why not some hot, young chick? Not that Cuddy wasn't hot, she was just a different hot. For all her small stature she had presence, you noticed when she walked into a room. It was like the difference between a Ferrari and an Aston Martin, both supercars -- power, beauty, glamour, muscular, aggressive both highly desirable. Ferraris were flamboyant, in your face, high-tech, high maintenance, breathtaking handling, expensive, instantly recognisable speed machines. Aston Martins were just as awesome, in a different, understated way with James Bond cachet. If your eye was attuned to Aston Martin you could spot them in the crowd and make a beeline to go drool completely bypassing the Ferrari… not that the Ferrari didn't attract your attention if the Aston wasn't around, but given the option he wanted a ride in the Aston.
So… he had certain gaps in his life he wanted to fill. Cuddy fitted some of those gaps quite well. Lifeguard Cuddy, Mother Superior Cuddy, school girl Cuddy, French maid Cuddy, Belly dancer Cuddy, so many Cuddys. He could go on, but he was digressing. Where was he? Cuddy filling his gaps -- only it was complicated. Not that he'd ever openly admit it, but Cuddy was already part of his support system. If this all went horribly wrong he'd blow great gaping chasms in his life he might never recover from plus he'd take her down with him, and noble gesture or not, that he didn't want to do. Of course, being an arrogant, egomaniacal, control seeking narcissist came in handy sometimes because, despite the difficulties, he still thought he could do it, it might take longer but as far as emotional stuff was concerned he was all for the slow approach. If he'd believed in divine intervention he might have sat and hoped, but he didn't -- action was needed.
Unfortunately, he had years of misdirection and misinformation, deliberately cultivated by himself, to counteract first. It wasn't as if he could just have a 'serious' conversation with her along the lines of 'you know all that jerky behaviour I've displayed towards you for the last ten, all right maybe longer, years – that wasn't really me' because, even if he had the nerve to do it, which he didn't, it wasn't really true because sometimes he had meant it, and sometimes he really was mean. He had tried in small ways, in very, very small ways, to get her to see him differently, that there was more to him than the jerk. Unfortunately, it had been like a drop in the ocean, in fact, she just thought it was more of his jerk behaviour. So, he continued to sit and think and think and sit. What to do, what to do?