Cuddy woke up a good half hour before her alarm clock on Friday. She switched the clock off, then lay there feeling the adrenaline pumping, feeling the anticipation, feeling the joy.
Wedding day.
She looked over at House sleeping beside her. Even with the light off, she could see him somewhat with the street light glow through the window. He was solidly out, but she could see his eyes twitching behind the closed lids, and there was tension on his face. She reached over to touch him lightly. He wasn't having one of his nightmares - he would be sweating, his entire body would lock up, and he would try to retreat through the mattress in those, though he was always quiet - but whatever he was dreaming about right now wasn't terribly pleasant, either. She ran one hand along the side of his face and leaned over to kiss him, not on the lips, as she wasn't really trying to wake him up, but hopefully enough to register her presence in his subconscious, to give him an ally in whatever dream problem he was wrestling at the moment. He did respond, turning his head slightly toward her, and the lines of tension smoothed out a little bit. She kept one hand on him, keeping the contact, and let her mind rewind over the last few days.
She was a bit worried about him, and she wasn't sure why. He had certainly had tough days both Wednesday, with the furniture movers and Blythe's letter, and Thursday, with that excruciating dinner with her parents and the rest of the wedding party. There were sufficient reasons for his being on edge, but she couldn't shake a feeling that there was something else bothering him, too. Intuition didn't point to second thoughts about the wedding, though. Besides, he'd reassured her directly last Friday that he had no second thoughts about marrying her. Was he still absurdly stuck on not being able to carry her across the threshold into the hotel room tonight? She had tried in every way she could to reassure him that it truly didn't matter, but men could be so ridiculously sensitive on perceived physical failings. If reassurance alone wasn't enough, maybe she needed to indulge in some further strategy. She worked herself into a sitting position, still keeping a hand on him, and let herself scheme. Just today, she decided, she would forgo physical yoga in favor of mental.
Sounds slowly began to creep underneath the door. Light footsteps, the closed door of the bathroom. Everybody probably would be up early today. She herself wanted to be at the wedding site as soon after daylight as she could, supervising the setup and making sure that that annoying florist had in fact gotten everything right. She shuddered to think what it would have turned out like without her intense efforts to stay on top of them over the last week. The sound system was being brought in, too. She frowned slightly, thinking. She had picked out her favorite songs for different parts, but she still kept considering substitution and actually had changed the list a few times so far, trying to fit them in the perfect spots. She desperately wanted it all to be right. She also needed to check the weather again, although birds tuning up outside were giving their own forecast. Wilson was probably right; she no doubt had checked the forecast 50 times this week. She also needed to check the reception setup in the community center next to the outdoor site, and the cake would be coming in this morning. And she had her hair appointment.
Breathe, she reminded herself. Remember how happy you are. With or without every detail in place, it's going to be wonderful.
A door closed a little loudly outside in the hall, and House twitched at the thud, tension creeping back in, his mouth tightening up. She had meant to try to let him sleep in, but that was clearly going to be impossible with all the activity in the house this morning, and she decided to go ahead and wake him up now. He didn't seem to be getting much worthwhile rest anyway, and she really had to get up and moving herself. She didn't want to leave him alone with his dreams, even if they were only apparently unpleasant dreams and not nightmares of his childhood.
She ran one hand down the side of his head, stroking his hair, and leaned over. "Greg," she said softly.
Footsteps padded up and down the hall outside in the wakening house, and House jerked his head away from the noise, mumbling softly, but she clearly heard the words. "I'm sorry. I thought you'd like it. Don't be mad."
She was startled enough to pause in her efforts to wake him. Was he dreaming about wedding disasters himself? If her failed wedding dreams consisted of the wrong flowers and sound system feedback, she wondered what his consisted of. She had to cringe inwardly at that "I'm sorry," a phrase he hated and only used, involuntarily, when he felt that he personally had failed. She shook her head in exasperation. Whatever might happen, incorrect flowers, misbehaving sound system, it was hardly his own fault. She leaned over again and kissed him, going for the lips this time, and she felt him scramble to confused wakefulness beneath her and finally start to respond. "Good morning, future husband," she said as she broke away. "And the future isn't too far off."
"Good morning, future wife," he replied. He looked toward the door and the growing activity beyond it. "Your family shares your idea of getting-up time, naturally."
"I think everybody will be up early today. Sleep well?"
"Fine," he lied, looking away. He pushed himself up to a sitting position and flinched as his leg immediately protested. It must be the muscle tension from the last few days in general that had it especially riled up this morning. His hand crept toward it, then pulled back, hoping she hadn't noticed.
Cuddy immediately slipped out of bed and padded around to his side, sitting down next to him, her hands going to the leg. The muscle was definitely trying to cramp up, and she worked on it. House closed his eyes. "Fantastic start to our wedding day," he said with a twist of bitterness under the tone.
"Yes, it was," she replied, never stopping the work on the leg. "I woke up next to the man I want to spend the rest of my life with, and the weather seems to be wonderful. That's a perfect start to our wedding day." She looked up at him. "Remember, Greg, the little details don't really matter. The only thing that matters today is that we love each other, and with that set, it is going to be wonderful." She felt him relax a bit, both mentally and physically. "And tonight, it will just be us, no more parents, no more details. We get a whole week of telling the world to go away." His lips curved upward slightly, liking that thought.
A soft knock sounded at the bedroom door. "Lisa? I think Rachel is starting to wake up." It was Blythe.
"I'll get her. Just a minute," Cuddy called. She released House's leg. "Is that better?"
He nodded. "Go on. I know you want to get through breakfast and out to inspect and supervise everything." She gave him a final kiss for the moment as a downpayment on tonight, and then she grabbed her robe and slipped out the door.
House sat there on the bed, still working his leg lightly himself. The night had been a restless montage of wedding disaster, variations on only one theme, and he hoped he hadn't disturbed her sleep. She looked alert and well rested this morning, though. He stood up, leaning on the nightstand to give his leg a moment to adjust. Yes, the leg wasn't too happy today.
It wasn't too late, he thought. He could still cancel everything and leave her with the wedding she herself had planned. Who was he to think he knew better than she did what she would want? Yes, he could just let his idea go and watch her enjoy hers.
And be the coward that his father had always told him he was.
His whole body tensed up in rebellion, the leg protesting, but just then, he didn't care. "Go to hell, you bastard, and stay out of today. You don't belong here," he hissed. He grabbed his own clothes and headed for the private bathroom at a determined limp, his mind made up.
Wedding day . . .
