As they learn and grow apart, they are drawn even more together. The steps toward reconciliation are clear.
Disclaimer: I am only a fan, not the creative and destructive director of the show and character called House MD.
Chapter 11
The air raid sirens were still sounding as the steady ratt-a-tatt-tatt of machine gun fire and the swoosh of fighter planes continued around them. House looked over at Cuddy when she jumped at the sound of a bomb exploding in the distance. She was nervous and jumpy; his leg was aching and his nerves on edge. The danger was starting to feel real.
When Cuddy had asked him to join the team of doctors in training a missionary team in CPR, first aid and emergency medical services, he'd resisted. It was bad enough trying to teach interns, much less a group of Christians with no medical training, an unwarranted faith in religion and a radical idealism that served no logical purpose in the "mission field." Then he'd found out she would be on the team. Since he took every opportunity to be with her these days, he accepted.
They'd been in a good place the past couple of weeks. It had surprised him. After the way she'd left him the night of the fundraiser, he'd expected things to be tense and stilted, awkward and cold. They hadn't talked about what had happened; they hadn't even referenced that night. When he caught her looking at him with searching eyes, he would answer her with a penetrating stare of his own. When he felt her watching him from a distance, feeling the warmth of awareness around him, she'd quickly avert her eyes when he turned to her. They'd treated each other with impeccable professional courtesy, falling into old flirtatious, verbal sparring habits now and again, but maintaining a respectable emotional and physical distance at all times. Except now. They were very close at the moment.
Cuddy watched the movement of his hand as House rubbed his thigh. She had no doubt his leg was starting to ache. There were eight of them packed into the crate, crouched on the floor of the container with no room to move or stretch. The air had begun to feel stale, which only contributed to the increasing anxiety brought on by the war sounds beyond the confines of the box.
It was hard to see his face since the only light came from the seams at the edges of the box, but she felt him watching her. She could imagine his expression, envision the same look she'd seen last week when he'd surprised her and shown up at her lecture.
The Association for Healthcare Philanthropy (AHP) had been holding their regional conference in New Jersey this year and had asked her to be the keynote speaker. Her success increasing revenue, productivity and reputability at PPTH was becoming renowned, and the request was a huge honor for her. She'd spent weeks preparing the lecture on "Tactics and Tools for Development Programs that Engage Donors, Staff and Leadership" and was well prepared. Yet standing in front of the prestigious gathering of hospital leaders, she'd felt her anxiety spike. She'd been a wreck. That is until she'd walked up to the podium and felt a tingling along her spine.
She'd known immediately he was there. She felt his presence long before she caught sight of him.
He was sitting in the back row, slumped low in his seat, watching her with those intent blue eyes. There was something about the way he stared at her – the mix of feral lust, tenderness and admiration – that lifted her above the situation and made her feel as if everything was possible. It's why she often sought him out when she was facing problems at work. As frustrating and infuriating as he could be, as stimulated and alive as he made her, he was her safety net. Just having him around was an affirmation that catapulted her beyond the stress and weight of her current circumstances and into a space of calm.
He'd not only stayed for the lecture, but for the question/answer segment after. At the end, when she'd been surrounded by enthusiastic colleagues congratulating her, she'd watched him slip out the auditorium doors. The look of pride she'd seen on his face was thrilling; the look of love in his eyes left her breathless.
She'd tried to find him at his office that evening and the next morning, but he'd been MIA until almost noon. When he'd stepped through the doors of the hospital, she'd made a beeline for him. She wanted to thank him for being there for her, for showing up and being her rock. She'd come to realize he was the support she sought when things became confused and difficult. He was sarcastic, inappropriate, rude and an unlikely confidant, but she'd come to depend on him more than she – or anyone - realized.
He'd been abrupt and angry when she'd approached him, avoiding her eyes and snapping at her. She'd fought the urge to snap back and fight him, choosing to respond with the concern she actually felt. It had proven to be the right move.
"I had a rough session with Nolan today," he'd admitted as he'd stepped into the elevator. "Becoming a better person actually sucks."
Cuddy jumped when the pop of pistol fire sounded just outside the wall behind her and shook her from her reverie.
"This is a lot different than our laser tag game," House said.
She smiled, as much at the memory as the revelation that he was thinking about her too. He was remembering how they played together.
She'd wanted to distract him, to give him a chance to have a little fun after what seemed to be an emotionally draining therapy session. She'd had a box delivered to his office containing a laser tag belt and gun. The attached note read: The game is afoot. Three strikes and you're out. C
He'd found her in the park outside the hospital, where they'd spent the next hour hiding behind trees and in bushes, dodging laser "bullets" as they strategically moved around their battlefield. In the end, he'd won, tagging her three times, each causing the alarm on her belt to sound. He'd grinned like a little boy, and she'd found herself giggling like a school girl. They'd been carefree for a time. They'd had fun. That had been something missing in their relationship, something needed. House needed a playmate as much as she needed to remember to play. That day, something had shifted between them and they'd both silently committed to take more time to enjoy each other.
"Are they just going to leave us in here?" Julie asked. She was the pastor's wife who was currently held captive with them.
When Cuddy had agreed to build the team of doctors to train the missionaries, she'd also agreed to participate in their training simulation to get a feel for what the missionaries may be facing. She thought it would help the team focus the medical training. She'd had no idea they'd be involved in a hostage simulation: trapped in a box with six other people with no idea where the other thirteen group members had been taken as they waited for the government to complete negotiations for their release.
Earlier, they had heard testimonies from missionaries who had actually survived hostage situations and had been instructed to take the simulation serious. It would not benefit them to forcefully redirect their minds and focus on the "game" aspect. They needed to immerse themselves in the situation to understand the psychology and feel the pressures of what they may face.
House rolled his eyes at the woman. "Of course they are," he snapped. "That's the point of your mission trip right? To teach people how to be trapped in a box of limited, visionless thinking?"
Cuddy nudged him with her leg.
"You don't have much respect for us, do you?" House recognized the voice of the pastor. With him was Julie, his wife; Shane, a seminary student; Louis, a retired corporate executive; Jessica, a church administrator; and Frieda, a college student majoring in Middle Eastern studies. All of them felt a "calling" to become missionaries.
House could feel Cuddy glaring at him.
"I don't know you," House answered, carefully choosing his response. "But, contrary to Christianity, altruism and psychological blackmail are not mutually inclusive."
"We should probably…" Cuddy tried to redirect the conversation. She'd told him when he agreed to participate in this project that he'd need to keep a reign on his atheist arguments. They were there to understand the mission and train the group in basic medical response, not to debate their beliefs and ideologies.
"It's okay, Dr. Cuddy," the pastor said. "I'd like to hear his thoughts."
"You go off on the missions and feel good about yourself because you have joined the fellow victims of theocratic repression, but you're not," House answered the pastor with his usual unadulterated truth. "Proselytizing is forbidden in these areas, and yet you go in under false pretenses - as business people or teachers - and you promise them a better life if they follow your 'God' and convert to your religion. You share the 'good news' and insist they do the same, but you have a right of privilege, a get out of death free card. It's called an American passport. They don't. Your way is certain death for them. Instead of bringing life to a desperate and hungry people, you increase their chances of assassination by their own government. That's not altruism. That's a subversive genocide."
"You assume we come with subversive agendas? As imperialist evangelists?"
"You delude yourself that you're not?"
"House!" Cuddy's tone was a warning.
"Dr. House," the pastor calmly responded. "We are very respectful of cultures, not a carrier of cultural imperialism. We don't actually go into these areas with the intent to proselytize, but with the acceptance that it may happen as relationships are developed. We try to do our work with integrity and competency and refrain from in-your-face preaching the 'good news' as you say. We work and develop relationships; we show our love and care for the people of this world. If people ask us what we believe, or why we love, or even why we have enough faith to come into these areas, we feel very free to explain."
"Oh, I see," House said. "You manipulate to convert."
To Cuddy's surprise, the pastor smiled.
"A missionary doesn't convert, Dr. House. Our duty is to show His love. Only God can convert."
The searchlights of a rebel foot patrol began to shine around the perimeter of the box and all conversation ceased. They all became still and focused, their senses alive and attuned as they listened to every sound outside the box.
The voices spoke in an abrupt, hostile foreign language. Cuddy looked at House as he frowned in concentration.
"The other team members are alive," he whispered. "The UHF radio they had was apprehended."
"You understand them?" Shane asked. He was the young kid who'd been attending seminary.
"He speaks several languages," Cuddy explained, but didn't take her eyes off House.
"The exchange deal with the government has fallen through," he said. "They are arguing ways to force their hand. These guys are anti-government rebels of some sort."
House had to hand it to this group. They had set-up a convincing scenario. You could check-out mentally, of course, and remind yourself it was just an exercise, but they made it very easy to become consumed and engaged in the simulation.
The small opening at the top of the box was opened and the rebels pointed guns down at them.
"You are all willing to give your life to this cause?" One of the rebels sneered. "You will choose which one will take a bullet in the head."
Several group members gasped.
"You have ten minutes to decide," he said. "Then one of you will die."
The other rebels could be heard laughing as the lid was closed again and they were left in the dark, the sounds of war and their own horror engulfing them.
House looked at Cuddy with sad and resolute eyes.
There was nothing like a dose of reality to remind him of all the reasons he didn't deserve her, the reasons he should have walked away from her long ago.
He didn't need to listen to the conversation between his fellow hostages to know what decision they would make. In fact, they had an easier decision than the other teams would have. He was a misanthropic, egotistical ass with more cynicism than social skills. He had a gift for alienating people; he wasn't married (not a real marriage, at least), he had no children and his leg gave him a handicap that would only be a burden in a crisis situation. His life held little value in comparison to theirs.
The choice was clear. He would be sacrificed.
