It was House's first day of work and Cuddy was nervous.
Not so much nervous that he was going to screw up, make her regret her decision—although that was a distinct possibility.
She was nervous for him, much the way she had felt on Rachel's first day of nursery school.
It didn't help that he came into the kitchen looking like an anxious school boy, with a tightly knotted tie around his neck, his hair combed, and his hands antsily jiggling a set of keys in his pocket.
"I'm ready to do some doctorin'!" he announced.
"House, you look pretty!" Rachel said.
"I believe the phrase you're looking for is ruggedly handsome," House said.
"Yay! You're a handsome rug!" Rachel agreed.
"Close enough," House shrugged.
He sat down at the kitchen table.
"Is it just me or is it hot in here?" he asked, tugging at his tie.
"It's just you," Cuddy said, pouring him a cup of coffee.
She went back to what she was doing, making oatmeal for Rachel.
House watched her quietly. He sometimes liked to imagine that this was really his life—not just a life he was renting, a man running out of borrowed time. As excited as he was about getting back to work—this at-home griever thing was dull, not to mention emasculating—he knew it would only accelerate the inevitable.
Cuddy would soon see that he was functioning, able to survive on his own two feet (well, more or less), and she would cut him loose.
Maybe she'd miss the sex—she had been sneaking into his room with increasing regularity, to the point where he could get an erection just from hearing the sound of her footsteps tip-toeing toward him in the hall—but she'd probably just find some other guy to get her rocks off with.
It's not like his was the only fully functioning penis in Scarsdale, NY.
He sighed, which Cuddy apparently took the wrong way.
"Don't be so nervous, House," she said, smiling tolerantly. "I'm sure all the other doctors will come to hate, fear, and grudgingly admire you, just like they did at PPTH."
"You always say the nicest things," he said.
#####
She gave him a mini tour of Scarsdale General—the full tour would take several hours, so she did the Greg House version: Cafeteria, vending machine, and the preferred lounge of the hotter nurses—and introduced him to his department head, Dr. Gary Tolliver.
"I've heard a lot about you," Tolliver said, extending his hand.
House shook it.
"All lies, I'm sure," he said, eyeing Cuddy nervously.
She smiled.
She realized that she was actively holding onto his arm. She let go.
"He's all yours, Gary," she said.
Tolliver gave a cheerful smile.
"Believe me, I'll put him right to work. As we like to say here in Infectious Disease: Our workload spreads like a virus."
Tolliver laughed loudly at his own joke. House didn't laugh back, but then again, he also didn't tell Tolliver what a moron he was, so that was progress of sorts.
Tolliver showed House to his new office, which was about half the size of the one he had at Princeton Plainsboro. There was a desk, a computer, a dusty rubber tree. For now, it had no plaque on the door. Cuddy reminded herself to call maintenance about that.
"Have fun," she said.
Cuddy started heading down the hall, but turned back, just one last time, to check on him.
Tolliver was introducing House to other members of the Infectious Disease team—two 50ish women and a young Chinese guy. They all seemed to be getting along famously.
He's going to be okay, Lisa, she thought.
And she forced herself to go back to her office.
#####
At lunchtime, House made his way to the cafeteria, feeling out of sorts. There were all these stations set up: A salad station, a sandwich station, a dessert bar. He had no one to mooch off and didn't think his "extended payment plan"—i.e. a vague and unfulfilled promise that he would eventually pay—would fly here.
He went to the sandwich station, ordered a turkey club and a Coke, and looked for an empty table.
He wished Cuddy was here, but he didn't want to seem needy. Besides, she probably had some sort of executive dining room she frequented.
"Hey, it's you!" a female voice said.
He looked down. It was Heather Cavanaugh, Cuddy's executive assistant.
She was young and pretty—closer to 25 than 30, with wavy reddish-blonde hair and a rather spectacular set of cans.
"Hey," he said.
"What are you doing here?" she said.
"I, uh, work here," he said.
"You do? In what department?"
"Infectiology," he said.
"As a. . .doctor?" she said.
"I'm pretty sure that's what the MD after my name stands for," House said. "Unless they've been lying to me all these years."
"You wanna join me?" she said, gesturing to the empty chair across from her.
He sat down.
Then he chuckled. "So what exactly did you think I did for a living?"
"I dunno," she said. "I thought you owned a bar or played in a band or something."
"I haven't played in a band since college. And as for owning a bar, not since that speakeasy I ran in junior high school."
She laughed.
"You're funny," she said, looking him up and down. "So what instrument do you play?"
"Piano. . . guitar. . .harmonica. . . drums. . ."
"You're much cooler than the other doctors at this hospital," she said, dryly.
"I've met some of the other doctors at this hospital—that's not exactly high praise."
Just at that moment, Cuddy entered the cafeteria, specifically to look for House (Dr. Tolliver told her she had just missed him).
She figured he'd be sitting in a corner by himself, or possibly standing helplessly in the center of the room. Instead, she spotted House and her pretty assistant.
Heather was resting her chin on her hand and was staring at House like he was the most fascinating, hilarious, sexy creature she'd ever laid eyes on.
Almost immediately, Cuddy felt an unexpected pang of possessiveness.
She started to approach them, but stopped herself.
There was something so familiar in Heather's gaze: Lust combined with admiration, even a bit of awe.
At first, she thought Heather's gaze reminded her of Cameron.
But then she realized it reminded her of herself.
#####
Several hours later, House swung by Cuddy's office.
"Here to visit your new girlfriend?" Cuddy said, not able to help herself.
"Wha?" House said.
"Never mind. How's your day been so far?"
"Not bad," he shrugged. "A case of shingles and a ruled out case of measles. Nothing sexy, like small pox."
"It was always go big or go home at PPTH," she said with a smile.
"I did look good in a biohazard suit, though, didn't I?" he said.
She laughed.
"So what's up?"
House reached into his pants pocket.
"I brought you this," he said, handing her a banana.
"A banana?" she said, taking it.
"I was going to bring you an apple—teacher's pet kinda thing. But they ran out in the cafeteria. Also, apples? Much less phallic."
"I'll treasure it for. . .hours," she said, laughing. "As it happens, I have something for you."
She reached into her desk and handed him a bag.
He pulled out its contents: An oversized tennis ball, exactly like the one he had at PPTH.
He looked so happy, she actually thought he might cry.
"Cuddy, where did you get this?"
"eBay," she said. "I've always suspected that your power comes from your balls."
"That's what she said!" House replied—because it was the thing to say.
"So a banana and a giant ball, what would Dr. Freud say?" Cuddy chuckled.
"He'd say the banana was the penis and the ball was, well, the balls. You must've missed that day in psych class."
"Apparently so," she said.
And they beamed at each other.
After House left her office, Dr. Tolliver came by.
"How's it going with Dr. House?" Cuddy asked.
"That's why I'm here," Tolliver said.
Cuddy held her breath.
"He solved three vexing cases and possibly managed to avert an Epstein Barr outbreak," Tolliver said. "Is he that good, or did he just get lucky?"
Cuddy exhaled a bit.
"He's that good," she said.
######
House was on his best behavior for two solid weeks, earning nothing but praise from Tolliver and the rest of his colleagues.
Until the day Dr. Tony Vitale, a surgeon, came storming into her office.
"That new doctor you hired is a mad man!" he screamed.
Uh oh.
"Tony, calm down. Tell me what happened."
"He burst into my OR, unscrubbed, mind you, to tell me to stop a left pericardial pleural fenestration that I had already prepped for."
"Why?"
"Because he said it wasn't gangrene. He was pretty sure it was bronchiectasis."
"Was he right?"
"Isn't that besides the point?" Tony said.
"Actually, it seems pretty relevant."
"They're running some tests now," Tony huffed. "But his behavior was highly reckless, highly unprofessional, and certainly warrants some kind of official censure! I don't even know how he got his hands on the scan. It wasn't even his case!"
Cuddy sighed. Of course, Vitale was right.
"I'll deal with it, okay? But let me know what the results of those tests are, will you?"
Dr. Vitale grumbled something and stormed out.
####
About an hour later, Heather looked up and saw her new favorite lunch companion, sexy Dr. House, looking uncharacteristically nervous.
"Principal wants to see me," he explained. "I think I'm in big trouble."
"Oh, are you what all that yelling has been about?" Heather said.
"It would appear so."
"Yikes. Good luck," she said.
"I'm going in," he said, inhaling.
Heather tried to listen through the door.
She heard words like, "My reputation is on the line," "I took a chance on you" and "complete and utter humiliation."
She didn't hear House say anything. Just more of Dr. Cuddy yelling and yelling and yelling some more.
Finally, House emerged from the office, looking completely shaken
"Wow, House," Heather said, sympathetically. "Are you okay?"
But he walked past her desk and didn't say a word.
#####
When Cuddy got home that night, House was already in his room. (Rachel was spending the night at Abigail's).
She knocked on the door.
"Can I come in?" she asked.
"It's your house," he said.
She was surprised to see his duffel bag on the bed—but not for a secret stash of pills this time. He was packing.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
"Packing my shit," he said.
"Why?"
"Because. . . I fucked up," he said.
"What?" she said.
"I know you want me to move out," he said. "And I understand completely."
She stared at him incredulously.
"Jesus, House, stop this!" she said, her voice a bit louder than intended. "Where on earth is this coming from?"
"I told you I'd keep my behavior in check and it lasted—what?—all of two weeks?" he hissed. "I'm obviously an enormous liability to you."
Cuddy tried to remain calm herself.
"I know what happened," she said. "Dr. Tolliver told me he had some doubts about the case and showed you the scan."
He didn't look at her, kept shoving stuff into his duffel bag.
"And you were right, by the way," she continued. "Instead of removing a portion of this guy's lung, we're now recommending inhaled steroids. Which still doesn't excuse what you did!"
"Exactly," he said, continuing to not looking at her.
"House, stop it for a second. Sit with me."
She sat down and patted on the bed, gesturing for him to sit beside her.
He sighed loudly, but obediently sat.
"Talk to me."
"There's nothing to say," he said.
"You really think I want you to move out?"
"You seemed pretty angry earlier," he said.
"I was angry. I am angry. That doesn't mean I want you to move out."
"But the last time I screwed up like this. . . " his voice drifted off.
She suddenly understood what he was referring to: Her illness, his vicodin slip, the breakup.
"What have I done to you?" she asked, taking his hand.
He looked at the floor.
"House. . .I'm sorry. This is my fault. I didn't mean for you to feel like you were on such unstable ground here."
"Aren't I?" he said.
"No," she said. "No. House, look at me."
He looked at her, wide-eyed.
"I don't want you to go anywhere," she said. "Do you understand? I want to be with you."
He stayed perfectly still, like he was trying to process what she was saying.
"You do?"
"Yes," she said, caressing his face. "I love you."
"You do?"
"Yes," she breathed. "Yes."
Then, as if compelled by a force he couldn't quite control, he grabbed her and kissed her. There was something almost feral about the intensity of his desire as his mouth began to migrate to her neck and chest and he tore wildly at her shirt, popping several buttons.
"Wait!" Cuddy said.
He stopped, stunned. Her shirt was already half-off and they were both slightly out of breath.
"Let's go to my room," she said.
#####
Two days later, Heather Cavanaugh got a letter at work marked PERSONAL & CONFIDENTIAL.
She opened it up. It was a series of newspaper clippings and a handwritten note that said, "Thought these might be of some interest."
The envelope was unmarked and the note was unsigned.
She looked at the first clipping.
"Berserk Doc Drives Car Into Ex's Dining Room," it read.
"Lovelorn Doc Charged With Reckless Endangerment" read another.
"The Doctor is In the House—Literally!" read the third.
Then she began to look more closely at the clippings. Her mouth dropped open.
"Holy shit," she said.