1st Author's note: THIS IS REALLY LONG. SORRY. Just a warning, don't start what you can't finish ;)
7 months later - Christmas Eve
House was half dead on his couch, retired from the Christmas Eve party at work which consisted of solitary binge drinking of aged merlot and chardonnay. Wilson kept the hard liquor from his reach that night, but arriving back to his abode, he saw fit to reward himself with a few glasses of bourbon to send him on his way. He wasn't too particular about changing his clothes, taking off his leather jacket, or even his shoes. After the first couple glasses, he collapsed over the backside of the couch, over the cushions, only to land sprawled out, his hands and legs dangling toward the floor.
This mirrored several of the weekends to pass within those 28 weeks since Cuddy's departure, and like the fool he was, he allowed himself to be swallowed up in the misery and sorrow of every drink he consumed. But this Christmas Eve—was not one to end in such sorrow, no. For what he did not know, was that this night, his faith would be tested. The faith that had been stripped away by every tragedy ever to lay upon his life. That lack of faith—and the reluctance to have faith—would be tried.
It had been a fast 7 months, though not at all improving for anyone. Except maybe for Wilson, who was now engaged to Sam. Despite this however, they still heated in conflict from time to time concerning the wedding plans. The real enjoyment out of this was that House was planning another bachelor party. It had kept him preoccupied the moment he found out, four months ago. Their date was set for Valentine's Day, a Saturday, and the bachelor party was set for the 13th, the night before. Sam insisted that she did not want her fiancée to be hungover, but since the wedding was at night, House promised he would have him refreshed by the end of the days' time.
Some other changes that occurred had involved Foreman taking Cuddy's place as the Dean, leaving only two Ducklings in House's department after Masters departure. After House's stunt, shortly after Cuddy's flee, she fled the scene as well. Wilson made him search for more people to employ, hopeful for females, to rebalance the chakra, as he so referred, of his team. Still in the process of looking, he came across a familiar face, which was the very same one that showed up at this apartment that night.
With a series of knocks from the door, House slowly made his way up and off of the couch to open it. It took him about twenty knocks to get conscious and twenty more before he reached the door. When he opened it, Thirteen stood before him with questioning eyes, a hand leaning against the outside doorframe, and the other clutching her side from apparent breathlessness. On her face were bruises and a cut just above her brow. Noticing these, he straightened up more.
"Are you busy?" She struggled to say.
"What makes you think I would be busy?" He replied.
4 months earlier
House was sitting on the trunk of his car with a glass of vodka in his hand, and another sitting on the car. He waited patiently and glanced at his watch occasionally, as he also watched the gates of New Jersey Correctional Institution. A buzzer went off as Thirteen was escorted out. She looked around before meeting eyes with House, squinting to make sure it was truly him. As she walked toward him, he got up off the trunk, taking another swig and he picked up the other glass, offering it out to her as she reached him.
"You're early," House said reaching out the glass. She took it from his hand and downed it immediately, swallowing hard.
"And you're not my cab driver they called for. What are you doing here, House?"
"Let's go for a drive," he said as he looked out, the sun beaming down. Unsure of what she was getting into, she handed him back the glass as they both got into the car and pulled out.
They drove for twenty minutes in silence, both of them staring out onto the open road. He was relaxed, but she was tense, annoyed, and looked rather sleep deprived. After a few more minutes, she finally broke the silence.
"Where are we going?" She turned to him. He took a moment before responding.
"What did you do?" he glanced at her before she returned her eyes to the road. She was surprised, unsure of what to say.
"I forget you like to answer questions with questions," She laughed a little, expecting a retort, but there was no answer.
"You really don't know? You know that I'm in jail but you can't figure out what for?"
"Been busy. Started my own porn site while you were gone. Have to keep up with filming the videos to keep people entertained, you know what I mean?"
"Excessive prescribing. Wasn't a big deal, I just—"
"I know you pled excessive prescribing. I knew that much."
"So what do you want to know, I don't—"
"What, did you do?"
She just looked at him in silence as they drove on. He glanced at her before his phone began to ring "ABBA" and realized that Wilson was calling.
"Driving!" he exclaimed into the phone as he put the phone on speaker. Thirteen just gave him a look.
"Where the hell are you?" Wilson asked angry. "Foreman's having a fit you know."
"Oh, I DO know. Tell him I'll be back in no time. Just went to pick up his gir—" she hit his shoulder and he stopped himself.
"His what?" Wilson asked fast.
"His grill. I customized a gold grill for him to wear that says Big Boss. Birthday gift."
"Look, wherever you are…come back soon."
"No promises—"
"House." House just hung up the phone leaving Wilson up in the air. Thirteen rolled in her lips before saying,
"I'm not his girl. But thank you. For not, you know."
"Some secrets are more fun to unravel on your own. Plus, I need you." They were approaching her exit.
"For what—? That was my—"
"Exit, I know." She looked at him in alarm as they kept moving forward. She looked behind them and watched as her exit became farther and farther away.
"You went inside. License is most likely suspended. Your vacay-leave-of-absence is now permanent. I need a she-ster on my team, now that it's so full of men."
"I can't come back until the medical board hearing. Until then, I have to look for a job—"
"Okay, I'll shift to the right lane before the next exit so you can roll out to go back to your life. Sounds good?"
"I smell like jail. I don't know how long you're going to keep me as your, I don't know—accomplice?"
"It's like you haven't worked with me for like, four years." he said exiting. They drove through a town before pulling into a shopping mall parking lot, stepping down to go to a random store for her. Walking in, she looked at his leg.
"Your limp—" she said stunned. "How did—"
"Oh yeah, that. It's uh…prosthetic."
"—House…" she paused. "Let's get something to eat. I'm hungry anyway—"
"Get your clothes first. There's more than just the leg that you need to know about." He said with a serious face. Her face shrunk to concern as she walked around the store, looking for clothes to throw on.
"I would wear—none of these things."
"No rush. The tournament isn't for a couple days." She looked back at him in alarm.
"Days? You're keeping me for days?"
"Didn't I mention that?" she looked at him sternly before rolling her eyes and continuing to search throughout the store. As she flipped through the clothes, sliding each individual piece across the metal rack, House walked over to interrogate her.
"This is what I've been thinking—"
"You're always thinking," she replied curtly, not looking at him still.
"AS I was saying," he started again clearing his throat. "You were in jail for 6 months. Yet, you were gone for over a year. Which means your leaving had nothing to do with being arrested," When he noticed he was losing her attention, he started verbally attacking. "Secondly, you are an introvert. Except for the sex thing. You sleep around, but you can't stand attachment. You fear that if people know what you're really like—how weak you really are…you were caught supervising your own black market at your apartment?
"Nope," she said casually as she went from rack to rack. "Why did you pick me to go to this? Why didn't you bring your best friend?"
"Wilson? He thinks it's stupid."
"Well what is it?"
"Spud guns." She looked up. "It's an annual competition. It's usually earlier in the year, but the head rescheduled because of some major surgery crap."
"It is stupid," she spoke simply, before walking away toward another rack. She had gathered a couple jeans and a few shirts to try on as she walked to the next rack.
"Your junior year, you were fourth place in the West Virginia all-county science fair."
"Yes, my mediocrity for not placing first proves your theory that I should be here."
"You did clean combustion. I need you to revise my gun."
"There are a lot of things I haven't done since high school."
"I'm sure," he muttered, walking around. "I've been going to this thing for four years, and for those four years I've come second…to a pissant….Harold Lam." She turns around fully to look at him.
"This is serious?" she asked.
"Second!" he exclaimed. The workers and people in the store looked at them, and she shifted in her stance, before walking over to him, talking quieter.
"Okay-okay-okay. I can help you. But I need to make a personal stop along the way."
"What kind of stop," he asked looking up around the store.
"Personal. Did I not mention that?" she said sarcastically as he looked back at her.
"After we eat. I don't know about you, but I'm starving." He said sarcastically with wide eyes.
Present
He quickly squinted at her and pushed the door farther open for her to walk in, as he continued talking. "Even if I said I was, you'd still walk in."
"You know, people are still courteous. It hasn't, like your world, disappeared off the face of the planet. Are you drunk?" She walked toward his bathroom, limping, slipping off her jacket as she did so.
"Evidently. You look like me," he spoke as she turned her head to let out a laugh. "What the hell did you do?"
"Bar fight, obviously." She called out from the bathroom. She switched on the faucet, ripped up a bloodied part of her shirt and ran it under the water, wringing out the blood. As she did so he limped toward the bathroom to take a look at her.
"You know, a washcloth might be more useful." He said sarcastically.
"I'll be fine," she said wiping up her face and the wound.
"Someone knifed you? Empty, broken beer bottle?"
"Fence. I lost the guy a mile away from the bar and I hopped a fence to make sure I'd gotten rid of him. Your place was just a couple blocks down, and I thought that'd be better than going to the hospital."
"He did the rest of the work to your face?"
"Nah. His girlfriend did. That's how it got started. We had bad words, and he chased me out when things got physical."
"Damn. You were hitting on her weren't you? I knew I should've gone to the bar tonight."
"She took my drink! The bartender even called her on it, but she kept arguing. She pushed me off my stool, so I…hit her face."
"Atta' girl," He said enthusiastic. She smiled and winced at the same time, attending to her wounds.
"You have any gauze? Bandages? Something?"
"Do I look like a doctor? Wait." She gave him a look. "I may have something."
He walked out of the bathroom and grabbed his phone from the table, pushed in some numbers and walked back into the bathroom.
"What's this?" she asked when he came back.
"GO TO THE HOSPITAL. Have one of the lackey's pick you up."
"I just need some bandages. I'm fine—"
"Just GO. I'm not driving you this wasted." She sighed at him. Suddenly, his phone actually began to ring.
"You've reached Night Club House, where the wasted waste away and the wounded are mended. How can I be of service?" he asked into the phone. Soon his face changed, and his silence caused her to look up at him.
"Who is it?" she mouthed to him.
Past
They were sitting in a restaurant booth, chowing down on fries and burgers as they conversed. Thirteen took a sip of her beer before she started talking again.
"You know, I'm kinda hurt you don't know what I did. I'm not worth a bribe, or hacking into any records?"
"We had to have something to talk about on his trip."
"Or, we could talk about what you need to tell me. Like your leg. How'd that happen?"
"It was a stupid stunt. It was an impulsive reaction to something…actually it had been planned, but other things happened that provoked it to happen—"
"My God, I don't think I've ever heard you be this vague about…anything. Your metaphors can explain more than what you just said."
"It's complicated," he said somewhat serious.
"What did you do?" she asked sarcastically. He licked his lips and his jaw tensed before he replied.
"I became my own surgeon," he started. Her eyes grew in alarm as he continued. "I operated on a major nerve in my leg to finally stunt the pain…in hopes that I could change myself. Be happy…" he continued to tell her the extent of everything, about Hourani, Wilson, and Cuddy's departure. After he finished, she was overwhelmed about what had happened.
"Why would she leave because of that? Seems like a pretty stupid reason to leave considering the position she had," she said biting into a fry.
"Yeah, right." He half asked in agreement. "Foreman's the head now. Kind of why I said the thing earlier to Wilson about big boss. Thought you would've caught that."
"Foreman? That's who the new Dean is?" House only nodded to respond. "So who's left of the team, Chase and Taub?"
"We had someone else for a while, but she went amscray around the same time Cuddy left."
"Did she say why she was leaving?"
"Same set up as always. She was a goody-goody, who couldn't handle my environment—" House said quickly.
"No, not the girl, Cuddy. Did she say why she was leaving?" he hesitated to respond. He tightened his jaw again.
"She left because of me," he started. "We were together for nearly a year—as it came to the end though, it was an on and off kind of thing, before she just decided to leave. She left to raise the kids...not around me." Thirteen waited a second before smiling. Her smile grew into a laugh, totally unconvinced. When he didn't start laughing as well, she held her face and shrunk to concern again.
"Are…are you okay?" she asked carefully. He looked down and rolled his glass in his hand.
"I'm fine. It's not a big deal." She was still in shock and thought back to what he said.
"You said kids. Did she—"
"Oh yeah, and she's pregnant." He said casually. She shut her eyes and widened them as she began to process all this information. She sat back against the booth and held onto the end of the table.
"So…it's yours?" she asked softly.
"Unless she's become the type to cheat…" he faded out. Thirteen breathed out, and licked her lips before confessing to House.
"I killed a man." She said simply. House looked up in disbelief.
They were driving in his car again, the sky darker and the freeway less busy, while both of them remained silent. Thirteen was now driving, and was very annoyed with the now silent House who was gazing out the windows.
"You now shut up?"
"Sorry. I tend to lose the desire for conversation in the presence of a murderer."
"You know—can we just stop talking about it? Since it's been like, the only thing I've thought about for the past year?"
"You killed a man! You pled to drugs, but killed a man. Hit and run? The guy dropped a dime on you?"
"I am asking you, to let it go."
"And I want to want to be the kind of person who could do that."
They fell to silence again as they drove for an hour or so. House knocked out, while Thirteen pulled to a rest stop and whipped out his spud gun. Practicing over a lake, she awakened House and he got out of the car smiling as he watched her play with it.
"There's no fuel valve on this. Meaning, you can't regulate the input. And what is this? A barbecue lighter?" she asked, pointing to the side of the gun. "Your gun sucks." They both walked back to the car, House trailing behind a few steps, smiling at his new prodigy.
After pulling out of the rest stop, she took them to the next exit which happened to be their destination, and she went for a hardware store for supplies. Seeing that it was now closed, they drove away, going for their motel.
"Tomorrow, we're going there again. So we can fix up your sorry—"
"Give me a break; I've been off my game." He said sleepily.
"Where's this motel at?" she asked simultaneously looking at both sides of the road.
"It'll be on your left. Should be a couple miles down from here, Moon Motel." She looked out and followed his directions, soon enough reaching the motel. They checked in under his reservation, and went to their room that held two twin beds. House didn't bother carrying his bags all the way in, he just took his body and collapsed on one of the two beds. Thirteen dragged all their stuff in, and went for the bathroom to change. When she felt his eyes on her from the bedroom, she turned around and smiled at his peeking eyes, to close the door to a crack.
She came out a few minutes later after refreshing herself and lied down on the bed. Turning off the light on their bedside table, she just stared up at the ceiling trying to go to sleep, but House was still awake to keep her up.
"Stop thinking," he spoke muffled face down on the bed. She turned her head to look at him before returning her eyes to the ceiling. "Your loud, judging thoughts are interfering with mine."
"It's your kid, but she's not letting you be around to raise it? To at least help her?" she asked curiously. He rose his head up, curious at her peak of curiosity.
"It doesn't seem right to me," she said.
"Nothing's ever right. It's her child; she has the right to do what she wants with it."
"You do realize it's yours too? It will be yours forever, no matter the distance she puts between you two. It's so silly to me. Did she actually expect you to change? To not be the crazy-ass boyfriend, but formerly being the crazy-ass doctor?"
"That's the problem. I'm not exactly the role model type, for the kid. After what I did she had—"
"This self-pity thing…it's becoming a real thing with you when it comes to her."
"You don't think I know that?" he asked, turning to lie on his back, openly ashamed of the factor. She waited a moment before speaking again.
"She needs you," She said finally.
After her word, they both closed their eyes and fell sound asleep for the rest of the night.
Present
"You need to see her," Thirteen said. Wilson had called House, informing him that Cuddy was in Preterm labor.
"She's a month too early…" House thought out loud.
"Exactly. So what are you going to do about it?"
"She'll do fine without me there. She has Wilson; he's taking her to PPTH. She's in her people's hands."
"He obviously wouldn't have called if she didn't want you there," she said insistent.
"See you were gone too long, it's still affecting you. You've forgotten how self-righteous he can be when it comes to things like this. She doesn't want me there, that's not a guess. Wilson just wanted to let me know because…it's the "right thing to do.'"
"Well, it looks like we're both going to the hospital," she said getting up and out of the bathroom. They started walking out to the living room again, her reaching for his keys and slipping on her coat.
"It's starting to become faint, exactly why I let you in here…" he said irritated.
"I've got enough coherence to drive us there. Do you have enough balls to stay?" She asked opening the door. He sighed at her words; grabbing his cane hanging from the archway, he pulled open the door walking out first, having her trail behind after shutting the door.
They hit the road as soon as possible, with Thirteen on the wheel of House's car, speeding for Princeton-Plainsboro. However, as they drove, House observed her true level of coherence.
"You're just shy of tipsy; I've got at least a keg worth of alcohol in me, and I can see that you are swerving." He commented.
"It's not that, it's my side, I keep—"
"This is exactly why the flow chart for driving goes, Wasted—Wounded, not the other way around." He replied sarcastically. Suddenly, a pair of red and blue lights began flashing behind them.
"Shit," she muttered under her breath. Pulling over, House looked behind them.
"It's a guy. Try working yourself on him, see what happens." She threw him a look in response, and refused to look at the cop when he approached the window, hopeful that he wouldn't smell her, or see her facial bruises.
"How are you all doing tonight?" he started off rather polite.
"We're sorry officer, we're in a hurry. This is my brother; his wife is in labor at Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital, a few miles over from here."
"Oh. Is there something wrong with the car, you seem to be shifting around quite a bit—" he asked suspicious.
"Just avoiding those potholes, this damn road is always full of them, no matter how much construction they do." She played. He laughed heartily before speaking. House just stared at the both of them.
"I know what you mean. Chases down these roads always end with either us, or the other guys busting a tire. So it either ends good or bad." He started. "Tell you what, how about we escort you to the hospital; make sure you get there safely? It's Christmas Eve; it's the least we can do." Thirteen smiled to herself and House looked the other way rolling his eyes.
"Thank you officer," she said before smiling and turning on the engine again. When the cop walked away, House turned back and gave her a look.
"Just avoiding those potholes?" he asked. She shrugged her shoulders.
"Did you want to get to the hospital or not?" she replied as the cop car pulled out from behind them, beginning to lead the way.
"Most ridiculous excuse I've ever heard," he muttered under his breath.
"You're just mad because this guarantees us making it there—"
"Yes! I am, because I didn't want to come in the first place." He started to get angry. She was surprised at how he was acting, even if he was drunk.
"House, don't take this the wrong way, but this may be the birth of the only child you may ever have. You love her don't you…don't you want to be there to at least see something you've created?" she asked sincerely. He knew he couldn't avoid it now. He softened his tone to a hushed grumble, somewhat sentimental.
"As long as I don't see it, I can pretend it doesn't exist. I can pretend that she lost the thing, or she aborted it," he saw her cynical face when he uttered abortion. "I said pretend…I don't want to be there in the beginning if I can't see it through." He finished. She didn't reply at first with words, only with frequent glances over at him.
"Do you want to go back?" she asked sincerely.
"You need to be fixed up, plus you've got a Princeton officer escorting us to the hospital. I think you lost your opportunity as soon as he shined his pearly crowns and offered to escort."
"I'm sorry," she said fast.
"Me too," he uttered. They eventually made it to the hospital parking lot as the officer went past the hospital and out of sight. They parked the car in House's usual spot, but took a minute before getting out of the car.
"Here," she said, pulling out the keys in the ignition and giving it to him.
"You've forgotten how drunk I am, haven't you? I'll sleep here, Wilson's office or something." She still held out the keys at him, which he carefully took when she didn't respond.
"Why?" he asked.
"Choices, remember? I hate it when I'm not given the choice to decide what I want in my life. I didn't choose to have the gene for Huntington's. I'm giving you a choice I wish I had," She started to get out of the car.
"Again, why?" he asked, stopping her from closing the door. She smiled at him.
"Because…I owe you the favor. You're still gonna kill me, right?" she left the door and walked away, going for the entrance of the hospital. She turned around again for her last word.
"I'll get one of the lackey's to drive me home," she said still smiling. He half smiled to himself and lowered his head, staring at the keys in his hand. He lifted them up and let them dangle, debating whether to run away, or stay. He opened the passenger door, clutching the keys in his hand as he slammed it shut.
Past
House and Thirteen were pushing a cart through the hardware store they had seen the previous night, looking for parts for the gun. Thirteen seemed to be frustrated as she looked from aisle to aisle for the supplies.
"What kind of hardware store doesn't carry ½ inch drill bits?"
"He'll probably hit on you," House said randomly. She turned to look at him.
"Who?"
"Harold. He wants everything I have. Everything good at least. If he does, just reject him, straight. Although—"
"Yes, rent me a room, I'll just screw him to get him to throw away his win." House was shocked.
"I didn't—I mean. Would you—"
"How do they judge?" she asked, ignoring his comment.
"Hang time, distance, and accuracy. Okay…what about this scenario: you met a guy—somewhere, a bar, club—you bring him home and he O.D.'d. And the guy across the street watching like some creep, is the dealer who sold you the cheap goodies.
"Are they weighted the same?" she asked, still focused on the task at hand. He only nodded. "Forget accuracy. We're doubling distance and hang time to beat this Harold on points. We need raw power. Do they have fertilizer?"
"By all means, Kaczynski." He said half impressed, half amused.
They finished their shopping with great accomplishment, Thirteen very proud of what they got. Afterward, they went out to the downtown area to grab some lunch for themselves. It seemed that most of the people attending the competition were hanging around that town. House spotted Harold and pointed him out to her.
"That's your competition?" she said eating her soup.
"He's more intimidating than he looks. He's got this—he's just a real cocky—" she nodded, understanding his apparent hatred for him.
"We'll smoke him tomorrow. Don't worry too much on it," she reassured him. He let some silence go by, before he began to question her again about jail.
"So…what did you do?" he asked again. She laughed, taking a sip of her iced tea before answering.
"No more guessing?" she asked smiling. He tried to smile back, trying to be casual about it.
"I need to know. We can make some calls, and see if we can speed up the hearing. In the meantime, no one could stop me from hiring an assistant." She presented a face of gratitude and shock at the same time, yet still seemed uneasy about opening up.
"This morning—earlier. You were right…I met a guy at a coffee shop, we went back to my place, and he O.D.'d. It was stupid…I ended up doing time. He got more."
"Damn," he started. Inside he still felt unsure about her confession. He however, held his tongue.
Later on, they went to the competition grounds to fix up the gun and do test runs, seeing what they would need to work on and what they could do without. After about an hour of practice there, they headed back to the hotel. Thirteen ordered some food as House took a shower. When he got out again, she grabbed the take out and brought it inside.
"I hope you like rhubarb," she said setting down the stacks of white food boxes onto the bedside table. She took out one box and began digging into a rhubarb pie.
"I hate rhubarb," he said sitting down onto his bed.
"Oh me too, but were gonna ixnay the combustion valve and replace it with discs, for full pressure to set maximum velocity."
"Pie tins. Nice."
"Thanks," she said going into the bathroom. "You know, my dad used to take us to the county fair, and there was a competition for rhubarb pie eating contests—" she walked out again and saw him staring curiously at her.
"What?" she asked.
"Us?" he asked suspicious.
"Oh, me and my mom." She replied curtly.
"Oh. You had another mom, without advanced stage Huntington's. I get it." He said sarcastically.
"Not everything means something, House." She said going for the bathroom again. She got in the shower, to freshen up as House sat on his bed stuffing his face with Rhubarb, examining the new pieces of information he received.
They went to bed at separate times that night, both of them avoiding conversation about anything. It wasn't until later that night he heard her crying by the window. He too chose to let this pass until the following morning. For which he grew more suspicious of her explanation. When he awoke that morning, she had disappeared, with her coat, shoes and most importantly, his keys. He checked the time and saw that they had a couple hours before the competition, and it was vital that she return soon to test the gun one more time on the grounds. He waited about twenty minutes before she showed up in apparent tears, again. She was startled by House when she got in.
"Thought you bailed on me," he said casually.
"Just went on the personal errand," she brushed off.
"Which was what exactly?" She wiped her face and continued to cut him off.
"Hm, I seem to be in need of a dictionary, I'm forgetting what personal means. Come on, we've gotta work on the gun." She said picking it up.
"You come back from a trip so early in the morning. You obviously didn't want me to know where, it was or who it was. That mattered. It means, I might know them. You suddenly have the thought of family—a sibling moreover—on your mind. You come back in a fret of tears, and you wake up in the middle of the night to cry over…a stranger? You don't confess to killing a man, and hide the details. Unless the details involve you personally, then that's a different story." He felt the tension growing between them. "Huntington's is genetic—"
"YES, I know!" she snapped. Her eyes were rimmed red with tears.
"You euthanized your brother," he said simply. "I'm not a social person. The only way I'm ever social is by work. That's my way of knowing people. You just visited the doctor who wouldn't help you cover it up."
"Even when you're not at work, you solve another puzzle. Well done," she said as she stormed out the door. He went after her as she walked out of the parking lot, and headed by a nearby freeway overpass to watch the cars pass by. He chased her all the way, but felt a sudden jolt in his leg. It was the first time he felt something there in a long time. When he reached her, she told him the story. As she struggled from all the crying, her words were cut.
"He told me it was time. He had progressed too far—he barely had control anymore. Every once in a while, he would gather some sanity…but it didn't last long. For a while we both knew that I had to kill him. I used gloves, so they couldn't prove who pushed the plunger. But God…He just—he became really quiet, and I knew…it was over. One day, that will be me. I will have no control, and I will have some sanity left. But when that day comes, I won't have anybody beside me… when it's time." She turned to look at him with a blank face. She suddenly widened her eyes in anger.
"I didn't expect you to be caring. I didn't expect you to pity or console me. I would've taken anything, any emotional engagement at all." He didn't know what to say. His mouth opened partially, but he kept silent. "It's no wonder they all break up with you." She said bitterly. He held some hurt in his face, and her face softened when he didn't react.
"Come on," he gestured to her. They began walking back to the motel and drove over to the competition. In silence, House drove tensely; angry at himself, and Cuddy.
Present
House walked in and took a ride up to his office in the lobby elevator, hopeful he wouldn't run into Wilson or anyone else before he could reach it. When he got to his office he reached into his drawer and took out a silver plated plaque that had Hebrew writing on it. He held it by the ribbon that was threaded through a hole on the top, and went for the maternity ward to find them.
As he limped moderately slow through the empty halls, he heard holiday music playing from above. He almost forgot that it was Christmas Eve. When he entered the waiting area, he crossed paths with Wilson who had grabbed ice chips in a Styrofoam cup.
"You're here," he sighed happily. They stepped closer. "Her mother is in Cancun…" Wilson faded out.
"Can't stand the cold, I know." House replied softly.
"You wanna give her—" Wilson gestured the cup of ice chips to him. House put out his hand to push them away.
"Only if she wants me there," House said, half inquiring to Wilson about whether she did or not.
"She needs you," Wilson said smiling. "I don't really know what else to say about it."
"That's not enough," House said walking away.
"Then why did you come here—!" Wilson asked loudly. House stopped and turned around slowly. "Why did you come if this didn't matter to you?" He asked again. When House refused to respond, Wilson gave up, making a face before returning to her room. House hesitated, and followed him down the hall, reluctant to go into her room. He took a minute to compose himself. Going inside, he saw her in a sweat, red-faced and breathing fast. She and Wilson just looked at him as he walked into the room, hanging the plaque on the blinds, letting it dangle. She noticed his returned limp, and his favoring of the leg itself when he reached upward.
"I'm hoping there's enough room for me, here in the manger." He joked hanging the plaque.
"You brought shir hama'alot?" Wilson asked.
"Why not," House started, shrugging at the idea but not looking at either of them. "It's just a good luck thing. Supposedly helpful to the process."
"You a believer now," Cuddy struggled to ask between her breaths. He turned to look at her, unreactive, and pulled up a chair to her side.
"What's she dilated?" he asked Wilson, not taking his eyes off hers.
"Last time Tyler checked, it was around 3. That was twenty minutes ago."
"Tyler? As in, Margaret Tyler? That's who your doctor is?" Understanding where he was coming from, Cuddy nodded.
"She was the only one available on Christmas Eve," she added.
"Out of all the days," House muttered, examining how much her body had changed since the last time he saw her.
"Pardon my uterus. 36-weeks—"
"It's all that in-vitro. That, and your age, makes you more prone to premature birth than the average woman."
"I'm sorry. Maybe I should've just waited around for you to just knock-me-up before doing all that."
"Who's to say I'd be waiting around?" he replied fast.
"Who said you were waiting around?" she asked after a pause. Suddenly, Wilson let out a loud frustrated sigh.
"Too much sexual tension," he said covering his face. He then got up and began to leave the room. "Call me back when you two have caught up with your months' worth of banter. If you want me out you should just say so from the beginning next time," he said leaving the room. House snickered to himself as he watched Wilson walk aimlessly down the hallway, dragging his feet. He returned his eyes to her, who had set a hand onto his right thigh. He looked down at it, and looked back up at her.
"I don't understand. You were limping just before," she spoke confused.
"It's on and off now. Comes and goes with what I'm doing."
"When did it come back?"
"A few months ago," he said softly. When he saw the expression in her face, he changed his tone. "I've been damned with this thing forever; I don't know why that doesn't cease to surprise you."
"I don't know," she muttered. "I'm too hopeful when it comes to you." She smiled, but suddenly her body shot up, apparently enduring another contraction. She tightened her grip on his leg, causing him to twitch, but he held steady until the contraction was over, 30 seconds later.
"Next time," he said grabbing her hand to clutch it in his. She threw him an apologetic look.
"Thank you. I didn't think you'd come," he shrugged it off trying to change the subject.
"No surprise why boy wonder brought you here. You're nearly at 45 seconds."
"They come after a span of minutes though. That's what's so frustrating."
"Interesting," he said under his breath. He held some observations but he kept them to himself, casually looking over at her stats and vitals on the monitors and machines.
"How we doin'?" Tyler asked interrupting the moment. House felt a moment of relief when she came in to check on her, allowing him time to slip out.
I'll be back," he said standing up. She let him go, but he felt her hesitation in releasing his grip as he went to leave. He left the room to look for Wilson who apparently disappeared out of sight.
"Was that Dr. House just here?" Tyler asked, checking Cuddy's cervix.
"Yes, yes it was." Cuddy struggled to reply.
"That's sweet of him, checking up on a friend." She smiled at Cuddy, but she only thought to herself. No, he's not a friend. He's more than that…he's…
"Well," Tyler began, interrupting her thoughts. "You're at 5 cm. Progress, but slow progress. Hopefully we'll be getting you in soon," she said as she left the room.
"How long has she been here?" House asked Tyler when he caught her in the hallway.
"Only about an hour. She's been progressing well. I'm sorry Dr. House, I wish I could entertain your questions further, but I have to go see my other patient," she said walking away. House only shifted in his stance, a little concerned about what would happen tonight—what could happen tonight.
Past
Thirteen was waiting outside the NYC police station in the parking lot with House's car and a can of unopened root beer in her hand. When the door opened and House walked out, she smiled at him at first, but it faded when she saw that he was limping slightly. Once he reached the car, she opened the can and handed it to him, not taking her eyes off the new limp.
"Are you okay?" she asked. He took a moment and gulped down the can, leaving some to shake around at the bottom.
"They let me off with a warning. Spud-ding someone can be allowed to slide, if the Spud-ee felt up the sheriff's daughter last night."
"Harold?" she exclaimed excited. She stood in shock for a second before realizing he didn't answer what she was referring to.
"You meant the leg," he corrected. She nodded, and he returned a curt one at her before responding. "It started coming back earlier. After the tackle from the security guards though, that kinda did the trick."
"I'm sorry. About everything," she replied. He nodded again, and gestured his head for them to go in the car. They began to make their way back to Thirteen's place, and held light conversation on the way there. As they got closer, they began to drift from it.
"So how about Monday?" he asked as light as possible. They both kept their eyes on the road, but from the corner of his eye he saw her smiling.
"I don't know if I'm ready to go back so fast. I don't wanna show up the day after Christmas and show everyone that I've returned from God knows where, an excuse I'll obviously have to devise before I even step—"
"It's always your choice, kiddo. Take all the ones you can get before life, or anybody else, can take it away." He spoke with heavy remorse, hidden, masked by fake anger and bitter words.
"Is it your choice to believe that?" she played.
"It's not a choice. It's mere fact. It's a fact of life that we're presented with choices. We can adapt and find ways to make more, but we can't control what others take away."
"If people believed in that philosophy, we wouldn't be where we are today. If people hadn't caused uproars, revolutions, if they hadn't fought back for those choices and rights that were taken away from them, we'd be under some dictatorship or monarchy, something. Someone would be ruling above us with absolute power."
"Except there is," he said carefully. She finally turned to look at him and he glanced at her.
"I wasn't gone long enough for you to even consider changing your religious status. Is that the atheistic belief now?"
"By definition, no. Do I believe there is someone upstairs, yeah, possibly. But I don't believe in him, though. I don't want to believe in someone that's just up there, screwing up anything he wants for no reason at any given time. It's an unhappy world, unjust, and plain wrong."
"But you don't believe any of that," she began. "You believe in free will. You've always told me that people have a right to be stupid if they so please…It's not all his bidding. He's just watching us working about. You don't believe in him because…every time—every time you've been in a shitty, miserable situation, he wasn't there to intervene. He wasn't there to stop the good from turning bad. That's how it's been all your life. That's why you have no faith in anyone but yourself—you don't know how to have it, you don't know how to trust. You may want to, but you can't."
"I trust Wilson," he defended. "I trusted Cuddy. Stacy."
"Who?" she asked referring to the last name mentioned.
"She was before your time, but Wilson and Cuddy."
"Yeah, Wilson and Cuddy. Great examples out of the how many people you've encountered in your years of living?" she asked. When he didn't respond, she continued. "He's left before. A part of you knows he's capable of doing it again. And Cuddy, we can spare words for what happened there, for your sake."
"What about your trust issues, huh? You're not exactly the socially committed type. Strictly platonic relationships for you, with every mate—man or woman—that you meet. You waste life away because of a sickness—"
"I didn't choose this—" she responded angrily, before he did equally as such.
"You think I did?" he said hitting the steering wheel. "We've been stuck with crappy choices, while everyone around us lives the lavishing life." He spat. She threw him a heavy look before retorting.
"What world have you been living in? Yeah, our lives suck, maybe more than the average person. But everyone is facing their own devil. Everyone is trying to overcome what they must in order to live their life. Which really is what it's all about. We live in spite of what's handed to us, and we adapt to it. Those choices? These damnations that are handed out like stickers on our life train tickets to random people? It makes us who we are. We get stuck at crappy places along the ride. That's where you need others to help you along. That's where trust comes in, because people come and go as they please, no matter how good of a relationship you have with that person. If their ticket takes them onto your route, great. But that doesn't mean one day their route won't change. People leave, and you have to be accepting of that. This Cuddy thing—she…she's been riding with you for a long time. You loved her, you still do…I get it. I'm sorry. But maybe…it was time for her to go her different way," She breathed out. After that, they held a silence in the car. It wasn't tense, it wasn't harsh, and it wasn't awkward; it was peaceful. There was some truth in their last bit of conversation, and it was a comfort to both. It was peaceful and relieving, as they finally approached Thirteen's home.
"Safe and sound," he proclaimed when he stopped the car. She was hesitant on getting out, and he could feel the fear in her, resting in her stomach.
"If you don't want to go home, I'm not sure where else to take you." He said sarcastically. When she refused to speak, he tried again. "I should probably let you know, you also owe me about 80 bucks for gas." Suddenly she went fiddling around in her jacket as if she had anything to give.
"I was kidding," he said light. She just turned to look at him before reaching for the handle to open the door. Suddenly, she stopped when he started speaking again.
"I'll kill you," he said fast. She turned to face him slowly, still not saying a word.
"When the right time comes, if you want me to. Unless you wanna do it now with the car, drive into a wall and put us both out of our misery." She chuckled through some trailing tears and he returned a smile at her for the last time.
"I'll see you Monday," she said before getting out of the car. He watched her walk back inside safely, and mouthed to himself, Monday, before driving off into the night.
Author's 2nd note:
I told you it was long! Disclaimer! A lot of the lines for the House-Thirteen reunion plot were taken from the original script. I own nothing except some of the plot lines! I had to fit in Thirteen's return, and I knew it had to be in a dramatic time period. They kind of help each other cope with everything going on. As far as the birth goes, that will continue normally in the next chapter. Her return took up the longest chapter (yet) because a lot of this information is foundation for the upcoming stories aside from "The Deal." Sorry this chapter is heavily 13-based. =P
Also, If you were offended by the religious remarks, I apologize!
Other than the mentioned above, hope you enjoyed!