Chapter Twenty-One

Bah Humbug

After dinner, Lisa excused herself to her father's library. She always liked the room, with its rich, plush burgundy carpet and chocolate leather furniture. Her father, though not a medical doctor like his father, or his brothers, was a successful biochemist and retired researcher. His studies had carted him across the world, and occasionally, Lisa had joined him. Three generations of books filled the shelves that lined all four walls, as well as knick-knacks and photos and souvenirs from his travels. He teasingly liked to liken himself a scientific Indiana Jones, always looking for the next breakthrough. The dark walnut tables with the soft lit lamps made the room feel comfortable and cozy. The room itself smelled like leather and paper and brandy. It was heavenly.

She walked slowly around the room, her fingertips brushing the warm, supple leather and cold brass studs. Her eyes scanned the shelves, until her eyes fell on what she was looking for. She pulled the tattered paper back, out of place on the shelf with the large, leather-bound tomes, from its hiding place. She curled up in her favorite chair, the one by the large bay window facing the fireplace, and she began to read, trying to forget the night.

She was three chapters in when she heard the door creek open. She hadn't heard it, caught up in the adventurers of Lewis Carroll's Alice and the strange, imaginative world of Wonderland. It had been her favorite book as a child; on her father had given her when her sister had been born. He had been worried that his eldest daughter would feel put out by the new baby, so, every night, they would read about Alice's adventures. It had increased the bond between them.

Her eyes finally flickered up as he settled in the seat across from her. She favored her mother much more than her father, but she had inherited his stormy gray eyes. She also had his long fingered narrow hands, perfect for working with thin test tubes and sensitive lab equipment, or working with fine surgical tools.

"Hiding again," he smiled. "Escaping like Alice through her rabbit hole?" He looked thinner, and his face was much more haggard than it had been; the chemo treatments had been rough on him.

She slowly closed the book, and she sighed. "You talked to Mom," she sunk back into the chair.

He nodded. "You didn't expect her to not tell me, did you?"

"I didn't want to bother you," she muttered, wishing she could sink farther into her chair. Her mother had always been excellent at guilting her into high achievement, but her father was the best at making her feel like a failure. There was something in those deep gray eyes that made it seemed like he could x-ray her soul. She spoke the most to her mother, but it was her father's approval that she craved. She always wanted to make him proud.

He leaned forward in his chair, and he reached for her hands. "Lisa," he began. "You aren't a bother, my dear. I know I've not been my healthiest these past few months, but don't ever think that you're a burden, on either your mother or me. We care about you, and we worry about you."

"I'm fine, dad," Lisa didn't mean to sound so annoyed, but she didn't want the lecture. She was turning forty in May; the last thing she wanted is for her parents to worry about her.

He paused, watching his daughter, then he nodded. Heavily, he pushed himself out of the chair. "You're always fine, Lisa." He gave her a sad smile, then he left her alone in the room.

She was happy that she didn't drown herself wine at her parents' house. A few minutes after her father left her alone in his den, her phone beeped. She scanned the text message, from Wilson, asking her if she knew where House was. She frowned, knowing that House and Wilson weren't exactly on speaking terms at the moment. The fact that Wilson had texted her meant something was up.

She snapped the phone shut, and she breathed in deeply. After taking a moment to compose herself, she walked back out into the living room, where her parents and Julie and her family were watching A Christmas Carol on television. Her mother was the first one to notice her hovering in the doorway, her heavy knee-length wool coat already on.. "Is something wrong, Lisa."

Lisa shrugged. "I just received a message from the hospital; they need me to come in."

"On Christmas Eve?" Tom gave her a skeptical look. "Do they just let you off your leash long enough to say hi to friends and family before calling you back?"

Cuddy gave him a brittle smile. "They keep a pillow and bowl of water in my office, too," she responded dryly. She turned back to her parents. "I've gotta go."

"It's okay, dear." Her mother rose, then enveloped her in a hug. "We'll come down sometime next month. Have lunch, okay?"

"Sounds good, Mom." Her father had come over to give her a hug as well. "'Bye, Dad."

"'Bye, honey. Stay safe; they say it snowed more south of us. Give us a call when you get there, okay. We just want to know you got home safe," he said with a weary smile.

"If I don't get home too late," she told him with a small smile. "If not, I'll call you tomorrow." Amidst a chorus of "goodbyes," she tugged on her gloves and headed towards her car. She sat in the cold interior, waiting for it to warm up a bit before traveling back to Princeton. Her emotions warred with each other. She was relieved to be leaving, but she was apprehensive at going back to Princeton to see what trouble House was in. She sighed, her breath no longer misting in the warming air, and before she put her car in reverse, and backed her way out of her parents driveway, she glanced at her purse, where someone had tucked in the tattered copy of Lewis Carroll's book. She smiled sadly, then whispered to the empty car, "thanks, Dad."

[H] [H] [H]

House hated dreams. He had hoped that he had drank enough to keep the demons of the night at bay. He especially hated the realistic ones; the ones that his subconscious used to try to prove a point to him.

That wasn't how it was supposed to work.

He found himself heading up to the rooftop, a place he hadn't been since Stacy had left, the second time. It had once been his favorite hiding spot, but thanks to his infarction, climbing the stars that lead to the quiet spot had been painful, and so he only came up here on rare occasions.

This was one of those times, and he felt the need for solitude and quiet reflections. He brushed the snow off of the concrete ledge, and he sat down, staring over the twinkling lights of the city. He didn't know how long he sat up there, thinking back to the past year, and everything that had happened, and everything that he could lose. It was a bitter pill to swallow for such a proud man.

His butt was numb and he was cold, but he couldn't bring himself to move. He peered out over the edge, and to the hard ground to go. Wouldn't it be easy to just jump, and to cut his ties with everyone in life. To make everyone's life easier...

The heavy door opened, drawing him away from those desperate thoughts. He turned, and he saw one of the security officers from the hospital. He tried to think of the guy's name, but was drawing a blank.

The guy's bright blue eyes widened. "Sorry," he drawled. "Didn't know that anyone was up here."

House narrowed his eyes. "What are you doing up here?" he asked, rubbing his leg absently.

The tall, bald man smiled back, and he pulled a pack of Marlboro's from his coat pocket. "Smoke break. I can't stand hearing the orderlies bitch about the doctors and staff."

House eyed him suspiciously. "Thought it was part of your job to know what was going on in the staff?"

He gave House an odd look. "It is, but there are also things I don't need to know. Like how freaky the lab techs in radiology are." He grinned a little. "Did you know that Lewis is a dominatrix?"

"Seriously?" The guy, who's name tag read Matthews, offered him a cigarette. House stared at it, then reluctantly accepted it.

"Yup. According to the orderlies, Dr. Kaplan in ophthalmology is one of her regular clients."

"Sheila Kaplan? This is juicy stuff," House informed him as they took drags off of their respective cigarettes. "Why not learn more. Who knows, you might learn something."

Matthews shook his bald head, which was turning read in the cold. "Nope. Such personal details can cloud my judgment on a person. My job is to protect the employees here, you know, not serve as gossip central."

"And yet you're sharing with me?" House raised an eyebrow. "Do you know who my best friend is?"

Something changed on Matthews face, and he sat on the edge of the ledge opposite from House. "I know you can keep a secret," he said, gazing out at the city and campus skyline.

House felt the shift, and clenched his jaw shut; this guy knew something, he suddenly realized. "I know about the miscarriage," the man said softly. "And I'm pretty sure about the paternity. What I don't know, is why you have to punish yourself, and Cuddy, by falling right into Tritter's trap."

"You don't waste time with bullshit, do you," House snapped.

"I hate bullshit, and so do you," blue eyes met blue eyes. "I'm not your enemy, but I ain't your friend, either. You hurt her. I don't know if you meant to, but you did, by being the callous, shallow bastard that you are." He took a deep drag of the cigarette. "After you were shot, Cuddy asked the board to install cameras in the doctors' offices." He reached into his coat pocket, and he pulled out a thin black DVD case. "I'm the only one with proof about what you did."

House frowned deeply, anger building up. "So, why the hell didn't you turn it in?" he snarled.

Matthews calmly and grimly met his eyes. "Because I don't think you're an addict," he said simply.

House's eyes narrowed, and his mind rapidly tried to put the pieces together. "You're a liar," he accused sharply. "You're in love with Cuddy. Too bad, she only has thighs for me."

Matthews nodded, and House could see the defeat in his body language. "Yeah," he admitted. "You need to apologize to her. To be a better man. She doesn't deserve you, you know." House ground his teeth together, clenching his fists at his side. "Apologize. She loves you, and you love her, as callous as you are to her." He got up off the ledge, and he disappeared down the stairwell.

Abrupt pounding startled him. "House! House open up!" A female voice cried. He could feel the cold floor under his cheek, and the rancid smell of vomit wafted into his nostrils. His mouth tasted foul, and his tongue felt thick and fuzzy, like he had been licking garbage soaked cotton balls.

He tried to will his body up, but his limbs wouldn't respond. He panicked a little, and he tried to cry out, but there seemed to be a brain-body disconnect happening. He was still grasping what was going in when the door burst open. His ears rang with her shriek. "Oh my GOD, HOUSE!

Ugggh. Okay, it wasn't his most coherent response. He felt her warm hands touch his cool cheeks, and he finally willed his eyes to open. His vision was blurry, but after a few blinks, he realized who it was, cradling his head. "Cuddy," he softly moaned.

"House!" Tears streaked down her cheeks. She sat back on her heels, looking at the aftermath. "What happened?" she gasped, seeing the broken bottle on the floor.

"One man party," he groaned, sitting up. A wave of dizziness and nausea flowed over him, and he closed his eyes for a moment. "You're a little too late to join in." He opened his eyes. "Thought you were visiting the 'rents."

"I was," she stood up, brushing the dirt from her knees. "I got a message that you might be in a sensitive spot, so I came down to check it out." He held out his arm, and she pulled him to his unsteady feet.

He swallowed, then nodded. "Thanks," he grunted, gruffly. "Now you can leave."

Her hand rested gently on his biceps, and she looked up at him with glittering gray eyes. There it was, on the tip of her tongue; all she had to do was ask, but cowardice won out, and she nodded. "Okay," she said hoarsely, and an opportunity was lost. She slipped out the door, and hurt and anger welled up with in his belly. He slammed his fist into the wall of his living room, causing the artwork hanging on the walls to rattle. He pulled his hand out of the hole in the wall, upset at the lost chance.

But he had no one to blame but himself.