Sandblasted
Lisa Cuddy's feelings ebbed and flowed like the afternoon tide a few short yards from her feet. The scenery that surrounded her was a complete one-eighty from the gray, snow covered, frozen landscape of New Jersey, where winter still kept the land in an iron-fisted grip. Here, the sun beat happily down on her body, which accepted the warm rays happily, while the turquoise waters of the ocean lapped at the pale gold sand of the beach. The only thing that ruined the paradise that surrounded her, was the incessant chirping of her cell-phone, coming from the bag that lay beside her head. Recognizing the ringtone, she groaned, and debated not answering at all, but, she knew that he wouldn't be deterred at her ignoring him. He would just keep calling until her cell phone's battery died, or she picked up. Groaning, she twisted on the blanket, sitting up, and she fished around in the oversized beach bag for her phone. Finding it buried in the bottom, she flipped it open. "What do you want, House?"
"Are you still running away?" he brusquely asked, causing her to roll her eyes.
"I'm hanging up now," she told him, pulling the phone away from her ear.
"Wait!" his voice bellowed from the speaker. "I need you to do something about Foreman!"
She sighed, closing her eyes. Even here a thousands miles away, in Puerto Rico, he could find new ways to annoy her. "Allen's dealing with this," she growled, flopping back down on the blanket, which suddenly felt coarse to her skin, much like the abrasive man on the phone, grating on her nerve endings.
"Allen's just going to let him walk out the door," House whined, causing her to grimace. This is why she took a leave of absence; to leave this all behind, and not have to deal with pain in the ass on the phone.
She took a deep breath. "I talked to Foreman," she informed him, "and he seems to be set on leaving."
"Because he doesn't want to be like me!" House exploded. "Like that's so bad," he snorted.
"House," she could feel the familiar tension headache building behind her eyes. "You don't want to be you!"
"That's beside the point!" His voice rose, and she pulled the phone away from her ear. "He's not ready to leave!"
"You mean you're not ready to let him go!" she retorted, her own voice rising with his. She quickly sat up and glanced around the secluded beach through the dark lenses of her sunglasses, trying to see if there was anyone else that she could be disturbing with the conversation. Not seeing anyone else, she settled back down. "Sometimes the chick has to fly from the roost," she chided him, continuing on with their discussion. "Foreman wants to fly free from your control, and I say as long as he knows what's at stake, I'm fine with it. Allen already signed off on his two weeks notice, and given him his letter of recommendation."
"He's not ready," House sniffed, obviously chagrined that she didn't do more to stop his fellows leaving.
"House," she began, the burgeoning headache exacerbated by her grinding her teeth. She could snap the phone shut now – she should snap the phone shut – but she couldn't quite bring herself to do it. Despite the headache it caused, arguing with House was oddly...comforting. "I know you care about your fellows-"
"I don't care about them!" House retorted. "I really don't."
Cuddy smiled, visualizing the slight pout he must have on his face to complain that badly. She knew he actually cared, or he wouldn't be protesting so much. He just had to hide that side of him, for some odd reason. "Then, if you don't, just let him leave. You have three dozen resume's laying on your desk right now, for people practically begging to work under you. God knows why."
He huffed. "He's not ready; he just thinks he is."
"And the only way for him to find out is to test his wings." She sighed, getting up off the blanket to pace the beach, feeling agitated by the conversation. "Besides, you have two weeks to change his mind."
"When are you coming back?"
His sudden jump in conversation took her aback. "Three weeks, four weeks," she answered vaguely. "I had a years of vacation time backed up," she brushed her hair out of her face, but the ocean breeze just continued to ruffle it back in her eyes."
"Hmpf," was his response. "Foreman shouldn't leave."
She smiled. "House, their contracts are for three year fellowships. Chase and Cameron already renewed theirs; if Foreman wants to go..."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know. That doesn't mean he should leave." His voice finally sounded irritated. She could hear his breathing on the other end of the line, and she wondered what he was thinking of asking her. She had a few guess spring to her mind, and they were all ones she didn't want to hear. "You shouldn't have left, either. The hospital is falling apart without you." With that, the line went dead.
She pulled the cell phone away from her ear, and she looked at it for a long time, half expecting it to ring with him calling back to resume their discussion. Biting her lip, she walked back to her blanket, the afternoon sun beating down on her. She sat down, still clutching the phone, and she watched the tide ebb and flow, the white caps on the clear, turquoise waters.
She thought back on the past week. Her request for a leave of absence had been approved. When asked why, she had kept it vague, citing family stress. It was fairly common knowledge that her father had undergone cancer treatments over the past year, and that she had traveled back and forth from Princeton to her parent's home rather frequently for her, as well as running the hospital effectively, so, a few weeks of time off seemed perfectly appropriate. Her replacement was effective, and the only phone calls she received from him seemed to be on how to deal with House's crazy demands. She was happy that Geoffrey Allen had decided not to try his hand in keeping House in line. Not that she was happy that her vacation seemed to be constantly interrupted by House, but better that than him driving a good temporary replacement off simply because he couldn't deal with the change.
She wasn't happy that she had to continue her contact with House, since privately, he was the reason she felt the need to escape, but, she didn't have to deal with his overwhelming physical presence looming over her, distracting her from sorting out her own thoughts, which were still as confused and as muddled as before, like a cold, thick, swirling quicksand, threatening to pull her down. It's why, after several days of puttering around New York City with her parents, trying to put miles in between herself and the matters in Princeton, she had decided to splurge on some sun and sand. It was miles and seemingly worlds away from what she was running away from, with the constant blue skies, golden sands, and blue green ocean waters, alive and swirling with life. She had only been there a few days, but she could feel the tension in her body beginning to uncoil, like a serpent soaking up the sun's warmth on a warm rock.
She put the phone back in the bag, frowning slightly. He never said anything, but she had noticed how frail her once strong father had looked those few days in the City. Deep, dark circles marred the pale skin under his gray eyes, and his paper thin skin had become even more lined and wrinkled in such a short time. She could see the raised blue veins on his hands, which had once been so tight and strong, as well as dexterous. She remembered when, as a child, she had fallen off of her bike on the sidewalk in front of the house, and how, through her tears, he had calmly taken a pair of tweezers, and removed a few of the embedded pebbles in the abraded skin on her knees and elbows, all the while soothing her by reciting a passage from their favorite story, Through The Looking Glass. She had been thoroughly fascinated by the process, watching how fine and sure his hands were, making sure to get the gravel without causing her any undue pain. To see those hands now, bruised and wrinkled and frail – she felt her eyes fill up with tears.
Her father didn't travel anymore; it took an undue toll on his body and health. She had hoped that he and her mother would join her here, to Puerto Rico. The tropical atmosphere reminded her of the last trip they had taken with him, right before his cancer diagnosis, to Costa Rica. He would enjoy the bright tropical sun and the warm weather, the vibrant, green foliage, even in late February and the stunning, shimmering waters, so full of life. He would have enjoyed snorkling in the shallows, seeing all the vibrant life in the coral reefs, or scuba diving in the deeper waters of the bays with her; he always did. She planned on doing that tomorrow, hoping to see the great variety of life beneath the surface of the water.
She stood up, and she walked to the water, the light of the sun dancing off of the surface, causing it to shimmer with threaded gold. She allowed the warm water to lap at her feet, the gentle waves kissing her toes before they retreated back into the large sea, taking a bit of sand off the beach. She sat down, playing in the sand, doodling nonsensical pictures and words as the waves set about eroding her work before it was even complete. There was something therapeutic, she thought as she cupped out a handful of sand, allowing the salty water to fill the small hole, in playing in the dirt. Something freeing, she mused with mild wonder as a crab hobbled by.
Her phone didn't ring again for the rest of the afternoon. When the sun kissed the ocean's far west horizon, she stood up, brushing away the sand that was sticking to her legs. She gathered her things, and she walked back to her small hotel room, where she showered, wondering how the abrasive substance really managed to get everywhere. After a light dinner at a local cafe, she went back to her room, opening all the windows to let in the tropical night breeze, allowing the scent of jasmine and sand to waft through her room. She dressed for bed, and she slid in between the soft sheets, reaching for an old, tattered paperback book that rested on the nightstand. In the soft, glowing light from the table lamp, she read: Alice was beginning to get very tired of sitting by her sister on the bank, and of having nothing to do.
It was time to join Alice through that mystical looking glass, and, for a moment, forget about all of the weights that rested on her fragile shoulders.