XXVI – Betrayal

Speculation, they kiss and they tell,

Misjudged and misquoted

-

Pure Pleasure Seeker, Moloko

She is beside herself. She has never felt this way in her life. She had always been an independent person, always able to receive and relinquish attention equally well – the kind of person who didn't mind, in fact, liked, having lunch alone, who needed at least an hour of private time a day. This is new to her. She is pining for him. What makes matters worse – they work in the same building. It seems like every time she feels slightly better, she sees him, or hears someone mention his name, and it is as if she is flawed – knocked off her feet. She has to pick everything up and start afresh. It has been a matter of weeks and yet it feels as if it has been years. She misses him terribly. She misses seeing his socks and his wrinkled unironed shirts discarded in random places over her apartment. She misses the way he talks with food in his mouth. She misses his jokes – his black sense of humour. She misses hearing him shout in anger, it never frightened her, it only ever turned her on. She misses the sound of his piano as he played every note perfectly for her. She misses the scratch of his unshaven chin against hers, and the strangely peaceful sound of his snoring in the early morning. She knows she could go on and on listing, but it only makes her more upset.

She finds herself asking if he even loved her. Like everyone, she has her Achilles heel. She is fragile in her own way. She doubts herself, she doubts the world. It seems pathetic on one hand, and perfectly logical on the other, but there were times when they were together and she would think: what does this man want with me? He is brilliant, erudite, sophisticated, complex. What does he want with me? Young, naïve, inexpert, inept – an amateur at life. She had wondered: if he wasn't a cripple, if he wasn't able to use that as an excuse, would he be more willing to approach women – less focused on the potential consequences. And if he had allowed himself choice, would he have bypassed her – would he have been compelled to find someone who was his intellectual match? Although, deep down she doesn't believe it, these are the kind of thoughts which tempt her to accept his comment: 'I used you for sex.' On the night she had heard them, these words had sliced through her flesh, leaving a clean, gaping wound. The wound had healed quickly though, because she had evidence to the contrary – she was sure of it. In some ways they were completely opposite, in some ways they were frighteningly similar, but regardless of the superficial mainstream 'match making,' philosophy of relationships, there was an undeniable magnetism. Tacit, inexplicable, visceral – able to transcend anything detectable by the basic five senses.

She looks at the photograph regularly. She has tried to stop herself, but it keeps happening. She has thought of disposing of it, in an effort to stop her strange obsession of rolling the draw out and looking at it for a few seconds, before returning it to its place. She has decided that she cannot do this however. She still harbours some hope that it is not over, and even if it is, she wants this photo as a keepsake, so she can look back on it when she is older and say 'that man was my lover,' because no matter how it ends, he was in her life, and their time together has changed her forever. He has changed her forever. Love is hard on the system. It pulls you every which way. She had felt its effects in the past, but this time it had brought her to her knees. It is the strangest phenomenon. She cannot think of another thing that can be the source of both overwhelming ecstasy and devastating woe, often simultaneously. Theirs was a curious relationship. On the surface, it had been light, joking, 'causal,' yet underneath, their affair had been hot, intense, fervent. It was unspoken, but it was evident in the way they made love – the way his eyes burned into hers while their bodies were joined and neither one of them felt shy enough to look away.

Day in and day out, her mind is filled with thoughts of him. She had been so distracted by these thoughts that she had barely even noticed that she had missed her period. Her mind retrieves this small fact however, in order to match it with another, when one night, she is torn from her sleep. She jolts upright in her bed. She has felt something. In her belly. No, lower. Just below her navel. A flutter – soft and barely noticeable. She thinks. Yes, she definitely felt something, something she has never felt before. Her hand moves to this area.

This is when she knows.

This will complicate things even further.

The timing is very unfortunate. She is overwhelmed by a sense of dread.

Her Monday has been relatively uneventful… until she meets Wilson in the cafeteria.

'Hi,' he says.

'Hi.'

'How are you?' he asks.

'Alright,' she says quietly.

'Hey, have you seen House around, I wanted to…'

'No, not recently. Not at all, in fact,' she says staring down as she slops mashed potato onto her plate.

Wilson regards her and notices the tears welling in her eyes. She looks up at him and half smiles. She has reached the end of the line. She pays for her meal.

'So, I'll see you around,' she says, forcing another smile before finding a table.

Wilson pays for his lunch and joins her.

'What's happened?' he asks, exasperated.

She looks at him.

'Um… he dumped me,' she says, blinking repeatedly in an attempt to compose herself.

'Dumped you?' he asks.

'Oh god!' she says quietly, rolling her eyes to the ceiling, trying to smile.

Her expression almost cracks.

'I don't really want to talk about it,' she says, breathing deeply, looking out through the window.

He watches her for a few seconds. Silence.

'It's just that, I'm not one of those women you know, who cries at the drop of the hat,' she says, 'I certainly never cry about men! I can't even remember the last time I cried… I think it was when my dog died when I was eighteen.'

He remains silent.

'But lately…fuck!' She shoves her fork into her mashed potato, blinking again and again.

She knows the hormones are partly responsible. Hormones surging though her rapidly changing body. She does not say this, of course.

'I just can't believe that I'm sitting here, having this conversation with you about boys and girls and relationship crap, like we're a couple of teenagers. I'm a therapist…I'm supposed to be stable. I'm supposed to be giving people advice about this bullshit…great, and now I'm venting to you…'

She rests her hand on her forehead and continues to play with her potato mash.

'You're only human. It happens to the best of us,' he says comfortingly.

She regards him. She has heard about the recent, official dissolution of his marriage.

'Yeah, I know,' she says calmly, 'it's just that, I've never been all gushy and girly about relationships, never. This is it…this is the first time, with Greg…'

'House is House…he is possibly the most difficult person in the world. Angst comes with the territory.'

She looks at him and forces a smile before looking back down at her plate.

'Have you spoken to him about it?' he asks.

'Not for a week. He's been doing a fabulous job of avoiding me.'

'What did he say when you spoke to him about it?'

'That he wants me to leave him alone, that he wants out… it was all going fine, it was great…and then it just jackknifed. Maybe it was me… I fell hard with him. Really hard, and maybe I was too clingy. I mean, I don't think I was cos I've never been that type of person, but then again, I've never been this far gone… maybe it was too much for him.'

'House is very skilled at self sabotage. It's like he's a masochist or something. If anything ever gets too good, he decides he shouldn't have it. It's his life goal to be miserable and he thought you would take that away from him.'

She looks at him. House has entered the cafeteria unnoticed. When he sees Wilson and Lee sitting together he exits the room and watches through the glass panel in the door.

'He would kill me for telling you this,' Wilson says, 'but… the last woman he was in love with… I mean really in love with…he voluntarily sent her away.'

She nods. 'Stacy.'

'He told you about Stacy?'

This surprises him – it makes him realize the gravity of the situation. This was SERIOUS.

'Yeah.' She nods – her attention keenly focused on her mashed potato as if the news headlines are written in it.

From behind the door, House watches their mouths moving, contemplating what they might be saying. He watches as Wilson nods. The two sit in silence for a moment. Wilson touches her hand, and then she nods and stands. House turns and leaves.

He visits Wilson in his office later that afternoon.

'So… have a nice conversation with Dr Emerson?' House asks.

'I'm not playing this game with you. If you want to know anything, you'll have to ask her yourself.'

'Ah, so she said things that I might be interested in knowing?'

'Why, why should you be interested in anything she has to say? You dumped her! The only reason you would be interested in anything she said to me, would be if you were madly in love with her!' Wilson shouts.

House raises his eyebrows. 'Maybe I'm concerned that you were swapping the dirt on me.'

'People are swapping the dirt on you all day long in this hospital, and you couldn't care less, but when people are talking about how much they like you… that gets your attention cos it's so damn rare!'

'Why Jimmy, you're on edge… are you missing Julie's home cooked meals?'

'Get out! I've got work to do.'

House stays in place. 'What did she say?'

Wilson sighs. 'She didn't want to talk but it's obvious that she's very much in love with you, and you've broken her heart. She said she's miserable. And she's angry with herself because she has never reacted this way in her life. So, you've made her miserable just like you…satisfied?'

'She said she's in love with me?'

Wilson pauses. He purses his lips, considering whether to respond.

'Not exactly, but it was obvious.'

'Well what did she say?'

'She said… Oh Christ, I can't believe I'm telling you this…'

'Yeah, yeah…I want less guilt, more facts.'

'She said she had…fallen hard.'

Silence.

'Look,' Wilson says, 'the both of you are moping around, depressed… why don't you do yourselves, and each other, a big favour and just get back together.'

'Yeah, it's that simple,' House says sarcastically.

'Well why is it so complex? Are the reasons for you to be apart greater than the reasons for you to be together?'

House turns and leaves.

Lee sits alone in a quiet courtyard outside the main building of the hospital. She is comforted by the constant, monotonous sound of water running through an ornate fountain and the seclusion offered by the high, vine covered stone walls. Usually, she avoids the sun – it makes her skin freckle – but in the cool, late afternoon air, the warmth on her skin is pleasant. The place is peaceful, private. She imagines that it was meant for patients, or family members – to sit and reflect. Accept. Deal. She knows she has to straighten herself out, make a decision. She has always been able to rationalise. She thinks – considers her options. She has four of them.

Tell him, and have an abortion.

Don't tell him, and have an abortion.

Tell him, and keep the baby.

Don't tell him, and keep the baby.

She rules out the last option immediately. That would not be fair. So, the choice has been narrowed to three options. She dreads the thought of having to tell him. She thinks she knows what he would say. 'It's your choice, I'll stand by you either way.' She does not want to hear him say this. She does not want him to feel obligated – responsible. She does not want him to feel as if he has to 'stand by' her. She does not want to feel as if she has trapped him. No, if she does this, she has to be willing to do it on her own. She had never imagined herself as a single mother, but she had never imagined herself as a married mother either. She had never imagined herself as a mother. She had never imagined House as a father.

Wilson finds her.

'I spoke to House. He came to my office,' he says.

He sits beside her on the stone garden bench.

She nods, trying not to care. This is her lot.

'Maybe I should ask for a transfer. I know it seems immature, like I'm just running away from my problems, but I can't stand to see him everyday – I feel like I'm falling apart,' she says, with little expression to her voice.

'What would you say to Cuddy?' Wilson asks.

'I don't know. Maybe I should go back home, back to Australia.'

She had embraced this new place – the colder climate, different people, different buildings, different smells, different history. It was the change she had needed. But suddenly it had become too cold… foreign, alien. She misses the smells of home – salty, tangy. She misses the imposing heat, she misses the old faces. She misses the fact that at home, no matter how developed a city may be, the land is still there – inescapable heat, red earth, eucalyptus. Here, a city is just a city. The people were just people… until House.

Her eyes meet with Wilson's. He is not sure if he has ever seen a sadder expression – a big call, considering his job. He is overwhelmed by something. He acts on an impulse. Suddenly, he slides his arm around her waist and pulls her close to him. He moves so quickly that she doesn't have a chance to resist. He presses his lips to hers. The kiss – improper, wrong, sinful, yet strangely passionate, lasts for a good five seconds before she is able to push him back. She stares at him questioningly, breathing rapidly.

'I'm sorry!' he says, amazed with himself.

'Ah…' she is speechless.

Her attention is caught by a slight movement in her left field of vision. A figure – tall and lean, watching through the glass wall by the door, a slender wooden pole at its right side.

'Greg!' she exclaims.

He has seen the kiss. She stands, forgetting Wilson, rushing towards House.

The figure looks away, turns and limps quickly out of sight.

She realises she is trembling. Her hand covers her mouth.

'Oh my god. Oh my god…' she repeats these words quietly.

'Don't worry,' Wilson says, coming up beside her, 'I'll talk to him.'

He hurries through the door, leaving Lee standing, numb with shock.

Wilson barges into the conference room to find Chase, Forman and Cameron reclining around the table with coffee.

'Where's House?' he demands.

'What?' Forman asks, baffled by Wilson's obvious distress.

'WHERE'S HOUSE?' Wilson shouts.

'He just left,' Cameron says, 'we have no cases this afternoon, he seemed pretty keen to go home.'

'Shit!' Wilson exclaims.