CHAPTER 2: THIRTEEN

With everything that had happened on the fake wedding night, he'd almost forgotten about his plan to pick Thirteen up when she was out of jail. Luckily, he remembered on time and here they both were, in his car. His team had just called him about a new case, with Masters coming up with the best idea for now. "So, you're married?", Thirteen was now asking. "You were gone for so long", he replied. "Green card. In return for a federal felony, I get a live-in maid, cook, massage therapist", he clarified. "But not a hooker?", she enquired quizzically. "Nah", was all he said in response. "House refusing a woman's charms? That's news fit to print, except if she's ugly", Thirteen quipped. "Actually, she's pretty hot. A real temptation for you", he shot back. She wolf-whistled, as if she were in a strip club. "All the more mysterious", she remarked. "You see, it's not only you who likes to be a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma", he replied, quoting Churchill. Seeking to avoid his questioning, at least for now, she steered the conversation towards his wife, asking, "And how on Earth did you stumble upon her?". "Cinnamon rolls. She made them so delicious, I developed an addiction, as if I didn't have enough troubles with addiction already. We soon found out we had to help each other", he answered. His response aroused her curiosity and so she thought of probing deeper, but then she understood House was driving to the right, not to her exit. "What are you doing, House?", she asked. "Taking you to a spud gun competition, if you insist so much to know".

Thirteen was trying on a new outfit while House waited for her on the couch. He'd offered to buy her a change of clothes, since she had none. In the meantime, she had to deal with his incessant efforts to find out the real reason she'd been in jail. She was deeply annoyed by this, but she had no other option except endurance. Although part of her wished to talk to someone, to open up about her brother and what she did, that person to whom she could talk was clearly not House. Not House, with his flippant jests, his rude comments, his constant biting remarks. At the same time, she found herself intrigued enough about the recent developments in her boss' life. For all his typical ass behaviour, he'd even offered to hire her as an assistant until her license was reinstated. Sometimes, he could behave in a different way, almost humanely, she had to admit. She caught herself musing about what he'd said about the sham wedding he'd gotten involved in. House would never do something just to help another person, that she could say for sure. Her own experience was a proof of it. He'd picked her up from jail, but in order for his curiosity to be satisfied. Each time she was close to forming a full opinion on the man, he said or did something that changed the equilibrium. Wishing not to think of it anymore, but knowing that more interrogation awaited her, she stepped out of the changing room and looked at herself in the mirror. Yes, this choice of clothes was the better option. She took a deep breath, his annoying questions taking their toll on her, but tried to maintain a calm look.

They were at the restaurant, House having ordered oysters for them both. After those months of eating the horrible stuff they called food in jail, having the chance to enjoy this delicacy seemed like paradise. The fine meal had actually made her more prone to talking. It seems House made a good calculation when ordering, she thought. She couldn't resist making a quip involving Lucas, the weird PI he'd hired and who ended up as Cuddy's boyfriend. Yet, mere moments later, she regretted making it. "Actually, until a couple of weeks ago, I was Cuddy's weird boyfriend", House was explaining. She initially didn't believe him, but by the serious look he had on his face, she understood he wasn't lying. "I'm sorry", she said, at a loss for words. "You have other things to be sorry for", he said in a heavy voice. Combatting the urge to confess her own deeds, and wishing to give him a taste of his own medicine, she mused, "And so soon after your breakup, you get married? A cynical guy would say you did it out of spite". "Not only a cynical guy. Wilson said that, too", he responded in all honesty. "And, let me guess, Cuddy got an invitation to your wedding", she kept going. "Good job, Sherlock", House retorted, but then took a serious expression again, saying, "I was hoping she'd stop me. Instead, what she did was to cause a minor inconvenience. I was holding the wedding ceremony in the chapel, but she kicked us out, so we held it at my place. Throughout the ceremony, she just looked at us, never saying a single word. As if she didn't mind at all". His eyes were downcast now, his gaze fixed on his plate, as he aimlessly played with his food, his appetite cut short. He let out a deep sigh, the narrative having apparently affected him in a very negative way. Her empathy reaching a very high level, Thirteen gripped his hand and asked him, "Are... Are you okay?". "Yeah, I'm fine. It's not a big deal", he replied in a weak tone, failing to convince even himself, let alone her. "Is this why you didn't... Do it with your wife?", she felt bold enough to ask, clarifying, "Your bitterness over the breakup". "Let's stop this conversation here", House suggested, for once unable to find something clever to say, still refusing to look straight at her, his breathing a bit rugged and irregular. Suddenly, without knowing what drove her to this, Thirteen whispered to him, "I... I killed a man". His dumbfounded look betrayed how much he'd be taken aback by the revelation.

She'd taken up driving after they were done eating. For the greater part of the journey, House was silent, probably still having trouble to possess the information he'd been privy to. Thirteen was chiding herself for letting her defences down for a moment and revealing part of the truth to him. Yet, what struck her the most was the fact that he'd not spoken in his usual judgmental and condescending tone, remaining utterly silent for a long while. It took an observation from her to get him back to talking. She immediately regretted it, however, because he resumed his seemingly endless quest for an answer. She then asked him to just let it go. He responded he really wished he was the kind of guy who could do that, but he had stopped talking again. This time, Thirteen knew better than to say anything, enjoying the silence herself. She kept driving, House looking out from the car window. His face was utterly expressionless, too absorbed in his thoughts. Soon, he was asleep. Thirteen let out a sigh of relief. She welcomed the prospect of being free from his interrogation for as long as possible. She tried to focus on her driving. Her mind was being flooded again with images of her brother's last moments. She shook her head, trying to evict the haunting memories from her head. Truth be told, right now she'd welcome a distraction, any sort of it, even the silly tournament House was planning to attend. She now began to appreciate her boss' constant wish to occupy himself with riddles. It wasn't only the physical pain he wished to banish, but every kind of anguish, corporeal or mental. And, at the moment, she had a riddle that could occupy her, namely, House's spud gun. She soon found the ideal spot to park the car. The diagnostician was still asleep when she parked and got out of the vehicle, his spud gun in her hand. From the first glance, she was perfectly aware of the sorry state of the item. Let's check how it works, she told herself. Soon, the sound of the gun awoke House, who rubbed his eyes and limped towards her. His limp seemed to be even worse than last time. She briefly informed him that the gun sucked and walked back to the car, to avoid a new round of interrogation. If she were right, he'd now drag her along to purchase better parts for the gun. Thirteen half-smiled, pleased at having found the distraction she wished for.

He was awakened by her sobbing. She was sitting by the window, trying earnestly to muffle her crying, but apparently she had a hard time with it. For a moment, House thought of getting up, laying a hand on her shoulder and just stand by her, letting her know she wasn't alone. But, maybe she wished just that, to be left alone. He still wracked his brain to find out what exactly had happened with her. It had to be something overly disturbing, to bring her to this sorry state. He'd seen her struggle with a lot of things since he'd hired her, and even before. No matter the façade of the strong and independent person she presented to the outside world, House could clearly see that, when the doors closed and, at least supposedly, no one was watching or listening, Thirteen was deeply afraid, deeply hurt. House sighed, having decided to let her vent her sorrow out, not giving the slightest indication he had been awakened. His mind now raced away from Thirteen, back to his own problems. Although he hadn't thought it that way, his absence from his home was leading him to deep contemplation. All he could think about now was Dominika. He hadn't told her where exactly he was going, only telling her that he was gonna be absent for a couple of days, more or less what he'd told his team. She'd asked him if she had done anything wrong, but he had hung up, refusing to answer. Yet, after the tournament was over, eventually he would return to his apartment and have to confront her. Where did this go wrong?, he asked himself. It was supposed to be a mutually beneficial deal, plus a way at making Cuddy feel bad for dumping him. The more he dwelled on it, the more embarrassing he found it. And it hadn't worked, as he'd told Thirteen earlier. Nonetheless, what was more surprising was that this woman, this totally unknown woman, somehow had an agenda of trying to make him feel better. From offering herself to him to giving his sore leg a much-needed massage, fixing him tea and breakfast, ironing his shirts, spending a sleepless night just to check on him. He couldn't remember any instance when someone did something for him without expecting something in return. Well, excepting Wilson. She's a lot like Wilson, he thought, caring and compassionate. But, on the next moment, his rational mind responded, it's all cold calculation, all she cares about is her green card. He managed to suppress a sigh, as he shifted position, hopefully without alerting Thirteen to the fact he wasn't asleep. Speaking of her, her sobs had subsided by now. House feigned sleep as she scanned the room before heading back to her bed. She drew the covers on her and rolled off to her side, her soft breathing telling him she wasn't awake anymore. He decided to follow suit and get some rest, as well. He tried to focus on trivial things, like the contest, monster trucks rallies, his favourite soap operas, anything to prevent him from dwelling on recent events, anything to prevent him from focusing on himself and his life. Gregory House went back to sleep, his last thought being, instead, the conundrum surrounding Thirteen's jail time.

This time, the roles had been reversed. Now it was her who was waiting for him outside the police station. He'd found out what had happened with her, about her having performed euthanasia on her brother. He'd missed only a tiny detail, but his conclusion was right. However, having solved this particular riddle wasn't bringing him any kind of enjoyment or elation. Instead, second after second, he was feeling more and more depressed. Her own words also rang in his ear, especially her biting remark that she understood why Cuddy had dumped him. He knew her anger stemmed from his utter lack of an expression, his deafening silence, him just standing still while she cried. What she'd failed to grasp was that he didn't know what to say, how to comfort her. He wanted to, but just couldn't. Everything he could've said would have the opposite effect of making her feel even sadder. Her words had been like another dagger plunged into his heart. As if I wasn't heartbroken enough before, he thought. Was there any truth in her statement? Was it just her anger and despair speaking, or she'd just blurted out the simple and honest truth? For a man who'd devoted half a century in the pursuit of the truth, Gregory House could barely confess to himself that there were some truths he wasn't prepared to hear. At least he'd gotten some kind of revenge at the moron, Harold. He'd told the sheriff some embarrassing things about the idiot and, in return, he was now allowed to go free with a mere warning. Soon, they would be taking the road back to Princeton. The little trip wasn't fun, and that was an understatement. He exhaled audibly as he limped out of the police station, trying to empty his mind of the unpleasant thoughts. Easier said than done, especially when Thirteen was waiting for him outside, her glare refusing to leave him. He had another reason to feel depressed on that particular day. Had Cuddy not dumped him, they would be celebrating an anniversary today. He shrugged the thought off, they were apart and no amount of make-believe or wishful thinking could fix that. The cold reality was staring at him and his only choice was to accept it. Accept it and move on, Nolan would say. Nolan... Another person he had no wish to dwell on. Unexpectedly, by enquiring what had happened, Thirteen snapped him out of his thoughts. He stood silent for a moment, then explained with the least amount of words. At last, they were in the car now. The idea of motion served to somehow distract him from his dejected state of mind. The idea of going home depressed him again. Going home meaning having to confront Dominika again and he wasn't ready for this, he wasn't ready to probe into his subconscious and determine how he really felt towards that woman. The sound of his phone proved a kind of relief. He focused on what his team had to say about the patient.

She climbed the flight of stairs all the way to her apartment door. She planned on just throwing herself on her bed and letting sleep overcome her. Everything was a blur, everything save for those simple words House had spoken. She hadn't got the meaning immediately, but he'd clarified afterwards. Once more, a tiny remark, a little phrase from him was more than sufficient to turn her world upside down. He'd offered to put an end to her misery once her disease grew so insufferable, just as she'd done for her poor brother. It was as if he was telling her he'd understood the decision she had to make and supported her. She hadn't found the appropriate reply a few minutes away, she couldn't find it now, she'd never find it. Words just lacked the depth and power of the message she wished to convey. She'd merely replied she was going to be there in Princeton-Plainsboro on Monday. She wished to add that her remark about Cuddy being right to dump him was erroneous, said just to spite him, but ultimately she didn't say anything more, electing to retreat into her place the soonest she could. Not bothering to change into sleeping clothes, she merely removed her shoes and lay down on her bed, closing her eyes and sighing deeply.

He drove back to his own place, having first dropped Thirteen at her apartment. He dreaded the time he'd see Dominika again, yet, at the same time, he was oddly anticipating the moment. He hobbled all the way to the apartment door, producing his keys and entering. Just as he opened the door, music reached his ears. Dominika was playing an 80s song on the stereo. She'd also lit a fire in the fireplace and, here she was, in the kitchen, wildly bouncing to the sound of the music. With a grunt, he dropped his backpack down and announced his presence with a simple "I am home"