A/N: Sorry for the delay. Life is absolutely crazy at the moment. Starting in May, I will have one day a week off, which should help. There's nothing wrong with the story, just not enough hours in the day. Here's a short update.
(H/C)
Saturday, Cuddy was starting to feel better physically, which only left room for more frustration. The crutches still were awkward, and she limped throughout their home several times, trying to make herself improve at this unwanted skill. The girls alternated between concerned and fascinated, watching closely, and to Cuddy's annoyance, Belle also studied her as if analyzing her technique. House looked so sympathetic that she felt a pang of guilt at it, remember his own painful and far-longer rehab after his leg surgery. She had realized the facts medically at the time, of course, but she hadn't appreciated the emotional impact of limited, difficult movement. She at least wasn't sentenced to it forever, unlike him.
Everything had to be plotted. Getting up, going to the bathroom. Even eating. The leg was supposed to be propped up as much as possible for the first few days, so sitting at the table was out. She spent a good bit of time stretched out on the couch with it on a pillow. But of course, she had to be served there, the others bringing her plates and drinks. The girls helped proudly, because House was limited on what he could carry himself.
It was maddening. And she had only herself to blame, and that made her madder. By the time the girls finally got to sleep for a nap, later than usual, she felt that she absolutely had to do something, change something, know something this minute. Anything different that would break this new status quo.
She heard the door of the girls' room click. House had been in there with them, singing softly to them. Neither of them could carry their daughters at the moment, Cuddy due to the broken ankle and House due to the fact that he had stopped doing so back in January. He still picked them up on good days carefully when he was standing still, but for three weeks now, he had not taken a step with either of them. Cuddy had noticed and understood but not wanted to comment on it. So this afternoon, with her out of the running, the girls had to fall asleep in their room, not in the living room and be carried back. That had lengthened the process.
House came back into the living room. "Do you need anything?" he asked. "Refill on your water? Another pain pill yet?"
"Yes, I need something," she replied, trying to keep the annoyance out of her tone. None of this was his fault.
He studied her, then sighed and sat down in the recliner, facing her. "You just need something to change, right?"
"Do you have to be so observant?" She sighed herself. "I'm sorry, Greg."
He stood back up and came over to bend and kiss her. "I'm sorry, too. I can't turn it off, Lisa. I've never found that switch. But I'm still learning that there are times when I shouldn't say it."
She leaned into his hand on her cheek. "You said you'd tell me whatever happened the other day."
He retreated again to the recliner and sat down, and she realized with a jolt that even though he had said it wasn't anything too important, he wanted to face her directly to watch her react. He wasn't sure how she was going to take this. He considered for a moment, obviously planning approaches, then jumped in. "I, um, sent a couple of Christmas cards two months ago."
Well, that was definitely something different. She couldn't help shaking her head, trying to picture this; she doubted he had ever done so in his life voluntarily before, though maybe Blythe had forced him to add his signature in childhood to a few. "You sent Christmas cards?"
"Yeah. Two." He pulled out his grandfather's letter opener and started fiddling with it.
The realization hit like a sunrise. "To Thomas." He nodded. She smiled, forgetting her ankle completely for the first time in the last few days. "That's wonderful, Greg. Do you mind telling me what you said to him?"
"I - I told him I forgave him."
Cuddy pushed herself up to a sitting position. He may have wanted the distance of perspective to watch her face, but she couldn't take this news separated from him. "Come here, Greg." He pried himself out of his own chair and obeyed, and she nodded toward the end of the couch that her head had just vacated. He sat down, and she snuggled up, leaning against him, her leg still stretched out. "Greg, I am so proud of you. I thought you were getting there, just watching the two of you make progress the last few months, but I didn't know you had actually said it to him."
"Wrote it to him," he corrected. "In hieroglyphics."
She laughed. That touch was so much like her husband, the intellect, the challenge, and the insecurity all wrapped up in one, unable to say it face to face, but on the other hand still wanting Thomas to have to work to earn it. "That still counts, as I'm sure Jensen would say. Does Jensen…" She stopped. Talking about what they had and hadn't discussed in their respective sessions was forbidden.
"Not entirely. He definitely doesn't know about the Christmas cards. I think he's worked out some things himself, though. He can't switch observation off, either. Course, if he switched it off in a paid session, he'd be a pretty poor excuse for a psychiatrist."
Cuddy twisted her head around a bit for another kiss. "I'm proud of you," she repeated. "But why hadn't you told me for two months?"
"I…I wanted to be sure I did it right. Forgiveness, I mean. I'm new at this. I didn't want you to get all happy and then just be disappointed if it turned out that…"
She snuggled in more tightly against him. "Greg, I am not disappointed in you. You don't have to worry about that." He relaxed a little, and they just enjoyed a minute of silent companionship on the couch before the thought crept in. Why, if he had hesitated to tell her, was he telling her now, and what did this have to do with that mysterious lunch the other day? "What happened at lunch the other day? What made you decide to tell me now?"
He looked away, and she gave him a moment. Then he looked back at her. "There were two Christmas cards."
"Oh, yeah, right." Appreciating the breakthrough with Thomas, she had totally forgotten the second card he'd mentioned. "Who else did you send one to?"
"Stacy." He let the one-word answer fall between them, but he was watching her face closely, gauging.
She was surprised but not really disturbed. "Well, that makes sense, I suppose. If you were forgiving Thomas, then you…did she get the same message?"
"Yes. Not in hieroglyphics, though."
Cuddy grinned at the thought. "No, she isn't in Thomas' league. Well, I'm glad, Greg. For you and for her. I know she felt a lot of guilt over your leg. Maybe this will help both of you." She felt him tighten up again. They were improving on being able to talk about it, but his leg still wasn't an easy topic.
"I wasn't exactly trying to keep that from you. I just wanted to make sure I did it right, especially with the old man, and if you had known about Stacy but not him, you would have thought I still had bigger things to forgive with people closer to home."
"I can see that. I mean, I can see where you would think it. I think you underestimated me a little bit there, though. Really, Greg, I'm glad, for all three of you, but especially for you. And also for Thomas." They kissed again. A few minutes later, she realized again that the question still remained; what on earth did all this have to do with lunch at the hospital on Thursday? "Greg, what happened Thursday?"
He was still looking uncertain, but that time, he gave her the answer. "Stacy came to the hospital. Walked into the lobby, and we ran into her. She was looking for me."
She felt a soft grumble from what might have been the ghost of old jealousy, jealousy that she had never allowed herself to admit way back when he was with Stacy and she had wanted him, even then, to be with her instead. But the reaction was brief. Here in their home, married to him and with their daughters asleep down the hall, she didn't feel a threat. She didn't entirely trust Stacy, but she did trust her husband. "So she came to the hospital." He nodded. "Had she replied to your Christmas card in any way before now?"
"Nope." The relief was plain on his face. Sending the cards had been the extent of his new, tentative capability on that subject, both with Stacy and with Thomas. Cuddy was sure that Thomas hadn't replied. He would have savored the announcement privately, but to spare his son feeling awkward, he wouldn't have said anything.
"So what did she want? Just to acknowledge it?"
"No." He had his differential expression on now. "I'm not sure what she wants, but she wants something. I don't think she's just back to try to get another serving of curry, as she would put it. But right then, you had just been hurt, and too much was going on, so I didn't get details. I put her off for a while, but I know she'll be back. She wants to talk to me." His eyes faced nothing, reading the whiteboard of his mind. "She wants something, more than just a conversation. But I don't know. You were more important."
The fact that her husband had put off a mystery, even if an uncomfortable one, to focus on her warmed Cuddy clear through. There were many ways to say love, and he was more fluent at it than he thought he was. She said it now outright. "I love you, Greg."
He bent over to kiss her. "I love you, too," he answered.
"What are you going to do?"
"Set up an appointment at the hospital. I'll have to talk to her; she won't give up. Hopefully whatever she wants to discuss, we can have it out, and that will be the end of it." He cringed, and Cuddy knew he was hoping that Stacy didn't want to have a Jensen-style session with him to wallow in forgiveness.
"It might help to talk to Jensen beforehand, to bounce it off him."
"I intend to, but I had to tell you first. The old man knows, but that's only because he was right with me." House suddenly smiled as he remembered. "I introduced him to her."
Cuddy smiled herself. That was a classic Housian shot, knocking Stacy off balance as she had him by her unexpected appearance.
House answered the thought. "She definitely wasn't expecting that." His tone became thoughtful again. "But neither was I."
"I know." She leaned against him. "It will work out, Greg, whatever it is. But please keep me updated, okay?"
"I will," he promised. After a moment, he got up, officially closing that subject, and moved to the piano, and she leaned back into the cushions that were still warm from him and listened to the music.
