Pillow Tales: Ch3 - The Former Administrator


Now…

"Six months? Who… who's the father?" House stuttered, barely coherent in shock.

Wilson sighed and looked away from his best friend. He rubbed uncomfortably at the nape of his neck. "She never told me," he began, "but I think you and I can both make a good guess."

House stared out the window contemplatively. The distant chatter of the TV stilled, before the title music swelled and filled the room. Wilson clumsily grabbed for the remote, muting the volume so the only sound to be heard was the discordant chorus of monitors coming from the hallway.

Wilson stood up from the bed and stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets. He turned to leave, hesitating before turning back to face House once more.

"I called her. She's on her way." Wilson breezed out the door, his coat swiftly flapping behind him. House switched his gaze to the doorframe through which Wilson had just disappeared.

He decided, at the middle ground somewhere between shock and cynicism, that if he wasn't feeling dizzy and nauseous from the news he'd just heard, there was every possibility he'd have disconnected himself from his monitors and bolted out the door.


Then…

Cuddy aggressively slammed her car door shut, marching towards the main hospital entrance, thirty minutes late. She clutched her Styrofoam cup of coffee in one hand and her briefcase in the other. She'd woken up to an empty bed, an impersonal note and the worst hangover she'd had in years.

Lisa Cuddy was a career woman, who generally refrained from drinking unless circumstances made it necessary. Such circumstances included business opportunities and drowning giant-sized sorrows. She never drank for recreational purposes – she was smart, and had long since learned that she simply couldn't cope with hangovers.

But as in all bad situations, Cuddy took it with a coffee and a forced smile. Of course, the worst of this hangover wasn't over yet. She still had to face House. And in all the scenarios she could possibly fathom, the task never seemed even remotely tolerable.

The best scenario, she decided, would be if he didn't show up at all. His hangover must be just as bad as hers.

The automatic glass doors parted as she entered and crossed through the busy hospital foyer to her office. Cuddy's receptionist, Jill, was on the phone at her desk, and looked up at her arrival.

"Dr. Cuddy," she began timidly, "I tried to call you on your way in–"

"I know," Cuddy interjected, "I didn't answer." Naturally, with her splitting headache, she'd been in no mood to deal with her rambling secretary. If Jill had been phoning to notify her that she was late, obviously Cuddy would have realised that at the time.

Cuddy's hands were already latched around her office door handle when Jill spoke up again.

"Dr. House was in an accident this morning," she began, speaking to Cuddy's now stationary rear frame. "He was brought by ambulance to Princeton General at five a.m."

Staring numbly at the glass front of her double doors, Cuddy listened as her secretary broke the news about House.

"I've informed his staff, and Dr. Wilson left for General as soon as he heard."

Cuddy turned to face her secretary, who lowered herself to the desk chair at her intense stare. "Is… is it serious?" Cuddy stuttered, her eyes wide in panic.

Jill swallowed and glanced absently around the room. "We don't really know anything yet," she ventured quietly. Cuddy dropped her briefcase and her Styrofoam coffee cup to the ground, and made her way into the office – around to the back of her desk, and into her chair, where she sat holding her head in her hands for over an hour.


Now…

House's eyes bore into the doorframe through which Wilson had exited as he processed the news.

Thirty minutes later, House's eyes were still fixed on the empty doorframe when the unfamiliar profile of Lisa Cuddy swaggered through. After six months, her belly had swollen into a slightly protruding, rounded bump, barely peaking through the opening of her light suit jacket. She was positively glowing, her skin bright and clear through an uncharacteristically wild mane of dark trailing curls.

House found himself unable to speak. Cuddy's eyes glazed over as she stared at him propped against his pillows, looking scared and unguarded, much like a lost puppy. Cuddy smiled painfully and looked away.

"I was really worried about you, House," she quietly conceded, not meeting his eye. "Wilson told you?"

House exhaled shakily. "It's… mine?"

"It's yours," she confirmed, giving him another nervous smile. House looked away from her, unable to cope with her offhand demeanour. She sighed and rolled her eyes. "House, I'm not holding you to anything. I know you weren't planning on a child." When House refused to acknowledge her, she sighed and continued. "I had to make a decision. It was risky, keeping this child. But I've wanted this so badly for so long. I couldn't just abort my baby."

She took a seat at the end of his bed, fixing her eyes pleadingly on his inattentive face. "House, I'm not expecting you to do anything except understand." Finally, House grudgingly turned his head to face her. She exhaled a short breath of air in relief.

"I would make a terrible father," he told her softly, looking earnestly into her eyes.

"You don't know that," she insisted. House scoffed mildly and looked away. Cuddy gazed out the window thoughtfully.


Then…

Cuddy sat behind her desk, filling in the endless paperwork she'd come to revere recently. It had been one week since the bike accident, and with the hospital halls devoid of the presence of House, she no longer found solace in chasing any of her skiving staff. She was too disheartened to do anything other than bookwork.

A knock on the door roused her from what had become an automatic response to an almost mechanical system of paperwork. Cuddy looked up to find Wilson at the door, hovering timidly behind the glass with a small box in his hands. She beckoned him inside with a warm smile – Wilson was finding it the most difficult to cope.

"You're just back from General?" she asked politely as he pushed open the door. Wilson nodded in response, strolling forward and depositing the small container in front of her on the desk. He was acting odd, almost cautious.

"His fracture is healing well," he informed her. "'Scans look good." Cuddy nodded, pleased at the news. She indicated the box in front of her.

"What's this?"

Wilson cleared his throat. "The nurses gave it me. That's everything he had on him when he crashed." Cuddy peered into the box. "No Vicodin," Wilson added. Cuddy looked up at him and raised her eyebrows, before looking back inside. Wilson glanced at his watch. "I have to get back – I have an appointment at two. Um… maybe you should take a look through that stuff." Wilson turned awkwardly and exited the room.

Cuddy watched him as he left, puzzled by the peculiar behaviour. She spilled the contents of the box onto her desk. About four dollars in loose coins, his watch, his beeper, his wallet, a rubber band and a small scrunched up piece of toffee-coloured paper. As gently as she could, Cuddy traced her fingertips across the surface of the paper ball, searching for the corner of the page. Locating it, she began to unravel the note, to discover a post-it. Intrigued, she lay it flat against the hard wood of her desk, ironing it smooth with the flat base of her fist. Having smoothed out the creases to find it blank, she flipped it over onto the other side.

Scrawled, in barely legible handwriting was a single word.

Lisa,

A wave of nausea beginning to wash over her, Cuddy clutched at her stomach as the ink stared guiltily up at her from the page. Her heart pounding loudly in her ears, as Cuddy realised that this one little word, printed on a sheet of her own stationary, was the verification of everything she felt. She had no idea where she stood with him. He'd clearly tried to be personal, tried to see her as more than a colleague, but had no idea of how to deal with that.

Realising she could no longer swallow back her retches, Cuddy stood abruptly up from her desk. She slapped a hand across her mouth, and took off out the door for the staff restrooms, where she vomited into the toilet until the contents of her stomach were emptied.


Now…

"I can't imagine how you feel, House. And I don't mind if you decide not to be involved. It's up to you." House still hadn't responded. Desperately nervous, Cuddy began clutching her jacket collar.

"Please just say something," she finished, gazing earnestly down at him.

House stared pensively out the window as he spoke. "Let's just see where this goes," he replied. Cuddy watched him for a minute, staring intently at his face, before nodding decisively. Turning his head, House returned a sardonic stare. "I wonder if he'll have my limp."

Cuddy snorted at this and looked back to the window.

"By the way, maternity-leave at six months?" House questioned skeptically. "Sounds to me like someone is milking it for all its worth."

Cuddy glared at him. "You know that given circumstances, the odds I'll miscarry are not-"

"Oh, Cuddy, I understand that your hormones are uncontrollable, so please don't pretend it wasn't in an effort to keep constant vigil by my bedside."

Cuddy scoffed, but didn't respond. She took a deep, decisive breath and then looked seriously at him.

"Actually, I have to tell you something." Cuddy sighed, before resigning herself once more to what she was trying to get out. "I re-assigned Foreman, Chase and Cameron temporarily to other hospital departments. Foreman went to neurology; Chase went to ICU, and Cameron, immunology."

"I know," House replied absently. "Wilson told me."

Cuddy sighed and went on. "Dr. Foley, head of neurology, became substitute administrator four months after Foreman began working with him. Foreman's the new head of neurology."

House raised his eyebrows, taken aback at the sudden conflicting pangs of pride and betrayal he was feeling.

"My final request was that Chase be kept on in ICU so he could monitor your condition. Foley didn't mind, intensivists are hard to come by, and he'd been a fan of Chase's father anyway.

"Cameron was a problem. Princeton Plainsboro has only ever employed one full-time immunologist, and Dr. Freidrich has worked here for longer. I fought for Cameron, but the second I left, the board stepped in."

House's brow furrowed as he tried to understand what she was telling him. "What're you saying?" he asked.

"What I'm saying," Cuddy interrupted, "is that Cameron lost her position here in the hospital. She was fired."


So this little guy had two Then...s and three Now...s. I know it slows up the the present-time plot to have lots of flashbacks, but do you guys mind it? Leave your comments, please, and thanks for all the positive feedback so far. I'm trying really hard not to turn this into a fluffy House/Cuddy story, and I'm not sure it's even gonna be a House/Cuddy story. Hell, I'm not sure if there's even going to be pairings. But there most definitely won't be House/Cameron. I have too much respect for both characters to do that.