Chapter 42

"The Incredible Shrinking Dick Rides Again"

Lisa Cuddy and I sat close together on the couch.

Across from us the poker table, abandoned with cards and chips still scattered on its surface, mocked us from the shadows, now that the lights were off. Behind it, the little table against the wall by the fireplace stood as we'd left it, with food from our hastily arranged buffet in dire need of refrigeration, or it would be long putrefied before it ever reached the garbage can.

The lamp atop the baby grand piano cast a dim light across the open keyboard, and all the way across the room, glancing off pieces of small electronic gaming components scattered on the coffee table.

Books stashed haphazardly in every bookcase and piled on every flat surface nearby, spoke of his prodigious curiosity and awesome intelligence. An expansive stereo system and vintage record album collection hinted at his eclectic tastes in music. A Fender Stratocaster and a large acoustical guitar hanging on the wall shouted his musical talent to the room itself.

Other, smaller, obscure mementoes of a man's solitary world, displayed his odd tastes in small cultural icons. Everything around us called his name, and painted an earth-tone mural that told a fascinating tale about the center of Gregory House's existence, and his unique life.

I was still worried about Greg, and his struggle to cope with denial, and in my own sense of betrayal of him regarding his jealously guarded privacy.

I was also worried about Dick, and about the position into which I had placed him, summoning him all the way to New Jersey on some altruistic fool's errand. He'd come to this session cold, on the pretense of a damned poker game, having never met Greg, nor having any idea what he was like to be around, other than my own disjointed personal observations. It had been something like trying to explain a tornado to the evening breeze:

The wind in a tornado, you see, is a little stronger … and it may try to blow you away …

And now the breeze and the tornado were both back there in Greg's bedroom. Holed up together like two outlaws in a mountain cabin … and we the posse, hiding in the rocks and bushes below, waiting for something to happen …

When I sighed theatrically and lowered my head into my hands, Lisa leaned against me and rested an arm across my shoulders, drawing me close into the warmth of her tiny body. And she said: "You know, I feel like we're the parents of a child who's about to come out of potentially life-saving surgery."

I choked on the strangled laugh that squeaked out of me at that statement. "You're not far wrong about that, I guess," I admitted. "What's going on in there could well be life-altering for him." I raised my head to look at her, and for the first time, took notice that this woman who'd been so concerned with comforting me, had tears in her own eyes that matched mine. "I'm sorry," I said. "This is just as hard on you …"

"It was difficult to watch it happen," she admitted. "House is … House! It's a shock, I guess, to be reminded that he's just as human and just as susceptible to hurt as the rest of us."

"I know. While that was happening, I kept trying to remind myself that Dick was just doing what House does to his own patients on a regular basis. No matter how cruel it seems, he believes the end justifies the means." I sighed deeply again and tried to look at Cuddy without betraying the pain in my soul. "All Dick did was pull a 'House' on House. So why does it hurt so much?"

Cuddy smiled at me, pretending to ignore my obvious feelings by squeezing my opposite shoulder between her fingers. "That's easy. We care about patients, but it's abstract … a removed kind of caring … something that we professionals do in order to maintain our equilibrium. With him, our caring is tangible. It's real … and it hurts. We're deeply invested in his recovery and in his well-being. That's why we must let Dr. Dickinson handle this. As much as we want to, we can't do anything to help House right now."

I looked back toward the bedroom as she spoke, knowing the old waterworks were ready to spill over again. "Do you think he's okay?"

Cuddy chuckled low in her throat. "Who?" She asked wryly. "House? Or Dickinson?"

I smiled. Her words had helped the spillage to dry up again.

Thanks, Lisa!

"Point taken. It's just that sometimes I worry about him … House, I mean. Not Dick! Dick's always been a country unto himself! But for all House's bluster … all his professed hatred of emotion … sometimes he just seems so vulnerable … so …"

"'Innocent' …" Cuddy finished the thought for me. "I understand what you mean. He spends so much time fitting everything neatly into intellectual boxes, and then, when something doesn't fit in the box, he doesn't know how to handle it … and he's surprised. It's almost like …" She paused to think for a moment. "It's like he doesn't know how to protect himself, so he gets hurt."

"Yeah. Then he hides behind sarcasm and anger, tries to divert attention away from it. Then, once he has you distracted, he doesn't have to acknowledge his feelings. So we all end up thinking of him as a cold-hearted bastard. What's sad is, he chalks that up as a win."

I shook my head.

Cuddy was quick with reassurances. "But now he's busted, you know. At least, with us! Maybe … someday … some of the trust he's finally given to us may spill over to the rest of the human race."

I laughed, feeling suddenly restless, entertaining a silly mind picture that wandered inadvertently into my head. I got up from the couch, out from under from Lisa's warm hand, and wandered over to the front window, pretending to search around out there …

"What are you doing?" Cuddy was puzzled.

"Looking for flying pigs … what else?"

Cuddy laughed too. "Got it. Okay, you're probably right. Not likely. So, let's just be grateful that we've gotten as far as we have with him. And let's trust that Dickinson will be able to take him the rest of the way."

I straightened from the window. "How'd ya like some coffee?"

"Sounds good."

We sat around for an hour or more, listening to the quiet buzz of intermittent conversation drifting back from the bedroom down the hall … and trying to talk about anything and everything except what might be going on in there.

We weren't very successful in that area though … so when the door finally opened and we heard footsteps approaching through the hallway … we both stood up too quickly, too anxiously … and I'm sure we were both thinking of Cuddy's words earlier … about overwrought parents in a surgical waiting room …

Dick walked into the living room, and the dim light glinted off the tired smile on his face as he looked appraisingly at the two of us. "Is that coffee? Smells good."

I poured him a mug full gratefully, and pressed it into his hand. We both regarded him apprehensively.

He took a long swallow, closed his eyes blissfully for a moment, and finally spoke. "He's … okay. Fascinating man!" He turned to me with twinkling eyes. "He says to tell you I'm better than Dr. Phil, and I'd even give Oprah a run for her money. He also requests that you find him a Nerf ball before our next session." Dick pulled a face and gave me a puzzled smile. "Care to translate all that?"

I smiled back. Lisa looked doubtful.

"Well, the good news … the great news … is there's gonna be a next session. The bad news is … you better get yourself a thesaurus and learn a few new words for 'feelings', or you're gonna be spending a lot of time dodging a Nerf ball!"

Dick still looked a little confused, but he smiled gamely and widened his eyes in speculation. "All right, will do. Thanks for the warning. I think!"

I put my mug down on the coffee table and turned in the direction of the bedroom. "I'm gonna go back and check on him …"

"No!" Dick said quickly. "He … uh … specifically requested Lisa …"

I frowned and paused, feeling a little hurt. But then my smile returned as Dick turned to Cuddy and continued. "He said to tell you he's willing to be a guinea pig tonight for what he termed your 'new-age relaxation garbage' … but it would cost you six clinic hours. Does that make any sense to you?"

Cuddy grinned and shook her head. "I'm afraid it makes perfect sense," she said. She turned on her heel and started for the bedroom.

"Wait!" Dick said. "I might be a fake doctor, but I think the morphine's wearing off about now. He seems a little restless. I'm sure in Dr. House's book, this is practicing medicine without a license, but I'd bet my own license … even if I did fish it out of a Cracker Jack box, according to him … that he could also use a breathing treatment."

"I'll take care of it," Cuddy told him. "As far as the restlessness, it's way past time for his hydrocodone, so I'm sure he's experiencing some discomfort. And I won't tell him it was you suggested the aerosol …" She left to gather the supplies.

Dick and I went over to the couch and sat down, sipping at fresh coffee refills. "I know you can't tell me what went on back there, Dick, but I have to ask … is he gonna be okay?"

"Actually, he told me to let you know exactly what went on. Said you two have a deal: no secrets. But I think that right now, the most important thing for you to know is that he's embarrassed … worried about seeing you. He's afraid you'll think he's weak."

"He told you that?" I couldn't believe my ears.

"Well, no … not precisely. What he said was: 'Jimmy's gonna have a field day with this. He'll hold it over my head until I start washing the dishes! Which means I'll be hearing about it for years!' And he didn't exactly say it directly to me. It looked as though he was talking to the ceiling …"

"Yeah, he does share some of his deepest feelings and insights with that ceiling. With all the ceilings! I'm well acquainted with their conversations." I grinned and shook my head in fond recall. Or not so fond …take your pick.

We were still laughing together when Lisa came walking into the room. "He's sleeping like a baby back there," she said with a smile of relief. "And I do mean 'like a baby.' He's completely relaxed, and it looks like the weight of the world was lifted off his shoulders tonight."

I looked across at Dick Dickinson. "Thank you. And don't worry about House's little talk with the plaster. When I get finished telling him how much I admire him … all spoken in code, of course, and probably to his confidant, the ceiling, as well … his ego'll be so big, he'll need a whole other room to put it in!"

Dick rolled his eyes, laughing, nodding his head in total agreement. He looked at us slyly. "So then you'll have to bring back 'The Incredible Shrinking Dick' to bring it down to size!"

We groaned and hid our heads in our hands for a moment, and then the three of us laughed together, helplessly.

I couldn't help wondering what might be next in store for that extraordinary, contradictory creature in the room at the end of the hall …

Oooo0oooO

HouseHHH

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