House was looking at his watch.
It was 2 pm on Friday, exactly the time he was scheduled to meet Cuddy, and he had been cornered by Larry, a well-meaning, if somewhat dim-witted fellow patient who was convinced he knew the secret to curing House's pain.
"My cousin Lou had this really horrible back pain," Larry was saying. "I mean, if he sat for a long time—like, in this one particular easy chair he had—he sometimes couldn't stand up."
"Sounds traumatic," House said, impatiently.
"Anyways, he went to these springs. You know, the kind they have upstate? Those naturally hot springs?"
"Hot springs, yeah," House said, distractedly.
"A few soaks in those springs and he was good as new. Played golf last weekend."
"Wow. Thanks for the tip," House said, quickly backing away. "I will definitely, definitely check those out,".
"I can send you a pamphlet on the springs once I've been sprung," Larry said, laughing at his own joke.
"You're good," House said, pointing at him. "Spring. Sprung. Witty stuff."
And then he turned and limped away so quickly, Larry didn't have a chance to reply.
The corner was ominously empty. House looked at his watch: 2:05.
Shit, shit, shit. Maybe she had already come and gone. Or maybe she had changed her mind about coming to begin with?
He hopped up on the window ledge and tried to look calm, but it was hard to affect an air of nonchalance when you were eagerly waiting for someone. His leg jangled.
To steady his nerves, he lit a cigarette (a bad detox habit) and blew a smoke ring out the cracked window, hoping nobody would give him grief about it.
"Ewww, gross!" Cuddy said, materializing like an apparition from the hallway. She looked at him disapprovingly. "And since when you do smoke cigarettes anyway?"
"What cigarette?" House said, flicking it out the window.
It was impossible not to grin at her like an idiot.
"You came," he said.
"So did you," she said, shyly.
"I was able to break away from my very busy schedule of doing absolutely nothing to meet you," he said.
She laughed.
"I'm honored," she said.
"So," House said. "How was your therapy? Did you crack the code of your own subconscious?"
"Not quite yet," Cuddy said. "That's next Friday."
"But you must've learned something," House said.
"I learned that. . .I'm a perfectionist," Cuddy said.
"And that was some sort of a newsflash?" House cracked.
"Shut up!" Cuddy said, girlishly. Then she added, "I also learned that perfection is impossible and the pursuit of perfection is sometimes misguided."
"Hmmm," House said. "I like the sound of this. Did my name come up?"
"You were what triggered the discussion of imperfection," Cuddy said, with a smirk.
"Naturally," House said. "I am, after all, the poster child for imperfection."
Cuddy shrugged in a "hey, you said it, not me" sort of way.
"What else?" House asked.
"That's enough!" Cuddy said, hitting him. "I showed you mine, now you show me yours." (She was flirting with him. House was getting seriously excited by this.)
"I learned that I'm the only one in my unit who knows the capital of Guam," House said.
"What?"
"Oh, I guess you were looking for something more personal," he joked. Then, after a thoughtful pause, he said: "The prevailing thought is, I need to love myself more."
Cuddy snorted.
"They could build monuments to your ego," she said.
"Jean says there's a difference between having a huge ego and believing you're deserving of love."
Cuddy squinted at him.
"You're serious?" she said.
He nodded slowly.
"I guess I am," he said.
"Of course you're deserving of love, House," Cuddy said. "How can that even be a question?"
House shrugged.
"Hey, you were at the intervention. I'm just the asshole who makes his mother cry, insults the woman he loves, and kills his best friend's girl."
"House. . .no," Cuddy said. "We staged that intervention because we all do love you. Well, okay, maybe not Foreman. But the rest of us."
The corners of House's mouth twitched into a tiny smile.
"And as far as you insulting me. . .," Cuddy continued. "That was four years ago. I apparently got over it—what with the whole falling in love with you and being your girlfriend and all."
He nodded sadly.
"I really had no idea about the miscarriage, Cuddy," he said sincerely. "I feel like total crap about that."
"It's okay," she said. "I forgive you. Forgave you, a long time ago."
They looked at each other for a long time. It was House who broke eye contact first.
"So that's the plan," he said. "Less ego. More self love—but not in the masturbatory sense of the word."
"I kinda got that," she said.
"Unless you have any spare naked pictures of yourself lying around."
"You're impossible," she said.
Then they both smiled.
"I should, uh, probably go. . ." Cuddy said, gesturing toward the elevator.
"Me too," House said. "Big plans Huge."
He bent toward her a bit: "Should I reserve this corner for next week at this time?"
"Yes, but next time I demand a nonsmoking corner," she said.
And House gave barely perceptible sigh of relief.
######
It was Cuddy who arrived first. She took in his appearance as he approached.
"You look good," she surmised. "Healthy."
"Thank you," he said. "You also look healthy. If healthy is a euphemism for incredibly fucking hot."
"House," she scolded.
"Too soon?" he cracked.
They both looked down, slightly embarrassed. House deftly changed the subject.
"So, what did we learn about in the vast, uncharted world of Lisa Cuddy's subconscious today?" he said, grinning at her.
"I learned that I can't control every outcome."
House waved his hand in a dismissive, slightly affected way.
"Girlfriend, we learned that on the first day of group," he said.
She shrugged.
"Maybe what I really need is rehab," she said. "I apparently have my own issues with. . .addiction."
They exchanged a look.
"So. . ." House said. "Speaking of which, did my name come up with Dr. Ball today?"
"I thought you were working on checking your ego!" she teased.
"Just making conversation," he said.
"Actually, you didn't come up much. Mostly we talked about my withholding, impossible-to-please mother."
"Funny coincidence that, we talked about my withholding, impossible-to-please father today in group," House said. "But we also talked about the fact that he used to beat the shit out of me so. . . I win!" he added ironically.
"House," she said, reaching for his hand. She knew a little bit about House's troubled childhood, but not much. (As usual, House preferred to keep painful things to himself.)
When she looked down at his hand, though, she inadvertently laughed.
"What's that?" she said, turning over his wrist.
"What do you think it is?" he said.
"It's a friendship bracelet," she said, chuckling. "A beautiful one at that."
Then it occurred to her. "Did you. . . make that?"
"We've got a lot of free time in this place," House said, embarrassed.
She continued to hold his wrist, which he liked, and assessed his handiwork.
"Naturally you would make the most beautiful friendship bracelet I've ever seen," she said. "You could actually sell these."
"I'm glad you like it," he said, reaching into his back pocket. "Because I made you one just like it."
He pulled out another colorful woven bracelet, exactly like his, only narrower.
"House," she said—again, scoldingly.
"What?" he said innocently. "It's a friendship bracelet, not a 'will you be my girlfriend again?' bracelet."
"Fair enough," she said.
He held the bracelet toward her.
"May I?" he said.
"Sure," she said.
He tied it around her slender wrist, marveling at how beautiful and perfect one human wrist could be.
"I'm made one for Rachel, too," he said.
He pulled another, tiny bracelet out of his pocket.
"Oh, how cute!" Cuddy said.
"Black and yellow," he said. "I figure if she's cool enough to pick the bumblebee as her favorite animal, she deserves a bumblebee bracelet."
"House, she's going to love it."
"You'll make sure she knows it's from me?" he said.
"Of course," Cuddy said.
"Cool," House said, nodding.
######
"So. . .how they treating you in here?" Wilson said. It was his second time visiting House in rehab. The first time, House was still in too much pain to be fully coherent.
"It's okay," House said. "The patients are 70 percent less crazy than the ones at Mayfield."
"I'm sure you single-handedly bring down that percentage," Wilson cracked.
"Cute," House said.
"And the pain? The withdrawal symptoms?"
"Better every day," House said.
"Good," Wilson said. Then he caught sight of House's bracelet.
"What's that?" he said, knowingly.
"It's a space ship," he said. "It's a bracelet, you moron. What do you think it is?"
"I know what it is," Wilson said, leadingly. "I'm just wondering why I saw Cuddy wearing the exact same bracelet earlier today."
For a second, House's heart skipped a beat—she's wearing the bracelet—and then he recovered.
"I may've made her one," he said, with a shrug.
"You've seen Cuddy?" Wilson said.
"Yeah, she's come by a few times. To check up on me."
Wilson's face broke into a huge grin.
"You don't say," he said.
"Oh God. I hate when you look so pleased with yourself."
"I'm allowed to be happy for you, aren't I?" Wilson said. "It's nice that Cuddy's coming to visit you."
"We're not dating or anything," House said. "We're just talking."
"And wearing His and Her bracelets, apparently," Wilson said.
"Shut up, Wilson."
Wilson laughed a bit. Then he said, "I gotta go. I have a patient. Maybe I'll come back tomorrow?"
"Suit yourself," House said.
Wilson nodded.
"I'll come back tomorrow then."
As he got up to leave, House said: "So maybe you're not such a Judas after all."
Wilson smiled.
"I love you, too, man," he said.
Then as he got to the door he said, dejectedly: "How come I didn't get a bracelet?"
#####
House had only two more weeks left in rehab. This normally would qualify as good news, but he was having an incongruous, possibly even insane thought: He didn't want rehab to end because that would mean the end of his clandestine meetings with Cuddy. With each passing interlude they seemed to get closer and closer. She touched him more, made more meaningful eye contact, laughed more at his stupid jokes.
What if he left rehab and the spell broke?
He decided he needed to be a little more proactive.
"So," he said, the next time he saw her. "Have you told Ball about our mindblowing sex life yet?"
"Why are you so obsessed with me talking to Dr. Ball about our sex life?" she teased.
"I dunno. The idea of you talking about it to anyone kinda turns me on," he admitted.
"House, the produce section of Whole Foods turns you on."
He shrugged.
"Any place with you in it turns me on," he said.
She blushed, then said: "What about you? Do you talk about our sex life in group, heaven forbid?"
"All I want to do is talk about my sex life with you," House said. "But no one is willing to indulge me."
"You're too much," she said, laughing.
House looked around the corner, into the hall, which was empty.
He bent toward her.
"I miss your body," he whispered.
She closed her eyes.
"Hooooouse," she said, disapprovingly. "Don't."
"What? Don't you miss my body, too?" he said.
"Of course I do," she said.
"It's right here," he said. "It's been right here the whole time."
He took her hands and placed them on his waist.
"I'm right here," he repeated.
She looked up at him, almost helplessly, then found herself, reaching under his shirt, caressing the bare flesh beneath his tee-shirt, where his hips met his jeans.
That was all the incentive he needed. He slammed her up against the window sill and began kissing her, ravenously. In moments, they were a tangle of mouths and hands and limbs, until Cuddy came to her senses and pushed him off.
"House, we can't."
His face was hot and he was out of breath and his mouth was smeared with her lipstick.
"Why not?" he whined.
"Because, you're in treatment. Because I shouldn't even be seeing you right now, let alone making out with you in a hallway," she said.
"But you're my best medicine," he said, reaching for her again.
"And!" she said, backing up. "And. . .we're in public. In the hospital that I run."
"This is a very secluded corner!" House protested.
"No it isn't! Anybody could walk by at any minute."
As if on cue, Dr. Jean Waterson came out of the rehab center. She looked both ways down the hallway and spotted House's cane.
"There you are," she said.
Then she noticed the very disheveled Cuddy.
"Ah, hello, Dr. Cuddy," she said, embarrassed.
"Hi Jean," said Cuddy, wiping her own mouth, in an attempt to get House to do the same. "House and I were just discussing . . .a case."
"She misses my mind," House said, wiping her lipstick off his face with his sleeve.
"Well, we're starting group therapy in five minutes. . ." Jean said.
"I'll send him right back in," Cuddy said, officiously.
"Take your time," Jean said, making her escape. (Technically fraternizing with loved ones was verboten in rehab. But who was Jean to tell that to her boss?)
Once she was gone, Cuddy glared at House in a "told ya so" way.
But he was smiling at her.
"What's so damn amusing?"
"You said we couldn't hook up because I'm in treatment. Also because you're the Dean of Medicine. Also because we're in public. One thing you didn't say? Because we're no longer together."
"It was implied," Cuddy said, half-heartedly.
"You're very precise with your language, Cuddy. You didn't say it for a reason."
"I got . . . carried away," Cuddy said. "You're looking for a narrative where there is none."
"If you say so," House said, happily. "But remember. Your subconscious knows best."
To be continued. . .