(Thank you to everyone reading and reviewing, it's much appreciated. -B)
Greg let his thoughts drift as he watched a grad student labor through the steps of the current lecture. The letter from the disciplinary committee sat in his back pocket. He'd read it once. Johns Hopkins had decided to kick him out for good despite his repeating his final year of med school with an exemplary GPA. He'd have to go somewhere else for his internship—but where? He didn't want to stay here . . . He stretched his legs and heard a faint crackle from the envelope in his back pocket. On impulse he stood, grabbed his jacket and left the lecture. He had other matters to deal with.
It was easy enough to track down Bramble. He found her at the undergrad library, tucked into a quiet corner with the usual stack of textbooks, her backpack and violin. When he took the seat opposite her he could see she looked tired. Her glasses lay next to one of the books. She glanced up at him. Her eyes widened a little. In the soft light they were dark blue. Then she looked away, her expression impassive. He took her notebook and scanned the contents. Her notes were neat, precise, meticulous. "I don't know why you bother studying. None of this helps you." He tossed the notebook back to her.
"Because I'm that dense, right?"
"I'm beginning to wonder." He glared at her. "Someone told you to do this. You don't need it."
"Yeah, actually I do." She put the notebook next to her biology text. "What do you want?" Her neutral tone told him they were back at square one. The knowledge annoyed him.
"Missed you last Friday."
"I had to practice."
Greg leaned forward. "You chickened out. I want to know why."
She put on her glasses and began to stow her things away. "Maybe I didn't feel like being interrogated by you and mocked by a bunch of frat boys."
"You were invited to play poker."
"You wanted to find out—" She stopped as her gaze moved past him. A moment later someone came up to the table—a young woman with long dark hair and pale blue eyes, her figure shown to best advantage in a low-cut red sweater and snug black jeans. She glanced at Bramble and nodded.
"Hi Beth." She smiled at Greg. "House."
"Cuddy." He felt a familiar tug of sexual attraction. "You're up early."
"Just finished a lab." She gave him a slow appraisal. "I'm surprised you even know where the UGLY is."
"I like books. I just like sleeping in more."
"And yet you're here." She raised her brows.
"I have my reasons." He glanced at Bramble, to find she was on her feet. She said nothing, just slung her backpack over her shoulder, picked up her case and left the table. Greg watched her walk away.
"She's weird." Cuddy took Bramble's chair. Greg focused on her.
"Define 'weird'."
"No friends, no sense of humor, no nothing. Someone said she tried to kill herself a few years ago. She's got a scar or something." Cuddy tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and sent him a speculative look. "Rumor's going around you two are an item."
"And you care because . . ." Greg tilted his head a bit. "This should be entertaining."
"You're curious, so I'm curious. You speed-read people—thirty seconds and you know everything about them. But you're still hanging around her." Cuddy leaned forward. "What's up? What do you know that no one else knows?"
Putting her girls on display, Greg thought. Enjoyable, if predictable. Aloud he said "It amuses me to keep her around."
"Oh, so I'm not amusing?" She mock-pouted at him, her eyes gleaming with laughter, and something else.
"Give me a reason to think otherwise."
She did her best. While she flirted with him, Greg thought about Bramble. She'd backed off the moment he'd asked who had raped her. For her to be that frightened, it had to be someone in her immediate circle . . . He drew a deep breath and frowned as the truth sank in. Stupid that he hadn't seen it from the start.
"What is it?" Cuddy paused and looked uncertain. He didn't bother to answer as he left her behind.
When he reached Bramble's room, it was to find his comment still in place on her message board. Greg studied it for a moment, then banged on her door. "You forgot one of your textbooks!" he yelled. "I brought it over for you! You can't be without your—"
The door was wrenched open, but only a few inches. A hand emerged, palm up. Greg ignored it. "You have to identify it first."
"No I don't." She sounded angry and worse, upset. "Just give it to me."
He took her hand in his and used her surprise to ease the door open. She tried to pull away, but he kept hold of her and slipped into her room. It was a mistake—for a moment she was scared of him; he saw the fear and felt a surprising surge of rage against whoever had put it there. "Hey . . ." He kept his voice soft, gentle. "It's just me."
Bramble yanked her hand free. "I know it's you. There's no book, is there?"
"You wouldn't have talked to me otherwise." He looked her over. "I have one question. Answer it and I'll leave you alone."
"No you won't." When he remained silent, she sighed. "Shut the door first. Then ask."
Greg pushed the door closed. "This is gonna sink your reputation as a loner, you know." He studied her. "Why are you still working with the man who raped you?"
The color drained from her face; he saw fear once more, followed by resignation. She lowered her gaze. Silence fell; he waited for her to answer him. When she did speak at last he could barely hear her.
"So now you know. You got what you wanted after all. Get out."
"No, because you haven't answered my question." He pushed the desk chair toward her. "Sit down before you fall down."
She stayed where she was. "I heard you and Lisa talking. She's right about me, you know. So are you." When she looked up Greg expected tears, but there were none. "I have three more semesters to get through. That means I have to do my best. After graduation there should be some choices available. Until then—"
"Your teacher raped you!"
"I know what he did." Her voice held no emotion. "This should give everyone a good laugh at the frat house."
"Stop feeling sorry for yourself and ask me your question!" He hadn't meant to snap at her, but the deep pain in her words touched him. He wanted to comfort her and didn't know how, or even if he should.
"What's the point? You won't tell me anything worth knowing. You'll—you'll go on to your internship and breeze through it like you do everything else."
Greg dug in his back pocket and hauled out the letter. He shoved it in her general direction. "Read it." He hadn't meant to do that, but her honesty compelled him to reciprocate.
After a moment she took it, extracted the single page, unfolded it. It didn't take her long to reach the critical paragraph. When she looked up at him, her expression was one of genuine shock. "You? Cheating on a test? Why?"
He gestured at the chair. "Sit." When she did as he asked, he perched on her bed. "This thing's hard as a rock. You put two people on here, they'll both end up with herniated discs." He gave her an innocent look. "What was the question again?"
Bramble handed back the letter. "I asked why you cheated."
"Oh yeah." He crammed it in his pocket. "I just felt like it."
There was a brief silence. "There's more than that." She held his gaze with a steady, intent look. To Greg's surprise there was neither condemnation nor judgment there. "What happened?"
"This constitutes my answer to your exchange, so we're even now."
She made an impatient gesture. "Yeah, okay. What happened?"
"You first." He watched her closely. She took a slow, deep breath, let it out. After a few moments she spoke.
"It was five years ago at summer camp, my first time there." Her tone was low, steady, even. "I was practicing in one of the indoor rooms in the lodge because it was raining. My teacher came in. He was on the staff, so it wasn't unusual for him to be around. I thought . . . I thought he wanted to give me some help. He locked the door . . ." She paused. "Then he said it was time for me to pay for all the hard work he'd put into my career."
"There's more," Greg prompted when she fell silent.
"After . . . after it was over, he told me I couldn't tell anyone. No one would believe me and he'd dump me as a student. I couldn't—couldn't let that happen—"
"Jesus! Why the fuck not?!"
"Because my parents both work hard to pay for everything! My instrument, the lessons, travel to and from town, my tuition here, all of it! If I went to them with that—" She looked down. "It would destroy them."
"And you'd lose it all." He had to say it. She lifted her gaze to his.
"That wouldn't matter. I'd find another way. This is just a means to an end. But I won't rip my parents to shreds because of something no one can change or fix. That's my choice." She sat back a bit. "Your turn."
Greg took cigarettes and lighter from his pocket, lit up and kept an eye on Bramble. She didn't object, just waited. He drew in deeply, exhaled a cloud of smoke and stretched out on his side atop her bed. It actually wasn't that bad, even if his feet did hang over the end by a substantial amount. "I had the means and the opportunity, so . . ." He let his voice trail off.
"But you've probably had both of those in nearly every class you've taken. You got caught cheating at the end of your last year of medical school, from what the letter says. Why'd you wait until then?"
He'd asked himself that question a hundred times and still had no clear answer. "It seemed like a good idea at the time." Bramble said nothing. "No, seriously."
"I was honest with you." She folded her arms.
"That's your problem."
"No, it's yours. Quid pro quo, you said it yourself."
"You don't know what that means." Greg took another hit and crushed out the cigarette on the windowsill.
"You're right. I had to look it up. Now I know." She lifted her chin, a mannerism he'd seen with her before and found he liked. "So tell me. Why'd you do it?"
"I don't know." The words slipped out before he could stop them. "That's . . . whatever it is. I just did it."
"Were you afraid of graduating?"
He shook his head. "I want out of this too." He glanced around the room. "No beer, I take it."
She shook her head. "Nope. I can run down to the vending machines if you want."
"No, forget it." He looked at her. "I just . . . I had to do it."
After a moment she nodded. "I get it."
"You do?" His surprise was genuine. She laughed a little. He was reminded again that he liked her laugh—it was spontaneous, infectious. For a moment he caught a glimpse of who she should have been.
"Yeah I do, G-man."
"Don't call me that. It's Crandall's stupid nickname." He looked away. "I won't say anything."
"Me neither." She stood. "Let's get a beer and a burrito at El Chapulin. My treat."
"How do you know about that place? Anyway, hope you have a fake ID." He got to his feet and made a show of rubbing his ass. "Get a new bed."
"I'll have something non-alcoholic. And no one sleeps in that thing but me anyway, so it doesn't matter." She extracted a wallet from her backpack and tucked it in her pocket. As she opened the door he came up to her and peeked into the hallway. There were a few people around. He bent down and brushed a kiss over her cheek. She went still, but not in fear this time. Her eyes were wide with surprise, and he was pleased to see another blush start. He gave her a quick wink. She glanced out the open door, then looked back at him. Uncertainty gave way to a sort of wry acknowledgment. Without another word she pushed the door open and stepped into the hall next to him. It only took her a moment to lock up; then they started on their way, engrossed in an amiable argument over who made better tacos close to campus.
'A Message to You Rudy,' the Specials