Cuddy felt her concern - and her disappointment - rising at what she was hearing on the phone. "You mean he walked out of therapy? Just quit?"
"I'm afraid so," Nolan said. "I was hoping that you wouldn't be calling me in the near future, but I was very much afraid you would." Cuddy and Nolan, of course, were authorized to communicate regarding the contracted conditions under which House had returned to employment at PPTH. "Technically, he is not mandated to continue therapy at this point a year after his admission, but he was more on edge in that session than I've seen him since last spring. I was afraid then he was on the verge of a relapse, and I wanted to chase after him when he left that night, but I couldn't. As of yet, he hadn't done anything."
Cuddy sighed. "Until that very same night. He admitted to getting extremely drunk the night after that appointment, although he hadn't told me he had a bad session with you beforehand. Obviously, he found some Vicodin while drunk and took it, and thus the positive tests yesterday and this morning. He insists he doesn't remember it, and I believe him, but I don't see how it matters from the hospital's point of view. The fact that he is using again is enough, whether he took it drunk or sober. He'll have to go back into rehab."
Nolan shook his head, fighting down his own frustration over the patients who wouldn't let him help. House had, from day one, been one of the most challenging of his career. "I'm willing to continue working with him, but I'm not sure he'll let me. If he wants a transfer of physician, that could be arranged. But yes, I think returning to rehab at least temporarily is going to be required. I won't report him to the medical board at first, if he turns around quickly and cooperates during a short admission; this was clearly one relapse that evening under stress. It's not too late to intervene, and not too much damage done yet to his recovery, but I'm afraid we'll probably have to hold his license over his head again to get any kind of cooperation at all."
"I'll talk to him and see if we can get him to agree to short-term readmission." Cuddy's tone left no doubt how little chance of success she expected. "He obviously left quite a bit out of what he admitted to me, too. I believe him when he says he doesn't know, but he still downplayed how much things have been stressing him lately and his own mental state, and he never mentioned the appointment with you at all." She smacked her hand on the desk, the desk he had given her. "Damn it, House, why won't you let us help you?"
Nolan's voice was sympathetic. "We can't help people until they hit bottom for themselves, Dr. Cuddy."
"I thought he already had hit bottom. If last year wasn't the bottom, what is? He seemed to really be trying this year." She shuddered, remembering again the scene in her office. Would he need something worse than that to make a lasting impression? "Well, thank you for your time, Dr. Nolan. I'll call you back and let you know what he says."
After she hung up, she rested her face in her hands. Drunk or sober, House clearly had just cracked under stress and relapsed night before last. Maybe she should have seen the signs more, and Wilson definitely should have, but as Dr. Nolan had said, the ultimate responsibility was on House. They couldn't save him if he wouldn't reach out to them.
"Tough morning?" Lucas' low-key, pleasant voice cut through her thoughts, and she raised her head, glad for the moment of some distraction.
"Hi. Tough morning doesn't start to cover it."
"What's up?" He walked around her desk and started massaging her shoulders, and she leaned back into his touch and closed her eyes.
"Just hospital business." Lucas had noticed how tense she was last night when she finally got home, of course, but for once, still feeling guilty at House's reminder of her past indiscretions, she had simply said there was a problem at the hospital that she hoped would be straightened out this morning, and that she didn't want to talk about it. He had accepted it with his usual amiable blandness. He was so pleasant. He was so easy to live with. He was so boring. She opened her eyes in denial on the last thought.
"What about getting away for lunch? Might take your mind off it," he suggested.
She looked at her watch, surprised. "Is it lunch time? I hadn't realized. Sorry, Lucas, but I still have some fires to put out. I can't leave right now."
He accepted it. "Well, I'd hoped for a nice lunch - actually I'd hoped for a nice dinner last night - for this, but I understand how much your job means to you. That dedication is part of what I love about you."
She smiled, but her mind was still processing his statement. "A nice lunch for what? Is it a special occasion?"
"I hope so." He came around to the side of the chair, pulled out an unmistakable velvet box, and dropped to his knee beside her. "Lisa Cuddy, I love you, and I love Rachel, and I want to spend the rest of my life making you happy. Will you marry me?"
Cuddy stared at the diamond, speechless for a moment. Would she marry him? Granted, they were moving in together, but marriage was such a permanent, official statement to the world.
On the other hand, he did love her, and he was good with Rachel. Reliability. That was what she needed for her daughter. In stark contrast against House, stalking out of therapy and getting so drunk he didn't even remember taking Vicodin, Lucas looked pretty good at the moment. Wasn't this what she'd wanted? A home, a family, stability?
"Lisa?" He looked up at her with his almost childlike face. "You can have some time to think about it if you need, but if you're going to break my heart, please do it gently."
To hell with it. This was what she'd always said she needed. "I was just admiring the ring. Yes, Lucas, I will marry you."
He bounced up off his knee like a jack-in-the-box, wrapping her in an embrace. "You've made me the happiest man alive," he said when their lips parted. He slipped the ring onto her finger and admired it, and she did likewise. It was a very nice ring. Yes, she told herself firmly, she was happy.
"Sure you can't sneak out for lunch?" he suggested.
House's problems returned to the forefront of her mind with a rush. "I'm sorry, Lucas, but there is a crisis at the hospital at the moment. But I'll see you tonight, and I promise not to stay late." She kissed him again. "Thank you."
"Love you," he said, turning back at the office door.
"I love you, too," she replied. He exited, and she looked at the ring. You want this, she told herself. You've always wanted this. If there was any sense of letdown, it was because House was, typically, intruding his own issues into what should have been her moment. With a sigh, she picked up the phone, called his cell, and asked him to come to her office.
He didn't ask why, obviously already knowing. When he entered her office, he looked absolutely awful, like a balloon with the air whooshing out. Stunned, forlorn eyes, drooping shoulders. She wanted to hug him, assure him it could still be all right, but she forced herself not to. He didn't want her friendship, after all. "Sit down, House," she requested.
He limped slowly across the room, nearly collapsed into the chair in front of her desk, and froze, his eyes locking on her left hand, on the ring. Oddly, she had forgotten about the ring, hadn't thought of it once since calling him, and she followed his gaze almost in surprise at seeing it there, as if it were on someone else's finger.
"How long?" he asked. Surely he hadn't missed seeing that earlier.
"About 15 minutes. It just happened."
He wrenched his eyes away, staring at his own empty hands. "Congratulations," he said softly.
"Thank you." She sighed. "House, I want you to know that I absolutely do believe you when you say you didn't intentionally relapse."
"But it doesn't make any difference," he completed.
"I'm sorry. I really am. But no, from the hospital's standpoint, it doesn't make any difference."
"I'll pack my things up," he said. He sounded so defeated.
"Wait a minute! Who said anything about packing your things up?"
He looked up, puzzled. "I'm not fired?"
"No. Not right now, anyway. We can deal with this, House. We can work through it. We can get help."
He shook his head. "We can't deal with this. There is no us. You said that."
"Damn it, House, I'm talking about the job now. You are a valued asset of this hospital, and . . ."
"Yes, by all means, you don't want to do anything that affects the bottom line." His tone was getting louder and sharper.
Cuddy leaned back in her chair. "I'm not going to have an argument with you. That wasn't what I called you down here for. You should know that I called Nolan." He had been studying his hands again, but his head jerked up suddenly there. "He had some interesting things to say, some things that you neglected to mention to me yourself. House, you can either go back to Mayfield for a short-term rehab admission - with it listed as a sole relapse, and no report made at this point to the licensing board. Or, if you don't agree to that, I'm afraid Nolan will have to recommend to the board that your license be suspended again."
He stared at her, looking devastated and angry at the same time. "I can't go back there."
"Sorry, but you should have thought of that sooner, before you took the pills."
"But I didn't realize . . ." He trailed off.
"House, you can't tell me that your mind totally stopped working, no matter how drunk you were. You need help, House. Please, let us help you."
He pushed the chair back, lurching to his feet. "You don't really want to; you just want to salve your conscience by saying you tried. I'm not going back to Mayfield."
She sighed, trying not to rise to his bait. "Then there's nothing here for you. I'm sorry, House."
He slumped as if the air had been let out again. "Right. There's nothing here for me. Have a good marriage, and tell Wilson the same, not that wishing it will make a difference in his case. And Chase needs to be head of diagnostics; he's better than Foreman." He turned toward the door.
"House!" Her voice stopped him, much as he tried to ignore it. He would never be able to ignore her. "I realize this is a shock; please don't make any snap decisions. I'll give you 48 hours to think about things before I say a word to the board."
He stared at her, his eyes going from the ring to her face and then back to the ring, then again to her face, as if memorizing it. "Goodbye, Cuddy," he said finally.
And then he was gone.