Physician, Heal Thyself

Ch. 2

It was five. Cuddy glanced up at the clock and then out the window. It being summer, the sun hasn't even begun to set yet. She stretched, and then thought she could eat dinner outside in the backyard with Rachel today. She smiled. It was nice to have somebody to go back home to and share the glorious summer evening with.

She began to gather her things when she paused. Something felt a little odd, but she couldn't put her finger on it. She thought about it for a moment.

Today's House's first day back. That's what it was. House was back, but nothing, except for his two-second conversation with her this morning, was different from when he was still at Mayfield.

Every day at five o'clock during that period, when she surfaced from her work and got ready to go home, she'd feel a pang of loss for a House-free day. If someone had told her that she would miss that bastard's troublemaking antics before, she would've laughed in that person's face. Right, she'd say sarcastically, because I enjoy having my MRI machine broken every couple of days.

Nevertheless, she would feel a painful spasm in her chest every day at five o'clock, like clockwork. And that was exactly what she felt today. Which was the odd part, because House was back. She shouldn't be feeling like this anymore.

It was then she knew that she had to talk to him before she left. Properly, this time.

--

House was lying back in his ergonomic chair, bouncing his ball against the wall. He briefly glanced up at the clock. Five o'clock. He wasn't going home anytime soon. What was there to go home to? He'd begun to increasingly dread his apartment. It was there his delusion with Cuddy had happened. Since then, it felt even emptier and lonelier than before—especially at night. He didn't want to go back to it until it was absolutely necessary, until he was so tired that he could go straight to bed and fall asleep instantly.

He didn't even have alcohol to help him sleep anymore. Actually, House had fully planned to go out and buy a bottle of scotch when he returned, the psychiatrist be damned. But somehow, he just never got around to it.

If Amber were here, he reflected dryly, she would tell him it's because of Cuddy. Which made him glad that Amber wasn't around anymore. Because it would be frightening if one woman had that much power over his actions.

"Speak of the devil," he said without turning his head, as Cuddy walked through the door.

Cuddy looked momentarily panicked. "Speak? Who are you speaking to?"

House couldn't help the smirk that stretched across his face. He nodded towards an empty space. "Abe Lincoln and I were just discussing the merits of your ass versus your rack. It's a close call."

Cuddy sighed in relief. "House. Don't joke about that."

"Missed me?" House asked, sitting up.

"'Course not," she replied without missing a beat. But she smiled.

He'd missed her smile.

Then she took a breath to speak.

No, House's mind instinctively cried. Their banter was a familiar shield he could hide behind. He was not ready for real conversation. He was not ready to discuss with her what had happened.

"How's your leg?" she asked hesitantly.

"Still hurts," he said shortly, pushing himself up and reaching for his cane. He had to get out of here as quickly as possible. "Wanna write me a Vicodin prescription?"

"House," she said disapprovingly. "If your pain is getting worse, you should--"

"Funny," he said. "I thought I said 'Vicodin prescription', not 'useless advice'." He walked past her to the door, trying to keep himself from smelling her familiar perfume.

"House," she called, and he stopped. She took a breath. "D'you—would you like to have dinner with Rachel and me tonight?"

"Sorry," he said. "The stripper bar doesn't allow babies."

"At my house," Cuddy said, rolling her eyes.

He looked at her. She was looking at him with beautiful, pleading eyes. His first instinct was to say no. Him, Gregory House, having dinner with a woman and her baby? You can't get more domestic than that.

But then he remembered his empty, yawning apartment. He heard Wilson's voice, you'll end up alone. Maybe Amber was right, and it was time he started trying.

He gave a curt nod. "'Kay." Then he walked out the door.

--

Cuddy was slightly stunned. She didn't really expect him to say yes. She certainly had not planned to ask him to dinner. All she knew was that he looked so sad and bereft that she could not leave him alone tonight. She could remember all too well what it was like to go back to an empty home. The whole time he was at Mayfield, she'd thought, maybe if I had reached out to him earlier, he wouldn't end up like this.

Now she didn't really know what to do. She had no meal planned. And he'd just walked out the door, after saying yes. She hurried out of his office. He'd already taken the elevator down.

She walked out to the parking lot, not seeing him. Feeling trepidatious and not a little confused, she got into her car and pulled out. She felt relieved when she got on the road and saw his motorcycle following her in her review mirror.

She frantically raked her mind for what she could serve House tonight. She saw a Chinese takeout place up ahead and almost pulled in. But that would be admitting defeat. She'd invited House to dinner and she would just have to give him dinner.

She had some pasta and tinned sauce in her pantry. That'll have to do, she supposed. There were some portabella mushrooms left in the crisper, and she had half a bottle of white wine. It'll be fine, she told herself.

Dear god, what did she get herself into?

--

In her driveway, House parked his bike beside her Lexus. He watched as she went up to the door and greeted the babysitter, cooing as she took Rachel from her arms. Suddenly, he regretted his decision. What had possessed him to agree to this? He did not fit in this life. He wondered if it was not too late for him to turn around and get the hell out of there.

But Cuddy was looking at him expectantly, the baby in her arms. She would not let him wriggle out of this. He sighed, and got off his bike.

Cuddy put the baby in her padded playpen. "Could you watch her for a second while I get dinner started?" she asked in a tone that indicated that she wasn't really asking, and went into the kitchen before he had a chance to respond.

House stared at the baby, who was trying to eat its toes. "I think you got the order wrong," he said to it. "Baby is supposed to come after mommy and daddy, not before."

He thought back to the day he encountered Cuddy and Wilson in the baby furniture store, when he found out she was adopting. If you're happy, I'm—

He had hoped, did everything he could so it wouldn't come to pass. But against all odds, it did. Here was reality kicking up at him. You can't always get what you want.

A little hand stretched out for him, grabbing. Without thinking, he reached out to take it. It reminded him of something similar, once…

Then the hand pulled with surprising force. And then the baby sat up, gurgling happily at its accomplishment.

Cuddy came in at this moment. "Oh my god!" she cried and ran over to the pen. "You sat up! Good girl!" She was almost crying with joy as she lifted the baby up and cuddled it close to her.

"What is she, a dog?" House grumbled, sticking his hands in his pockets.

Cuddy looked at him with eyes shining with happiness. "She's over six months, and she hasn't sat up on her own yet," she said. "I know she's underdeveloped, and I was so worried that she had a disability with—with motor function or whatever. But you did it!" she cooed to the baby. "Mommy's so proud of you!"

"Great," House said, retreating to the couch. "Glad I could help."

Cuddy turned to him. "Thank you," she said sincerely.

House studied her. He didn't remember the last time she looked so happy. Although it was because of the baby, he felt a slight warmth that he, too, formed a part of her joy. "You're welcome," he said quietly.

But if you try sometimes, you might find...you get what you need.