Physician, Heal Thyself

Ch. 3

Cuddy managed to make dinner without incident. In fact, she felt a tiny glow of pleasure at the rich, aromatic sauce poured over the cooked pasta. She carried Rachel's high chair out to the patio furniture, and went back inside to warm Rachel's bottle. She took out two glasses, too, for her and House, and after a while hesitating, filled both up with water.

When everything was done, she went back into the living room. The TV was on, but she noticed that House's eyes were trained on the baby instead, who was now trying stuff a large wooden block into its mouth. "Dinner's done," she said quietly.

House turned his head abruptly at her voice, as if snapped out of a reverie. He nodded once and pushed himself up from the couch, while Cuddy went to get Rachel. As House left the room, she nuzzled her face to the baby's chest, and inhaled its unique smell of bathing powder and milk. It calmed her a little. "Here goes nothing," she muttered to Rachel.

House had carried the plates and cutlery out to the patio, in an uncharacteristic gesture of helpfulness. But then again, he appeared to feel as uncomfortable as she did, and was trying very hard to be on his best behavior.

Cuddy put Rachel in her chair, and gave her her bottle after testing the milk's temperature on her forearm. It felt like she was playing a part, Pretend Mommy, especially under House's unnerving gaze. She went and got the glasses. House eyed the water, his mouth twisting into an ironic half-smile, but he said nothing.

They began to eat in silence.

"This is good," House mumbled awkwardly, after a while.

"Thanks," she mumbled back, equally awkward. It occurred to her that this was as bad as any of the disastrous dates she'd been on.

The same thing appeared to be going through House's mind. "This seems like the sort of…thing I would come to break up," he commented. He covered his little pause well, but it did not escape Cuddy's attention that he avoided the word date. Who has a six-month old on their dates, anyway?

"Yes. You were a godsent on these occasions," she said in a tone that was half sarcastic and half genuine.

"I knew it," he said. "You always pretend to be angry but I knew you were happy to see me."

This small talk seemed so unnatural to them that they fell silent again. They finished eating in record time. Rachel was sucking contently on her bottle and being unusually good today. Cuddy almost wished she would fuss, just to break up the painful silence.

"How's your case?" Cuddy finally asked, taking a sip of her water.

"Treating for Cushing's," House said, laying down his fork. He did not seem enthusiastic.

"What, you don't think it's Cushing's?" Cuddy asked.

"No, that's obviously why I'm treating her for it," House snapped.

"What's wrong?" Cuddy set down her glass, narrowing her eyes at House.

"Are you training for Olympic long jump?" House asked. "Because the leap you're making is enormous."

"You're deflecting. Something is up."

"I always deflect," House countered.

"You always have something wrong with you," Cuddy shot back.

They stared at each other for a while, tension thick between them. Cuddy refused to back down. Finally House looked down. "Foreman came up with the idea," he mumbled under his breath, so that Cuddy almost didn't catch it.

She stared at him. "But your team always comes up with ideas. That's why you hired them."

"Yeah, but this time I had no idea of my own," House said, still not meeting her eyes. "Everything I thought of, they came up with."

"You don't think it's Cushing's," Cuddy said, this time as a statement, not a question.

"No," House said. "But I don't have a better diagnosis."

"You're panicking," Cuddy stated flatly. This got House's attention; he raised his blues to meet hers.

"You always have some last minute epiphany that cures the patient," Cuddy said. "But you're worried you can't this time. You're worried that you're losing your medical gift. So you're self-doubting, which basically amounts to sabotaging yourself even before you had a chance to be creative and have that epiphany."

"For a minute there, I could've sworn you turned into Wilson," House said. But Cuddy knew he was listening.

"House," she said gently, laying her hand on top of his. "Don't worry. Just stop obsessing, and the answer will come to you."

"Mm, Wilson's gone," House said, scrutinizing her. "Now you sound like Yoda. Have you considered acting as a career?"

She leaned back, feeling more at her ease now. "Actually, I was in that theatre group back at Michigan."

House raised an eyebrow, interested. "How come I didn't know that?"

"I joined after you've left," she said, not telling him that she had to scramble for things to fill up the life that had suddenly become emptier without him there. She'd gotten good at that. Filling up her life. She filled it so much that she'd forgotten to leave a space for him. But she won't make that mistake again.

"So tell me," House said in a casual manner, "were you really in that endocrinology class?"

She was surprised. "What? Of course I was. I sat next to you."

"Think very hard," House said, speaking slowly and piercing her with his blue eyes. "Were you in my class, or were you perhaps, oh I don't know, auditing it?"

She thought back. "Oh yeah. I was auditing it."

He looked thoughtful.

"Why?" she asked.

"No," House said. "The question is, why that class? Why the one I was in?"

She rolled her eyes. "Does it matter?"

He was still looking intently at her. "Yes."

"Fine," she sighed. "I wanted to see what an advanced endocrinology class was like, because big surprise, I was interested in endocrinology. And I signed up for your class because I saw your name on the roster, and I've heard about you around campus as some legend, and I was…curious." She felt heat creeping up her cheeks. This is going to inflate his already oversized ego beyond belief, she thought.

But instead of looking smug, he looked like someone who's had their suspicions confirmed and was deeper in thought than ever.

"How did you know I was auditing your class?" she asked suspiciously.

"That's what I'm trying to figure out," he muttered, almost to himself.

She narrowed her eyes. It was no good; he was getting wrapped up in the newest puzzle. She didn't know how he knew, but it did not matter very much to her. All she knew was, he needed to stop spinning his overworked and overtired brain, just for a little while.

She stood up and began to clear the table. When she returned to the patio, House was still sitting there, in thought.

She gathered up Rachel, who was blinking sleepily. "I'm going change and put her to bed," she said.

He nodded absentmindedly.

"Why don't you go and pick out a movie," she said with emphasis, and waited until, with a dramatic sigh, he stood up.

"Whatever you say, boss," he said, but with a slight twitch on his lips that might have been a smile.

--

House was lying back on the couch with The Count of Monte Cristo on. This used to be one of House's preferred movies, but after Stacy left it just felt too close to his own life. Except, of course, House didn't have an island full of gold with which he could use to wreak revenge on his enemies. So he hadn't watched the movie in ages. But it was the only acceptable non-chick-flick in Cuddy's collection.

Cuddy came into the room, wearing sweatpants, a white t-shirt, and a light sweater-robe that tied in the front. She looked softer, warmer, especially in the dimmed light of the living room.

"Hey," she said, and sat next to him on the couch. "She's asleep."

"Good," he said, glancing at her sideways. He breathed in the scent of her soft curls, completely intoxicated by her. Then he quickly looked back at the screen.

They watched Edmond Dantes dragged before Villefort in court, to be falsely sentenced and imprisoned.

"This reminds of me of my own trial," House said.

Cuddy rolled her eyes. "Yes. Except you weren't falsely accused. In fact, you should've gone to jail if there had been any justice in the world."

He turned to her, a smile playing on his lips. "All the justice in the world isn't a match for Lisa Cuddy, Perjury Woman."

Cuddy looked at him. She could see the spark of desire and mischievousness and—well, life—dancing in the eyes that had so long been pools of black despair. In the dim light, the lines on his face are no longer harsh and weary. "You look better," she said softly.

"I feel better," he replied honestly.

She reached out a hand and gently brushed it down the side of his tired face, and brought it closer.

I always want to kiss you.

This sentiment was uttered by neither of them, but it floated between them, clear as if spoken aloud.

Their lips met, enclosing the space between them, questioning and seeking.

This time, she wasn't in pain, and neither was he. This time, nobody was trying to comfort the other, but instead both seeking mutual companionship. This time, there were no pretenses, no misunderstandings, no chances of it being brushed off later as a mistake.

After what seemed like an eternity, they pulled apart. House grinned.

"So this is your evil plan, is it? Luring me into your lair under pretenses of food?"

She smiled widely, her heart suddenly lighter than it had been for months, perhaps years. She pulled his head back down to hers in response, one hand reaching for the buttons of his shirt. "Have I thanked you," she purred, "for helping Rachel today?"

As his hands untied her robe, House remembered that at the end of movie, the Count, after having his heart broken by Mercedes, had found another woman to entrust his heart to. That happy endings didn't always have to be the Hollywood kind. That second chances exist. That after loving once, it was always possible to love again.

--

Before they drifted off to sleep, Cuddy murmured drowsily, "Don't leave."

If only you knew, House thought, stroking her hair, thinking back to his delusion, when Cuddy had been the one who left. But all he said was, "I won't."

Sorry for the lack of smut, but I think it would detract from the overall meaning of them getting together...that, and I suck at writing smut haha. Please review!

P.S.: For those who have seen The Count of Monte Cristo, I made a tiny change. In the movie, the Count gets back with Mercedes, his former lover. But in the book (which is so much better than the movie anyway), the Count falls in love with another girl at the end. So I used the book version, which is more suited to the purposes of this story, more realistic, and moreover CANON as opposed to stupid Hollywood alterations. So there's my reasoning ;)