Thursday
Kitty lay in bed, watching the red numbers of the clock on her nightstand. She'd watched it tick over every hour through the night and now the alarm would be going off shortly. Her stomach churned in mortification at facing the world and, for the first time she could remember, she thought about calling in sick.
Her embarrassment was almost paralysing. She'd gone out deliberately to seduce him, which was bad enough in itself, really. Andrew would not be proud. What had she been thinking? Then, after she'd set herself ground rules – kissing only – she'd ended up almost naked. She knew that if he hadn't said what he had, she would have done it; she would have had hot, sweaty sex with him and she would have loved every minute of it.
Was she really base enough that she couldn't control her desires? Let herself get carried away with feelings she thought long since extinguished? She remembered the time her mother had called her a slut. Kitty understood then – and in even more detail now – how being in pain could cause even the gentlest person to lash out. Kitty had met Andrew by then, and her mother was getting the best care money could buy, but in those excruciating final weeks, there were moments when Kitty didn't even recognise the woman who'd brought her up, loved her, protected her, been her only family. After she'd said it, her mother had cried and apologised, but the comment had stung, and Kitty knew it was because somewhere deep inside, she felt her mother was right. So many women exchanged their dignity for drugs, only in Kitty's case it was for morphine and bisphosphonates and cyclophosphamide.
She turned onto her back and sighed up at the ceiling, House's face swimming before her eyes yet again. She couldn't believe she'd let it happen – not after all her hard work, everything she'd strived for, how carefully she'd left her past behind her. Just one night of letting her guard down and it had all come crashing in around her. She knew by reputation that Greg House – like his father – was more than comfortable with using personal information, secrets, to his own advantage. Even if he didn't publicly denounce her to the board that very morning, which Kitty half expected he might do, from now on she knew she'd be living in fear of being defamed – a declaration she'd have trouble refuting . . .
. . . because she wasn't necessarily sure it was a lie.
Andrew had saved her from that life in one way, only to submerse her into it in another. The sword of Damocles hung over her head, and it was all of her own making.
Through the night, Kitty's plans had alternated between running away – leaving Princeton and starting again somewhere fresh – or fighting him, of going back to see him to protest her innocence. Except Kitty wasn't sure how convincing she could be. Leaving the PRC would be a wrench – so many years of hard work, so much of herself invested in it. Could she really walk away?
The alarm went off and Kitty reached over to silence it. On automatic pilot, she rose, showered, dressed, thought about breakfast but then decided she couldn't manage it. Before she knew it, she was in her office, looking at her insanely packed diary and faced with her first morning appointment with the current chair of the PRC. The meeting was supposed to be about next week's annual fundraiser – but given the events of the week, Andrew's bequest would be the main topic of conversation. Of course, Kitty thought with more than a touch of self-pity. Of course that's what the universe would line up for me: a meeting where the entire subject of discussion will be Greg House.
Before she had a moment to think anything further, the chairman was at her door. "Catherine!"
Kitty rose to walk around her desk and greet him with a kiss.
"Steve, nice to see you."
Dr Steve Grosvenor was in his fifties. He was balding, had a grey and white beard and bright eyes, and bore more than a passing resemblance to Trapper John MD – the star of an eighties medical drama that had been one of Kitty's favourite shows as a kid, and responsible for her love of medicine, she was sure. Steve was not only the Chairman, he was her favourite board member – supportive, friendly, committed and passionate about the cause. He'd been involved with the PRC almost as long as she had, and as the head of surgery at Princeton General, held a lot of clout in Princeton's medical circles.
Steve gave her a fatherly hug and then sat down at the small conference table in Kitty's office.
"So," he said, eyebrows raised, "half a million dollars if I give up my job, huh? Seems like an offer too good to refuse."
Kitty gave him a rueful smile and then sighed before sitting down next to him. When Kitty had outlined the terms of Andrew's bequest a couple of days ago it had been with breathless excitement. Today she just felt overwhelmingly tired. "I'm sorry Steve; it's looking pretty doubtful right now. I think you get to keep your job for a while yet."
"Really? You know I don't actually mind about that. I've talked about it with a few board members – they're happy for me to consider it a sabbatical – I just step down and then take up the reigns again at the end of the twelve months."
"I know." Kitty knew that of all the members of the board, Steve was one of the few who could handle such a knock to his ego. He was sure enough of himself to see the bigger picture, to see that stepping down in favour of a total unknown in order to secure a significant slice of the PRC's funding future was a price worth paying.
"So Greg House is the pretender to the throne, hey? That's a turn up for the books."
"Well . . ." Despite herself, Steve's words gave Kitty an irrational urge to jump to House's defence. None of this had been his idea, after all. Bizarrely enough, Kitty felt that House would probably be an asset to the PRC – one of the reasons she had been trying to get his support for a long time. He was smart, no doubt about it – widely recognised as one of the cleverest medical minds in the state, if not the country. He understood pain, from both a medical and personal point of view. He was a senior doctor, a head of department at one of Princeton's top medical facilities.
Once again, Kitty felt the sense of having been woven into a tightly and expertly woven web.
"Here-re-r-e, Kitty, Kitty, Kitty . . ."
Kitty's door was closed, but the voice coming from reception was clearly audible. It changed from its coaxing call and began to sing a song. Suddenly her door opened with a crash.
Two voices rushed over each other.
"I'm sorry Catherine but he insisted—"
"Kitty, Kitty, Kitty, Kitty, wanna touch it . . . there she is!"
Kitty held up her hands and both people stopped. Penny, the receptionist, looked both scared and angry. House looked smug, pleased that he had already caused a scene. Her stomach dropped. She had no doubt he intended to cause an even bigger scene shortly. And with Steve right there. At least it will be quick, a resigned part of her sighed. She had no choice but to play her part. In truth she was beginning to get sick of being other people's plaything – first Andrew's game and now Greg House's. Giving up would perhaps bring some relief.
"Thank you Penny. Dr House, would you care to wait for me in reception? As you can see, I'm busy right now. I'm sure Penny can organise you a coffee while you wait." Kitty figured it was worth a try.
"Certainly Catherine." The receptionist tried her best to hustle House out of the office. Instead he stepped forward, swapped his cane to his left hand and offered a handshake to Steve.
"You're Grosvenor, aren't you? I hear you're marginally less stupid than most of the others at Princeton General."
"Dr House," Steve said, rising to accept the handshake. "From you, I understand that is somewhat of a compliment."
The receptionist gave Kitty a look that communicated she was thinking of calling security. Kitty gave her a weak smile.
"Thanks Penny. Perhaps you could bring coffee for everyone? It appears Dr House is joining our meeting."
House sat down and made a show of making himself comfortable at the table. Dr Grosvenor looked at him, bemused, and Kitty shook her head, at a loss. This was clearly all a game to him. And she had no idea what his next move would be. She felt her chest tighten with anxiety.
"So, what is it that you folks at the PRC do?" House asked, leaning back and interlacing his fingers behind his head.
"I was under the impression that you weren't particularly fond of the PRC's work, Dr House," Dr Grosvenor said.
"Yeah, well if I'm gonna think about becoming the Chairman, I probably need to know something about it."
-
-
House was pleased with how the morning had gone so far. He had no idea that Steve Grosvenor would be there and couldn't have wished for a better audience. He made his announcement and watched as Dr Grosvenor's eyes widened and the blood drained from Kitty's face. It was clearly the last thing she had expected him to say. What, had she really thought he'd walk in there and casually drop the bomb that their executive director used to be on the game? He shrugged internally as he watched her turn white: clearly she had.
"You know, I was thinking about what you said to me, Catherine," House said, deliberately emphasising her name, "and I figured there's no harm in finding out a little about—aw, shit."
House jumped up from his seat and pulled Kitty's chair away from the table. She raised a shaking hand to her forehead, and protested weakly. "I'm okay." Her voice was barely audible.
"Catherine, are you all right?" Grosvenor asked.
"No, she's not," House answered sharply. "Put your head between your knees," he ordered Kitty, pushing her head down. "Breathe."
Kitty's ragged breathing filled the room. House left his hand on her back, keeping her head down to stop her fainting, feeling the rise and fall of her chest.
"Do you need a Nitrostat, or are you just light-headed?" Dr Grosvenor asked, leaning forward to touch her arm in concern.
Kitty shook her head.
"She has angina?" House asked, astonished, and remembered the scar he'd seen on her chest. At some point in her life, she'd obviously had open-heart surgery.
"Catherine was born with an ALCAPA defect and the surgery to fix it damaged her coronary artery, leaving her with chronic angina pectoris." He gave her a fond, fatherly look. "Occasionally we need to remind her that no matter how good the cause, stressing over work isn't worth a heart attack."
"I'm okay," she protested after a while. "You can let me up."
"Slowly," Dr Grosvenor warned.
Kitty nodded. House took his hand from her back and she slowly sat up.
"I'm sorry; it must be low blood sugar. I didn't have breakfast and," she looked determinedly away from House, "I didn't sleep very well last night."
Penny walked in at that moment with a tray of coffee and cookies. She clearly picked up a strange vibe in the room. "Is everything okay? Catherine?"
House reached over and grabbed a cookie from the plate, shoving it in Kitty's face. "Eat this." He was puzzled. On the one hand he thought it was somewhat pathetic that his announcement had caused her to nearly faint. On the other, it added to his intrigue. What must be going on in her head that could cause such a dramatic reaction?
"I'm fine, Penny. Just a little light-headed." The colour was returning to her cheeks and she nibbled on the cookie.
House frowned at her until he was sure she was recovered. He took his seat opposite again, picking up the coffee the receptionist had poured for him.
"So, as I said. What is it the monkeys in the back room here get up to?"
"Catherine's usually the best person to give the spiel, but given the circumstances, perhaps I'll do the honours this morning?" Dr Grosvenor raised a questioning eyebrow to Kitty and she smiled at him gratefully. House got the sense that the two were good friends. Maybe more?
"The PRC has two key roles," Grosvenor said, his voice taking on a formal, lecturing tone. "The first is raising money to fund research into understanding and treating chronic pain caused by disease or injury. The second is to act as a media spokesbody on behalf of those people in the community who suffer from chronic pain."
"Oh, I bet your phone's running hot with calls from the media. What with the world being so interested in chronic pain and all those concerts Bono's organising." House's voice dripped with sarcasm.
"Yes, Dr House, you're exactly right. One of the problems we have is in raising awareness of pain as a serious health issue in the community – one that impacts on everything from an individual's quality of life to the nation's economy."
"The economy?"
"Chronic pain often prevents people from working, or affects their work attendance. It can also be a drain on medical resources, as people seek answers for unexplained pain from multiple medical specialists and other paramedical therapists."
"So basically you look after the whingers with fibromyalgia and CRPS and all that crap."
Dr Grosvenor frowned and flicked a look over to Kitty. She gave a small shrug and he turned back to House.
"Those are both serious conditions that aren't yet fully understood. So yes, some of our work funds research to better understand the pain process in those syndromes. But we also look at treatments for pain caused by disease – like cancer – and by injury – like car accidents – or even incidents like your own infarction," Dr Grosvenor added shrewdly.
"Acupuncture and meditation," House said bitterly. He still remembered the first time Kitty had approached him. Some committee about alternative therapies. She'd had the misfortune to get him on a day when his leg was really playing up and Wilson was giving him crap about his Vicodin intake. Acupuncture? He could have told her where she could stick acupuncture – and he had.
Dr Grosvenor frowned. "We do have a couple of research projects around alternative therapies, because, although they're not for everyone, there is some compelling evidence showing that alternative therapies such as meditation can be particularly efficacious in types of pain that are difficult to treat with drugs, such as bone cancer."
House rolled his eyes. Efficacious. No wonder they never got any media coverage. This guy was as boring as watching Wilson label files.
"But most of our funding is in the more traditional fields of pharmaceuticals, physical therapy, surgery, etcetera. We're only state-based, and not particularly large, but New Jersey has a high concentration of academic and research institutions, so we are well-placed to make a significant contribution to the field."
"If you got the money would you buy better cookies?" House asked after spitting out a bite of stale, crumbly, chocolate chip.
Dr Grosvenor ignored the comment. "An extra half-million dollars each year would fund one large or several small research studies. We could even offer a scholarship within a medical research faculty."
The two men stared at each other for a moment.
Dr Grosvenor took a sip of his coffee and then gave House a measured look. "To be honest, Dr House, I'm not sure you're the man for the job. Even if it does mean giving up the additional funding."
"Well, at least we agree on something."
Kitty shuffled in her chair and leaned forward, joining in the conversation for the first time. "I might have an idea." She turned to Dr Grosvenor. "Steve, this is really for you to think about, because the workload will end up on you. But why can't we have Dr House take up the position without taking up the position?"
Both men frowned.
"There's nothing in the bequest conditions to say that Dr House has to be a good Chairman. Or even an active one. He just has to have the title. So let's make him Chairman for twelve months. He'll have to come to the occasional fundraiser and board meeting to keep up the pretence for the lawyers, who've no doubt been charged with keeping check on that kind of thing, but he doesn't have to actually get involved in the day-to-day running of the council. You would, in effect, still be the Chair, only without the title. It means you get the work, but not the glory."
Dr Grosvenor shifted uncomfortably and cleared his throat. "Catherine, you know I'm passionate about the PRC, but it is a lot of work, and it is about profile—"
"I'm sure we could discreetly make it known how selflessly you gave up your position," she said, giving him an encouraging smile. House was impressed, he could see the other doctor starting to soften; she was good at her job. "And when the twelve months is up, I'm sure we can have the board pass a motion that you be returned to as Chairman for another year. I also love your idea of using the funding for a scholarship. We could call it the Grosvenor Scholarship."
She looked at House entreatingly. House shrugged, but was secretly impressed with the way she'd honed in on the other doctor's apparent weakness: a not inconsiderable ego.
"Wonderful." She turned to Dr Grosvenor. "Steve?"
Somewhat reluctantly, the doctor nodded. "Okay. I like the idea of the scholarship." He gave Kitty a smile. "Catherine, you can be very convincing when you want to, can't you?"
Kitty gave a little laugh, looking satisfied, but House picked up the brittle note to it.
"That's settled then," she said. She turned to House. "Congratulations Dr House. You're now the Chairman of the PRC."
"Wait, what?" House felt a little stunned, he'd been following the conversation, but he'd been concentrating on how she was manipulating Dr Grosvenor and had forgotten that he was a big part of all this. "I'm not . . . I don't . . ."
"Don't worry, you won't be required to do much officially."
Dr Grosvenor got to his feet. "That's right, but don't forget about the ball next week, Catherine. We should probably make a public announcement before then and have Dr House introduced formally there."
Kitty's face fell momentarily, but she covered it quickly. "Yes, yes, you're right. Dr House, I'll be in touch later today to have you approve a media release announcing your appointment. And you will need to come to our annual fundraising ball on Friday next week."
House shook his head definitively. "I don't do gatherings of more than four people unless it's a bachelor party." No way was he attending some stupid fundraiser. He'd made a point of avoiding them throughout his career. The only way Cuddy had ever got him to attend one was by making it casino-themed, and even then he'd skipped out to treat a patient.
"Oh, you'll enjoy it Dr House, I promise," Kitty said. "It's New Orleans Mardi Gras theme, and we've hired some wonderful jazz musicians. I understand you're quite fond of jazz."
House snorted and then lifted an eyebrow flirtatiously. "Mardi Gras? If I throw you beads will you lift up your shirt and show me your—"
"Dr House, that's enough," Dr Grosvenor growled, and looked about to take him on, but Kitty stood up and put a hand on his arm.
"Thanks so much Steve, you really are a lifesaver. If it wasn't for you, we wouldn't be getting this bequest. Let's keep the details of our arrangement between the three of us, but I promise you I'll find a way to make sure your generosity is noted."
He nodded. "Thank you Catherine. But I hope, for all our sakes, you know what you're getting us into." He stared pointedly at House. "I can't help wondering if all this will be worth five hundred thousand dollars."
She showed Dr Grosvenor to the door and House sat back in his chair, not sure whether to feel annoyed about having been manipulated into taking on the position he'd vowed not to, or pleased that he now had a whole year to work out what made this little Kitty-cat tick.
She closed the door behind the other doctor and turned to House, folding her arms in front of her. She glared at him, her expression a mixture of disgust, anger and, House was surprised to note, fear. "And you can get out too."
House tutted condescendingly. "Kitty, Kitty, Kitty. You need to be nicer to me. If I'm not mistaken, I'm now your boss."
She bristled even more, straightening her spine and narrowing her eyes. "You need a majority vote from the board to remove me from my position. But you don't have to worry about that. I will be including the news of my resignation with the announcement of your appointment at the ball next week."
House stood up and walked over to where she stood. "Now why would you do something like that?"
"You know very well why," she said, angrily, taking a step away from him, stopping up short when her back was pressed against the wall.
House took another step closer, well and truly invading her personal space. He could see on her face as her anger faded and the fear he'd noted earlier returned. He lowered his head until his mouth was barely an inch from hers. Her breathing quickened and House felt his own pulse speed up in response. She smelt delicious, a mix of rose and vanilla, and he could see the light smatter of freckles across her nose; the purplish stains under her eyes that betrayed her lack of sleep.
He had been about to make a remark about her conditions of employment but the witty comeback died on his lips. Instead he lowered his head further, watching her until her eyes fluttered shut. Their lips touched, hesitantly at first, and while she stubbornly kept her lips closed and her arms remained crossed in front of her breasts, she didn't step aside or push him away. Encouraged, he flicked his tongue over her bottom lip and heard a strangled noise in her throat. She was doing her best not to respond, but her body betrayed her: her breath was coming in quick gasps, and when he put his hand on her neck he could feel her rapid pulse.
"You want to kiss me back, I know," he said against her mouth. He kissed her again, pulling her lower lip between his. "But I'll let you get away with it, just this once." He pressed his mouth against hers again before moving back fractionally, just enough to watch her face. She opened her eyes and looked up at him. The anger and fear had disappeared to be replaced by confusion and sadness. It provoked an unexpected wave of tenderness in him, and he stroked her cheek with the back of a finger in some small measure of comfort.
She held his gaze intently. "I wasn't hooker," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "I was never a hooker."
House nodded. "Okay."
Their eyes held a moment longer before House leaned in to press another kiss to her lips. Then he put hand against the wall, pushed himself away from her and headed for the door. "I'll see you soon," he said, giving her a flirty smile and letting himself out.
As soon as he was gone, Kitty let out a long breath and quickly went over to her desk and let herself collapse back into her chair. Her whole body was trembling, but she wasn't exactly sure why. Part of her wanted to run after him and yank him back – her body was filled with the urge to kiss him until she couldn't think. Part of her never wanted to see him again. She'd never let someone get so close to the real her, so fast, and it scared the hell out of her.
She had no choice – she had to resign from the PRC. Whether or not he was going to betray her confidence, he seriously unsettled her world. There was no way she could work with him for a year. It was in the PRC's best interests, she told herself. It needed those funds. It would survive without her. The bigger question was, would she survive without it? She sighed.
It was for the best, she told herself again, wondering how long it would it take before she was convinced.
-
A/N: The song House sings is "Kitty" by Presidents of the United States of America.
Please leave me a review! I get so excited when you do!