Friday
House was sitting in Wilson's office, patient of the week solved, trying to convince his friend to leave early for a drink. Wilson was droning on about something – probably the evils of leaving early – but House wasn't really listening. Most of his attention was focused on his newest challenge: juggling a crystal paperweight, a stapler and a fluffy bunny some patient had left behind in Wilson's office. The different weights and velocities of the objects made it a particularly difficult challenge and House had his tongue gripped between his front teeth in concentration. He was vaguely wondering whether the paperweight was particularly valuable as his rhythm began to slip, when Wilson's office door crashed open, startling them both.
"House!" Cuddy marched in waving a newspaper, a thunderous look on her face.
Distracted, House fumbled the catch and the fluffy bunny went flying, hitting Cuddy squarely in the chest before bouncing to the floor.
"Goal!" House cried, as if it had been intentional. Inwardly he thanked whatever fortune had smiled upon him that had enabled him to avoid smacking Cuddy in the fun-bags with the paperweight or the stapler. He caught the paperweight and the stapler hit the floor and bounced under Wilson's desk.
Wilson began to laugh but stifled it instantly as Cuddy's glare hardened. Clearly she was angry enough that even stupid pranks weren't going to distract her. She waved the newspaper at House threateningly.
"You're the new Chairman of the Pain Research Council?"
"What?" Wilson just about choked. "You told me you wouldn't even consider—"
Cuddy turned to face Wilson. "You mean you knew about this? And you didn't tell me? You didn't try to stop him?"
"But . . . I . . . I . . ." Wilson foundered.
Cuddy tutted at his stuttering and went back to berating House. "House, you barely meet your commitments to this hospital without going and adding new ones. You're so behind in your clinic hours that you'll be working there as a corpse. You never so much as lift a finger to help with our fundraising and yet you've signed up for a year with another organisation helping to do exactly that." Cuddy's hands went to her hips, her anger barely contained. "And apart from all that, you haven't given a thought to the fact that by committing yourself to the PRC, you are by proxy committing this hospital to the PRC. You didn't seek permission from the board – let alone from me," she added with a bitter laugh, "and I had to read about it in the newspaper. Just now."
She stood there, panting slightly from the effort of her fury.
House had seen Cuddy angry. He'd seen Cuddy very angry. This definitely fell into the "very angry" category. He knew that it was better not to rile her further, but to cut and run and have the rational conversation later, when her anger had subsided.
"Why?" Wilson asked, cutting to the chase. "Why did you do it, when you were so determined not to?"
House shrugged. "Stuff happened."
"Stuff," Cuddy snorted.
"Oh my God, you slept with her, didn't you?" Wilson asked, his tone more than astonished.
House shrugged again but looked away. He hadn't really, he told himself, but he did wonder how much their little interlude had had to do with his capitulation, as abbreviated as it had been.
"Oh!" Cuddy threw up her hands. "I should have known! It comes down to sex with you, every time, doesn't it?"
Both House and Wilson gave Cuddy enquiring looks at that statement and she seemed slightly flustered for a moment before she recovered and glared at them both. "It doesn't matter, it's too late now. I've called the PRC and purchased three tables at their fundraiser next week, to demonstrate our backing of your stupid, impulsive decision. Did you even think about how it would look if we weren't represented at the PRC's biggest night of the year? The PRC Chairman's hospital? Of course not." She answered her own question with an irritated flick of her head. "And when the fun of all this wears off and you inevitably get bored, don't think you'll be roping me in to do your administration work for you."
She narrowed her eyes at Wilson. "And now that I know you knew about this and still let it happen, one of those tables will be coming out of the oncology budget, so you'd better find another nine people who don't have anything to do next Friday night."
Wilson looked about to protest and then shut his mouth again, clearly seeing any attempt would be futile.
"You'll also be helping me to smooth this over with the board," Cuddy continued.
"Yeah, okay," Wilson said, his voice small.
"And you," she gave House one last, long glare. "If you make me regret that I didn't force you to immediately retract this statement and resign from the PRC, so help me, I'll remove your testicles personally. With a spoon."
Cuddy turned on her heel and marched out of Wilson's office, slamming the door behind her.
Both men sat in silence for a while.
"She's kind of sexy when she's angry, isn't she?" House asked pleasantly.
Wilson shook his head.
-
-
Cuddy strode back to her office, still steaming with anger. She took the stairs in an effort to try and work out her fury in physical activity. House had done some dumb things in his time, but this was up there. The thing was, he clearly had absolutely no idea what the impact of his decision was. What it meant for the hospital. What it meant for her.
As per usual. She sighed. Why should she expect anything else?
Still fuming, she walked past her assistant who was on the phone but waving frantically at her.
"She's just back, sir. I'll see if I can put you on." The assistant pressed the hold button and looked up at Cuddy beseechingly. "This guy has been trying to get you all day. He's getting rude. Can you take the call?"
"Sure." Just what I need. Cuddy shrugged off her jacket and headed for her desk and the blinking red light that told her the call waited for her attention. Knowing my any luck it will be one of House's patients calling to complain and I'm going to have to defend him – again.
"Cuddy." Her voice was clipped, more so than usual.
"Dr Cuddy, is that you? It's Denis Barnes here."
Shit. Great, now she'd gone and unintentionally offended one of the hospital's donors.
"Mr Barnes!" Cuddy's voice returned to the usual even, ingratiating tone she used for donors. "I'm sorry, I didn't realise it was you calling."
"Bad day?" He chuckled and Cuddy felt a shiver go up her spine. She'd never liked Denis Barnes. He was . . . creepy.
"Something like that," Cuddy said quickly. "How can I help you? My assistant said you'd been trying to get hold of me urgently."
"Well, I guess it's not really that important. I'm sure you heard about my father's passing a couple of weeks ago."
"Oh, yes, of course, I'm very sorry for your loss." Cuddy cringed, and cursed House again for distracting her. She should have offered her sympathies before he'd had to bring it up.
"Yes, yes," Denis said dismissively. "Anyway, as I'm now the head of the Barnes Trust, I'm calling all our major beneficiaries to let them know that there won't be any changes in our arrangements just because, well, you know, we've had a change of management here."
He gave a hearty-sounding laugh that made Cuddy's skin crawl. Imagine referring to your father's death as a "change of management". Something about all this wasn't right.
"I'm glad to hear that," Cuddy said. The Barnes trust had become a donor to PPTH ward about two years ago, she recalled. When Andrew Barnes had been diagnosed with cancer, he'd funnelled a significant proportion of the Barnes Trust into oncology departments at major hospitals throughout New York and New Jersey. The bequest wasn't necessarily the largest contributor to Princeton Plainsboro, but it was significant enough that she didn't want to lose it. "The Barnes Trust is very important to our hospital," she said soothingly.
"Good, good," Denis said. Cuddy thought he sounded distracted. He paused and there was silence for a moment.
"Was there anything else I can help you with, Denis?" Cuddy prompted.
"Well, actually," he cleared his throat. "I wanted to ask you about one of your doctors and a small medical research council called the PRC."
Cuddy's stomach sank. She had no idea what Denis Barnes wanted to ask, but she figured it couldn't be anything good.
"Oh?" she said faintly.
"Before his death, my father set up a separate, small trust to provide funding for the PRC. I heard that they've just appointed a new Chairman, a Dr House, and that he works at your hospital."
"Yes, that's right."
Denis's voice had a forced jollity to it. "So I thought, I know, I'll give little Lisa Cuddy a call and get all the inside info from her."
She swallowed hard, deliberately ignoring the "little Lisa Cuddy" remark. "What sort of 'inside info' were you looking for Denis?"
"Oh, you know . . ." Denis seemed to be having trouble getting specific. "Dr House, is he any good?"
Cuddy had a spiel that she'd used so many times it flowed from her automatically. "Dr House is a world-renowned diagnostician. He is an invaluable asset to this hospital because he will stop at nothing to save lives. He is the most referred-to doctor on our staff and his reputation extends around the globe." She paused for barely a moment before continuing. "I think he'll do an excellent job as Chairman of the PRC and I'm fully supportive of him taking up the position." Cuddy superstitiously crossed her fingers under her desk at her blatant lie.
"Right, right. Of course." Denis coughed. "And . . . ah . . . what about . . . personally? What's he like as, you know, a person?"
Cuddy thought that this was probably the strangest conversation she'd ever had about House, and that was saying something. She frowned at the telephone – it sounded like Denis Barnes was asking about a potential date or something. And she had absolutely no idea how to answer his question. "Sorry Denis, I'm not quite sure what you mean."
He laughed again, sounding nervous this time. "Oh, never mind. It doesn't really matter."
Cuddy was left feeling very unsettled and wondered what his call had really been all about. The very fact that he'd said he'd rung to confirm that the donation to the hospital wouldn't be affected worried her. She needed to schmooze Denis Barnes right away. Suddenly an idea clicked.
"Denis, the hospital has purchased tickets for the PRC's fundraiser next week. I know it's late notice, but I'd be thrilled if you were able to join us as the hospital's guest?"
Denis gave a hearty laugh. "Oh, that sounds wonderful, just wonderful."
"So, two tickets? You and . . . your wife?" Cuddy added hesitantly. She couldn't remember if he was married or not.
"No wife, I'm a carefree bachelor Dr Cuddy! But I'm sure I can find someone to accompany me."
"That's . . . lovely," Cuddy managed. Denis as a carefree bachelor made her feel nauseous.
"I can't wait to sit next to you, Dr Cuddy, and have you tell me all about what's been happening."
"Oh." Cuddy had been planning on dumping Denis and his partner on Wilson's table as further punishment for Wilson. She sighed. "I'm looking forward to it," she said, squeezing her crossed fingers even more tightly."
"So I guess I'll see you next week. Good bye Lisa."
He hung up the phone abruptly and Cuddy was left staring at the handpiece. She still didn't know what on earth that had all been about and now she was stuck sitting next to Denis Barnes for a whole night. Yuck.