Ch. 15 Countdown
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Three weeks down, 9 weeks to go. House kept a silent countdown in his mind and off his tongue. Seeing Cuddy everyday, in her office, in the clinic, at her home, in his bed was killing him knowing she was just outside his grasp. She wore the engagement ring, diamond side turned into her palm. She had begun to signal him with a small open palmed wave each day with a flirtatious smile meant only for him. It was their "secret handshake" a code only they knew of.
Cuddy would wave shyly at him allowing him to see the diamond in her hand before her fingers would close her hand one finger at a time, like a piano player caressing the ivory keys. In turn, House smiled back and lifted his chin in acknowledgement, a quick tip of the chin in her direction. Now and then he'd wink at her "waves" – it was a delicious secret they shared and kept to themselves.
Only one other knew what was happening between them. Wilson had noticed Cuddy's new habit of waving to House and quickly understood what was happening. It was killing him to know House had won Cuddy yet at the same time he was torn by his resentment. Wilson had longed to see Cuddy happy, joyous, ebullient and finally she was, just with the wrong guy.
Wilson had run through the situation mentally many times over and was trying to come to grips with the fact that had Wilson never made a move, Cuddy and House wouldn't be engaged, wouldn't be together, wouldn't have professed their feelings for each other. Had he only realized this years ago, House and Cuddy would have gotten together sooner. Of course, it made perfect sense. When had House ever done what was expected. House only did the opposite of the expected.
That's when Wilson realized House would screw it up. The ring came before the wedding, the wedding comes before the vows, the vows come before the answer can be given. If there would be a chance for House to screw it up, it would be at the proverbial altar.
That's when Wilson realized winning Cuddy was a game very much still in play.
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Cuddy was becoming more concerned as the foster year anniversary approached. Things were going so well in her life. She wasn't sure if she could believe it. Cuddy felt she was holding her breath, terrified to relax, exhale and live happily ever after.
Each night, after Cuddy had turned off all lights and checked the doors were locked, she would enter her daughter's room and kiss Rachel's sleeping face. Cuddy spent several minutes gazing silently at the child she wanted to be hers forever and try to take her mind off any thoughts of the horror that it would fall apart in the final moments before the 365th day. House had learned to give her the time alone but would wait for her at the nursery doorway. Cuddy was always happy to find him waiting for her where he would then reach out for her hand leading her to their bedroom.
Gone was the fearful angst of wondering if this love affair would extinguish itself due to regret, self-doubt and self-protection. The man had to open up his heart to recognize this woman had been inside it all his life or at least for the better half of it. Likewise, she had to discover this about her own heart.
Each night, he would walk her to the foot of the bed where their hands dropped and he would walk to the left side of the bed, her to the right side, pulling back the sheets and meeting each other in the middle, under the light covers. Their passionate nights had slowly come to a more peaceful embrace as the adoption deadline loomed closer. In the daylight of morning with the optimism of a new day ahead, they'd find morning to be much more erotic, challenging Cuddy's ability to arrive on time to the hospital.
House did everything he could to distract her and himself, if only to make the time pass quickly until Rachel would officially become Rachel Cuddy and Lisa Cuddy could then become Lisa House. Oddly, they bickered as usual, they never argued in a fighting sense. The bickering was typical verbal foreplay, their testing of each other's wills in a fight for dominance daily over matters small and smaller.
Each night, Cuddy would fall asleep before House would, often cuddled up to his side, his arm around her shoulders, her cheek nestled against his chest. The cure for his well known insomnia was the scent of her hair. Burying his nose into her long brown curls as she slept peacefully in his arms, he felt himself drifting calming into slumber once he could breathe her in.
Most mornings he would wake before she could. Waiting to see what she might do, he'd continue the pretense of sleep. Almost always, she had curled away in the night, her back to him. And, as the waves are drawn away from the shore by the moon, House would feel himself drawn to Cuddy, encircling her with his body, his knees drawn under hers, his chest nestled against her spine, an arm over her waist, his face against her hair, breathing her in. She always woke up slowly, turning her face to look back at him with her stunning smile that he'd barely be able to see through his own lashes as he feigned sleep. She had no idea and he loved the delicious secrecy of his private observations that constantly confirmed and reaffirmed this love would endure no matter how much he might try to test it.
She never hurried out of bed anymore, choosing to stay in his arms cuddled for lack of better word. It felt right, warm and safe. If life would play along and allow them the happiness they denied themselves for two decades, House might find himself believing in a higher power.
House had just one other problem but no where near as serious. It had become harder and harder to maintain his sarcastic persona and occasional rudeness now that his life was vastly happier and his future now hopefully optimistic.
Just another nine weeks and life would be perfect.