I'm sincerely sorry it took me so long to update. Things didn't really go as planned, did they?
Anyway, I hope you all had a wonderful holiday, and that whatever you celebrate, December has been a kind, jolly and festive month for you and your loved ones.
Here's the new chapter. I know it probably doesn't make up for the delay, but it's a rather long one. Remember, we left Cuddy just out of her Board meeting, and House caught in the midst of a challenging case…
** Chapter 72 **
"What the hell was that?"
Wilson stormed into Cuddy's office and found her, seated on her couch, absorbed in paperwork. She jumped slightly at the sound of the door opening and sighed when she recognized Wilson. As she was stubbornly not answering, Wilson approached and stood in front of her, towering over her.
"Cuddy, tell me you weren't serious in there?"
There would be no easy, quiet way out of that conversation until she'd accept to let Wilson torture her with another one of his famous guilt talks. Resigned, Cuddy put her paperwork down on the table in front of her and sat up straight.
"I was," she simply said.
"For God's sake," Wilson exclaimed, taking a seat in the armchair beside the couch. "Have you completely lost your mind? You can't let that smug asshole impress you like he did and put your job on the line just to please him. You're giving credit to his blackmail!"
"Wilson, just please, don't overreact, okay? Not you. Not now. I need my friends to support me. Not react like crazy people on drugs-"
Wilson's eyes widened in shock, but at the same time, he readjusted his stance and seemed to calm down a little. Cuddy inwardly smiled at his obvious embarrassment.
"You're the one who warned me about Campbell," she went on. "And I thank you for that because it gave me enough time to think this through, and believe me Wilson, I'm not caving to anyone's blackmail here."
Her heart was beating fast, and she was trying to hide the fact that she was actually short of breath. Because she was not as relaxed and confident as she appeared to be. She was scared and, truth is, she'd made that gambling, crazy move because she'd felt cornered. But what other choices did she have?
Of course, she'd thought about her options. She'd weighed them all, but the moment Wilson had mentioned Campbell and his anger for not being granted with new equipment to the detriment of House's department, Cuddy had known it'd lead to no other mess but that one. She was not very fond of it and damn! she was fuming with anger for being forced to do it but, somehow, after contemplating the possible outcomes, she'd come to the conclusion that, even though it was risky to suggest an implicit deal to the Board by asking them to give her a vote of confidence, it was the only way to shut Campbell's big mouth up definitely.
She knew she'd taken a risky bet, especially considering most of it was relying on her faith that House would behave and not blow this up with one of his crazy acts, but she wanted to believe she'd done the right thing. She needed to believe she had. If she couldn't trust House anyway, she would never be able to do her job. She hated to admit it, but Campbell was right. Many times, she'd asked herself the same question: Was she really impartial with House? How much did her feelings for him interfere in the process of her supervising him?
So no, she didn't have many solutions and that's where she was sadly standing at.
"I gave this a lot of thoughts, I don't want you to think I'm making inconsiderate decisions-" she said.
"I know you're not, but-" Wilson sighed and let all his aggravation out in one heavy puff of air. "I hate that you have to do it! Lisa, I'm so sorry."
"Why the hell would you be?" she exclaimed. "Come on! This is not your fault. I'm fine, I swear. Please, now, would you leave me alone? I have things to do."
That was a lie and Wilson probably knew it was but as the good, perfectly devoted friend that he was, he pretended he didn't and stood up.
"Take care of yourself," he said, eyes full of friendly concern, before starting to head toward the exit.
He was so dripping empathy through every pore of his skin that it was becoming a little ridiculous and it made Cuddy want to smile. She was incapable of explaining why or how it worked, but the truth is Wilson's constant, exaggerated and dramatic way of worrying over the tiniest things had the mysterious and paradoxical power of soothing her. It was a complete nonsense, in a way, but it helped her rationalize the facts objectively and ultimately it made her feel better.
"Wilson?"
He stopped and turned around to face her, worry already spreading on his face once more.
"You know, I just hired Erin. And I like her. So please, don't screw this up-"
"Huh?" Wilson's mouth dropped open, but then he saw the mischievous glitter in Cuddy's eyes, and he sighed, resigned. "Of course, House told you," he mumbled.
"Sure, he did! What do you think?" she said, teasingly. "Wilson, what I mean is I'm happy for you. Sincerely. And, just in case you're wondering, House is happy for you too, although he'd rather be caught hugging Chase than admit it."
She chuckled and Wilson shook his head, feeling helpless and suddenly lacking all the right words to formulate a proper, dignified answer. He was perfectly aware, though, that Cuddy's friendly, albeit surprising, reminder of him dating the new gynecologist was the perfect strategy to put an end to the conversation and, at the same time, give her an opportunity to reaffirm her authority, and show how, as the boss, she was entitled to know everything, even express an opinion about it. He noticed she'd imperceptibly sat up on her couch, her shoulders perfectly straight, her chin high and her gaze slightly challenging. It was definitely time for him to leave.
"You wanna have lunch with me?" he asked, his offer a spontaneous burst of friendly support.
She quickly bit her lip and tilted her head down for a second.
"No, thanks." She looked at the pile of files on the coffee table in front of her. "I… I think I'm gonna go home now. Now shoo, patients need you."
Wilson flashed a faint smile at her and left.
Alone in her office again, Cuddy contemplated her options for a short while. It was almost noon, and she was already feeling drained. Maybe she could dupe Wilson and pretend she was fine, but she couldn't lie to herself. She was not that okay and she needed to get away from that stressing environment, at least for the rest of the day.
It wasn't something she was used to doing, but hell if she didn't deserve it! One thing she'd learned in spite of herself, being in a relationship with House those past months, was that there was no shame in wanting to think about her first. Yet a little awestruck by her own boldness, Cuddy decided to allow herself to be selfish for once, and it was very conveniently not tweaking her sense of guilt all that much.
Or maybe she was so tired she couldn't see all the reasons why it was a wrong decision to make. She checked her watch and gave one last glance at her files then she resolutely stood up. Yes, she was definitely going home and taking the afternoon off.
In the parking lot, she suddenly thought about House, and she realized she was achingly missing him. Maybe he'd be willing to join her. Who was she fooling? Of course, he would! House practically invented the concept of taking the afternoons off. And the mornings as well. Actually, House had long ago entirely reinvented the concept of working hours. So, there was a good chance he'd be jumping on the occasion, and probably… her, she thought with an impish smile as she took her cell phone and dialed his number.
After a few tones, she reached his voicemail.
"Hi, this is Gregory House. Well, not Gregory House actually, only his phone. But you know that already, right? Which means, if you've something interesting to say, you know you gotta speak after the BEEEEEEEEEP… but not that one. That one was just me, mimicking the beep… Ok, so now is the real beep: your turn!"
Cuddy couldn't explain why but she felt a wave of awkward uneasiness overwhelm her. "If you've something interesting to say" his message said. Suddenly, she remembered that conversation they had on the phone the day before about her calling him just to let him know what she was doing, or where she was going.
I don't need you to reassure me. I don't want you to. That's not helping with my carpe diem philosophy…
She heard his voice, resonating in her head. Then she heard the beep of his phone and she felt stupid.
"Hi," she said with a sheepish voice. "I…uh… I just… well, I guess you're busy. I was calling to say… almost calling to say that uh… well, I was going to the bathroom, metaphorically, you know? But… I mean, that was really stupid. I'm sorry… Call me later, ok?"
She hung up and swiftly put the phone back in her pocket before stepping inside her car. What was she thinking? She'd almost called him to tell him she was leaving work, after her meeting, which went fine… at least, that's what she'd have said. But damn! It would have just been another report! That's what she'd almost called him for: To make a stupid, lame report of her morning, while it was exactly the kind of things that he'd asked her not to do. God, she was so naive, lost, confused. Tired actually. She needed to go home and, for the first time in years, she thought she might very well go to bed and fall asleep, right away. In the middle of the day.
# # # # #
"Just try to see things from his point of view," Taub suggested, trying to explain the situation in the most neutral way he could. "The husband is, err, rightfully angry."
"The husband's a moron!" House groaned, clearly annoyed.
They were back in the conference room. Back to absolute helplessness and worse, total inefficiency.
"She has Behçet's!" he barked. "All she needs is a goddamn shot of corticosteroids and she'll get better."
"You hit the guy," Foreman said matter-of-factly, still not believing what had happened in the patient room a few hours earlier.
"Because he's a moron!" House repeated, his voice raising a notch with anger.
"You can't hit a patient… or a patient's relative," Kutner stated calmly, looking down.
"Oh please! Don't go all Cameron on me. I just don't 'hit' patients, for the sake of hitting them. Don't you think I had a reason?"
"A reason to hit a patient's relative?" Thirteen said, faking to give it a thought. "Hmm, I don't know, I guess I must have skipped that class in Med School."
House glowered at her, and she smiled faintly. They all knew they were facing a dead end and that the only, now very slim, chance to make their patient get better was to find a way to administrate her the right treatment. Unfortunately, a medical act which should have been simple, had now become rather challenging, as Gary Reed, the patient's husband, had formally stated he was strongly opposed to any doctor in House's Department, and especially House himself, approaching his wife.
"We lost one day for nothing!" House said reproachfully, limping up and down the room like a lion in a cage. "And this is your fault!" He stopped abruptly and glared at Taub who was sitting at the conference table. "Dammit, even a freshman Med student wouldn't have missed vasculitis, for crying out loud, you-"
"House!" Foreman raised his voice and cut him short. "It doesn't make any difference now."
"Yes, it does!"
"Sure! Because maybe, it'd have prevented you from going all OB-Gyn on the patient, in front of her husband, who you'd just hit to immobilize him!" Taub retorted angrily. "I spent half an hour with the guy afterward, apologizing on your behalf and trying to prevent him from suing the hospital.
"I bet you did! That's the least you could do given the fact that you're the one who made him doubt my diagnostic in the first place, correct diagnostic if I may add, which is what forced me to seek for proof of skin lesions in places where you usually last want to check!"
"Guys, guys, hey!" Thirteen suddenly exclaimed, with a clearly upset voice. "How much longer do we have to nitpick over who did what, despite how totally irrelevant it is, while our patient still isn't receiving her treatment?"
House stood agape for a split second.
"Excuse me?" he said, not completely able to hide the amused grin behind his surprise. "Did you basically just tell us to shut up?"
Thirteen shifted in her chair uncomfortably but bravely sustained House's gaze. Foreman raised an eyebrow, intrigued, and Kutner finally tilted his head up to watch the scene.
"Uh, not exactly… But admit we're running out of time, here. Don't you think we need to use our energy to convince the patient to okay his wife's treatment?"
House squinted at her, and his smile widened a little.
"Because of course, you think you can do that?" he challenged.
"I'm a woman-"
"Are you?"
"I think I can make him see the logic behind our diagnosis from a feminine, softer perspective," Thirteen offered.
"Yeah, sure!" House mocked. "If only he knew about that-"
Thirteen cringed and raised her chin up. House studied her a little longer and then he turned his gaze toward Taub, who was seated beside her, with his head bowed down.
"Ok! But you bring the Tolkien doctor with you. Husband seems to have identified him as the holly messenger of all things medical."
House smirked and Thirteen got up, swiftly followed by Taub who was too happy to have a pretext to leave the room.
Once they'd left, House stood in the room, at the end of the conference table, conspicuously staring at Kutner and Foreman who just sat there, not moving, but at the same time looking a bit embarrassed. Kutner grabbed the file in front of him before House got a chance to talk and promptly stood up.
"I, um- I'm going, err… to the lab?" he suggested sheepishly.
There was absolutely nothing to do in the lab of course, but there was however a lot of reasons to want to be elsewhere, not in the same room as House, right in that moment. Something House himself and Kutner admittedly both acknowledged just as strongly.
House nodded and watched Kutner leave the outer office.
"Foreman-" he prompted.
Foreman sighed heavily and, standing up as well, reluctantly folded the medical review he was reading under his arm.
"Sure, ok. I'll go do… things elsewhere," he puffed and headed out.
Once alone, House walked into his office and fell into his chair. He cradled his face in his hands for a moment, rubbing his forehead with the tip of his fingers and massaging his temples with his thumbs. Then he remembered his cell phone had buzzed earlier and he checked if the caller had left a message.
"I…uh… I just… well, I guess you're busy." Her voice echoed in the receiver and a light shiver ran down his spine. After all this time, just the sound of her husky voice was still having the same erotic effect on him. But he was not going to try to explain what it meant, or every implication it had. No. He tightened his grip on the receiver and pressed it closer to his ear. "I was calling to say… almost calling to say that uh… well, I was going to the bathroom, metaphorically, you know? But… I mean, that was really stupid. I'm sorry… Call me later, ok?"
He slid the cell phone shut and frowned dubiously. What did that mean? Going to the bathroom? Why had she said that? Oh yes, he remembered now. She was referring to what he'd told her the day before, comparing her updating him on every little detail of her schedule with the kind of inappropriate information she'd been giving him if she started to let him know when she was going to pee… Yeah, basically, that's what he'd said. He closed his eyes and rubbed his face again. God, he was tired!
House slid his cell phone open again and dialed her number. When he reached her voicemail, he felt disappointed but waited for the beep to allow him to speak.
"So? Was it just a small pee, or did you end up having a poo?" he joked, and then felt stupid. He fell silent for a few seconds. "I mean, I got your message… obviously!" He felt even more stupid. He took a deep breath and looked around him at his empty office. "Ok, not at all the kind of things I wanted to say!… Actually, well, actually, I… uh… don't really have anything to say. But you and I, we apparently have this sort of tradition going on between us, calling each other to say nothing! And you know how much I hate changes, right?" He smiled faintly and clutched the receiver tighter. "I mean, sometimes I say things that make no sense. But I like your messages about nothing… And the messenger even more…"
He swiftly shut the cell phone close and almost threw it on his desk as if it'd been burned by its contact. Not at all the kind of things he wanted to say. He was really turning into a ball of soft marshmallow, and painfully acknowledging it. And there was a part of him, which was still struggling against it. But there was also another one, one that got him more concerned, which was in fact sort of… accepting it.
He stared at his phone and scratched the back of his head. I like your messages about nothing… and the messenger even more. Jesus! He sounded like a lame, pathetic, virgin version of himself. Luckily for him, before he got time to start dissecting the multitude of possible reasons why he was being so… soft when it came to Cuddy, Thirteen and Taub entered his office, looking defeated.
"It didn't work," House stated, already knowing the answer.
"The guy's a moron," Thirteen puffed.
"Did you hit him?" House smiled, amused.
She smirked back and shook her head disapprovingly.
"So, what do we do now?" Taub asked.
"We treat her, of course!"
"But… her husband doesn't want us to approach his wife."
House stood up and walked round his desk.
"Yeah, but when did we ever let the patients, or their relatives, be the ones in charge anyway?" he said with a new-found assertiveness, and he stormed out decidedly.
"What's he gonna do?" Taub asked worriedly.
"Treat her!" Thirteen repeated, with unhidden excitement in her voice and she quickly walked out to catch up with House.
# # # # #
"What are you going to do?" Taub was asking, trotting behind House to keep up with his boss' pace.
House waved his hand in the air dismissively and kept striding toward the patient's room. Once they approached near enough, he was halted in his progression by the startling sight of someone, standing in the hallway, just outside the door.
"What's that?" House asked a little taken aback, promptly hiding behind a pillar not to get spotted.
"Um, that, is a… security guard," Taub replied, although the answer was obvious.
"Geez! That guy really deserves a medal for being the biggest pain in the ass!"
Thirteen couldn't hold back her ironic smile.
"Upsetting, right?" she teased.
House sent her a half-convinced glare and refocused on his goal.
"You!" he commended, pointing his chin at Taub. "Go in that room and take the husband out, if he's in there."
"What? How?"
"I don't care! Find a reason! Paper to sign, new test results-"
"We don't have new test results-" Taub tried to object.
"Does he actually know that?"
"Well, uh… no, but-"
"Good! Now, go there and get rid of him."
Taub looked down at his feet for a moment, as if searching for inspiration, or some strength to resist House's order, but he eventually walked toward the room, resignedly. When he approached, the guard eyed him suspiciously but finally let him in after a brief exchange. The door slid open and Taub disappeared inside.
A few minutes after, he walked out, followed by the patient's husband who looked a bit worried and eager to receive answers. They headed toward the lounge, further down the hallway.
"You!" Thirteen was absorbed watching the scene. She jumped slightly at House's exclamation and looked back at him. "Go distract that guard," he commanded.
"Of course," she pouted, vexed. "And how am I supposed to do that?"
"How the hell would I know? You're a sexy twenty something, he's a male. Go shake your… things in front of him! Giggle… whatever! I'm sure you'll find something to drag him away from that door long enough for me to enter."
"House, what do you plan to do?" she asked concerned.
He leaned down slightly and looked her right in the eyes with gravity.
"Nothing you'd specifically need to know," he stressed, with an intense, knowing gaze.
Thirteen bit her lip and walked away without any further comment. House observed her approach the guard from afar and play the seductive card. By the dumb look on the guy's face and the way he seemed already fooled by her bluff, there was no doubt he was going to cave in no time.
House smiled faintly and suddenly thought about what he was going to do. He fished his cell phone out of his pants' pocket and contemplating his options, he tried to convince himself that he really needed to call her first because it was the right thing to do. He sighed and dialed Cuddy's number, a bit reluctantly.
After three tones, he ended up on her voicemail again. He briefly thought about how unusual that was, but quickly moved on, happy about the convenience. He hung up before the beep even allowed him to leave a message. Only seconds after, Thirteen and the guard were walking away toward the vending machine at the end of the hallway, laughing and poking each other's in the ribs playfully.
House waited a little longer until he was sure the guard's attention was completely distracted and he wouldn't all of a sudden remember to look back at the door he was supposed to watch. When he approached the room, a zealous nurse noticed he was about to enter and she felt the stupid need to call out to him loudly, asking what he was doing. It caught the guard's attention, who from the end of the hallway swung around toward the sound of the interjection.
House was standing in the doorway, halfway in, and he and the guard locked eyes briefly. The guard started to run in his direction, more out of reflex than for pure efficiency since he already knew it was pointless as he wouldn't be fast enough to get there in time to prevent House from entering.
Ironically, and quite simultaneously, Taub reappeared at the other end of the hallway, with the husband at his side, who looked a bit upset, now aware that he'd been distracted for no valid reasons. When he saw House at the threshold of his wife's room and the guard running in his direction, he shot Taub a fuming glare and yelled, in that characteristic way a helpless person trying to avoid the inevitable usually does.
House swiftly entered the room and locked himself inside, blocking the door with his cane while, on the other side, the guard and the husband slammed on the glass with their clenched fists to express how strongly they disapproved of the situation.
"Open that door!" the husband yelled again, which House of course didn't. "You!" he accused, turning in the guard's direction. "Open that door!"
But the guard was unable to do anything either.
House watched them stomp in rage and he nodded apologetically to them, mouthing a conspicuous "I'm sorry" before shutting the curtains and blocking the view. Then, knowing it wouldn't take long before they'd find a way to break in, he did what he'd come to do. He fumbled into the cabinets and drawers to get what he was looking for. When he found the syringe, he promptly uncapped it and came at the bedside.
Jenny Reed was lying in the bed, semi-unconscious, but the noise seemed to have drawn her slowly back to the surface of perception.
"Gary? S'that you?" she mumbled, trying to prop herself on her elbows.
"No, it's not Gary," House answered, poking the needle into the infusion pump and pushing the liquid into the drip.
The patient's eyelids were fluttering rapidly, as she was struggling to keep her eyes open, but her head was turned into House's direction.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm curing you," he said self-confidently, and then he turned the pump to increase the drug flow into the drip.
Just when he was done, the door of the room finally re-opened, sending his cane flying in the room and landing in a corner. Thirteen and Taub devotedly barged inside first and threw themselves in the path to create a convenient obstruction between House and the husband before he would jump at his throat.
"You're insane!" he shouted, pointing an accusing finger in House's direction above Taub's shoulder, "and I swear, I swear this time, you'll hear from me!"
House sustained his glare for a second then he walked to the door and leaned down to grab his cane. Standing at the doorsill, he looked the husband in the eyes confidently.
"Do what you have to do, I don't care," he said calmly, "I did my job. And your wife is going to get better."
And he left the room, leaving the husband flabbergasted.
# # # # #
Of course, to prove his point, and also to make his plan work efficiently like he needed it to work, House had to push the drug dosage up above the average, and a lot above the average in fact, so that methylprednisolone would actually take effect on the patient. He knew he only had one shot, literally, so he couldn't afford giving his patient a pointless, normal dosage that would only bring them back to square one, fighting against the patient's husband stupid stubbornness once the effects would have dissipated.
And of course, administrating a high dosage of methylprednisolone was like gambling in a horse race, even if, in that particular circumstance, they kind of already knew the name of the winner, but they still had to buy the ticket, place their gamble, which House already did and now, they also had to wait until the race would actually happen, praying the horse that was supposed to win would not trip on the field and fell, sending the jockey crashing on the ground.
House had retreated in his office, not really willing to leave the hospital already, knowing that he had to stay and wait for the first signs of improvement, or worsening, although he refused to acknowledge the latter as a possibility. He was right, he was sure of that. And he'd done the right thing. In the most unorthodox way maybe, but the only thing that mattered was that he'd soon be proven right!
Hours passed. Endless, long hours. Too much preoccupied about his case, House didn't call Cuddy back, and the day stretched, bringing yet another long dark night of wait. Wilson paid him a visit early in the evening, but House dismissed him jerkily with a snappish comment, which merely had Wilson roll his eyes for a split second and then leave, only half-upset, even less surprised, by House's grumpy mood.
Family visits were only allowed until seven pm, so once the limit was passed, House was free to go in the patient's room to check her vitals by himself. When he did, he bumped into the guard who was still there, and who, as soon as he saw him approach, straightened up and shifted to the side to block the door access.
"Oh, come on!" House exclaimed, exasperated. "You know I'm a doctor and not actually Jack the Ripper or some serial killer who's here to slaughter the patient, right?"
"Listen, I'm sorry, I'm here to do my job, that's all," the guy answered, embarrassingly, and House immediately knew he would ultimately let him enter the room.
"And so am I! So, how about you come inside with me and just see by yourself that I'm only here to check if she's ok?" House offered. The guard frowned and seemed to consider the option. "I swear I won't touch anything: No drain, drip or needle that's hooked to the patient."
The guard looked around at the desert hallway and sighed. House smiled at him and watched him slide the door open. Once inside the room, House spontaneously approached the bed, but the guard held him back, griping his arm.
"No. You don't come near her," he said, with a definite tone.
"But how am I supposed to check her vitals if I can't touch her," House whined dramatically, hoping to make him see the irony of the situation.
"No," the guard repeated, adamant.
The patient wriggled in her bed and moaned slightly. House instantly recognized the signs of awakening and decided not to push his luck.
"Okay," he agreed, and he stepped back from the bedside.
"Who's here?" Jenny Reed uttered almost inaudibly, turning her head in the direction of the sound that had dragged her out of her slumber.
"Doctor House, and-" House turned to the guard and read the tag on his jacket, "Ryan. We're here to ask you some questions. Well, just me, in fact. Ryan's only here to keep me company!"
Ryan smirked and House discreetly took a small step toward the bed.
"Doctor House?" the patient repeated incredulous. "Doctor House, are you... the doctor who-"
"Yeah, that's me," House promptly cut her off before she would get a chance to finish her sentence. "Listen, just answer my questions and I'll be out of here in no time so you can get back to sleep, ok?"
"Mmkay."
"How's your head? Are you having a headache right now?" he asked, and the patient instinctively reached out her hand to touch her skull, where the drain from her previous operation was still installed. "No! Don't touch that!" House warned authoritatively.
The patient removed her hand from her head just in time and House shot Ryan a threatening glare, designed to make him feel guilty, but mostly to say: "See? If anything goes wrong in the patient's room while you authorized an unauthorized person to enter, you're going to lose your job..." Ryan, obviously, understood what House's silent message said instantly.
"Alright, fine! You can go near her and do whatever you have to do!" the guard puffed, defeated.
House approached the patient's bedside and took her wrist in his hand. Counting her pulse, while watching his watch, he went on with his anamnesis.
"Do you feel dizzy?"
"No."
"Do you feel any tightness in the chest?"
The patient straightened up a little in her bed and took a deep breath, then waited as if she was hesitating to decide how she was really feeling. House dropped her wrist and shot her a worried stare.
"No," she finally said.
"Good. And are you thirsty, more than usual, that is? Does your throat aches?"
"No… and no."
"Open your mouth," House instructed.
He checked her tongue, then her legs to see if any of her lower limbs was swollen, then he checked her pupils, pointing the light of an ophthalmic pen at her irises. When he was done, he put the pen back in the drawer and walked away from the bed toward the exit door, without a comment. Ryan looked at him, a bit intrigued and the patient, now widely awake, sent him a panic look.
"What? Doctor House, what is it? What's happening to me?"
House stopped and offered her his most famous self-righteous grin.
"Nothing," he said. "You're getting better, that's all."
# # # # #
The next morning, House arrived at the hospital around nine thirty, after an almost nonexistent night of restless sleep, alone at his place. When he finally was able to leave the previous night, it was indeed sadly way past the reasonable hour where it'd have still been acceptable to knock on her door without looking just creepily sex deprived. Consequently, that morning, feeling undeniably relieved to have solved his case, he was really eager to see her.
Cuddy and he seemed to have done nothing but missed each other in the past three days and he was in furious need of the touch of her skin on his skin, the feel of her lips on his lips, the womanly curve of her hips inside his hands, the scent of her shampoo in his nostrils. In one word, he was in furious need of her.
So instead of heading toward the elevators to go to the fourth floor, he swiveled round, unhesitant, and walked into the clinic, and toward her office. He spotted Warren, bent over his desk, filling forms like an industrious student and, feeling unusually upbeat and in a good mood, House decided to stop and announce himself first.
"Hi Warren!" he exclaimed, which made Warren jolt in his chair. "How are you?"
The young man pulled himself together and smiled. He and House had learned how to find a sort of common ground throughout the months, and it was almost as if they were… respecting each other.
"I'm fine, thank you, Dr. House," Cuddy's assistant answered. "If you're here to see Dr. Cuddy, I must warn you, she's with someone already."
House's head turned to Cuddy's office and all he could distinguish were shadows through the wooden blinds, but he clearly saw she was not alone. He sighed.
"How long will it take?" he surprised himself asking.
"I don't know," Warren answered honestly. "It's not a scheduled appointment, but the man requested an audience and Dr. Cuddy said to let him in. They've been inside for-" He glanced at his watch, "the last half hour. I think it shouldn't take much longer. Or… it could also take another hour. There's no way to tell."
House rolled his eyes, feeling aggravated.
"Well, that's helpful!" he said sarcastically. "Ok, well, you know what? It's not important. I'll be back later."
"Do you want me to call you when Dr. Cuddy is alone again?" Warren offered sympathetically.
"No. Well, yes. I don't know. Do as you please," House answered, theatrically limping away.
# # # # #
An hour later, impatient to finally see her, and after he'd received a page from Warren, House came back to the ground floor and walked across the entrance hall toward the clinic. When he passed the door, he instantly saw her, her back turned to him, leaned against the nurse station's counter. Cuddy probably felt the power of his ravenous gaze on her, and she turned around meeting his eyes. He gave her a confident alpha male smile and approached her with a decided limp.
"Hi there, Dr. Cuddy! Done wheedling precious dollars out of the generous fortunes of our beloved city of Princeton yet?" he said in a bantering tone.
But instead of smiling back as he expected her to, Cuddy shot daggers at him, and before he'd made half his way toward her, she started striding back into her office.
"Get your ass in my office. Now!" she shouted before disappearing behind the door.
House's eyebrows flew up, but he passed in front of the nurse with a roguish smile.
"Sorry, this is where decency commands us to go finish that in private."
He shot an exaggerated wink at the nurse, and she looked at him half amused, half appalled by the scene she'd just witnessed.
Once inside Cuddy's office, House closed the door behind him and flashed a mischievous smile at her.
"You, naughty girl," he said approaching her, "I didn't mean to turn you on so fast. But if you wanna turn your night treat into a morning delight, I'm your man."
Cuddy instantly stiffened and glared at him with evident boiling rage.
"How can you be so irresponsible and immature?" she snapped. "This is not about sex House! This is about this hospital and the rules that govern it. You cannot hit a patient's relative and then break into the patient's room to administrate a treatment her husband has very explicitly refused."
"Oh, so this is what it's all about?" House said, shrugging dismissively. "Don't worry, the husband's a moron. The patient is fine now. Everything's ok."
He smiled and tried to come close to her again, but she took a step back and walked behind her desk.
"No! Everything is not ok!" she shouted angrily. "The moron, as you call him, just left my office. He's filing a complaint against the hospital for assault and administration of medical treatment without consent."
"See?" House said matter-of-factly. "That kinda proves my point: That guy really is a moron. And he's not a doctor so he knows nothing about what's good for his wife and what's not-"
"But of course, you do?"
"More than he does, sure! Listen Cuddy, you're overreacting here-"
"Excuse me, I'm what?" she asked, mouth agape, astonished by his nerve.
House began to realize their conversation might not turn out to be the kind of foreplays he'd have hoped for. In fact, it wasn't going to be, at all, now that he was clearly recognizing that little wrinkle on Cuddy's forehead, the one she had when she was really pissed. But seriously? Was she going to yell at him for saving a patient's life? He'd done the right thing, dammit! And she knew he had.
He couldn't believe she was letting herself be impressed by a random, stupid guy who'd threatened to expose the hospital to liability. It was so not her to do that! He stiffened and griped his cane's handle tightly, facing her. The whole situation, as ridiculous as he thought it was, was starting to slowly, but surely, getting on his nerves as well.
"I said you're overreacting a little here," he repeated, the tone of his voice becoming harsher. "This is just a shot of Methylprednisolone we're talking about. Not a risky, life-threatening, unapproved treatment I was trying to experiment on the patient."
"You hit the guy!" Cuddy yelled, not accepting his arguments.
"He deserved it!"
"You should have come to me and asked for my consent first!" she snapped.
"To hit him?" House said with a mock grin, walking on the thin line and risking pushing the limits of her patience to the point of no return.
Cuddy silently glowered at him making it clear she didn't think his stupid comment deserved an answer.
"So what? You're saying I needed your consent for a shot of corticosteroids?" he went on, frowning dubiously.
"In that particular circumstance, yes." she said through clenched teeth.
"But you were not here, and the patient was dying, so I did what I thought was in her best interest."
"I don't care!"
"You don't care if patients die?" House said, dumbfounded, not believing they were having that conversation for real. It was absolutely ridiculous and it made no sense.
"No! I don't care about your stupid excuses, House. I don't want to hear about them anymore. Your little coup risk to put the hospital into litigates, if I don't convince the family to settle for an agreement, which is the minimum they're entitled to claim after what you've done."
"Oh, for Christ's sake, I saved their mommy's life! Now they're gonna have homemade cranberry waffles for breakfast again! Thanks to me! What the hell are they complaining about?"
Cuddy was fuming with rage, and she looked at him as if she could slap him.
"You don't get anything do you? And you don't respect anyone… Not even me. God, House! You're so full of yourself, with all your theories about people and how absolutely helpless they all are before they meet you and learn about the true significance of life. Because that's what it is, right? Only you, the brilliant and misanthropic Dr. House can be detached enough to understand the real priorities here? Even if it must lead to hitting one or two people in the process or just-"
House was feeling the heat of anger pervade him just as strongly and he started to really lose his temper just then.
"Let me sum up here, you're yelling at me because I didn't ask your consent about a common procedure, that even a nurse can do several times a day without you even knowing about it? Are you actually serious?"
Cuddy stared intensely at him but didn't answer.
"Ok, so let's say I should have… asked you. But then, where were you?"
"What?"
"I said, where were you? When the consent you allegedly had to give me was needed? Probably giggling comprehensively at some lubricous donors' bad jokes to extort them a big check, am I right? I'm sorry but, I am practicing medicine. And medicine is not done in the cozy atmosphere of some administrative offices. It was either that or four kids and their daddy out there, who threatens to take your precious money, wouldn't have a mom and a wife anymore. So maybe you don't get that concept anymore, but there're more important things than litigates and paperwork."
Cuddy puffed, visibly hurt, but she straightened up, refusing to let go. She was right! And damn House, she'd put her job on the line, for him! Because she trusted him. What a delusional, stupid, gambling move! she thought bitterly
"I am your boss, House, like it or not. I have responsibilities. I make decisions and they may not sound exciting for you, but they keep this hospital running-"
"Oh, come on! This conversation is so six months ago!"
"What does that even mean?"
"It means-" House clenched his jaw and Cuddy saw his cheek muscles contracting in anger. "It means your little authority complex is getting old… and I'm sometimes wondering which part of this 'I'm your boss' thing is purely designed to get you off and make you feel worthy here, or which part you think does actually make sense, because let me tell you something: It doesn't! You're just playing the headmistress, brandishing the whip, threatening to punish the bad, bad student, but you know what? I'm tired of that sick game of yours!"
Cuddy felt as if an arrow had pierced through her chest, and she shriveled up imperceptibly.
"Fuck you, House!" she hissed. "Yeah, you're right, this conversation is getting old. But it's not six months old, this conversation is ten years old, because I've been hearing that same crap over and over again since the moment I hired you-"
"And here we go again with the 'I saved your ass' spiel… God, you really sound like a broken record, you-"
"Get out," she said dryly.
"Excuse me?"
"I said get out! Go to hell, House. I'm done listening to you. I don't want to see your smug face anymore. You don't get to tell me whether what I'm doing makes sense or not. You don't have the right to judge me! You don't even know what I do or why I do it-"
A lump got caught in her throat and her voice derailed slightly. She swallowed and held her chin up.
"Just GET OUT!"
Her hands were shaking, and her heart was racing in her chest, but she stood in front of him, unwavering, sustaining his hostile glare with an impressive fierce. House studied her for long seconds that seemed endless, his lips set in anger, and then he whisked around and strode to the door.
"I have no intention to stay anyway," he barked, without turning to look at her. "I have better things to do than be here and waste my time talking about your administrative crap!"
Cuddy watched his back as he left. When House slammed the door of her office on his way out, it made the walls vibrate a little and it sent a cold shiver down her spine.
She stood up a little longer, quivering in shock, and then she collapsed into her chair.
(...)
A/N
It may sound absurd to say that, but the truth is I think about you a lot when I write. I think about the way you'll react. I wonder if you'll like a plot I'm preparing, if you'll be shocked, pleased, excited, disappointed, if you'll go 'meh.' I wonder if I'm boring you, if I meet your expectations… Well, eventually, I still write the story the way I want it, but in short, you're a big part of the reason I still try to find time to write, in spite of how busy I am and how crazy my schedule is…
So, thank you, very sincerely, to all of you who leave me a comment, a review, or send me a private message. Thank you for your encouragements, your support and the enthusiasm with which you read this story.
Thank you, also, to all of you who keep adding this story into their list of favorites, or me, as an author. This is extremely flattering.
Happy Holiday ~ maya