They were on different tracks at the conference—she was in an administrative track, he was in a hide-in-his-room-as-much-as-possible track—so she didn't see him until the final night.
He was in the hotel lounge, predictably enough, alone at the end of the bar, nursing a scotch.
It was surreal to see him—so totally familiar and yet so weirdly foreign. He looked good, she decided— his hair was shorter, thinning a bit in the back, and he was wearing a dark gray shirt, actually tucked into khakis. (A practice he had picked up in prison? She didn't know that House even owned a belt.)
She didn't want to sneak attack him, but couldn't figure out any other way.
So she strode right up to him.
"Come here often?" she joked.
He looked up, totally blanched.
"Cuddy," he said. His voice had a raspy quality, like he was having a hard time finding his breath.
"Hi," she said.
"Hi," he said. He kept staring at her.
"May I?" she asked, gesturing to the stool next to him.
He nodded mutely.
"I . . .I didn't know you'd be here," he said.
"Surprise," she said, ironically.
She sat down, ordered a glass of pinot grigio, finally took him in up close: He looked older, but still handsome; a few more lines in his face; a little sadder around the eyes, but then again, he'd always had sad eyes
"You look good, House. For an old man."
He chuckled.
"Not everyone can drink from the fountain of youth like you do," he said.
She smiled, flattered.
He blinked at her.
"Why do I suddenly feel like I'm 16 and I don't know how to talk to the pretty girl at the party?" he said.
"It's still just me, House," she said.
"I've been dreaming of this moment for three years," he admitted. "I knew precisely what I was going to say. It was going to be very eloquent, very persuasive, possibly profound. And now. . ."
"You can't think of any of it," she said.
He gave a kind of defeated smile.
"Exactly."
"I know the feeling."
"Can I start with that most basic of phrases? I'm sorry," he said.
"I know you are," she said.
But she couldn't bring herself to say the words: I forgive you.
"What I did that night. . .it was the biggest regret of my miserable life . . . And that's saying a hell of a lot."
"I know House."
"No, I don't think you do," he said.
She looked down. It was clear she didn't want to talk about it.
He sighed.
"How's Rachel?" he asked finally.
"She's great. Starting first grade next fall."
"Got any recent pictures?"
House was literally the last person on earth she ever expected to ask to see a picture of Rachel.
She pulled out her iPhone. Scrolled through the pictures, hastily skipping past a picture of her and Leonard on a hike and another one of Leonard and Rachel sticking out their tongues in the snow.
She landed on one of Rachel, wearing a pink helmet, on her new bicycle with the pink flames on it, looking fierce.
He looked at it for a long time. She wasn't sure, but she could've sworn his eyes welled up for a second.
"Thanks," he said, handing her back her phone.
There was another long pause.
"I think about you guys all the time," he said quietly.
She nodded.
"Me too, House."
"Really?"
"Yes, really. Of course, you moron. Of course."
"But you're . . . married. You have this great new life."
"So what? I don't have amnesia. I still remember you, us, our life together."
"The life that I fucked up," he said.
"It takes two to fuck up a relationship," she said.
House smiled sadly, raised his glass in a mock toast.
"To fucking up relationships," he said.
They clinked.
"So how's married life treating you?" he asked.
"Good," she said. "Leonard is great. He's goofy, he's cheerful, he sings in the shower. You'd positively hate him."
"Oh believe me, I already do," House said.
"Behave," she said, playfully slapping him.
He smiled, scratched his head.
"And how is Ally?" she asked.
He looked at her. "Ally? What do you know about her?"
"More than you think: She came to see me."
"What?"
His mind flashed to what he had said a few weeks ago: Ask Lisa Cuddy if I'm a monster. Jesus, she hadn't take him literally, had she?
"Yeah, she wanted to talk about you."
"Cuddy, I'm so sorry. She shouldn't have done that. I had no idea. . ."
"It was fine, House. I like her. She has spunk."
He put his head in his hands.
"Tell me a little about her," Cuddy said.
House shrugged.
"There's not much to say," he said.
But he told Cuddy about Ally: About her running away, about her history with hard drugs, how she got clean, got married and betrayed, about how she packed up her Jeep and moved to Jersey to start over.
"So she's a survivor," Cuddy said thoughtfully. "Just like you."
"I hadn't thought of it that way."
"And she adores you."
"I know," House replied.
"And what are your feelings about her?" Cuddy asked.
House looked at her: "That she's not you."
#######
Eventually, they turned to other topics: Cuddy's life at her new hospital, House's time in prison, the neverending saga of Wilson's love life.
They had three years of catching up to do, but more than that, they had a very small window of time to drink each other in, to suck as much bone from the marrow of their encounter as they could—because they both knew it was fleeting.
And perhaps this was why they didn't notice that the bar was clearing out, that it was getting very late, that chairs were being put on tables, that last call had come and gone.
"Sorry folks, I'm closing up," the bartender said.
They looked up. The bar was empty. It was 2 am.
"Shit," House said.
They reluctantly stood.
"So I guess this is . . . goodbye," House said. He looked like he was facing a death sentence.
"I suppose we could. . .go back to my room for one more drink," Cuddy offered, wrinkling her nose.
House's face lit up.
"That's a great idea."
"Just to talk, House."
"Of course. What else?"
#######
The hospital hadn't sprung for a suite, so there was, awkwardly, no place for them to sit except for the bed. They ended up leaning against the headboard, side by side.
Cuddy was telling House more about her visit from Ally.
"Ally told me she has patiently been waiting 4 months for you to commit to her," she said, chuckling. "I said, 'Honey, 4 months? Try 20 years!'"
"We did dance around each other for a long time," House said, smiling at the memory.
"Dance? It was more like a slow torturous crawl."
"A very hot slow torturous crawl."
"Yeah," she said, biting her lip. Then she added, "You know the first time I knew we were going to be together? I mean, not just flirty hostility together, but really together together? That night I lost Joy, when you came to my house and kissed me. It was so tender and passionate and . . . unexpected."
"Surprised myself, too," House said. "I was acting on pure impulse."
"It was a good impulse."
"Yeah. . .but you've got your history wrong, woman. That's not when I knew were going to be together. It was when you wanted me to sperminate you."
She shot him a look.
"What?"
"When you were going through in vitro. And you came up to my office that night. . .you were obviously going to ask for a sample—the old fashioned way, no doubt—and you chickened out."
"You're so full of yourself, House," she said, smiling because they both knew he was right.
"Hey, I call it like I see it."
"Well, what about you? You were monitoring my menstrual cycles! That was downright creepy, House."
"I can't help the fact that I'm highly observant."
She snorted.
"Ha," she said. "You borderline stalked me. Remember my blind date that you barged in on? Twice? And what about your obsession with that donor's son I danced with?"
"If I couldn't have you, I wanted to make sure nobody else could," he admitted.
She yawned, reflexively nestled her head on his shoulder.
"You could've had me. . . if you had just asked nicely."
"Asking nicely isn't one of my strongpoints," he said, putting his arm around her.
"No," she said sleepily. "But you can be very nice sometimes. Very, very . . .nice."
Her eyes began to flutter.
"If I could do it all again, I'd be so much nicer," he said, looking at her.
"Yeah," she said, shutting her eyes.
In minutes, she was asleep, breathing easily on his shoulder.
He stared at her for a long time. He wanted to stay awake—he would watch her sleep all night if he could—but he was tired, too. Eventually, despite himself, he closed his eyes and drifted off.
In the morning, they had shifted down onto the bed, both fully dressed, their arms wrapped around each other.
Cuddy woke first. She looked right at him and—on impulse—gave him a soft kiss on the mouth.
His eyes opened.
"I have to go," she whispered. "I have a 10 am flight into LaGuardia."
No, no, no, no, no, he thought.
But what he said was: "I'll get out of your hair." And popped up.
"It was nice to . . . reminisce," she said, starting to hastily throw things into her luggage. She was already late.
"Yeah," he replied.
"Let's. . .try to stay in better touch," she said.
"Definitely," he said, but they both knew that they wouldn't.
He made his way to the door.
"House?"
"Yeah Cuddy?"
"I just want you to know that I . . .forgive you."
#######
Two weeks after he got home from Cleveland, House hacked into the hospital's human resources computer, got an address, and drove his bike to a house on the outskirts of town.
He stood in front of the house for a long time: It was a modest, white-shingled bungalow, with a faded lawn and a Jeep Wrangler parked out front. There were two bicycles (one adult sized, one for a kid) leaning against the garage, and two pairs of sneakers, an old beach towel, and a deflated soccer ball on the porch.
He paused at the door for a long time before he knocked.
A little boy answered. He had light brown hair that fell into his eyes and wire-rimmed glasses.
"Who are you?" the boy said.
"I'm House," House said. "Who are you?"
"I'm Isaac."
"Nice to meet you, Isaac."
"Is that your motorcycle?" Isaac said, peering onto the street.
"Yeah," House said.
The boy nodded, approvingly. Then he ran back into the house.
"Mom! There's a man with a Honda CBR 1000 here!"
Ally came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dish towel.
When she saw House, her mouth dropped open.
"Greg," she said. "What are you doing here?"
"I was in the neighborhood," House said, with a shrug. "Just thought I'd stop by."
"I'm . . .so glad you did."
She beamed at him. She was trying not to look overly excited, but failing miserably.
"I was just making lunch," she said finally. "Peanut butter and jelly. You want one?"
"Sure," House said.
"With the crusts cut off," Isaac demanded.
"I know, Isaac. With the crusts cut off," Ally said tolerantly. "Greg, you want your crusts?"
"No thanks," House said.
Ally went back to the kitchen to finish making the sandwiches.
House spied a robot looking contraption in the middle of the livingroom.
"Is that your science project?"
"Yeah," Isaac said.
House limped over to it. It was a transformer creature, a dragon/monster hybrid of some sort.
"Does it move?"
"Yeah," Isaac said. "Watch this."
He pressed a button and the creature clumsily lurched forward.
"So what powers it? An infrared diode?"
"Yeah, in the eye, see?"
"Cool," House said. "You know what would be cooler? If it shot lasers out of its mouth."
"That would be cool," Isaac agreed.
"Want me to show you how to do that?"
"You can do that?" Isaac said, his eyes widening. He pushed some hair off his forehead.
"It's not that hard really," House said.
And he and the boy knelt beside the project together.