Warning: This fic is set in my Kelpie AU. If you haven't read The Kelpie, this fic will be incomprehensible. For those of you who have read The Kelpie, but can't recall any details, I've posted a short summary below. (If you haven't read The Kelpie even the summary will be incomprehensible - trust me on this!)
Further Warning: H/Cu shippers: it's still too early for Endgame. Those two have a long way to go.
Summary: When Wilson opts not to have his cancer treated, Cuddy enlists House aka Pete's help. Pete's methods, however, are as drastic as ever and in the end everyone pays heavily.
I'm very grateful to my beta, menolly_au, who agreed to read and correct this work at short notice, and promptly worked her way through copious amounts of prose at a tremendous speed and with enormous enthusiasm. Nevertheless, the mistakes are all mine while the characters aren't. I'm aiming for weekly posts. I know that's long to wait between chapters, but both my beta and I have lives, and I haven't quite completed the story yet.
Summary of The Kelpie
The Kelpie diverges from canon at the end of S7.
House is so severely injured in the car crash that his leg has to be amputated. In the subsequent trial he is acquitted of the charge of attempted manslaughter because Wilson testifies that he tried to commit suicide, but he loses his medical licence. He is further depressed by the knowledge that Rachel is crippled as an indirect consequence of the car crash: Cuddy's house survives the crash, but collapses a few months later during a hurricane. Wanting to forget his past, he persuades Wilson and Foreman to perform an experimental brain surgery on him that wipes his memory clean. After the procedure they leave him in Britain equipped with the papers of a British citizen named Peter Barnes. Henceforth he lives an uneventful life as a jack-of-all-trades, aware that he can't be 'Pete', but with no clue as to his origins and no lead to indicate where he should search.
Three years later Cuddy runs into Pete while attending a medical conference in Bristol. Confused because he doesn't seem to know her but fascinated by the similarity to House, she seeks his proximity until she's sure who he is. Wilson, now a lonely alcoholic detoxing in Mayfield, persuades her to keep House's identity from his alter ego, but he can't stop Cuddy from repeatedly visiting Pete in England. Meanwhile Pete, realising that he has more in common with Cuddy than with his supposed countrymen, decides to go to the States to research his past. To Wilson and Cuddy's dismay he turns up in Philadelphia, where Cuddy now lives, and proceeds to turn their lives upside down. Wilson, sensing disaster, tries to persuade Cuddy to keep away from Pete, but to no avail.
Pete stalks Cuddy to a PPTH gala that Cuddy and Wilson attend, and seeing pictures of his former self, finally connects the dots. In the ensuing chaos both Wilson and Pete relapse, Wilson with a bang and Pete with a whimper. The situation is further complicated when Lucas Douglas, allegedly acting to protect Cuddy from her domestic abuser, gives the Trenton police a tip that results in Pete being arrested for scoring drugs. Between them Cuddy and Nolan bribe Pete into getting admitted to Mayfield to keep him from imprisonment. Once there, Pete explores his past by reading Nolan's old case notes and renews his friendship with Wilson. Conversely, Pete and Cuddy's relationship turns sour when he realises that he nearly killed her and maimed her daughter.
With Nolan's support, Pete manages to get acquitted of the charges against him and to resume his old identity. He has several job offers in the States, but ultimately he decides to return to England where he is offered a job as diagnostician at Guy's Hospital. The Kelpie ends with Pete inviting Rachel and Cuddy to join Wilson on a visit to London.
The Cuckoo
Christmas 2015
At first everything goes smoothly. Wilson, Cuddy and Rachel arrive ridiculously early at the airport, a good thing considering the throngs milling around trying to make a run for warmer climes. Cuddy has everything under control, from the check-in (organising special permission to take Rachel's wheelchair right up to the airplane) through jumping the queues at each of the three security checks. Nevertheless, getting Rachel and her wheelchair through security is no fun whatsoever; does security think Cuddy looks like a suicide bomber prepared to blow up her child in order to make an obscure political point?
Wilson had done a few flights with House after the infarction and had soon decided that unpleasant as road trips with House were, they were infinitely preferable to being cooped up with him in a floating cigar box that had no escape route whatsoever. Unlike House, Rachel doesn't insist on pissing off ground staff or flight attendants before they've as much as taken off, and unlike House, she doesn't need to prove her independence by refusing all help – she's fine with him carrying her the last few steps on board and into her seat. But that's where positive comparisons between Rachel and House end. Rachel is as easily bored as House, but with fewer means of distraction. (He can't really suggest to Cuddy that Rachel should pop a Vicodin and then chase it down with a few shots of bourbon to keep her quiet.) The on-flight selection of children's movies is limited, and Rachel has seen them all already. She's tired and cranky, but can't find a comfortable sleeping position.
And then she needs the restroom. No problem, Wilson says, he'll carry her, and Cuddy can take over once they get there. And it is no problem – until they get there and Rachel sees the small cubicle that she and Cuddy are supposed to squeeze themselves into so that Cuddy can catheterise her.
"I can't – not in there!" she whines, refusing to enter. She'll wait till they reach London, she says. Cuddy tries to point out that they won't arrive for another eight hours, but it's no use. Rachel, who has never flown distances that take longer than two hours, can't fathom what that means and remains obdurate. So they carry her back to her seat.
"She has claustrophobia," Cuddy says. That's not really surprising, considering that she was buried under that ceiling for almost an hour before the EMT managed to get her out. "It's been a lot better lately, but I guess it isn't good enough for airplane restrooms yet." Well, that kinda sucks.
As the next hour progresses, Rachel squirms and fidgets, whines and moans, but resolutely insists that all this is in no way connected to the increasing pressure in her bladder. Finally Cuddy grabs her and drags her to the bathroom again. Rachel loses it completely in the cubicle, resulting in the disaster that Cuddy was hoping to avoid.
Luckily she has got a change of clothes in her hand luggage. The cabin crew doesn't want them to use the galley to get Rachel changed 'for hygienic reasons', but Cuddy has got them beaten in a trice, giving them her best I'm-head-administrator-so-don't-mess-with-me shpiel.
Four hours later they're headed for the bathroom again, Cuddy giving Rachel pep talks, promising rewards, etc. The people seated next to the facility give them dire looks, which Cuddy ignores. Wilson finds this somewhat harder, especially when Rachel throws a tantrum right outside the bathroom. Cuddy finally plonks her on the ground and sits down beside her.
She blows the hair out of her face, takes a deep breath and says, "The galley it is, then."
The attendant is so dumb as to start a discussion on whether the galley is an appropriate place to catheterise a paraplegic ….
When they reach Heathrow Airport, House isn't waiting for them despite his assurance that he'll pick them up, and his cell goes to voicemail at once. Cuddy suggests a cab, but Wilson, mindful of the advice in his travel guide – Don't dream of trying to drive around London in a car during rush hour! – and noting that their hotel is situated on the line which services the airport, makes a strong case for taking the Underground.
"It'll be a lot faster," he says. Since everyone is pretty much frazzled and sleep-deprived, this argument carries some weight.
"Why aren't we staying with Pete?" Rachel asks.
"His apartment in London is too small," Cuddy explains.
"He says he lives in a Cupboard Over The Stairs," Wilson says jokingly. But even if House had a place the size of Buckingham Palace, he'd probably prefer them somewhere else.
Wilson's travel guide doesn't mention that you shouldn't dream of embarking on the Underground with a wheelchair during rush hour either, and although it remarks on the 'quaint, somewhat antiquated escalators' at the Underground station near their hotel, it fails to warn about the flight of six steps between platform and escalator. Cuddy is not amused, not when they have three suitcases, a wheelchair, and a child to get up the stairs and can leave neither baggage nor child unattended. It's a bit like that brain teaser where you have to get a wolf, a goat, and a cabbage across the river in a rowing boat that'll only take one at a time, without either of the two left back on the shore being gobbled up by the other. Wilson, after juggling Rachel and one of the suitcases up the stairs, manages to keep the girl amused with the brain teaser while Cuddy lugs up the last suitcase and the wheelchair. Needless to say, Cuddy isn't particularly interested in hearing how one saves the cabbage from getting eaten by the goat.
"The wolf eats the boatman, the goat pokes a hole in the boat with its horns, the cabbage floats down the river, and I murder Pete. Problem solved!" she mutters as they ride up the escalator.
When they get to the hotel Cuddy collapses on her bed, saying she is not to be disturbed for the next twelve hours. "I hate the Underground and I never want to see the inside of an airplane again," she says.
"Me neither," Rachel concurs cheerfully. "Mom, I need the bathroom!"
Four months later
"Passengers for British Airways flight BA 0142 to London Heathrow are requested to proceed to the departure area."
Wilson stood up and picked up his cabin baggage, giving Cuddy a lopsided smile. "Well, thanks for bringing me," he said.
Cuddy rose too. "No problem," she said. "Have a good time. And … give Pete my love."
Her hesitation didn't escape Wilson's notice. "Sure you don't want to come?"
Cuddy gave a little embarrassed laugh. "Not this time. Maybe next time." At Wilson's quizzical look she added, "I can't just up and go at a moment's notice."
"I gave you six weeks' notice," Wilson pointed out. "You were there every few weeks last year."
"Are you interrogating me?" Cuddy countered.
"No, no," Wilson hastened to reassure her. "I … I don't want House to feel abandoned. It's been difficult for him, adjusting to his new – old – identity. He's taking a few days off to travel with me, but then he's hiring his new team, and I'm pretty sure he could use both our help."
Cuddy sighed, tugging at a stray lock of hair. "It's not all that easy. I can't ask Julia to take Rachel anymore, and I don't have anyone else with who I can leave her for more than a night at a time."
"I thought you and Julia were okay again?" Wilson said.
"We are," Cuddy admitted, "but we have a sort of understanding that I won't use her as a babysitter in order to keep in contact with Pete. She accepts that she can't stop me from seeing him, but she doesn't want to enable me either. My mom and I are not on speaking terms, though." She didn't seem particularly cut up about her mother's embargo.
Wilson wasn't really surprised to hear that. If anything, he'd been surprised at how quickly Cuddy's family had swung around from 'Stay out of our lives!' to 'Your well-being is our primary concern, no matter what you do.' In his own family concerns had never been voiced openly; instead they had festered forever under the surface, poisoning all interaction. Ultimately, he'd felt better avoiding his family than trying to survive hours of unspoken recriminations and diffuse resentments. But if Cuddy's administrative style was anything to go by, then she'd been brought up to deal with raised voices and tempers that flared quickly only to die down again just as rapidly.
"So bring Rachel along. There are still tons of sights to be seen in and around London," Wilson suggested.
"Bring her along? Take her out of school, drag her on a long journey that's ruinous for everyone's nerves, then try to get her in and around the sights, and all that for what? I'm fine staying here while you keep in touch and do your 'friend' thing with him."
He examined her expression as closely as politeness would allow, but she seemed to mean it. It wasn't that he blamed her for not wanting to take Rachel to England again. Enlightened though he was from the years spent trying to make House's life as normal as possible, he hadn't quite anticipated the difficulties involved in travelling with a child like Rachel.
"And you and House?" Wilson probed.
Cuddy gave him the kind of smile that acknowledged his concern, but effectively told him not to pry. "We're fine," she said. She peered deliberately at the departure screen where a green light was flashing next to the BA flight to Heathrow. "Shouldn't you be going?"
Noting the deflection, Wilson supposed he should let it rest. And he would have, if there were the slightest likelihood of House answering his questions. But there wasn't. He put a sympathetic hand on Cuddy's arm. "These things take time, Cuddy. And House has never been quick to change the status quo or adjust to new circumstances. Believing that a week's visit at Christmas would straighten things out between you was very optimistic, don't you think?"
"Wilson, you were there with me at Christmas. This has got nothing to do with 'change' or 'straightening things out'. And if he's adjusting to anything, it isn't to me."
Wilson frowned. The subtext was in some dialect that he didn't comprehend; he'd need the annotated version to understand it.
Cuddy rolled her eyes at his perplexed expression. "The Christmas do at Guy's Hospital? The psychiatrist?"
Wilson racked his memory and came up with a face and the vague memory of a name: Gail Something-or-other. Farnhill? "You mean the one who came to our table? She and House barely talked. They sniped at each other."
"Wilson, you're blind as a bat."
"Did I miss something?" Wilson said, politely incredulous.
"He was smitten," Cuddy said baldly.