Chapter 16 – New York I
The late afternoon sun cast a golden glow as House and Cuddy merged onto US Route 1, heading north toward New York City. Snow still clung stubbornly to the roadside, remnants of the week's earlier storm. House was at the wheel, a rare occurrence since they were in Cuddy's SUV—a sleek, black vehicle that was a far cry from his usual modes of transportation.
Cuddy leaned back in her seat, a contented smile on her lips. It had been far too long since they'd had a weekend to themselves—over a year, ever since Paige had been born. Life had become a whirlwind of diapers, tantrums, and late-night feedings, making moments like this all the more precious. She flicked through the radio stations until she found one she liked, settling on classic rock. The familiar strains of "Gimme Shelter" by The Rolling Stones filled the car, setting a laid-back tone for their drive.
"This feels… weirdly good," Cuddy mused, her voice carrying a hint of disbelief. "Just us, on the road, no kids screaming in the backseat. It's been ages."
House kept his eyes on the road, his fingers tapping the steering wheel in time with the music. "Yeah, well, don't get too used to it. Those little rugrats have a way of crashing even the best-laid plans."
Cuddy laughed softly, the sound full of warmth. "Maybe next time, we could bring them along. The girls would love New York, even if we'd have to pry Rachel away from every toy store in Manhattan."
House smirked, shooting her a quick glance. "You want to turn a romantic getaway into a family field trip? I must've married you for your masochistic tendencies."
Cuddy rolled her eyes but couldn't help grinning. "This weekend is just for us, though. No kids, no work—just us."
House nodded, a rare softness in his expression. He'd put a lot of thought into this weekend, planning it as a surprise to celebrate their first year of marriage. It hadn't been an easy year, but it had been theirs, and that meant something.
After a few minutes of comfortable silence, Cuddy turned to him, her expression shifting to something more thoughtful. "I got a letter the other day," she began. "From Michigan. The alumni association."
House raised an eyebrow, his interest piqued. "Let me guess—they want more money? I'm not pawning my guitar for another one of your noble causes."
Cuddy chuckled. "No, not this time. It's a reunion. They're planning one in Ann Arbor next month, for my class. Can you believe it's been twenty years since I graduated?"
"Time flies when you're avoiding responsibility," House muttered, though there was a hint of fondness in his tone. He had his own ties to Michigan, after all. Ann Arbor wasn't just her old stomping ground—it was his too.
"I was thinking of going," Cuddy continued, watching his reaction closely. "It might be nice to see some old friends, walk around campus… maybe reminisce a little. And I want you to come with me."
House sighed, already sensing where this was headed. "You want me to play nice with a bunch of doctors who'll spend the whole weekend pretending they've actually done something interesting with their lives?"
Cuddy smiled, knowing how much he enjoyed being contrary. "Come on, House. You know you'd have a blast—bashing the 'sellouts' and bragging about how you're the only one who stuck to the Hippocratic Oath. Plus, you'd get to show off how well you've aged compared to those jocks who peaked in college."
"I peaked in college too, just not only there" House chuckled, the thought clearly amusing him. "Reunion ego trips aren't really my thing. But… it's Ann Arbor. I've got some old grudges to nurse, and there's that one pizza place I can't get out of my head. Maybe we can check if that bar is still standing, the one we used to sneak into."
Cuddy's face lit up, and she reached over to squeeze his hand. "So you'll come?"
House shrugged, trying to downplay his agreement. "Sure, why not? Could be fun to see how many of those self-important, self-proclaimed 'next great neurosurgeons' ended up in dermatology. Plus, it's always a good time watching you try to dodge awkward conversations with old flames."
Cuddy laughed, her hand lingering on his. "I'm sure there'll be plenty of those. But seriously, it means a lot to me that you'll come with me."
House smirked, squeezing her hand back. "I'm only going to keep you from getting stuck in some boring panel discussion. And maybe for the chance to prove that I was always the best one."
"Always the modest one too," Cuddy teased, but her smile was genuine. "Thank you, House."
As they continued down the highway, the miles slipping by, Cuddy felt a sense of peace wash over her. The road ahead promised a weekend of relaxation and reconnection, and with the music playing softly in the background and House by her side, everything felt just right.
-/-
Blythe House had just finished preparing a roast chicken with baked potatoes for dinner, a meal she knew the girls would love. The aroma filled the kitchen, mingling with the sound of Rachel's laughter echoing from the living room. Hope and Rachel were playing a board game with their grandfather, and every so often, Blythe could hear Rachel's infectious giggle ringing out, bringing a warm smile to her face.
It was a sight Blythe never grew tired of: John playing with his granddaughters, as if it were a dream she hadn't dared to hope for. The years of estrangement between John and Greg had been hard on everyone, particularly during Greg's teenage years. The relationship had deteriorated drastically when Greg was just 12 years old, after he had accused John of not being his real father. From that point on, their bond had taken a dark turn, one that Blythe had feared would never heal.
Blythe had only learned about John's harsh treatment of Greg much later, when John had finally confessed the extent of his actions. The nights Greg spent locked outside in the garden, the cold showers, the severe punishments—it had made her sick to her stomach just imagining it. But back then, times were different. Greg had just gone off to college, and Blythe herself had no education, no money, and no friends who could help her leave the situation. She knew she couldn't survive on her own without John, so she accepted the silence, telling herself that at least Greg was safe and far away. But as life often teaches, silence doesn't bury the past.
John's behavior had only begun to change after the death of a close friend, which triggered a resurgence of his own buried war trauma. Panic attacks, night terrors, and uncontrollable anxiety became a regular part of their lives, leaving John no choice but to seek therapy. Those were difficult years—medication wasn't enough, so therapy became his lifeline. Months and months of sessions finally began to bring out the side of John that Blythe had fallen in love with, the gentler, more caring side she thought the war had taken from him forever. But even as she saw him change, Blythe knew that Greg would never forgive him for the damage done.
Then Lisa entered Greg's life, followed by their daughters, and suddenly, Greg had a family of his own. It warmed Blythe's heart in a way nothing else could. It felt as if God, to whom she had prayed countless times, had answered her prayers. He had brought her son back, given him a family, and in doing so, allowed John a chance to be part of their lives. The fight alongside Greg and Lisa for custody of Rachel had brought them closer, bridging gaps that had seemed impossible to cross. Slowly, life began to take on a new shape, a better one. They had even spent Christmas together as a family, something they hadn't done in years—a Christmas full of children's laughter, in a house filled with warmth, leaving her heart full.
She returned her attention to the living room. They seemed to be playing Operation, a fitting game considering the family's ties to medicine. Blythe had everything she had ever wanted—a united family and her son back in her life, just as she had always wished
-/-
House parked the car in front of the St. Regis Hotel in New York City, a luxurious landmark that radiated old-world charm and elegance. As Cuddy stepped out of the car, she looked up at the grand façade of the hotel, her eyes widening in surprise.
"This… is incredible," she said, her voice filled with awe. "You actually picked the St. Regis?"
House smirked, clearly enjoying her reaction. "What, you thought I'd settle for anything less? What, you thought I'd take you to some rundown motel on the outskirts? Give me some credit, Cuddy."
Cuddy turned to him and kissing him softly, still slightly in disbelief. "You've really outdone yourself this time. I didn't expect… well, this."
House retrieved their bags from the car, his expression a blend of pride and casual indifference. "Figured we earned a little luxury. No diagnostics, no hospital chaos—just us, a weekend in style… and maybe the most absurdly overpriced room service we can find."
They walked into the opulent lobby, where the crystal chandeliers and rich decor immediately enveloped them in luxury. Cuddy couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement as she took in the surroundings.
"House, this place is amazing," she said, still smiling at her husband, he took her hand into his, and smile at her. "I've never been here..."
He shot her a sideways glance, a smirk tugging at his lips. "You deserve this... I mean, isn't this why we became doctors? To afford this kind of overpriced indulgence?"
After checking in, House led her to their suite. As they stepped inside, Cuddy gasped. The room was spacious and elegant, with plush furnishings, a marble bathroom, and a private terrace offering a breathtaking view of the city. A bottle of vintage champagne sat chilling in a silver bucket on the table.
Cuddy turned to him, her eyes softening. "This is… perfect. Thank you House."
House shrugged, trying to downplay the moment but unable to hide the small smile tugging at his lips. "Figured you might like it. It's been a while since we've had a weekend just for us."
Cuddy stepped closer to him, wrapping her arms around his neck. "I love it. And I love that you did this for us."
House leaned in, brushing a soft kiss across her lips. "You deserve it. We both do."
They stood there for a moment, soaking in the intimacy of the moment, before House pulled back slightly, his hand still resting on her waist. "So, I've got the evening all planned out. But first, how about we crack open that champagne and order something ridiculously decadent from room service?"
Cuddy smiled, feeling a deep warmth settle in her chest. "That sounds perfect."
House smirked, his hand moving to the champagne bottle. "Here's to a weekend of no responsibilities, no interruptions, and just the right amount of trouble."
Cuddy laughed, taking a sip of champagne before House pulled her close again. She felt his hand gently brush a stray lock of hair from her face, his lips trailing softly from her cheek to her neck. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver down her spine, and before she could resist, she found his mouth with her own. All their other plans could wait... for now, this was all that mattered.
-/-
John House was utterly amazed by the unexpected turn of events. Here he was, sitting with his wife in his son and daughter-in-law's home, surrounded by their three granddaughters. The situation was so peculiar that every now and then, he closed his eyes tightly and reopened them, just to make sure it was real.
Hope sat to his left, the eldest granddaughter, a perfect blend of her parents. She had the same sharp features Greg had as a child, the quick mind, and a clear affinity for sports, all balanced by a calm and serenity that John was sure came from her mother. Physically, she was a mix of both—Greg's blond hair (the same blond hair his son had as a child) and her mother's eyes.
Then there was Rachel, the spitting image of Greg. It was almost unbelievable that she was adopted, with eyes so identical to his son's, the same infectious laugh, the same mischievous spark.
John knew he had been the one to rob his son of a happy childhood and he regretted it deeply. He understood now that the way he had tried to raise Greg had been all wrong—painful, damaging, leaving deep scars on the boy who became Greg House. And every day, he lived with that regret.
Yet somehow, inexplicably, life had given him a second chance, even if he didn't deserve it. He was part of these three children's lives. He had three granddaughters—three joyful little girls that God had given him—and he wanted to get it right this time. He wanted to be there, to do what he hadn't done for his son. He wanted these girls to be happy, to feel loved, protected, and safe.
"I'm done," Rachel's voice pulled him back to the present. "Water, please," she asked, looking up at her grandfather. John smiled and poured more water into Rachel's sippy cup. "Thank you grandpa"
-/-
House and Cuddy left the hotel just before lunchtime. House had asked Cuddy to wear something a bit more formal, though he hadn't revealed where they were headed. Cuddy chose a knee-length black dress—simple, classic, and elegant, with a flattering fit and a generous neckline.
What truly surprised her, however, was House. He had ditched his usual casual attire for something much more refined. He wore pressed black trousers, a crisp white shirt, and a black blazer—an outfit that was a far cry from his typical day-to-day look. Seeing him dressed so sharply was a pleasant shock, and she couldn't help but smile at the sight.
"Where are we having dinner?" Cuddy asked again as they stepped out of the car, now parked in one of the city's upscale neighborhoods. House just smiled and took her hand, not offering an answer.
She glanced at him, unable to suppress the grin spreading across her face. He looked particularly sharp tonight, which only added to her curiosity. As they walked forward, her eyes widened in recognition. They were standing in front of Daniel, one of New York City's most renowned restaurants.
A waiter greeted them at the entrance. "Good evening, Dr. House. Your table is ready. This way, please."
They were seated in a cozy corner, the ambiance perfectly romantic—round tables, intimate lighting, and a soft, warm glow that made everything feel just right. Cuddy's smile was all the confirmation House needed; he'd hit the mark perfectly. This was the kind of place she loved.
House had known the owner, Daniel Boulud, for years. He'd treated Daniel's daughter for what was thought to be a fatal illness. In gratitude, Daniel had told House to visit his restaurant whenever he was in New York, no reservations needed.
As soon as Daniel was informed that Dr. House was in the restaurant, he came out of the kitchen to greet them. "Dr. House, it's a pleasure to have you here," Daniel said, his French accent thick as he addressed House, who smirked, especially noticing Cuddy's incredulous expression. "It's always a pleasure to see you and to thank you again for everything you did for my Chloé."
"Good evening, Daniel," House replied, casually. "This is my wife, Dr. Cuddy."
Daniel turned to Cuddy, smiling warmly. "Good evening, Dr. Cuddy," he said politely.
"Good evening, Daniel," she replied, smiling. "Your restaurant is beautiful."
"You are both always very welcome," Daniel said graciously. "I must get back to the kitchen, but I'll send out my best dishes!" He smiled at them both before turning to leave.
"Thank you, Daniel," House added. "My wife is vegetarian."
"Perfect," Daniel replied with a smile before heading back to the kitchen.
As they settled in, House leaned back, a faint smile on his lips. "I treated his daughter years ago. She was just a kid—blind, and no one could figure out why. By the time she came to me, she had multi-organ failure caused by a bacterial infection that wasn't showing up in any tests. I'd just finished my residency. He was always grateful and told me to stop by anytime I was in New York."
"I had no idea," Cuddy said, her smile widening.
Dinner was perfect. The conversation flowed easily, punctuated by laughter and stories. House found himself smiling for no particular reason, simply enjoying the sound of her voice, the way she moved, how effortlessly beautiful she was. She was his, entirely, and the thought of that filled him with a sense of wonder. He was a lucky bastard—someone who had messed up so many times, yet somehow ended up with her, sharing his life with her. Yes, he thought to himself, he really was a lucky bastard.