Airing It Out
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
“House, what have you done with my limo?”
Cuddy was standing on the curb in front of the hotel, her Louis Vuitton bags packed, looking exasperated.
House, for his part, was in the drop-off lane, dressed in a Hawaiian shirt and straw fedora, the top down to his rented Mustang convertible. Everything always had to be such a big production with him, Cuddy thought.
“If by ‘limo,’ you mean your ability to enjoy the touch of another man, then I apologize,” he said. “Otherwise, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Cuddy wasn’t convinced.
“So you didn’t cancel my limo so that you could swoop in and oh so heroically offer me a ride back to Princeton?”
“Cuddy, why on earth would I want to be in a car with someone who hates my guts?”
“House, I don’t. . .” she stopped herself. “Forget it. I’m sure it’ll show up eventually. Otherwise, I’ll just get a cab to the airport.”
“I can at least give you a ride to the airport,” House said. “It’s 15 minutes away. Not exactly hero stuff.”
Cuddy considered the offer and thought better of it.
“No, I’m good. You should get going if you have any chance of being back at the hospital Tuesday.” She peered skeptically at the car: “Remind me again why you decided to drive?”
House looked at her like she had two heads.
“You’re asking me why I chose to drive this?” he said, gesturing like a spokesmodel. “I mean, I know how much you love an airborne virus-slash-conversion disorder. But I’m going to be cruising down the highway in a classic American car as you scrounge for peanuts and try to sleep over the din of shrieking rug rats.”
He revved the engine, for effect. “Last chance for glory, Cuddy!”
“I appreciate your concern House,” she said, looking at her watch anxiously. “But I’m good.”
“Suit yourself,” he said, and vroomed off.
Of course, the limo didn’t show. And all the cabs in town were apparently taking the rest of the conference attendees to their destinations. She was going to miss her flight. The next flight back to Jersey wasn’t until tomorrow.
She was on hold with the limo company, ready for a fight, when the strains of John Coltrane grew louder and a car screeched to a stop.
House was back.
“You’re still here,” he said.
“You’re not on I-270,” she said.
“I stopped for lunch and just thought I’d. . .check on you,” he said.
“I missed my flight,” she said.
“Hop in,” he said, patting the seat next to him.
So she did.
“Airport or Jersey?” he said.
“Oh, screw it,” she said. “Jersey.”
In his apartment one night, on the couch, eating Chinese takeout.
“You should try to use chopsticks,” she teases. “You’re such a xenophobe.”
“In American, we’ve evolved past the prehistoric ritual of mashing two sticks together and have actual first-world utensils, forged of steel.”
“I dare you to eat this lo mein with chopsticks.”
She knows he can never resist a dare. He tries, the chopsticks criss-crossing awkwardly in his hands. The food keeps falling into his lap. They both laugh. She feeds him with her own chopsticks. A noodle hangs from his mouth.
“You got something dangling there,” she says. Eats the stray piece, kisses him. He pulls her close, kissing her, laughing. The take-out containers are pushed aside hastily, and they fall back on the couch.
“Me love you long time,” he whispers.
Except for House’s seemingly unending supply of classic blues and jazz CDs-Cuddy used to tease him that he hadn’t bought any new music since 1972-they drove mostly in silence.
The breeze from the convertible was nice. She was even able to fall asleep. At one point, as she slept, she sensed that he was looking at her.
She woke up, squinted at him through one eye. He turned back to the road hastily.
“House?” she said.
“Yes, Cuddy?”
“Do you want to talk about. . .about what happened to us?”
“No particularly,” he said, pursing his lips.
“I just. . .well, forget it.”
“You just what?” he said.
“I thought you didn’t want to talk about it,” she said.
“I didn’t. But you can’t just start a sentence and not finish it. You just what?”
“I just really regret the way things worked out between us,” she said slowly. “I feel like I misled you. And that was never my intention. The thing is, House, I misled myself.”
His fingers gripped the wheel a little tighter.
“And yet only one of us got hurt,” he said.
“Is that what you think? You think I didn’t get hurt?”
“That’s usually the way it goes, Cuddy. There’s the dumper and the dumpee. The dumpee is the one who gets hurt. It’s pretty basic math, actually.”
“House, I cried for days after we broke up. I still cry about it sometimes.”
“Poor baby,” he said sarcastically.
“I guess I deserved that,” she said.
“You should’ve just let me go when you had the chance,” he said quietly. “I told you it wasn’t going to work out. I told you you were going to dump me. And you kept telling me everything was going to be okay.”
“I thought it was, House,” she said. “The heart believes what it wants to believe.”
“No!” She was surprised by the anger in his voice. “That’s no excuse. I told you exactly what was going to happen and it did. You weren’t blindsided by this. You had all the facts but you ignored them.”
“Not everyone’s like you, House,” Cuddy said. “Not everyone is so damn logical. I wanted it to work so badly, I took a leap of faith.”
“Well, I’m sorry that I disappointed you,” he said bitterly.
She should never have started this conversation. She thought clearing the air would make her feel better. Instead, she felt worse.
“This is not about you disappointing me. This is about us not working. There’s a difference.”
“Well, at least I tried,” he said.
“What? You think I didn’t try?” she said. Now she was the one who was pissed.
“Actually Cuddy. Yeah. Name one way that you accommodated me. Name one way that you changed your behavior, even the tiniest bit, to be with me.”
“I introduced you to my child. I let you into her life!”
They were both shouting now, although their voices were somewhat muffled by the wind.
“So what? You let Lucas into her life, too.”
“That’s different, House, and you know it. You’re not exactly Father of the Year material.”
“I babysat her! I played with her! I. . .lo. . . cared about her very much.”
“She misses you, too, House,” Cuddy said.
They sat in silence, the lyrics to Muddy Waters “Sad Sad Day” hanging in the air.
Oh sad sad day
My baby, she don’t love me no more
Oh sad, sad day. .
8 pm on a Tuesday night. House stands in the doorway of her office.
“My place tonight?”
“Ugh, I can’t. Swamped. Probably won’t get out of here until 10.”
“Anything I can do?”
“Massage?” she says, tilting back in her chair and grinning.
“Your wish is my command, my lady.”
He stands over her, starts rubbing her shoulders.
“Mmmm, that feels good,” she says, leaning into his touch.
His hands begin to migrate from her shoulders to her neck and then to her breasts.
“House!”
“What?” he says, innocently.
“Remember what we talked about!”
“We can be fast,” he whines. “I’ll lock the door.”
He kisses the back of her neck. Nibbles on her ear. He knows it drives her crazy when he does that.
“Okay, make it quick,” she says, all business.
He moves surprisingly swiftly to the door, locks it. She laughs.
“Wow. I didn’t know you could move that fast!”
“I’m like one of those mothers who can lift a 4-ton Mack truck off her baby,” he says.
They start to kiss.
“Not here. Under the desk,” he says, putting a finger to his lips, a la Elmer Fudd. “We must be vewy, vewy quiet.”
They crawl under the desk.
“It’s cozy under here,” he says, wrapping his arms around her and kissing her.
She kisses him back, unclasps her own bra, and starts hiking up her skirt.
“I knew I liked this desk,” he says, wriggling out of his pants.
They don’t hear the knock at the door, or the key.
It’s Lou the maintenance man. He’s come to empty the trash under the desk.
House kind of kicks the garbage pail toward Lou. Puts a hand over Cuddy’s mouth.
Lou sees the migrated trash, sees the tangle of limbs under the desk. Gets it.
He empties the trash.
“Goodnight Dr. House. Goodnight Dr. Cuddy,” he says, reflexively.
“Goodnight, Lou,” says Cuddy, burying her face in House’s neck.
They were at Honest Al’s Lodge in Kentucky, one of House’s favorite places to stay. A flashing neon sign with a burned out bulb promised A-C-A-N-C-I-E-S.
“We need a room,” House said to the clerk.
“Two rooms,” Cuddy corrected.
“I, uh, only have one room left,” the clerk said, glancing at the computer screen. “Big Phish concert in town, all the rooms booked up.”
“Well, does the room at least have two beds?” Cuddy asked hopefully.
It was late and she was tired. Besides, House was such a creature of habit, asking him to change seedy motels would be like asking him to change his favorite brand of scotch.
The guy glanced down again.
“King sized bed. But I could give you a fold-out cot. It has a metal bar down the middle, but, you know, it’s a bed.”
“I could sleep on the cot,” said House, rubbing his leg for effect. “I’m sure I’ll be fine.”
Cuddy glared at him.
“The king works,” she said grumpily.
“Trouble in paradise?” the clerk said with a laugh.
“Don’t you know it!” said House, winking at the guy. “The little lady is just a terror if she doesn’t get to play her Keno in the afternoon.”
Cuddy elbowed him.
They took the elevator to the 3rd floor and House jumped on the bed like an 8-year-old.
“”Hello bed bugs!” he said cheerfully.
“These are the rules, House. You stay on your side of the bed and I stay on mine. No touching.”
“That goes without saying.”
“Well, I’m saying it.”
She went to the disgustingly unclean bathroom and changed into her nightgown. She wished she’d brought a pair of proper pajamas, not this flimsy cotton thing, but it was all she had.
House was already in his nighttime uniform of boxers and a t-shirt.
He looked at her, but to his credit, there was nothing overtly licentious in his stare.
“Usual sides?” he said.
She nodded.
He turned off his light. She turned off hers. There was something unnervingly familiar about the whole ritual. And yet, it couldn’t have been more strange.
“Good night,” he murmured.
“Good night,” she said to his back. “And remember, no touching.”
“Cuddy, get over yourself.”
Home late from work and House is watching Rachel. That usually means two things: The playroom will look like a tornado has blown through it and Rachel will be asleep, fully clothed, in her crib.
She opens the door to Rachel’s room and peers in. A predictable mess of coloring books, stuffed animals, and blocks on the floor. But no Rachel.
“Rachel?” she says softly. “House?”
She look in the kitchen. No one there.
She opens the door to the master bedroom. House is fast asleep on the bed. And Rachel is fast asleep on top of him-her face buried in his chest, her chubby arms wrapped around him. Her body rises and falls with the motion of his chest.
There are two empty ice cream bowls on the bed and a Dr. Seuss boo open, binder down.
The whole tableaux is so damn cute she considers taking a picture with her cell phone. Instead, she picks up Rachel gently off House. He wakes up.
“We fell asleep,” he says groggily.
“Go back to sleep, House,” Cuddy says, kissing him on the cheek. “I’m just putting Rachel to bed.”
“G’night Rachel,” he murmurs.
“G’night House,” her daughter murmurs back.
“Party foul! Party foul!” yelled House.
Cuddy woke up. It was 3 a.m. Much to her mortification, she found herself-well, there was no other way to put it-spooning House on the bed. Actually, it was more than spooning: She had her leg draped over his thigh. She was practically mounting him.
“I stayed on my side!” House said. “This is on you.”
“I’m sorry,” Cuddy said, embarrassed. She scooted to her end of the bed. “I must’ve been dreaming.”
“And I know who you were dreaming about,” he said.
“George Clooney?” she said, wrinkling her nose.
He ignored her.
“Your head says, no, but your body says, ‘Yes, please. More!’” he bragged.
“I guess. . .my body misses you,” she admitted.
He looked at her, no longer mocking.
“Your body can borrow me for the night,” he said.
She thought he might start to kiss her and she didn’t no how she would react. She doubted she would put up much resistance.
Instead, he pulled her close, wrapped her arms and legs back around him, and fell back asleep.
“You wanna drive?” he asked.
“You think?” she said.
“You’ll love it,” he said. “You haven’t had that much power under you since, well, you know when.”
She took the wheel, had to admit the Mustang was fun. In her black Jackie-O-style sunglasses, with a scarf billowing around her neck, she felt glamorous, like a movie star.
“You look hot driving that car,” he said approvingly, and they left it at that.
At a rest stop, he took back the wheel and she fell asleep all the way back to Jersey.
He dropped her off at her house, took her luggage out of the car.
“You want me to help you get into the house?” he asked.
With his leg, there was always that moment of uncertainty. Let him be the macho man, or do it herself?
“I got it,” she said, grabbing the bags. “House. . .that was strangely fun.”
“Yeah,” he smiled. “That was.”
She thought something over for a second.
“Do you think maybe. . .you might want to come over after work one night and visit Rachel?”
“A playdate?” House asked.
“Yeah, I guess so. A playdate. She misses you.”
“I could do that,” House said.
“Maybe Thursday?” she asked.
“Thursday it is.”
Wilson called him later that night.
“So . . . how was the conference?” he asked. If possible, his voice was even more chipper than usual.
“It was awesome! They had monster trucks and clown strippers!” House said. “How do you think it was? It was the seventh ring of medical hell.”
“And Cuddy? Did you guys…hang out?”
“Not much during the conference,” House said, trying to make his voice sound casual. “But believe it or not, I drove her all the way home from Topeka.”
“All the way from Topeka, huh? Wow. That must’ve been good for you guys.”
“It was okay. We talked a little. Cuddled a little. We’re not back together or anything like that.”
“Cuddled? Well, cuddling is good, right?”
“I suppose.”
“And how was the Phish concert?”
“Phish?” House paused, processing. “Wait. That was. . . you?”
“You’d be amazed how little it takes to bribe a clerk into telling his guests there’s only one room available,” Wilson said. House could practically see the self-satisfied smirk through the phone.
“And the limo?”
“Bribing limo drivers however: much less cheap.”
House shook his head, smiled.
“You dog,” he said proudly.
“I just thought you two needed some alone time.”
“You know, this all could’ve seriously backfired on you, Wilson.”
“That was a risk I was willing to take,” said Wilson.
“I’m glad you were willing to risk my happiness so you could play cupid.”
“What can I say, House? I’ve learned from the best.”