The Day After Valentine's Day
Just for fun, my third ever Huddy Valentine’s fic (Tiny Boxes and The Comfort Zone being the other two), but the first one where they’re not already in an established relationship. Please excuse the tiny bit of It’s a Wonderful Life-esque whimsy at the end. - atd
“Do you think it’s tacky to buy Amber an amber necklace?” Wilson asked, flipping through a jewelry catalogue. “She’s probably really sick of amber at this point. But this one is quite pretty, don’t you think?”
He held up the catalog for House’s approval.
“Oh no,” House groaned. He had stolen a fry off Wilson’s plate, but it remained dangling from his fingers as he stared at his friend in dismay.
“Oh no what?” Wilson said.
“Oh no, it’s February 7th. A full seven days before Valentine’s Day and you’re already insufferable. I shudder to think about what you’re going to be like on February 13th.”
“Excited.”
“Pace yourself, for everyone’s sake.”
Wilson sniffed defensively.
“This is my first Valentine’s Day with Amber and I want it to be special. I want to be a good boyfriend to her, is that so horrible?”
“Wilson, you’re a good boyfriend to women you aren’t even dating,” House cracked. “You’re probably going to buy Cuddy a necklace, too. I understand she likes those big gold chains that rappers wear.”
Wilson smirked at him.
“Naturally, you would bring up Cuddy,” he said.
House frowned and finally ate his French fry.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Meaning, I mention Valentine’s Day and your thoughts immediately drift to Dr. Cuddy.”
“She’s a woman. More or less. That we both work with. And stop deflecting. I was making a point about you, not me.”
“And yet you could’ve mentioned Cameron. Or Thirteen. Or one of the nurses.”
“Like I know their names.”
“Why don’t you just ask Cuddy to be your Valentine? Then we can both be excited on February 13th.”
“Have you been dipping into my Vicodin supply?”
“No, House. I’m not on drugs. I just feel like maybe you’d be a little less preoccupied with me and my girlfriend if you finally had one of your own.”
“You’re missing several key points here. One, I’m not you. Two, Valentine’s Day is for women-that’s why you like it so much. And three, I’m not interested in Cuddy,”
Wilson rolled his eyes a bit.
“Oh, so that’s the story you’re telling these days? It’s so hard to keep up.”
“Not a story,” House said, and if to punish him for even intimating such a thing, he snatched half of Wilson’s turkey club sandwich off his plate and shoved it in his mouth.
To retaliate, Wilson grabbed House’s burger.
“I always spit on my food before lunch to safeguard it from theft,” House said, just as Wilson was about to take a bite. “But knock yourself out.” Wilson thought about that for a second and then, frowning, put the burger back down on House’s plate.
“House, let’s be real,” he continued. “You’re as obsessed with Cuddy as she is with you. You know how I know this? Because I’m friends with both of you. Guess what Cuddy and I talk about when we’re together? You! Guess what you and I talk about when we’re together? Cuddy! See a pattern here? Just ask her to be your Valentine already and put us all out of our misery.”
A look flashed across House’s face like he had just had a breakthrough of sorts.
“You know what Wilson? You’re right! I’ll do it!”
“Really?”
House dropped the uneaten lettuce and tomatoes from the turkey club back on Wilson’s plate.
“No,” he said.
#######
The next day, House was in Cuddy’s office, ostensibly to discuss a case, but mostly to get his daily fix of her, when her assistant Anita walked in, looking pleased.
“This came for you,” she said, handing Cuddy a large box of chocolate in a heart-shaped box.
“What’s this?” Cuddy said.
“It’s a toaster oven,” House said, stretching out his legs and eyeing the candy.
“I know what it is,” Cuddy said. She turned to Anita. “Who’s it from?”
“I don’t know. A messenger brought it,” Anita said, beaming. “There’s a card.”
Shaking her head, like she thought the whole thing was silly, Cuddy opened the card. She read it out loud:
“Roses are red. Violets are blue. This box is considered heart-shaped. We both know that’s not true. -Signed, Your Secret Admirer.”
Then she laughed.
“A secret admirer? I feel like I’m in the 7th grade!”
“This is so exciting!” Anita said. “Who do you think it is?”
“I have no idea,” Cuddy said, dismissively. “It’s probably just a prank.”
“Probably?” House scoffed.
Cuddy stuck out her chin a bit.
“What? You think it’s impossible that I have a secret admirer?”
“Have you ever heard of Vagina Dentata?” House said.
Cuddy gave him an annoyed look.
“There’s a widely held belief you have one. No guy in this hospital is touching you with a ten foot pole-unless they have some paper they want to shred.”
Anita stared at him, shocked, but Cuddy, used to ignoring his provocations, took it in stride.
“What makes you so sure it’s someone who works in the hospital,” she mused. “Could be someone from my yoga class. Or film society. Or . . .that coffee house I go to.”
“The nudge-nudge, wink-wink ‘we know this isn’t what a heart look like’ is his way of saying he’s a doctor. Or at least a nurse. Or an orderly. I suppose one of the pimply orderlies could have a crush on you. He probably just doesn’t know that your vagina kills.”
“If he is a pimply orderly, he has great taste in chocolate,” Cuddy said, taking a luxurious bite of one of the truffles. “These are delicious.”
Then she thrust a piece of candy toward House. “Want one?”
“No,” he said, waving her hand away, annoyed. “I’m good.”
“I’ll take one!” Anita said cheerfully.
#####
“How many single doctors work at this hospital?” House asked Wilson the next day over lunch.
“So you are looking for a Valentine!” Wilson said, pleased.
“Not women. Dudes. How many single men?”
“If this is your way of coming out to me…” Wilson said in a gravely serious voice. “I approve of your lifestyle and it won’t change our friendship one bit.”
“Cuddy got a box of chocolates from some secret admirer,” House said, irritably. “Trying to figure out who it is. So how many single men?”
“I don’t know. The hospital has about 250 doctors. A little more than half are men. About half of those are unmarried-subtract 10 percent for your fellow Friends of Dorothy. . .”
“Cute Wilson.”
“. . .I’d say 60?”
“Have you noticed any of them checking her out? Ogling her ass? Looking down her shirt? That sort of thing.”
“When it comes to ogling Cuddy’s ass and looking down her shirt, everyone else in this hospital is strictly amateur.”
House frowned.
“Just keep your eyes open,” he said.
#######
Then next day, House came limping into Cuddy’s office and stopped dead in his tracks.
“What the hell is that?” he said, gesturing toward a large and expensive bouquet of flowers on her desk.
“It’s a toaster,” she said.
“Same guy?” House said, grabbing the note off the flowers before Cuddy could protest.
He read it out loud:
“And now there are two beautiful things in your office.-Yours, SA.”
“For Secret Admirer,” Cuddy said, smiling.
“Yeah, I got that,” House said. “This is beginning to get creepy. Have you considered hiring a bodyguard?”
“Oh, so now you think this might be real?”
“Notice how he types all his notes,” House said. “So we can’t suss him out through his handwriting.”
“I just don’t understand why all the secrecy.”
“He’s probably shy on account of being so ugly.”
“Like I care about things like that,” Cuddy said.
House shot her a look.
“You wouldn’t date an ugly guy if you were stranded on a desert island with just him and he was a ship builder.”
“Not true! I’m not shallow like that.”
“Uh huh,” House said, smirking at her. “Then let’s rephrase that. Have you ever dated an ugly guy?”
Cuddy gave a sly smile.
“There was this one regrettable incident back at Michigan. . .”
House raised his eyebrows.
“As I said, you’ve only been intimate with devastatingly handsome men.”
She laughed.
“Okay, most of the men I’ve dated have been handsome. But that doesn’t mean I would never. . .”
“I rest my case,” he said. “We have to figure out the ugliest male employee of the hospital and that’s our guy.”
“Our guy?” Cuddy said, teasingly.
“Our guy. Your guy. The guy you’re going to have fire eventually when candy and flowers makes way for dead cats and still-beating cow hearts on your doorstep.”
“Jealous much?” Cuddy said, and she took a big happy whiff of her flowers.
#####
“I checked the address on those flowers,” House said, looking at a map. “Trenton. There are three flower places between here and Trenton and another flower shop north of Trenton, so the guy must live in this general area.” He drew a big circle over an area of the map.
“Or maybe it’s just his favorite flower shop,” Wilson offered.
“No guy has a favorite flower shop,” House said. He furrowed his brow. “What about Bates, in radiology? He’s about 40, just smug enough to think Cuddy might like him. . .”
“He’s seriously dating Nurse Gwen. Everyone knows that.”
“Huh,” House said, scanning his memory.
“What about Dr. Singh in obstetrics?”
“He’s gay!”
“Dr. Feldman in pulminology?”
“He’s married!”
House scowled at him.
“Wilson, you’re so naïve.”
“And you’re not obsessed with Cuddy at all, huh?” Wilson said, smirking.
“I happen to like a puzzle,” House said.
######
House was on his computer, feverishly searching the hospital database for single doctors who lived near Trenton, when Wilson walked in.
“We’re at Code Red,” House said. “Our little member of Assholes Anonymous has upped his game. He gave her a prescription bottle with a necklace in it and a label it read. . .”
“Playing it safe is a prescription for loneliness,” Wilson recited. “Take a chance and meet me at the bar at Fletcher’s, 8 p.m. on Valentine’s Day. Wear red.”
He grinned, proudly.
“How did you know that. . .” House said. Then he furrowed his brows. “Wait. . . it was you?”
“But of course,” Wilson said, with a tiny bow. Then he added, defensively: “And, by the way, a guy can have a favorite flower shop.”
“I don’t understand,” House said. “You’re blissfully in love with Amber.”
“And you’re madly in love with Cuddy.”
“You’re right Wilson. You sending Cuddy a bunch of romantic gifts absolutely proves that I’m in love with Cuddy. Your logic is unassailable, Spock.”
Wilson chuckled.
“Let’s face it, House. You’ve been obsessed with Cuddy’s ‘SA’”-he raised his eyebrows at the sound of the acronym-“since you first found out about him. You looked up the address of the flower shop. You grilled me about every unmarried doctor in the hospital. You triangulated a map!” He peered in the direction of House’s computer screen. “You’re probably looking at the hospital directory right now to home in on the doctor in question.”
“I am not,” House said, shutting his laptop hastily.
“You don’t want her to date anyone else but you.”
“What part of: I like a puzzle didn’t you understand?”
“Nice try, House. You like medical puzzles. You like personal puzzles when they reveal something about a person’s character you might be able to use against them. What reason did you have to figure who Cuddy’s secret admirer was other than: You want her for yourself.”
“You’re delusional, Wilson.”
“Good comeback, House.”
“So you went through all this trouble just to prove to me that I’m in love with Cuddy?”
“Yes,” Wilson said, beaming. “It cost me an arm and a leg, too, but it was worth it. Also, once you and Cuddy are married with babies, I expect a full refund.”
“All I can say is, Cuddy’s going to be awfully disappointed tomorrow night when, instead of some dashing secret admirer, you show up.”
Wilson’s mouth dropped open.
“I’m not showing up. I have a hot date with Amber tomorrow night.”
“I don’t think Cuddy’s into threesomes,” House said.
“Amber isn’t showing up either. You are.”
“Me?”
“Yes. It’s all set up. Fletcher’s. 8 o clock. She’ll even be wearing your favorite color.”
“There’s only one problem.”
“Oh yeah, what’s that?”
“I’m not going.”
“Bullshit.”
“Why would I go?”
“Because she’ll be waiting for you.”
“No, she’ll be waiting for you. Or, for some fictitious character that you created, to be more precise.”
“You wouldn’t leave Cuddy alone on Valentine’s Day.”
“Actually, I would,” House said. “You wouldn’t.”
“I have reservations at Chez Jacques. They’re set in stone. You have a night of watching TV and scratching yourself planned.”
“They say you should always spend Valentine’s Day with the one you love.”
Wilson narrowed his eyes.
“No shot you’re letting Cuddy sit at the bar at Fletcher’s all alone,” he said.
“Try me,” House replied.
######
At 8 o clock the next night-Valentine’s Day-House nuked a bag of microwave popcorn, poured a glass of scotch, and sat down in front of the TV to watch The Real Housewives of New Jersey. Usually the too-tight dresses, bake-and-fake tans, and cat fights were enough to keep him endlessly entertained, but tonight his mind kept drifting-to Cuddy.
Which red dress was she wearing? The wrap dress she had worn to the trustee’s dinner? The low-cut number she had worn to the hospital holiday party? That one form-fitting red dress she sometimes wore to work-with an annoying blazer over it. (“It’s hot in here, isn’t it?” House had said the last time she wore it, taking off his own blazer. Disappointingly, she hadn’t followed his lead.)
How long would she wait? How upset would she be? Would-and this new thought filled him with a kind of inchoate dread-some other guy hit on her?
He looked at his watch. 8:15. If he sped, on his motorcycle, he could be at Fletcher’s by 8:40.
#####
She was in a red dress he had never seen before-bought specifically for the occasion?-that managed to combine all the best qualities of her other ones-sultry, sexy, but not too revealing. She had a half drained martini in front of her and it was obvious, from her posture-a bit slumped, slightly loose-limbed-that it wasn’t her first.
When she saw House, she rolled her eyes a bit.
“Of course,” she said wearily. “My night is complete.”
“Dr. Love didn’t show?” House said, slipping into the bar stool next to her.
“What are you even doing here? Must you be present for all my life’s humiliating moments?”
“I was. . .curious,” House said.
“Naturally.”
“Maybe he’s just late,” House offered, feeling like a jerk.
“He’s not late. He’s not coming. You were right. It was a prank. Why it was a prank I have no idea. Why would someone be so cruel?”
“Look on the bright side,” House said. “If it was a prank, the joke’s on him. You got a box of chocolates, a bouquet of flowers, and a nice necklace out of the deal.”
She was wearing the necklace, which was silver and had a little abstract heart on it. She yanked it off her neck so roughly, the clasp broke.
“Here,” she said, dropping it into his hand. “It’s all yours.”
“I’m sorry it didn’t work out,” he said.
She looked at him, somewhat heavy lidded from the alcohol.
“The fact that you’re being nice to me is actually making it worse.”
“Why?”
“Because how truly pathetic does a person have to be to get Gregory House to feel sorry for them?”
“You’re not pathetic,” he said, looking at her. “You’re. . .beautiful.”
“Ha!” she snorted. Then, as if to emphasize the point, she repeated it more loudly: “Ha!”
“Look,” House said, not quite able to make eye contact. “You’re here. I’m here. Why don’t we just stay. . .for dinner?”
She gave him a slightly lopsided smile and kissed him on the cheek.
“You’re cute,” she said, grabbing her coat. “Thanks for not making fun of me. I owe you one.”
And she started to leave.
He popped up horrified. “At least let me drive you home,” he said.
“I’ll take a cab,” she said.
House watched her walk away, then he groaned.
“What just happened there?” the bartender said, with a sympathetic chuckle.
“I . . . have no idea. . .” House said.
“Are you the guy she was waiting for?”
“Get real,” House said. “Would a woman like that ever wait around for a guy like me?”
#######
“So tell me everything,” Wilson said cheerfully the next morning, settling into the chair across from Cuddy’s desk.
“It was a complete and utter disaster,” Cuddy said, gloomily. “He didn’t show.”
Wilson, who had clasped his hands behind his head and was leaning back, ready for a long, happy story about the fruits of his matchmaking, now popped up.
“Wait,” he said, startled. “He didn’t show up at all?”
“Nope. Not at all.”
“Nobody showed up?”
“Nobody showed up. There is no Secret Admirer. And then, to add insult to injury, you’ll never guess who decided to have a Valentine’s night drink at Fletcher’s…”
“House?” Wilson said.
“Bingo.”
“So he did show up,” Wilson said, almost to himself.
“I just told you-he didn’t.”
“No,” Wilson said, looking at her. “I meant House.”
“Yes, to humiliate me,” Cuddy said. “Although I didn’t need any help.”
Wilson exhaled loudly.
“Cuddy, there’s something I have to tell you.”
“What? That you’re my secret admirer?” she said, ironically.
“Yes,” Wilson said.
She did a doubletake.
“What?”
“Not because I actually have a crush on you,” he said. Then he added, quickly: “I mean, I think you’re a beautiful woman, of course. I’ve always held a tiny torch for you-who wouldn’t? There was that one time you took me to dinner and I thought maybe it was the start of something. . .But I’m, uh, very happy with Amber.”
Cuddy folded her arms.
“Keep talking,” she said, annoyed.
“I was trying to prove a point to House,” Wilson admitted.
“What point?”
“That he’s in love with you.”
“You tried to prove that House was in love with me by sending me anonymous gifts and standing me up on Valentine’s Day?” Cuddy said.
Wilson laughed.
“You sound like him. Look, I know it sounds far-fetched, but it all went according to plan,” he explained. “I was trying to make House jealous. And he was, insanely so. He was completely obsessed with your SA. It was all he talked about. He was like a bloodhound following a scent.”
“I still don’t see how. . .”
“Two days ago, I told him the truth. And I told him you’d be waiting for him at Fletcher’s. Well, not him, exactly. But a man. And I knew that if House showed up, said he was your Secret Admirer, you’d be thrilled. Because, let’s face it Cuddy, he’s not the only one who’s secretly in love around here.”
Cuddy felt her face grow hot.
“Well, your plan backfired,” she said, flustered. “He wasn’t there for a date. He was there to . . .well. . .to. . . ”
Wilson raised his eyebrows.
“To what?”
Cuddy fumbled for an answer.
“He said he was curious.”
“But he knew no one was coming,” Wilson pointed out. “He had nothing to be curious about.”
“Okay, then he couldn’t stand the thought of me sitting there all alone. It wasn’t a date. It was charity.”
“Even if that’s true, doesn’t that say something? Gregory House did a nice, selfless thing. When have you ever known him to do something nice. For anyone?”
“Well, he was 45 minutes late,” Cuddy said.
“Rome wasn’t built in a day,” Wilson conceded. “But he came. By any chance, did he ask you to stay for dinner?”
“Yes, but only because he felt sorry for me. . .” Cuddy said.
“Oh yeah. House does all sorts of things he doesn’t want to do out of the goodness of his heart,” Wilson said. Then he smiled, leaned back again onto his clasped hands. “Face it, Cuddy. He wanted to have dinner with you. He wanted you to be his Valentine.”
#######
That night, at about 9 pm, Cuddy knocked on House’s door.
He answered it in a white tee-shirt and jeans. When he saw her, he scratched his head.
“I already gave to the hospital’s Charity Care fund,” he said, squinting at her.
“Actually, you didn’t,” she said, stepping inside.
“No. . . I didn’t. What are you doing here, Cuddy?”
“I could ask you the same thing.”
“I live here.”
“No, I mean, last night. Why did you show up at Fletcher’s?”
“I told you, I was curious.”
“You knew no one was coming,” Cuddy said.
He rubbed his chin.
“You spoke to Wilson,” he said.
“Yes.”
“Okay, I wasn’t curious,” he said. “I felt sorry for you. I didn’t want you sitting alone at a bar on Valentine’s Day.”
“You asked me to dinner,” she said.
“You looked hungry.”
“You were obsessed with my secret admirer!”
“A puzzle,” House said. “Like a spot on a scan or a pair of symptoms that don’t add up.”
“Nothing more?”
He blinked at her.
“Nothing more.”
“Okay then,” she said quietly. She nodded in a “I was foolish to come here” sort of way. “Okay then . . .Goodnight.”
She started to walk away but before she could go, he grabbed her tightly by the arm.
“Wait,” he said.
She turned.
“What?” she said.
And he lunged for her and kissed her. She kissed back for a moment, unable to resist the urgency of his desire, then pulled away. He had caught her off guard. She felt dizzy from the kiss, unmoored.
“What was that for?” she said, sharply.
“I don’t want you to go,” he said.
“Why?”
“Because I lied,” he said.
“About what?”
“About everything.”
She looked at him. They were both still slightly out of breath from the unexpected kiss. Her lips were still bee-stung, moist with his saliva.
“Go on,” she said.
“I was crazy with jealousy. I don’t want you to be with a secret admirer. Or anyone else. I . . . want you to be with me.” He took another step toward her. “Because Wilson’s right. I’m in love with you, Cuddy.”
She gave a relieved, slightly blissed out smile.
“Then we’re in big trouble,” she said.
“Why?” he said, smiling back, beginning to trace the bottom of her chin with his finger.
“Because I’m in love with you, too.”
EPILOGUE
A year later, House and Wilson stood in the hospital lobby, staring at the Mylar balloons and bouquets of roses and teddy bears sporting “I HEART YOU” tee-shirts that littered the front desk.
“Big plans for tonight?” Wilson said.
House shrugged. “Chinese carry out and an old Jerry Lewis film on TV.”
“That’s how you’re spending Valentine’s Day-not to mention your one year anniversary-with Cuddy?”
House shrugged.
“Cuddy and I don’t do Valentine’s Day,” he said. “What about you and Amber? Is all the romance gone after six months of marriage?”
“Au contraire. Reservations at Chez Jacques and a newly purchased amber necklace,” Wilson said. “A tradition.”
“Traditions are good,” House agreed.
Just then, Cuddy, clearly in a rush, breezed past them on her way to her office.
“Hi boys,” she said. She gave House a quick peck on the lips, as she skated away. “Bye boys.”
“I left something for you on your desk,” House shouted after her.
Cuddy continued walking. When she got to her desk there was, indeed, a small jewelry box. She smiled, eagerly untied the ribbon. Inside was a necklace-heart-shaped, gold, much nicer than the costume piece Wilson had bought last year.
There was also typed note:
Wear this tomorrow night at Fletcher’s with that red dress. (You know the one.)
Oh, and happy Thursday. Or, as we like to call it, the day before The Day After Valentine’s Day.
Love,
H.
THE END
“Do you think it’s tacky to buy Amber an amber necklace?” Wilson asked, flipping through a jewelry catalogue. “She’s probably really sick of amber at this point. But this one is quite pretty, don’t you think?”
He held up the catalog for House’s approval.
“Oh no,” House groaned. He had stolen a fry off Wilson’s plate, but it remained dangling from his fingers as he stared at his friend in dismay.
“Oh no what?” Wilson said.
“Oh no, it’s February 7th. A full seven days before Valentine’s Day and you’re already insufferable. I shudder to think about what you’re going to be like on February 13th.”
“Excited.”
“Pace yourself, for everyone’s sake.”
Wilson sniffed defensively.
“This is my first Valentine’s Day with Amber and I want it to be special. I want to be a good boyfriend to her, is that so horrible?”
“Wilson, you’re a good boyfriend to women you aren’t even dating,” House cracked. “You’re probably going to buy Cuddy a necklace, too. I understand she likes those big gold chains that rappers wear.”
Wilson smirked at him.
“Naturally, you would bring up Cuddy,” he said.
House frowned and finally ate his French fry.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Meaning, I mention Valentine’s Day and your thoughts immediately drift to Dr. Cuddy.”
“She’s a woman. More or less. That we both work with. And stop deflecting. I was making a point about you, not me.”
“And yet you could’ve mentioned Cameron. Or Thirteen. Or one of the nurses.”
“Like I know their names.”
“Why don’t you just ask Cuddy to be your Valentine? Then we can both be excited on February 13th.”
“Have you been dipping into my Vicodin supply?”
“No, House. I’m not on drugs. I just feel like maybe you’d be a little less preoccupied with me and my girlfriend if you finally had one of your own.”
“You’re missing several key points here. One, I’m not you. Two, Valentine’s Day is for women-that’s why you like it so much. And three, I’m not interested in Cuddy,”
Wilson rolled his eyes a bit.
“Oh, so that’s the story you’re telling these days? It’s so hard to keep up.”
“Not a story,” House said, and if to punish him for even intimating such a thing, he snatched half of Wilson’s turkey club sandwich off his plate and shoved it in his mouth.
To retaliate, Wilson grabbed House’s burger.
“I always spit on my food before lunch to safeguard it from theft,” House said, just as Wilson was about to take a bite. “But knock yourself out.” Wilson thought about that for a second and then, frowning, put the burger back down on House’s plate.
“House, let’s be real,” he continued. “You’re as obsessed with Cuddy as she is with you. You know how I know this? Because I’m friends with both of you. Guess what Cuddy and I talk about when we’re together? You! Guess what you and I talk about when we’re together? Cuddy! See a pattern here? Just ask her to be your Valentine already and put us all out of our misery.”
A look flashed across House’s face like he had just had a breakthrough of sorts.
“You know what Wilson? You’re right! I’ll do it!”
“Really?”
House dropped the uneaten lettuce and tomatoes from the turkey club back on Wilson’s plate.
“No,” he said.
#######
The next day, House was in Cuddy’s office, ostensibly to discuss a case, but mostly to get his daily fix of her, when her assistant Anita walked in, looking pleased.
“This came for you,” she said, handing Cuddy a large box of chocolate in a heart-shaped box.
“What’s this?” Cuddy said.
“It’s a toaster oven,” House said, stretching out his legs and eyeing the candy.
“I know what it is,” Cuddy said. She turned to Anita. “Who’s it from?”
“I don’t know. A messenger brought it,” Anita said, beaming. “There’s a card.”
Shaking her head, like she thought the whole thing was silly, Cuddy opened the card. She read it out loud:
“Roses are red. Violets are blue. This box is considered heart-shaped. We both know that’s not true. -Signed, Your Secret Admirer.”
Then she laughed.
“A secret admirer? I feel like I’m in the 7th grade!”
“This is so exciting!” Anita said. “Who do you think it is?”
“I have no idea,” Cuddy said, dismissively. “It’s probably just a prank.”
“Probably?” House scoffed.
Cuddy stuck out her chin a bit.
“What? You think it’s impossible that I have a secret admirer?”
“Have you ever heard of Vagina Dentata?” House said.
Cuddy gave him an annoyed look.
“There’s a widely held belief you have one. No guy in this hospital is touching you with a ten foot pole-unless they have some paper they want to shred.”
Anita stared at him, shocked, but Cuddy, used to ignoring his provocations, took it in stride.
“What makes you so sure it’s someone who works in the hospital,” she mused. “Could be someone from my yoga class. Or film society. Or . . .that coffee house I go to.”
“The nudge-nudge, wink-wink ‘we know this isn’t what a heart look like’ is his way of saying he’s a doctor. Or at least a nurse. Or an orderly. I suppose one of the pimply orderlies could have a crush on you. He probably just doesn’t know that your vagina kills.”
“If he is a pimply orderly, he has great taste in chocolate,” Cuddy said, taking a luxurious bite of one of the truffles. “These are delicious.”
Then she thrust a piece of candy toward House. “Want one?”
“No,” he said, waving her hand away, annoyed. “I’m good.”
“I’ll take one!” Anita said cheerfully.
#####
“How many single doctors work at this hospital?” House asked Wilson the next day over lunch.
“So you are looking for a Valentine!” Wilson said, pleased.
“Not women. Dudes. How many single men?”
“If this is your way of coming out to me…” Wilson said in a gravely serious voice. “I approve of your lifestyle and it won’t change our friendship one bit.”
“Cuddy got a box of chocolates from some secret admirer,” House said, irritably. “Trying to figure out who it is. So how many single men?”
“I don’t know. The hospital has about 250 doctors. A little more than half are men. About half of those are unmarried-subtract 10 percent for your fellow Friends of Dorothy. . .”
“Cute Wilson.”
“. . .I’d say 60?”
“Have you noticed any of them checking her out? Ogling her ass? Looking down her shirt? That sort of thing.”
“When it comes to ogling Cuddy’s ass and looking down her shirt, everyone else in this hospital is strictly amateur.”
House frowned.
“Just keep your eyes open,” he said.
#######
Then next day, House came limping into Cuddy’s office and stopped dead in his tracks.
“What the hell is that?” he said, gesturing toward a large and expensive bouquet of flowers on her desk.
“It’s a toaster,” she said.
“Same guy?” House said, grabbing the note off the flowers before Cuddy could protest.
He read it out loud:
“And now there are two beautiful things in your office.-Yours, SA.”
“For Secret Admirer,” Cuddy said, smiling.
“Yeah, I got that,” House said. “This is beginning to get creepy. Have you considered hiring a bodyguard?”
“Oh, so now you think this might be real?”
“Notice how he types all his notes,” House said. “So we can’t suss him out through his handwriting.”
“I just don’t understand why all the secrecy.”
“He’s probably shy on account of being so ugly.”
“Like I care about things like that,” Cuddy said.
House shot her a look.
“You wouldn’t date an ugly guy if you were stranded on a desert island with just him and he was a ship builder.”
“Not true! I’m not shallow like that.”
“Uh huh,” House said, smirking at her. “Then let’s rephrase that. Have you ever dated an ugly guy?”
Cuddy gave a sly smile.
“There was this one regrettable incident back at Michigan. . .”
House raised his eyebrows.
“As I said, you’ve only been intimate with devastatingly handsome men.”
She laughed.
“Okay, most of the men I’ve dated have been handsome. But that doesn’t mean I would never. . .”
“I rest my case,” he said. “We have to figure out the ugliest male employee of the hospital and that’s our guy.”
“Our guy?” Cuddy said, teasingly.
“Our guy. Your guy. The guy you’re going to have fire eventually when candy and flowers makes way for dead cats and still-beating cow hearts on your doorstep.”
“Jealous much?” Cuddy said, and she took a big happy whiff of her flowers.
#####
“I checked the address on those flowers,” House said, looking at a map. “Trenton. There are three flower places between here and Trenton and another flower shop north of Trenton, so the guy must live in this general area.” He drew a big circle over an area of the map.
“Or maybe it’s just his favorite flower shop,” Wilson offered.
“No guy has a favorite flower shop,” House said. He furrowed his brow. “What about Bates, in radiology? He’s about 40, just smug enough to think Cuddy might like him. . .”
“He’s seriously dating Nurse Gwen. Everyone knows that.”
“Huh,” House said, scanning his memory.
“What about Dr. Singh in obstetrics?”
“He’s gay!”
“Dr. Feldman in pulminology?”
“He’s married!”
House scowled at him.
“Wilson, you’re so naïve.”
“And you’re not obsessed with Cuddy at all, huh?” Wilson said, smirking.
“I happen to like a puzzle,” House said.
######
House was on his computer, feverishly searching the hospital database for single doctors who lived near Trenton, when Wilson walked in.
“We’re at Code Red,” House said. “Our little member of Assholes Anonymous has upped his game. He gave her a prescription bottle with a necklace in it and a label it read. . .”
“Playing it safe is a prescription for loneliness,” Wilson recited. “Take a chance and meet me at the bar at Fletcher’s, 8 p.m. on Valentine’s Day. Wear red.”
He grinned, proudly.
“How did you know that. . .” House said. Then he furrowed his brows. “Wait. . . it was you?”
“But of course,” Wilson said, with a tiny bow. Then he added, defensively: “And, by the way, a guy can have a favorite flower shop.”
“I don’t understand,” House said. “You’re blissfully in love with Amber.”
“And you’re madly in love with Cuddy.”
“You’re right Wilson. You sending Cuddy a bunch of romantic gifts absolutely proves that I’m in love with Cuddy. Your logic is unassailable, Spock.”
Wilson chuckled.
“Let’s face it, House. You’ve been obsessed with Cuddy’s ‘SA’”-he raised his eyebrows at the sound of the acronym-“since you first found out about him. You looked up the address of the flower shop. You grilled me about every unmarried doctor in the hospital. You triangulated a map!” He peered in the direction of House’s computer screen. “You’re probably looking at the hospital directory right now to home in on the doctor in question.”
“I am not,” House said, shutting his laptop hastily.
“You don’t want her to date anyone else but you.”
“What part of: I like a puzzle didn’t you understand?”
“Nice try, House. You like medical puzzles. You like personal puzzles when they reveal something about a person’s character you might be able to use against them. What reason did you have to figure who Cuddy’s secret admirer was other than: You want her for yourself.”
“You’re delusional, Wilson.”
“Good comeback, House.”
“So you went through all this trouble just to prove to me that I’m in love with Cuddy?”
“Yes,” Wilson said, beaming. “It cost me an arm and a leg, too, but it was worth it. Also, once you and Cuddy are married with babies, I expect a full refund.”
“All I can say is, Cuddy’s going to be awfully disappointed tomorrow night when, instead of some dashing secret admirer, you show up.”
Wilson’s mouth dropped open.
“I’m not showing up. I have a hot date with Amber tomorrow night.”
“I don’t think Cuddy’s into threesomes,” House said.
“Amber isn’t showing up either. You are.”
“Me?”
“Yes. It’s all set up. Fletcher’s. 8 o clock. She’ll even be wearing your favorite color.”
“There’s only one problem.”
“Oh yeah, what’s that?”
“I’m not going.”
“Bullshit.”
“Why would I go?”
“Because she’ll be waiting for you.”
“No, she’ll be waiting for you. Or, for some fictitious character that you created, to be more precise.”
“You wouldn’t leave Cuddy alone on Valentine’s Day.”
“Actually, I would,” House said. “You wouldn’t.”
“I have reservations at Chez Jacques. They’re set in stone. You have a night of watching TV and scratching yourself planned.”
“They say you should always spend Valentine’s Day with the one you love.”
Wilson narrowed his eyes.
“No shot you’re letting Cuddy sit at the bar at Fletcher’s all alone,” he said.
“Try me,” House replied.
######
At 8 o clock the next night-Valentine’s Day-House nuked a bag of microwave popcorn, poured a glass of scotch, and sat down in front of the TV to watch The Real Housewives of New Jersey. Usually the too-tight dresses, bake-and-fake tans, and cat fights were enough to keep him endlessly entertained, but tonight his mind kept drifting-to Cuddy.
Which red dress was she wearing? The wrap dress she had worn to the trustee’s dinner? The low-cut number she had worn to the hospital holiday party? That one form-fitting red dress she sometimes wore to work-with an annoying blazer over it. (“It’s hot in here, isn’t it?” House had said the last time she wore it, taking off his own blazer. Disappointingly, she hadn’t followed his lead.)
How long would she wait? How upset would she be? Would-and this new thought filled him with a kind of inchoate dread-some other guy hit on her?
He looked at his watch. 8:15. If he sped, on his motorcycle, he could be at Fletcher’s by 8:40.
#####
She was in a red dress he had never seen before-bought specifically for the occasion?-that managed to combine all the best qualities of her other ones-sultry, sexy, but not too revealing. She had a half drained martini in front of her and it was obvious, from her posture-a bit slumped, slightly loose-limbed-that it wasn’t her first.
When she saw House, she rolled her eyes a bit.
“Of course,” she said wearily. “My night is complete.”
“Dr. Love didn’t show?” House said, slipping into the bar stool next to her.
“What are you even doing here? Must you be present for all my life’s humiliating moments?”
“I was. . .curious,” House said.
“Naturally.”
“Maybe he’s just late,” House offered, feeling like a jerk.
“He’s not late. He’s not coming. You were right. It was a prank. Why it was a prank I have no idea. Why would someone be so cruel?”
“Look on the bright side,” House said. “If it was a prank, the joke’s on him. You got a box of chocolates, a bouquet of flowers, and a nice necklace out of the deal.”
She was wearing the necklace, which was silver and had a little abstract heart on it. She yanked it off her neck so roughly, the clasp broke.
“Here,” she said, dropping it into his hand. “It’s all yours.”
“I’m sorry it didn’t work out,” he said.
She looked at him, somewhat heavy lidded from the alcohol.
“The fact that you’re being nice to me is actually making it worse.”
“Why?”
“Because how truly pathetic does a person have to be to get Gregory House to feel sorry for them?”
“You’re not pathetic,” he said, looking at her. “You’re. . .beautiful.”
“Ha!” she snorted. Then, as if to emphasize the point, she repeated it more loudly: “Ha!”
“Look,” House said, not quite able to make eye contact. “You’re here. I’m here. Why don’t we just stay. . .for dinner?”
She gave him a slightly lopsided smile and kissed him on the cheek.
“You’re cute,” she said, grabbing her coat. “Thanks for not making fun of me. I owe you one.”
And she started to leave.
He popped up horrified. “At least let me drive you home,” he said.
“I’ll take a cab,” she said.
House watched her walk away, then he groaned.
“What just happened there?” the bartender said, with a sympathetic chuckle.
“I . . . have no idea. . .” House said.
“Are you the guy she was waiting for?”
“Get real,” House said. “Would a woman like that ever wait around for a guy like me?”
#######
“So tell me everything,” Wilson said cheerfully the next morning, settling into the chair across from Cuddy’s desk.
“It was a complete and utter disaster,” Cuddy said, gloomily. “He didn’t show.”
Wilson, who had clasped his hands behind his head and was leaning back, ready for a long, happy story about the fruits of his matchmaking, now popped up.
“Wait,” he said, startled. “He didn’t show up at all?”
“Nope. Not at all.”
“Nobody showed up?”
“Nobody showed up. There is no Secret Admirer. And then, to add insult to injury, you’ll never guess who decided to have a Valentine’s night drink at Fletcher’s…”
“House?” Wilson said.
“Bingo.”
“So he did show up,” Wilson said, almost to himself.
“I just told you-he didn’t.”
“No,” Wilson said, looking at her. “I meant House.”
“Yes, to humiliate me,” Cuddy said. “Although I didn’t need any help.”
Wilson exhaled loudly.
“Cuddy, there’s something I have to tell you.”
“What? That you’re my secret admirer?” she said, ironically.
“Yes,” Wilson said.
She did a doubletake.
“What?”
“Not because I actually have a crush on you,” he said. Then he added, quickly: “I mean, I think you’re a beautiful woman, of course. I’ve always held a tiny torch for you-who wouldn’t? There was that one time you took me to dinner and I thought maybe it was the start of something. . .But I’m, uh, very happy with Amber.”
Cuddy folded her arms.
“Keep talking,” she said, annoyed.
“I was trying to prove a point to House,” Wilson admitted.
“What point?”
“That he’s in love with you.”
“You tried to prove that House was in love with me by sending me anonymous gifts and standing me up on Valentine’s Day?” Cuddy said.
Wilson laughed.
“You sound like him. Look, I know it sounds far-fetched, but it all went according to plan,” he explained. “I was trying to make House jealous. And he was, insanely so. He was completely obsessed with your SA. It was all he talked about. He was like a bloodhound following a scent.”
“I still don’t see how. . .”
“Two days ago, I told him the truth. And I told him you’d be waiting for him at Fletcher’s. Well, not him, exactly. But a man. And I knew that if House showed up, said he was your Secret Admirer, you’d be thrilled. Because, let’s face it Cuddy, he’s not the only one who’s secretly in love around here.”
Cuddy felt her face grow hot.
“Well, your plan backfired,” she said, flustered. “He wasn’t there for a date. He was there to . . .well. . .to. . . ”
Wilson raised his eyebrows.
“To what?”
Cuddy fumbled for an answer.
“He said he was curious.”
“But he knew no one was coming,” Wilson pointed out. “He had nothing to be curious about.”
“Okay, then he couldn’t stand the thought of me sitting there all alone. It wasn’t a date. It was charity.”
“Even if that’s true, doesn’t that say something? Gregory House did a nice, selfless thing. When have you ever known him to do something nice. For anyone?”
“Well, he was 45 minutes late,” Cuddy said.
“Rome wasn’t built in a day,” Wilson conceded. “But he came. By any chance, did he ask you to stay for dinner?”
“Yes, but only because he felt sorry for me. . .” Cuddy said.
“Oh yeah. House does all sorts of things he doesn’t want to do out of the goodness of his heart,” Wilson said. Then he smiled, leaned back again onto his clasped hands. “Face it, Cuddy. He wanted to have dinner with you. He wanted you to be his Valentine.”
#######
That night, at about 9 pm, Cuddy knocked on House’s door.
He answered it in a white tee-shirt and jeans. When he saw her, he scratched his head.
“I already gave to the hospital’s Charity Care fund,” he said, squinting at her.
“Actually, you didn’t,” she said, stepping inside.
“No. . . I didn’t. What are you doing here, Cuddy?”
“I could ask you the same thing.”
“I live here.”
“No, I mean, last night. Why did you show up at Fletcher’s?”
“I told you, I was curious.”
“You knew no one was coming,” Cuddy said.
He rubbed his chin.
“You spoke to Wilson,” he said.
“Yes.”
“Okay, I wasn’t curious,” he said. “I felt sorry for you. I didn’t want you sitting alone at a bar on Valentine’s Day.”
“You asked me to dinner,” she said.
“You looked hungry.”
“You were obsessed with my secret admirer!”
“A puzzle,” House said. “Like a spot on a scan or a pair of symptoms that don’t add up.”
“Nothing more?”
He blinked at her.
“Nothing more.”
“Okay then,” she said quietly. She nodded in a “I was foolish to come here” sort of way. “Okay then . . .Goodnight.”
She started to walk away but before she could go, he grabbed her tightly by the arm.
“Wait,” he said.
She turned.
“What?” she said.
And he lunged for her and kissed her. She kissed back for a moment, unable to resist the urgency of his desire, then pulled away. He had caught her off guard. She felt dizzy from the kiss, unmoored.
“What was that for?” she said, sharply.
“I don’t want you to go,” he said.
“Why?”
“Because I lied,” he said.
“About what?”
“About everything.”
She looked at him. They were both still slightly out of breath from the unexpected kiss. Her lips were still bee-stung, moist with his saliva.
“Go on,” she said.
“I was crazy with jealousy. I don’t want you to be with a secret admirer. Or anyone else. I . . . want you to be with me.” He took another step toward her. “Because Wilson’s right. I’m in love with you, Cuddy.”
She gave a relieved, slightly blissed out smile.
“Then we’re in big trouble,” she said.
“Why?” he said, smiling back, beginning to trace the bottom of her chin with his finger.
“Because I’m in love with you, too.”
EPILOGUE
A year later, House and Wilson stood in the hospital lobby, staring at the Mylar balloons and bouquets of roses and teddy bears sporting “I HEART YOU” tee-shirts that littered the front desk.
“Big plans for tonight?” Wilson said.
House shrugged. “Chinese carry out and an old Jerry Lewis film on TV.”
“That’s how you’re spending Valentine’s Day-not to mention your one year anniversary-with Cuddy?”
House shrugged.
“Cuddy and I don’t do Valentine’s Day,” he said. “What about you and Amber? Is all the romance gone after six months of marriage?”
“Au contraire. Reservations at Chez Jacques and a newly purchased amber necklace,” Wilson said. “A tradition.”
“Traditions are good,” House agreed.
Just then, Cuddy, clearly in a rush, breezed past them on her way to her office.
“Hi boys,” she said. She gave House a quick peck on the lips, as she skated away. “Bye boys.”
“I left something for you on your desk,” House shouted after her.
Cuddy continued walking. When she got to her desk there was, indeed, a small jewelry box. She smiled, eagerly untied the ribbon. Inside was a necklace-heart-shaped, gold, much nicer than the costume piece Wilson had bought last year.
There was also typed note:
Wear this tomorrow night at Fletcher’s with that red dress. (You know the one.)
Oh, and happy Thursday. Or, as we like to call it, the day before The Day After Valentine’s Day.
Love,
H.
THE END