Distraction: The Finale
Cuddy was home, attempting, in vain, to concentrate on the latest issue of The New Yorker as Rachel was leaping from couch to couch and sliding across the floor on pillows.
“I’m Laser Girl!” she shouted, dive-bombing off the couch, pretending to shoot lasers from her wrists.
“Careful, Rach, you’re going to hurt yourself. Again.”
Rachel giggled.
“House says I’m a like a Roller Debbie girl.”
“Roller Derby,” Cuddy corrected. Then she looked at her curiously.
“When did House tell you that?”
Rachel’s little cheeks got blotchy.
“I…don’t know,” she said, looking at her feet. She had the same sheepish look on her face she got when she snuck a cookie before dinner.
“You haven’t seen House since that day you first drew Laser Girl, right?”
Rachel blinked, looked down.
“Right,” she said. Her cheeks were now a complex shade of crimson.
“Rachel, are you lying to me?”
“Yes,” she admitted solemnly. As always, Rachel couldn’t extend a lie for any significant period of time. (Cuddy’s brilliant interrogation strategy was asking her twice.)
“When did you see him?”
“Um, I don’t know.”
“Yesterday?”
“No.”
“The day before yesterday?”
Rachel nodded.
“Did he take you someplace or did you stay here?”
“Here.”
“Where was Marina?”
“In nana’s room”-the guest room. “House said she could take a load.”
“Take a load off?”
Rachel wiped her nose with her sleeve.
“Uh huh.”
“How many times has House come over?”
Rachel held up three fingers.
“Three times? Rach, you know it’s wrong to have a strange man come into this house when I’m not home.”
“He’s not a strange man, mama, he’s House!”
Cuddy rolled her eyes, then called Marina to get some more information. House had, indeed, come over three times in the past two weeks, and stayed each time for about two hours. Marina hadn’t been concerned, because Rachel obviously knew him so well. (It also didn’t hurt that House was fluent in Spanish.)
“When are you expecting him next?” Cuddy said.
“He said he’d be back on Thursday. Please don’t be mad at me, Dr. Cuddy! He told me you said it was okay.”
“I’m afraid I’m going to have to let you go,” Cuddy said, with regret, but firmly.
“But Dr. Cuddy! I’m so sorry. He tricked me! I thought it was okay. Rachel seems to love him so much and he was so good with the bebé!”
“I’m sorry Marina. This is just…unacceptable. I’ll give you three month’s severance and references, but you simply can’t be my nanny anymore.”
Marina sniffled, but bravely didn’t cry.
“I’m very sorry that I let you down, Dr. Cuddy.”
“You can come over on Saturday and say goodbye to the kids and pick up your paycheck,” Cuddy said. Then she hung up the phone, closed her eyes, and said under her breath, “Shit.”
######
On Friday, at about 4 pm, House rang Cuddy’s doorbell. He was in a good mood, jangling his keys in his pockets with impatient anticipation.
He was surprised to see an elderly woman, dyed red hair, with a short, somewhat squat physique, answer the door.
“Oh,” he said, frowning, peering inside. “Where’s Marina?”
“She’s not here,” the woman said. “I’m Theresa. The agency sent me.”
“Oh, uh…well, crap. Marina knows me. I’m a friend of the family. Dr. House?”
“Come on in, Dr. House. I’ve been expecting you,” Theresa said.
House was so relieved, he didn’t even process the strangeness of that statement.
“Where’s Rach?” he said. Usually at this point, Rachel was already skidding across the room and into his arms, shouting, “I’m Laser Girl!”
“She’s at a playdate,” Theresa said.
“And Sam?”
“In the nursery.”
He cocked his head toward the room.
“May I?”
“Go right ahead.”
“Thanks Theresa. Why don’t you go into the guest room, take a load off? I’ve got things under control.”
He was practically whistling as he made his way to the nursery.
“Where’s my favorite little guy?” he said, opening the door.
He peered in the crib, but Sam wasn’t there. Then he looked up: Cuddy was sitting in an easy chair, Sam on her lap.
He actually jumped and let out a little yelp when he saw them.
“Jesus woman, you gave me a heart attack!” he said.
“A heart attack will be the least of your problems once I’m done with you,” she said.
“I can explain. . .” he said.
“Oh, this should be good.”
“Okay, I can’t explain. I mean, it is what you think it is. I wanted to see Sam. And Rachel.”
“So you thought breaking into my house was your best option?”
“First of all, I didn’t break in. I was let in, every time, by the very pleasant Marina.”
“Who I had to fire, by the way.”
“No you didn’t!”
“Yes I did. Of course I did.”
“If you fired her then I’m going to have to hire her. Which is awkward because I have no children at home,” he said. Then, he added, musingly: “By any chance, do you know if she can do medical massages?”
“She can’t just hand my children over to the care of a complete stranger.”
He balked a bit.
“But I’m not a complete stranger, am I? I’m Sam’s father.”
“You didn’t tell her that, did you?” Cuddy said, accusingly.
“No! Of course not. I told her I was a friend of the family. I tricked her. I acted like you and I were chatting on the phone. I’d relay messages from you, like, ‘Cuddy said not to give Rachel too many sweets’ or ‘Cuddy said to tell you she’s going to be home late’-which was always a safe bet, by the way. You know how devious I can be. Please don’t punish Marina. Rachel adores her.”
“I’ll think about it,” Cuddy said. Being able to outwit House wasn’t one of the requirements of the job, after all. “That still doesn’t let you off the hook.”
“I got sick of waiting for you to call and tell me I could see Sam again. So I took matters into my own hands.”
“If you think this is the way to re-establish trust, show me that you’ve grown or changed in any tangible way, you are sorely mistaken. But then again, you didn’t think you’d get caught, did you?”
“I thought-I hoped-that you would come to your senses and let me see my boy and I wouldn’t need to sneak around any more.”
“I’m so angry at you right now, I could scream.”
“You kind of have been yelling. You’re upsetting Sam. He looks colicky.”
“Get out, House.”
“C’mon, Cuddy. Let’s talk about this.”
“There’s nothing to talk about. You screwed up-again.”
“Please, don’t do this. I’m sorry, okay? I made a mistake.” The tiniest hint of desperation had crept into his voice.
“Go!”
“Okay, I’ll go. But put yourself in my shoes. He’s my son, Cuddy. My son.”
She glared at him.
Realizing he was making no headway, his shoulders slumped. He walked over to where Cuddy was sitting, leaned down, and kissed Sam on the top of his head.
“I’ll let myself out,” he muttered.
######
After he left, Cuddy called Marina and told her that she could have her job back.
This time, Marina did cry, gulping her gratitude through loud tears.
“Thank you, Dr. Cuddy. I promise I’ll never do anything like this again.”
“I know you won’t Marina. I’ll see you on Monday.”
The next day, she had lunch with Wilson.
“You’re not going to believe what House has been doing,” she said.
“Breaking into your house so he can visit with Sam?” Wilson offered, wincing a bit.
“You knew?”
“Of course I knew. House needs to talk to someone.”
“And you . . .encouraged this behavior?”
Wilson gave a half-shrug, took a bit of his roast beef sandwich.
“Not encourage. But I didn’t exactly discourage it either. I understand where he’s coming from.”
“He’s just doing the same thing he always does. Taking what he wants, when he wants it. Tricking people. Lying to get his way. He’s reckless.”
“He wants to see his son,” Wilson said.
“Keep your voice down,” Cuddy hissed, looking around.
“He want to see Sam,” Wilson said, more quietly this time.
“He has two more months of rehab, right? I told him that we would set up a visitation schedule then.”
“So he’s supposed to wait until Sam is, what, six months old before he has any sort of relationship with him? That’s patently unfair.”
“He’s lucky I’m giving him any access to Sam at all. Do you realize how easy it would be for me to get sole custody? House is an addict with a history of violence.”
“I know you don’t see him that way,” Wilson said, gently. Cuddy ran her fork through her salad, but said nothing.
“Remember when you told me that House was only pretending to care about Sam to get back in your . . . good graces?” Wilson said, diplomatically.
Cuddy nodded.
“You know that’s not true, right?”
“I suppose.”
“How is sneaking into your house when you’re at work a strategy for getting on your good side?”
She shrugged.
“Okay, fair enough.”
“House told me he knows he blew it with you. That you’re never going to be able to love him again. He accepts the consequences of his behavior. But he wants to see his boy.”
Cuddy took a piece of tuna, speared it in half. Then quartered it. Finally, she took a tiny bite, but it tasted metallic in her mouth.
“How’s he doing with the rehab?” she said, finally.
“He’s doing great. Ten months drug free. He told me it feels different this time, because he’s doing it for Sam.”
Cuddy nodded, put her fingers to her brow.
“Imagine Cuddy,” Wilson started. “Imagine if someone was trying to keep Sam from you. You’d move mountains to see him wouldn’t you?”
“Planets,” Cuddy admitted.
“Well, it’s the same for House.”
######
That night she called House at home.
“Am I fired?” he asked, when he picked up.
“No, I’m calling to…apologize,” she said.
“Apologize?”
“It was wrong of me to keep Sam from you. I shouldn’t have. I’m the one who drove you to your insanely reckless, irresponsible, and assholic behavior.”
“This is a strange apology,” House said.
“I think it’s time you started spending more time with your son,” she said.
She could hear a tiny intake of breath on the other end.
“Cuddy, I. . .”
“How about tomorrow? 3 pm? You can take him to the park.”
“Really?” he said, still in a state of some disbelief.
“Yes,” she said. “It’s time.”
He arrived the next day at 3 pm, on the dot.
Cuddy had already packed up Sam’s stroller, his bottle, his stuffed hedgehog (it had proven to be a favorite of his, despite her attempt to steer him toward a stuffed duck that Arlene had bought him), his sun cap, an extra blanket. The diaper bag was tucked into the bottom of the stroller-“I already changed him, but just in case”-as was a bag filled with his binky and some squeaky toys.
“That’s a lot of. . .stuff for a walk in the park,” House said, assessing his booty.
“You’ll thank me later,” she joked.
Cuddy had suggested the park because it was only a few blocks away. Also, there were lots of benches for resting. Walking long distances wasn’t one of House’s strongpoints.
She looked at him now. He looked nervous but happy, smoothing Sam’s silky blond hair, making sure he was strapped in securely, fussing needlessly with his blanket.
He turned to her.
“What if we see someone I know?” he said. “I’m not exactly known for my love of babies and puppies and rainbows.”
She had already considered that, but didn’t see any way around it.
“No one from work lives around here,” she said. “And if you do see someone, just tell them you’re babysitting for me. People know we used to be close.”
Used to be.
“Okay,” House said, nodding.
Rachel must’ve heard his voice, as she suddenly came charging out of her room.
“Pow! Pow, pow!” she said, shooting imaginary lasers from her wrists.
House clutched his chest in mock agony. “Good thing I wore my laser-proof vest,” he said. “Otherwise, I would’ve been a goner. You have excellent wrist aim.”
Rachel grinned at him.
“Where’s Sammy going?” she said, noting her baby brother loaded for bear.
“House is taking him to the park,” Cuddy said.
“Can I come? Can I come?” Rachel began jumping up and down excitedly.
But before House could answer, Cuddy stepped in: “House promised to take Sam so I could spend some alone time with you!” she said brightly. “Doesn’t that sound like fun?”
“Yeah,” Rachel said, but she shot a somewhat longing look in House’s direction.
Then Cuddy turned to House. “5:30 okay?”
“It’s great,” he said.
He suddenly looked a little nervous.
“I guess we’re. . .off,” he said.
On instinct, Cuddy gave him a reassuring pat on the back.
“You’ll do great,” she said. And she and Rachel waved as House and Sam made their way cautiously down the driveway.
Cuddy gulped, ever so slightly.
Technically, House was a flight risk. He could kidnap Sam, take him away from her, never looking back. She had tried to keep Sam from him once. Who’s to say she wouldn’t do it again? He might believe that his back was against a wall. But she had to have faith in him. She had no choice-she had to believe. He wouldn’t do that to her.
She bent toward Rachel, “Shall we play Barbie ER?” she said.
Rachel nodded enthusiastically.
Barbie ER was a game that consisted of Barbie coming to the hospital with some ailment-almost always a “broken” something, although Rachel occasionally got confused (“you can’t have a broken kidney, Rach”)-and Rachel playing the role of check-in nurse, attending nurse, anesthesiologist, head physician, surgeon, hospital administrator, and Barbie’s best friend.
Rachel loved the game, because it was somehow what she imagined Mommy did at work (and who was Cuddy to dispel her daughter of the belief that her mommy was an all-purpose hospital super hero?). Cuddy tried to be engaged as much possible while she played with her (“Tell Barbie to count backwards from 10 so we can be sure the anesthesia is working”), but she was distracted, worried about House.
He’ll come back, she kept telling herself. He’s the same man you used to love, the one who would never intentionally hurt you.
In order to let House fully enter Sam’s life, she had forced herself to make peace with his criminal behavior. If she believed that House was a bad man, a dangerous one, she couldn’t allow him to be near her son. But she didn’t believe that. The night of the car accident was an aberration. House was many things: Immature, selfish, rule-breaking-but intentionally hurtful wasn’t one of them.
Still, she found herself making furtive glances at the clock.
4:00. 4:17. 5:10. 5:25. And then, 5:30.
Where the fuck was he?
“What’s wrong mama?” Rachel said, noticing her mother’s pallid skin.
“Nothing sweetie,” Cuddy said, gulping. “That’s an excellent leg cast.”
At 5:39, there was a knock on the door. It was House, looking a bit flustered, with the baby, who was now asleep in the stroller.
“I know. I’m sorry. I screwed up. I lost track of time,” he said, slightly out of breath, as though being nine minutes late was grounds for immediate banishment from Sam’s life.
“You’re fine,” she said, feeling ridiculous for having been so worried. “Did you have fun?”
“We had an awesome time. Didn’t we, Sam? Didn’t we?” (Hearing House speak in goofy, singsong babytalk was always going to be jarring to her-and of course a little heartwarming, too.)
“What did you do?”
“I don’t know,” he shrugged. “We walked. We sat. We stared meaningfully at each other. We were quite a hit with the other moms, though. If I’d known what chick magnets cute babies were, I would’ve gotten one a lot sooner.”
He gave her a tentative grin and she smiled back at him, tolerantly.
“So when can I do this again?” he said.
“I don’t know. When do you want to?”
“Tomorrow?”
“How about Wednesday after work? You can . . .come for dinner.”
His eyes widened a bit.
“I’d love that,” he said.
#####
So he came for dinner on Wednesday. Mostly, he talked to Rachel. But when he and Cuddy spoke, it was strictly about Sam (“Dr. Faraday says he’s in the 80th weight percentile for his age”) or the hospital (“don’t forget to fill out that insurance claim I put on your desk.”)
On Saturday, he took Sam back to the park and the following Tuesday he came for dinner again.
That was when Rachel looked at House, who was wiping dribbled milk off Sam’s chin, and said thoughtfully, “Are you Sam’s daddy?”
House’s mouth dropped open. In a bit of a panic, he turned to Cuddy, who was regarding Rachel with a mixture of shock and admiration.
“Why would you say that, sweetie?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” Rachel said. “He acts like Sam’s daddy.”
“The thing is, Rach. . .” House started. “Some grownup things are very compli. . .”
“Yes,” Cuddy said plainly, much to House’s surprise. “House is Sam’s daddy. We were going to wait to tell you when you got older, but since you’re a very clever girl and you guessed on your own, I can tell you that it’s true.”
Rachel tried to process this news.
“Is House my daddy?” she asked.
“No sweetie,” Cuddy said gently. “He’s not your daddy.”
“But I wish I was,” House offered. Cuddy looked at him, then swallowed a bit.
“Is Uncle Wilson my daddy?”
“No, Rach. He’s not your daddy either.”
“Do I have a daddy?”
House saw Cuddy flinch the tiniest bit. She had been expecting these questions one day-just not today.
“You do Rach. You have a daddy who loved you so much he realized that he couldn’t take care of you,” she said. “So he gave you to me. And made me the happiest mommy in the whole wide world.”
“Why couldn’t my daddy take care of me?” Rachel said.
“Because he was too young. And because he knew that you and I were meant to be together.”
It was a half truth and only half the story, but Rachel bought it for now.
“I’m glad my daddy gave me to you,” she said.
“Me too, Rach. Me too.” And she squeezed Rachel’s hand.
When he left that night, House put his hand on Cuddy’s shoulder.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m. . .fine, I think.” She pressed her hand against her own chest. “My heart was pounding. Could you tell?”
He looked at her, with unmasked awe.
“You did great,” he said. “You did everything perfectly. Just like you always do.”
Her eyes became moist. “Thanks House. You did great, too.”
#######
Two weeks later, there was an emergency meeting of the board: There was a class-action lawsuit involving faulty stents, and the board was trying to figure out how to proceed: A settlement would be quiet, but costly. If they went to court they ran the risk of public backlash. The meeting would likely go late. Cuddy needed a babysitter.
She had tried all the usual suspects: Her mother, Julia, Marina, even Wilson. None were available.
She finally called House.
“I know this is incredibly last minute, but are you free tonight?”
“‘Are you free tonight?’-the most dreaded question in the English language,” House cracked. “It rarely ends with courtside tickets to a Knicks game.”
“The thing is, I need a babysit-.”
“I’ll do it,” he said, before she even finished the sentence.
He arrived an hour later, in jeans and a faded blue Oxford shirt, looking way more relaxed than he had just a few weeks earlier.
“I charge $9.50 an hour,” he cracked. “Unless you don’t have HBO. In which case, my rates double.”
She laughed.
He assessed her outfit.
“If you’re about to go on a hot date, I might consider something a little less Boardroom Cuddy and a little more Bedroom Cuddy.”
“I actually have a board meeting, so I guess I nailed it.”
“A board meeting?” he said, looking at his watch. “At this hour? If I didn’t know you better, I’d say you were overly committed to your job.”
“Ha ha. I should be home by 9. I hope,” she said.
But she wasn’t. The meeting dragged on for hours-all those blowhards, clearing their throats, making their big pronouncements, not because they had anything to contribute, just because they loved the sound of their own voices. The meeting didn’t end until 11:30-and even then, the issue wasn’t resolved. Another 7 pm meeting was hastily scheduled for tomorrow.
When Cuddy got home, the house was quiet. She peered into Rachel’s room. She was asleep in her big girl bed, wearing a mismatched pair of pajamas (striped bottoms, Hello Kitty top), curled up in a ball. Sam, however, was not in his crib. It was a testament to how far she and House had grown in terms of trust that she didn’t even panic for a second. She made her way to the guest room, where House was lying, asleep, on the bed, with Sam lying asleep across his chest, rising and falling-as though he were being gently rocked to sleep by his own father’s breath.
Cuddy watched them for a second, blinked away a tear. They were beautiful together, that much she couldn’t deny.
She lifted Sam off House’s chest-House stirred, but didn’t waken-and placed him in his crib. Then she returned to the guestroom, watched House sleep for a few minutes. She felt a pang-tenderness, longing, lust.
“House,” she whispered.
He popped up, quickly, like a soldier waking to the sound of Reveille.
“Where’s Sam?” he said anxiously.
“He’s fine, House,” she said. “I put him in his crib.”
“Oh, I . . .must’ve fallen asleep,” he said. He rubbed his eyes, sat next to her on the edge of the bed.
“How was your meeting?”
“Very productive and an excellent use of my time,” she said.
“I’m picking up on some sarcasm there,” he said.
She chuckled.
“Round two is tomorrow. You up for it?”
“I don’t think the board would want me there.”
“I meant babysitting,” she said, swatting him.
He smiled.
“Providing my leg has fully recovered from another rousing game of Laser Girl vs. Crutch Boy,” he said, rubbing his thigh. “I’d love to.”
“Sorry about that. She’s going through a bit of a daredevil phase.”
“I love it,” House said. “And just watch, Sam will be bookish and play the cello.”
She looked at him. The lights of the room were dim and they were sitting closely-always drawn to each other physically, in some subconscious way-and they were talking about their son and her daughter, whom he loved, and it all felt so intimate and inevitable and right.
“You’re good with them,” she said.
“I adore them,” he said.
“I know you do.”
House sighed.
“Remember when we had that pregnancy scare? About six months into our relationship?”
“How could I forget? I seem to recall that I blamed you, although God knows why. . .” she said.
He smiled.
“I’m sure it was my fault somehow,” he said.
She chuckled.
“I remember. . .that I was so torn,” he said reflectively. “Because I didn’t want a kid of my own. Never had. But I thought that if we had a child together, you’d never leave me. We’d be connected-for life.”
“Oh House. . .”
He swallowed a bit.
“But the truth is, I was wrong about wanting kids. The minute I saw Sam, I knew that some part of me had always wanted this. A chance to be a good a dad. A chance to love…unconditionally.”
“You’re a great father,” she said. “There was so much hope in Rachel’s voice when she asked if you were her dad. It was her secret wish. I’m sure it has been for some time.”
“I would’ve adopted her,” he said, earnestly. “If we’d had a baby before all the…well, you know. I would’ve married you and adopted Rachel. It was my secret wish-I was just afraid that I’d suck at it.”
“You don’t suck at it,” she said. “You’re great at it.”
He smiled at her sadly.
She put her head on his shoulder.
“So many regrets…” she said, quietly.
“Yeah, but all my mistakes-“
“Our mistakes,” she corrected.
“-led us to Sam. So I’d change nothing.”
She closed her eyes, breathed in his scent.
“Neither would I,” she murmured.
######
The next board meeting ended a little earlier. 10 pm. They decided to settle out of court. It would be costly, but worth it.
When Cuddy got home, House was sitting on the couch, watching some sort of ridiculous TV show where giant trucks drove over icy lakes.
He flipped it off when he saw her.
“How were the kids?” she asked.
“Adorably exhausting. Or if you prefer, exhaustingly adorable,” he said.
“So the usual?”
“Yep. And your board meeting?”
“We decided to settle.”
“I’m not a fan of settling, myself,” he said, eyeing her. “I’m more of a ‘go big or go home’ kind of guy. But I’m sure it was the right thing to do.”
He got up from the couch, stretched in a somewhat exaggerated way.
“I guess I should go,” he said.
“Why the rush? I’m going to have a drink. Care to join me?”
“I can’t. They frown on it in rehab,” he said.
She put her hand to her mouth, embarrassed.
“I’m so sorry House. I forgot.”
He shrugged.
“I’m addicted to pain pills, not alcohol, but they’re not big on making such distinctions.”
“Club soda with lime?”
“Why not?” he said, sitting back down.
She poured herself a glass of wine and made him the club soda.
She sat beside him.
“Thanks for watching them these last two nights,” she said, taking a sip.
“Any time,” he said. “Seriously.”
She rested her head against the couch.
“It’s been nice to spend so much time with you these past few weeks,” she said. “I didn’t realize how much I. . .missed it.”
He eyed her, cautiously.
“I did,” he said. “I’m acutely aware of how much I miss you every single day.”
She stroked his hand a bit, then brought it to her mouth, kissed his palm.
He continued to watch her, warily.
She put one of his fingers in her mouth, sucked it languorously.
“What are you doing?” he said.
“I don’t know,” she said. “Do you want me to stop?”
“No,” he said.
Now her mouth moved to his wrist, and began to make its way up his arm.
Then she climbed onto his lap, straddled him. They began to kiss, and he pulled her toward him, more forcefully than she might have expected, which turned her on even more. Their tongues were twirling in each other’s mouths and his hands were gripping her tightly, on her waist, her ass, and she began to unbutton his shirt, fixating, as she often did on the stretch of red skin on his clavicle-a mysterious turn on. It was only when she unsnapped his jeans-the bulge in his pants actually looked painful-that he seemed to have a sudden change of heart.
“We can’t do this,” he said, physically lifting her off his lap and placing her back on the couch beside her.
She was out of breath, on fire, turned on beyond belief. This was a completely unexpected turn of events.
“But why?” she said.
“Because we. . .can’t. Things are just starting to get good between us. Sex will screw things up. It always does.”
“I thought sex made things better,” she cracked, going for his jeans again.
He stopped her.
“Cuddy, I’m serious.”
“So am I,” she said.
He stood up from the couch.
“I don’t think you understand how hard this has been for me. It’s been torture. Everything I ever wanted right there in front of me, but completely out of my reach. It was like I was some sort of prisoner in my own life-subsisting on whatever scraps of comfort and kindness you threw at me. It was a hell of my own creation. I understand that. But it was a hell all the same.”
“You said things were getting better,” she protested. “They are getting better. It takes time. It takes trust.”
“Which is why we can’t have sex.”
“But I want you.”
“You can’t just climb on my dick anytime you get bored.”
She recoiled, hurt.
“That’s a terrible thing to say!”
He looked down.
“It’s how we made Sam, right? You needed a distraction. Do you remember what you said to me after that night? That it was a mistake. That it was never going to happen again.”
“That was like a lifetime ago. We’re raising a son together. I feel close to you. . .”
“You haven’t even told anyone that Sam is mine!” he shouted, a bit of anger creeping into his voice. “You’re ashamed of me.”
“No, House. . . it’s not like that. I was confused. It was such a strange and volatile time. Abigail’s death. The sex. Your surgery. The car crash. My pregnancy. Sam’s birth. My head was spinning. In some ways, my head still is spinning.”
“You turn on and off your feelings for me at will. But it’s different for me. I’ve never stopped loving you. Not for one second of my miserable life. And I can’t do this again. I just. . .can’t.”
He took his coat and headed to the door.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“No House,” she replied. “I’m the one who’s sorry.”
She closed her eyes tightly. When she opened them, he was gone.
########
The next day was Cuddy’s quarterly State of the Hospital Address. She touched on the usual things: the update on the class-action lawsuit, the new vending machines in the staff lounge, a prestigious award that one of the doctors had won. Then she paused for a second and looked directly at House.
“If you don’t mind, I’m going to end this address on a personal note.”
There were some murmurs in the audience. This was a total break from protocol.
“As you know, five months ago I gave birth to my son, Sam. There’s been a lot of speculation about the father. I’d like to clear that up now. Sam’s father is Dr. Gregory House.”
The murmurs now turned into something of a commotion, with most eyes shooting immediately to House, whose mouth was hanging open-he looked to be in a bit of shock. Several seats over, a male nurse rolled his eyes, reached into his wallet and handed a $100 bill to Nurse Jeffrey, who mouthed, “Told ya,” and looked smug.
“We weren’t going to share the details of Sam’s paternity, as it’s a private family matter, but the rumors were so out of control, I felt a need to share this with you,” Cuddy continued. “As for the nature of my relationship with House or the details of Sam’s custody all I can say to that is”-she looked up somewhat mischievously-“none of your damn business.”
The audience laughed.
“Thank you. And thanks again for an excellent quarter.”
She stepped off the podium.
Cuddy wanted to go to House right away, but he was mobbed by curious well-wishers, who were congratulating him and giving him good-natured shit and insisting that they’d known all along.
“I’d give you a cigar,” Taub said, “But I don’t have any. Would you settle for this pen?”
“Gregory House, a father,” Foreman said. “That’s going to take some getting used to.”
As for Chase, he merely slapped House on the arm. “You dog,” he said, with a sly smile. Then, for good measure, he slapped him again.
There was a small clatch of female doctors huddled together, and although Cuddy couldn’t totally hear them, she could tell by the somewhat critical looks they were flashing in her direction, that they disapproved. She understood. It was impossible to explain what she and House had together-she could barely explain it to herself. It was . . . love. Poets had spent lifetimes trying to nail down its elusive qualities.
Later, House made his way to her office, where she was standing by the bookcase, watering a plant.
“You told everyone,” he said, a slightly baffled smile on his face.
“As a wise man once said, Go big or go home.”
“It feels good to be out of the closet-so to speak,” he said.
“Yeah,” she said. “It does.”
He stepped up to her.
“The lengths you will go to have sex with me,” he said.
She laughed.
“What can I say, you’re a good lay,” she cracked.
He stepped closer, close enough to kiss her, which he wanted to do today and forever, but first he had to be sure.
“I want us to be a family,” he said, taking her hand. “A real family. Is that too much to ask for?”
“Of course not,” she said, looking up at him. “It’s what we already are.”
THE END
“I’m Laser Girl!” she shouted, dive-bombing off the couch, pretending to shoot lasers from her wrists.
“Careful, Rach, you’re going to hurt yourself. Again.”
Rachel giggled.
“House says I’m a like a Roller Debbie girl.”
“Roller Derby,” Cuddy corrected. Then she looked at her curiously.
“When did House tell you that?”
Rachel’s little cheeks got blotchy.
“I…don’t know,” she said, looking at her feet. She had the same sheepish look on her face she got when she snuck a cookie before dinner.
“You haven’t seen House since that day you first drew Laser Girl, right?”
Rachel blinked, looked down.
“Right,” she said. Her cheeks were now a complex shade of crimson.
“Rachel, are you lying to me?”
“Yes,” she admitted solemnly. As always, Rachel couldn’t extend a lie for any significant period of time. (Cuddy’s brilliant interrogation strategy was asking her twice.)
“When did you see him?”
“Um, I don’t know.”
“Yesterday?”
“No.”
“The day before yesterday?”
Rachel nodded.
“Did he take you someplace or did you stay here?”
“Here.”
“Where was Marina?”
“In nana’s room”-the guest room. “House said she could take a load.”
“Take a load off?”
Rachel wiped her nose with her sleeve.
“Uh huh.”
“How many times has House come over?”
Rachel held up three fingers.
“Three times? Rach, you know it’s wrong to have a strange man come into this house when I’m not home.”
“He’s not a strange man, mama, he’s House!”
Cuddy rolled her eyes, then called Marina to get some more information. House had, indeed, come over three times in the past two weeks, and stayed each time for about two hours. Marina hadn’t been concerned, because Rachel obviously knew him so well. (It also didn’t hurt that House was fluent in Spanish.)
“When are you expecting him next?” Cuddy said.
“He said he’d be back on Thursday. Please don’t be mad at me, Dr. Cuddy! He told me you said it was okay.”
“I’m afraid I’m going to have to let you go,” Cuddy said, with regret, but firmly.
“But Dr. Cuddy! I’m so sorry. He tricked me! I thought it was okay. Rachel seems to love him so much and he was so good with the bebé!”
“I’m sorry Marina. This is just…unacceptable. I’ll give you three month’s severance and references, but you simply can’t be my nanny anymore.”
Marina sniffled, but bravely didn’t cry.
“I’m very sorry that I let you down, Dr. Cuddy.”
“You can come over on Saturday and say goodbye to the kids and pick up your paycheck,” Cuddy said. Then she hung up the phone, closed her eyes, and said under her breath, “Shit.”
######
On Friday, at about 4 pm, House rang Cuddy’s doorbell. He was in a good mood, jangling his keys in his pockets with impatient anticipation.
He was surprised to see an elderly woman, dyed red hair, with a short, somewhat squat physique, answer the door.
“Oh,” he said, frowning, peering inside. “Where’s Marina?”
“She’s not here,” the woman said. “I’m Theresa. The agency sent me.”
“Oh, uh…well, crap. Marina knows me. I’m a friend of the family. Dr. House?”
“Come on in, Dr. House. I’ve been expecting you,” Theresa said.
House was so relieved, he didn’t even process the strangeness of that statement.
“Where’s Rach?” he said. Usually at this point, Rachel was already skidding across the room and into his arms, shouting, “I’m Laser Girl!”
“She’s at a playdate,” Theresa said.
“And Sam?”
“In the nursery.”
He cocked his head toward the room.
“May I?”
“Go right ahead.”
“Thanks Theresa. Why don’t you go into the guest room, take a load off? I’ve got things under control.”
He was practically whistling as he made his way to the nursery.
“Where’s my favorite little guy?” he said, opening the door.
He peered in the crib, but Sam wasn’t there. Then he looked up: Cuddy was sitting in an easy chair, Sam on her lap.
He actually jumped and let out a little yelp when he saw them.
“Jesus woman, you gave me a heart attack!” he said.
“A heart attack will be the least of your problems once I’m done with you,” she said.
“I can explain. . .” he said.
“Oh, this should be good.”
“Okay, I can’t explain. I mean, it is what you think it is. I wanted to see Sam. And Rachel.”
“So you thought breaking into my house was your best option?”
“First of all, I didn’t break in. I was let in, every time, by the very pleasant Marina.”
“Who I had to fire, by the way.”
“No you didn’t!”
“Yes I did. Of course I did.”
“If you fired her then I’m going to have to hire her. Which is awkward because I have no children at home,” he said. Then, he added, musingly: “By any chance, do you know if she can do medical massages?”
“She can’t just hand my children over to the care of a complete stranger.”
He balked a bit.
“But I’m not a complete stranger, am I? I’m Sam’s father.”
“You didn’t tell her that, did you?” Cuddy said, accusingly.
“No! Of course not. I told her I was a friend of the family. I tricked her. I acted like you and I were chatting on the phone. I’d relay messages from you, like, ‘Cuddy said not to give Rachel too many sweets’ or ‘Cuddy said to tell you she’s going to be home late’-which was always a safe bet, by the way. You know how devious I can be. Please don’t punish Marina. Rachel adores her.”
“I’ll think about it,” Cuddy said. Being able to outwit House wasn’t one of the requirements of the job, after all. “That still doesn’t let you off the hook.”
“I got sick of waiting for you to call and tell me I could see Sam again. So I took matters into my own hands.”
“If you think this is the way to re-establish trust, show me that you’ve grown or changed in any tangible way, you are sorely mistaken. But then again, you didn’t think you’d get caught, did you?”
“I thought-I hoped-that you would come to your senses and let me see my boy and I wouldn’t need to sneak around any more.”
“I’m so angry at you right now, I could scream.”
“You kind of have been yelling. You’re upsetting Sam. He looks colicky.”
“Get out, House.”
“C’mon, Cuddy. Let’s talk about this.”
“There’s nothing to talk about. You screwed up-again.”
“Please, don’t do this. I’m sorry, okay? I made a mistake.” The tiniest hint of desperation had crept into his voice.
“Go!”
“Okay, I’ll go. But put yourself in my shoes. He’s my son, Cuddy. My son.”
She glared at him.
Realizing he was making no headway, his shoulders slumped. He walked over to where Cuddy was sitting, leaned down, and kissed Sam on the top of his head.
“I’ll let myself out,” he muttered.
######
After he left, Cuddy called Marina and told her that she could have her job back.
This time, Marina did cry, gulping her gratitude through loud tears.
“Thank you, Dr. Cuddy. I promise I’ll never do anything like this again.”
“I know you won’t Marina. I’ll see you on Monday.”
The next day, she had lunch with Wilson.
“You’re not going to believe what House has been doing,” she said.
“Breaking into your house so he can visit with Sam?” Wilson offered, wincing a bit.
“You knew?”
“Of course I knew. House needs to talk to someone.”
“And you . . .encouraged this behavior?”
Wilson gave a half-shrug, took a bit of his roast beef sandwich.
“Not encourage. But I didn’t exactly discourage it either. I understand where he’s coming from.”
“He’s just doing the same thing he always does. Taking what he wants, when he wants it. Tricking people. Lying to get his way. He’s reckless.”
“He wants to see his son,” Wilson said.
“Keep your voice down,” Cuddy hissed, looking around.
“He want to see Sam,” Wilson said, more quietly this time.
“He has two more months of rehab, right? I told him that we would set up a visitation schedule then.”
“So he’s supposed to wait until Sam is, what, six months old before he has any sort of relationship with him? That’s patently unfair.”
“He’s lucky I’m giving him any access to Sam at all. Do you realize how easy it would be for me to get sole custody? House is an addict with a history of violence.”
“I know you don’t see him that way,” Wilson said, gently. Cuddy ran her fork through her salad, but said nothing.
“Remember when you told me that House was only pretending to care about Sam to get back in your . . . good graces?” Wilson said, diplomatically.
Cuddy nodded.
“You know that’s not true, right?”
“I suppose.”
“How is sneaking into your house when you’re at work a strategy for getting on your good side?”
She shrugged.
“Okay, fair enough.”
“House told me he knows he blew it with you. That you’re never going to be able to love him again. He accepts the consequences of his behavior. But he wants to see his boy.”
Cuddy took a piece of tuna, speared it in half. Then quartered it. Finally, she took a tiny bite, but it tasted metallic in her mouth.
“How’s he doing with the rehab?” she said, finally.
“He’s doing great. Ten months drug free. He told me it feels different this time, because he’s doing it for Sam.”
Cuddy nodded, put her fingers to her brow.
“Imagine Cuddy,” Wilson started. “Imagine if someone was trying to keep Sam from you. You’d move mountains to see him wouldn’t you?”
“Planets,” Cuddy admitted.
“Well, it’s the same for House.”
######
That night she called House at home.
“Am I fired?” he asked, when he picked up.
“No, I’m calling to…apologize,” she said.
“Apologize?”
“It was wrong of me to keep Sam from you. I shouldn’t have. I’m the one who drove you to your insanely reckless, irresponsible, and assholic behavior.”
“This is a strange apology,” House said.
“I think it’s time you started spending more time with your son,” she said.
She could hear a tiny intake of breath on the other end.
“Cuddy, I. . .”
“How about tomorrow? 3 pm? You can take him to the park.”
“Really?” he said, still in a state of some disbelief.
“Yes,” she said. “It’s time.”
He arrived the next day at 3 pm, on the dot.
Cuddy had already packed up Sam’s stroller, his bottle, his stuffed hedgehog (it had proven to be a favorite of his, despite her attempt to steer him toward a stuffed duck that Arlene had bought him), his sun cap, an extra blanket. The diaper bag was tucked into the bottom of the stroller-“I already changed him, but just in case”-as was a bag filled with his binky and some squeaky toys.
“That’s a lot of. . .stuff for a walk in the park,” House said, assessing his booty.
“You’ll thank me later,” she joked.
Cuddy had suggested the park because it was only a few blocks away. Also, there were lots of benches for resting. Walking long distances wasn’t one of House’s strongpoints.
She looked at him now. He looked nervous but happy, smoothing Sam’s silky blond hair, making sure he was strapped in securely, fussing needlessly with his blanket.
He turned to her.
“What if we see someone I know?” he said. “I’m not exactly known for my love of babies and puppies and rainbows.”
She had already considered that, but didn’t see any way around it.
“No one from work lives around here,” she said. “And if you do see someone, just tell them you’re babysitting for me. People know we used to be close.”
Used to be.
“Okay,” House said, nodding.
Rachel must’ve heard his voice, as she suddenly came charging out of her room.
“Pow! Pow, pow!” she said, shooting imaginary lasers from her wrists.
House clutched his chest in mock agony. “Good thing I wore my laser-proof vest,” he said. “Otherwise, I would’ve been a goner. You have excellent wrist aim.”
Rachel grinned at him.
“Where’s Sammy going?” she said, noting her baby brother loaded for bear.
“House is taking him to the park,” Cuddy said.
“Can I come? Can I come?” Rachel began jumping up and down excitedly.
But before House could answer, Cuddy stepped in: “House promised to take Sam so I could spend some alone time with you!” she said brightly. “Doesn’t that sound like fun?”
“Yeah,” Rachel said, but she shot a somewhat longing look in House’s direction.
Then Cuddy turned to House. “5:30 okay?”
“It’s great,” he said.
He suddenly looked a little nervous.
“I guess we’re. . .off,” he said.
On instinct, Cuddy gave him a reassuring pat on the back.
“You’ll do great,” she said. And she and Rachel waved as House and Sam made their way cautiously down the driveway.
Cuddy gulped, ever so slightly.
Technically, House was a flight risk. He could kidnap Sam, take him away from her, never looking back. She had tried to keep Sam from him once. Who’s to say she wouldn’t do it again? He might believe that his back was against a wall. But she had to have faith in him. She had no choice-she had to believe. He wouldn’t do that to her.
She bent toward Rachel, “Shall we play Barbie ER?” she said.
Rachel nodded enthusiastically.
Barbie ER was a game that consisted of Barbie coming to the hospital with some ailment-almost always a “broken” something, although Rachel occasionally got confused (“you can’t have a broken kidney, Rach”)-and Rachel playing the role of check-in nurse, attending nurse, anesthesiologist, head physician, surgeon, hospital administrator, and Barbie’s best friend.
Rachel loved the game, because it was somehow what she imagined Mommy did at work (and who was Cuddy to dispel her daughter of the belief that her mommy was an all-purpose hospital super hero?). Cuddy tried to be engaged as much possible while she played with her (“Tell Barbie to count backwards from 10 so we can be sure the anesthesia is working”), but she was distracted, worried about House.
He’ll come back, she kept telling herself. He’s the same man you used to love, the one who would never intentionally hurt you.
In order to let House fully enter Sam’s life, she had forced herself to make peace with his criminal behavior. If she believed that House was a bad man, a dangerous one, she couldn’t allow him to be near her son. But she didn’t believe that. The night of the car accident was an aberration. House was many things: Immature, selfish, rule-breaking-but intentionally hurtful wasn’t one of them.
Still, she found herself making furtive glances at the clock.
4:00. 4:17. 5:10. 5:25. And then, 5:30.
Where the fuck was he?
“What’s wrong mama?” Rachel said, noticing her mother’s pallid skin.
“Nothing sweetie,” Cuddy said, gulping. “That’s an excellent leg cast.”
At 5:39, there was a knock on the door. It was House, looking a bit flustered, with the baby, who was now asleep in the stroller.
“I know. I’m sorry. I screwed up. I lost track of time,” he said, slightly out of breath, as though being nine minutes late was grounds for immediate banishment from Sam’s life.
“You’re fine,” she said, feeling ridiculous for having been so worried. “Did you have fun?”
“We had an awesome time. Didn’t we, Sam? Didn’t we?” (Hearing House speak in goofy, singsong babytalk was always going to be jarring to her-and of course a little heartwarming, too.)
“What did you do?”
“I don’t know,” he shrugged. “We walked. We sat. We stared meaningfully at each other. We were quite a hit with the other moms, though. If I’d known what chick magnets cute babies were, I would’ve gotten one a lot sooner.”
He gave her a tentative grin and she smiled back at him, tolerantly.
“So when can I do this again?” he said.
“I don’t know. When do you want to?”
“Tomorrow?”
“How about Wednesday after work? You can . . .come for dinner.”
His eyes widened a bit.
“I’d love that,” he said.
#####
So he came for dinner on Wednesday. Mostly, he talked to Rachel. But when he and Cuddy spoke, it was strictly about Sam (“Dr. Faraday says he’s in the 80th weight percentile for his age”) or the hospital (“don’t forget to fill out that insurance claim I put on your desk.”)
On Saturday, he took Sam back to the park and the following Tuesday he came for dinner again.
That was when Rachel looked at House, who was wiping dribbled milk off Sam’s chin, and said thoughtfully, “Are you Sam’s daddy?”
House’s mouth dropped open. In a bit of a panic, he turned to Cuddy, who was regarding Rachel with a mixture of shock and admiration.
“Why would you say that, sweetie?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” Rachel said. “He acts like Sam’s daddy.”
“The thing is, Rach. . .” House started. “Some grownup things are very compli. . .”
“Yes,” Cuddy said plainly, much to House’s surprise. “House is Sam’s daddy. We were going to wait to tell you when you got older, but since you’re a very clever girl and you guessed on your own, I can tell you that it’s true.”
Rachel tried to process this news.
“Is House my daddy?” she asked.
“No sweetie,” Cuddy said gently. “He’s not your daddy.”
“But I wish I was,” House offered. Cuddy looked at him, then swallowed a bit.
“Is Uncle Wilson my daddy?”
“No, Rach. He’s not your daddy either.”
“Do I have a daddy?”
House saw Cuddy flinch the tiniest bit. She had been expecting these questions one day-just not today.
“You do Rach. You have a daddy who loved you so much he realized that he couldn’t take care of you,” she said. “So he gave you to me. And made me the happiest mommy in the whole wide world.”
“Why couldn’t my daddy take care of me?” Rachel said.
“Because he was too young. And because he knew that you and I were meant to be together.”
It was a half truth and only half the story, but Rachel bought it for now.
“I’m glad my daddy gave me to you,” she said.
“Me too, Rach. Me too.” And she squeezed Rachel’s hand.
When he left that night, House put his hand on Cuddy’s shoulder.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m. . .fine, I think.” She pressed her hand against her own chest. “My heart was pounding. Could you tell?”
He looked at her, with unmasked awe.
“You did great,” he said. “You did everything perfectly. Just like you always do.”
Her eyes became moist. “Thanks House. You did great, too.”
#######
Two weeks later, there was an emergency meeting of the board: There was a class-action lawsuit involving faulty stents, and the board was trying to figure out how to proceed: A settlement would be quiet, but costly. If they went to court they ran the risk of public backlash. The meeting would likely go late. Cuddy needed a babysitter.
She had tried all the usual suspects: Her mother, Julia, Marina, even Wilson. None were available.
She finally called House.
“I know this is incredibly last minute, but are you free tonight?”
“‘Are you free tonight?’-the most dreaded question in the English language,” House cracked. “It rarely ends with courtside tickets to a Knicks game.”
“The thing is, I need a babysit-.”
“I’ll do it,” he said, before she even finished the sentence.
He arrived an hour later, in jeans and a faded blue Oxford shirt, looking way more relaxed than he had just a few weeks earlier.
“I charge $9.50 an hour,” he cracked. “Unless you don’t have HBO. In which case, my rates double.”
She laughed.
He assessed her outfit.
“If you’re about to go on a hot date, I might consider something a little less Boardroom Cuddy and a little more Bedroom Cuddy.”
“I actually have a board meeting, so I guess I nailed it.”
“A board meeting?” he said, looking at his watch. “At this hour? If I didn’t know you better, I’d say you were overly committed to your job.”
“Ha ha. I should be home by 9. I hope,” she said.
But she wasn’t. The meeting dragged on for hours-all those blowhards, clearing their throats, making their big pronouncements, not because they had anything to contribute, just because they loved the sound of their own voices. The meeting didn’t end until 11:30-and even then, the issue wasn’t resolved. Another 7 pm meeting was hastily scheduled for tomorrow.
When Cuddy got home, the house was quiet. She peered into Rachel’s room. She was asleep in her big girl bed, wearing a mismatched pair of pajamas (striped bottoms, Hello Kitty top), curled up in a ball. Sam, however, was not in his crib. It was a testament to how far she and House had grown in terms of trust that she didn’t even panic for a second. She made her way to the guest room, where House was lying, asleep, on the bed, with Sam lying asleep across his chest, rising and falling-as though he were being gently rocked to sleep by his own father’s breath.
Cuddy watched them for a second, blinked away a tear. They were beautiful together, that much she couldn’t deny.
She lifted Sam off House’s chest-House stirred, but didn’t waken-and placed him in his crib. Then she returned to the guestroom, watched House sleep for a few minutes. She felt a pang-tenderness, longing, lust.
“House,” she whispered.
He popped up, quickly, like a soldier waking to the sound of Reveille.
“Where’s Sam?” he said anxiously.
“He’s fine, House,” she said. “I put him in his crib.”
“Oh, I . . .must’ve fallen asleep,” he said. He rubbed his eyes, sat next to her on the edge of the bed.
“How was your meeting?”
“Very productive and an excellent use of my time,” she said.
“I’m picking up on some sarcasm there,” he said.
She chuckled.
“Round two is tomorrow. You up for it?”
“I don’t think the board would want me there.”
“I meant babysitting,” she said, swatting him.
He smiled.
“Providing my leg has fully recovered from another rousing game of Laser Girl vs. Crutch Boy,” he said, rubbing his thigh. “I’d love to.”
“Sorry about that. She’s going through a bit of a daredevil phase.”
“I love it,” House said. “And just watch, Sam will be bookish and play the cello.”
She looked at him. The lights of the room were dim and they were sitting closely-always drawn to each other physically, in some subconscious way-and they were talking about their son and her daughter, whom he loved, and it all felt so intimate and inevitable and right.
“You’re good with them,” she said.
“I adore them,” he said.
“I know you do.”
House sighed.
“Remember when we had that pregnancy scare? About six months into our relationship?”
“How could I forget? I seem to recall that I blamed you, although God knows why. . .” she said.
He smiled.
“I’m sure it was my fault somehow,” he said.
She chuckled.
“I remember. . .that I was so torn,” he said reflectively. “Because I didn’t want a kid of my own. Never had. But I thought that if we had a child together, you’d never leave me. We’d be connected-for life.”
“Oh House. . .”
He swallowed a bit.
“But the truth is, I was wrong about wanting kids. The minute I saw Sam, I knew that some part of me had always wanted this. A chance to be a good a dad. A chance to love…unconditionally.”
“You’re a great father,” she said. “There was so much hope in Rachel’s voice when she asked if you were her dad. It was her secret wish. I’m sure it has been for some time.”
“I would’ve adopted her,” he said, earnestly. “If we’d had a baby before all the…well, you know. I would’ve married you and adopted Rachel. It was my secret wish-I was just afraid that I’d suck at it.”
“You don’t suck at it,” she said. “You’re great at it.”
He smiled at her sadly.
She put her head on his shoulder.
“So many regrets…” she said, quietly.
“Yeah, but all my mistakes-“
“Our mistakes,” she corrected.
“-led us to Sam. So I’d change nothing.”
She closed her eyes, breathed in his scent.
“Neither would I,” she murmured.
######
The next board meeting ended a little earlier. 10 pm. They decided to settle out of court. It would be costly, but worth it.
When Cuddy got home, House was sitting on the couch, watching some sort of ridiculous TV show where giant trucks drove over icy lakes.
He flipped it off when he saw her.
“How were the kids?” she asked.
“Adorably exhausting. Or if you prefer, exhaustingly adorable,” he said.
“So the usual?”
“Yep. And your board meeting?”
“We decided to settle.”
“I’m not a fan of settling, myself,” he said, eyeing her. “I’m more of a ‘go big or go home’ kind of guy. But I’m sure it was the right thing to do.”
He got up from the couch, stretched in a somewhat exaggerated way.
“I guess I should go,” he said.
“Why the rush? I’m going to have a drink. Care to join me?”
“I can’t. They frown on it in rehab,” he said.
She put her hand to her mouth, embarrassed.
“I’m so sorry House. I forgot.”
He shrugged.
“I’m addicted to pain pills, not alcohol, but they’re not big on making such distinctions.”
“Club soda with lime?”
“Why not?” he said, sitting back down.
She poured herself a glass of wine and made him the club soda.
She sat beside him.
“Thanks for watching them these last two nights,” she said, taking a sip.
“Any time,” he said. “Seriously.”
She rested her head against the couch.
“It’s been nice to spend so much time with you these past few weeks,” she said. “I didn’t realize how much I. . .missed it.”
He eyed her, cautiously.
“I did,” he said. “I’m acutely aware of how much I miss you every single day.”
She stroked his hand a bit, then brought it to her mouth, kissed his palm.
He continued to watch her, warily.
She put one of his fingers in her mouth, sucked it languorously.
“What are you doing?” he said.
“I don’t know,” she said. “Do you want me to stop?”
“No,” he said.
Now her mouth moved to his wrist, and began to make its way up his arm.
Then she climbed onto his lap, straddled him. They began to kiss, and he pulled her toward him, more forcefully than she might have expected, which turned her on even more. Their tongues were twirling in each other’s mouths and his hands were gripping her tightly, on her waist, her ass, and she began to unbutton his shirt, fixating, as she often did on the stretch of red skin on his clavicle-a mysterious turn on. It was only when she unsnapped his jeans-the bulge in his pants actually looked painful-that he seemed to have a sudden change of heart.
“We can’t do this,” he said, physically lifting her off his lap and placing her back on the couch beside her.
She was out of breath, on fire, turned on beyond belief. This was a completely unexpected turn of events.
“But why?” she said.
“Because we. . .can’t. Things are just starting to get good between us. Sex will screw things up. It always does.”
“I thought sex made things better,” she cracked, going for his jeans again.
He stopped her.
“Cuddy, I’m serious.”
“So am I,” she said.
He stood up from the couch.
“I don’t think you understand how hard this has been for me. It’s been torture. Everything I ever wanted right there in front of me, but completely out of my reach. It was like I was some sort of prisoner in my own life-subsisting on whatever scraps of comfort and kindness you threw at me. It was a hell of my own creation. I understand that. But it was a hell all the same.”
“You said things were getting better,” she protested. “They are getting better. It takes time. It takes trust.”
“Which is why we can’t have sex.”
“But I want you.”
“You can’t just climb on my dick anytime you get bored.”
She recoiled, hurt.
“That’s a terrible thing to say!”
He looked down.
“It’s how we made Sam, right? You needed a distraction. Do you remember what you said to me after that night? That it was a mistake. That it was never going to happen again.”
“That was like a lifetime ago. We’re raising a son together. I feel close to you. . .”
“You haven’t even told anyone that Sam is mine!” he shouted, a bit of anger creeping into his voice. “You’re ashamed of me.”
“No, House. . . it’s not like that. I was confused. It was such a strange and volatile time. Abigail’s death. The sex. Your surgery. The car crash. My pregnancy. Sam’s birth. My head was spinning. In some ways, my head still is spinning.”
“You turn on and off your feelings for me at will. But it’s different for me. I’ve never stopped loving you. Not for one second of my miserable life. And I can’t do this again. I just. . .can’t.”
He took his coat and headed to the door.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“No House,” she replied. “I’m the one who’s sorry.”
She closed her eyes tightly. When she opened them, he was gone.
########
The next day was Cuddy’s quarterly State of the Hospital Address. She touched on the usual things: the update on the class-action lawsuit, the new vending machines in the staff lounge, a prestigious award that one of the doctors had won. Then she paused for a second and looked directly at House.
“If you don’t mind, I’m going to end this address on a personal note.”
There were some murmurs in the audience. This was a total break from protocol.
“As you know, five months ago I gave birth to my son, Sam. There’s been a lot of speculation about the father. I’d like to clear that up now. Sam’s father is Dr. Gregory House.”
The murmurs now turned into something of a commotion, with most eyes shooting immediately to House, whose mouth was hanging open-he looked to be in a bit of shock. Several seats over, a male nurse rolled his eyes, reached into his wallet and handed a $100 bill to Nurse Jeffrey, who mouthed, “Told ya,” and looked smug.
“We weren’t going to share the details of Sam’s paternity, as it’s a private family matter, but the rumors were so out of control, I felt a need to share this with you,” Cuddy continued. “As for the nature of my relationship with House or the details of Sam’s custody all I can say to that is”-she looked up somewhat mischievously-“none of your damn business.”
The audience laughed.
“Thank you. And thanks again for an excellent quarter.”
She stepped off the podium.
Cuddy wanted to go to House right away, but he was mobbed by curious well-wishers, who were congratulating him and giving him good-natured shit and insisting that they’d known all along.
“I’d give you a cigar,” Taub said, “But I don’t have any. Would you settle for this pen?”
“Gregory House, a father,” Foreman said. “That’s going to take some getting used to.”
As for Chase, he merely slapped House on the arm. “You dog,” he said, with a sly smile. Then, for good measure, he slapped him again.
There was a small clatch of female doctors huddled together, and although Cuddy couldn’t totally hear them, she could tell by the somewhat critical looks they were flashing in her direction, that they disapproved. She understood. It was impossible to explain what she and House had together-she could barely explain it to herself. It was . . . love. Poets had spent lifetimes trying to nail down its elusive qualities.
Later, House made his way to her office, where she was standing by the bookcase, watering a plant.
“You told everyone,” he said, a slightly baffled smile on his face.
“As a wise man once said, Go big or go home.”
“It feels good to be out of the closet-so to speak,” he said.
“Yeah,” she said. “It does.”
He stepped up to her.
“The lengths you will go to have sex with me,” he said.
She laughed.
“What can I say, you’re a good lay,” she cracked.
He stepped closer, close enough to kiss her, which he wanted to do today and forever, but first he had to be sure.
“I want us to be a family,” he said, taking her hand. “A real family. Is that too much to ask for?”
“Of course not,” she said, looking up at him. “It’s what we already are.”
THE END