Shame, Pt. 3
About four weeks after House returned to Mayfield, Cuddy got an unexpected phone call.
“Good morning, Dr. Cuddy,” a man’s booming baritone said. “This is Dr. Darryl Nolan, I’m the director of patient services at Mayfield Psychiatric Hospital.”
“I know who you are. . .” Cuddy said, gripping the phone tighter. This could only be bad news.
“I’m calling about-”
“Is he okay?” she blurted out.
“Yes, Dr. House is fine. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Cuddy exhaled. So House wasn’t dead. (If anyone could find a way to kill themselves at a mental institute, it was House.)
“He was in pretty bad shape when he arrived here, as you know,” Nolan continued. “But we’re making progress.”
“Good,” Cuddy said, regaining her composure. “But I’m still not quite sure why we’re talking right now.”
“I’m calling to ask you a favor.”
Cuddy wrinkled her brow.
“What kind of favor?”
“I think it would be advantageous, therapeutically speaking, if you would pay House a visit here at Mayfield.”
“A visit?”
“Yeah, nothing official. Just come see him, on visitor’s day.”
Cuddy almost laughed out loud.
“But why on earth would I do that?”
“Because…he has a lot he needs to say to you. Things he imagined he said to you in his subconscious, but never really did.”
Cuddy felt flustered.
“I. . .I. . .is this mandatory?”
Nolan chuckled.
“Of course not. Like I said, I’m asking for a favor. On House’s behalf.”
“What if I’m not … prepared to do House any favors?”
“But you already did, right? Took him in, encouraged him, called Dr. Wilson.”
“That was the least I could do! I mean, he showed up my doorstep in horrible shape. What was I supposed to do? Leave him out there?”
“Frankly yes. Or call the cops, not his best friend.”
Cuddy sighed. Of course Nolan was right.
“Truthfully?” she said. “I’d rather not see him again.”
“Oh,” Nolan said. “I’m surprised. I was under the impression you still cared about him.”
“I never said I didn’t,” Cuddy snapped.
“Dr. Cuddy, you know a lot about House’s struggles with addiction and mental health, so I’m going to be frank with you.”
“Okay. . .”
“Three years ago, when I first treated House, you were front and center in his hallucination. Do you remember what that hallucination was about?”
“Um, sex?” she said, feeling embarrassed.
Nolan chuckled again.
“Yes, sex. But what else?”
“It was about me helping him get off drugs.”
“Right. . .it was a fantasy of being saved by you.”
Cuddy was quiet.
“This hallucination was different. It was a fantasy of…forgiveness. House’s innermost desire is that you forgive him. He hates himself for what he’s done to you. And for better or for worse, his sense of his own worth as a man is very much wrapped in what you think of him.”
“I know that. . .” Cuddy said. That old feeling-guilt, concern, regret-was throbbing at her temples.
“I’m working on that. He needs to find strength from the inside out, not the other way around. But I do think he won’t be able to move forward until you accept his apology.”
“What if I don't think he deserves forgiveness?” Cuddy said.
“Everyone deserves forgiveness.”
“What about murderers? Do they?”
“You don’t think House is a murderer, do you?” Nolan said.
“No,” Cuddy said softly. “Of course not.”
“Then let him apologize to you.”
“It’s not that easy,” Cuddy said.
“Then explain it to me.”
Cuddy tried to find the right words:
“I’ve known House for more than 20 years,” she said. “It’s not an exaggeration to say, there was a time when he invaded nearly my every waking thought. And that was before we were dating! It’s taken a lot of effort to …disentangle myself from House. Leaving PPTH helped. Reflecting on the car crash-and how much worse it could’ve been-helped, too. But when he showed up at my door last month, some of those old, familiar feelings came flooding back. I’ve worked hard to not be in love with Gregory House, you know? I don’t want to let him back in.”
“That makes sense,” Nolan said.
“Thank you for understanding.”
“Dr. Cuddy?” Nolan paused, as if something had just dawned on him. “Before I let you go. Does a teddy beard named Milo mean anything to you?”
Cuddy swallowed.
“Yes. Why?”
“House has brought it to his therapy session a few times. Said it was his good luck charm. I thought you might know something about it.”
Cuddy blinked back a tear.
“It belongs to my little girl. She gave it to House.”
“Oh,” he said. “That explains it.”
She hesitated.
“This visit,” she said. “Can I think about it?”
“Of course you can.”
“Good. Let me . . .sleep on it and get back to you.”
“Take all the time you need.”
“Oh and Dr. Nolan?”
“Yes Dr. Cuddy?”
“Nicely played with the teddy bear.”
Nolan chuckled.
“I was only prepared to pull it out if absolutely necessary.”
#####
“I have something to tell you,” Nolan said.
“Ominous words,” House said.
“Not necessarily.”
“If it was something easy, you’d just tell me. You wouldn’t first tell me you had something to tell me.”
“Good point,” Nolan said, with a grin.
Treating House was different the second time around. The detox had been protracted and painful-as it always was when the body went to war with itself. But this time, once the detox was complete, House made no motions of getting out, no protestations that he was in the wrong place. In therapy, he talked so much about his own worthlessness that Nolan had flagged his file as a suicide risk. As House saw it, the events of the last two years had reinforced his own theories about the misery of life: Happiness is a cruel hoax because it’s always temporary, always taken from you.
“It wasn’t taken from you, House. You let it be taken.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” House had groaned.
At the same time, House had actually become a better patient. More humble, more willing to open up, less sure that he had all the answers. Nolan attributed this to his relationship with Dr. Cuddy and her little girl. Once you’ve given and received love, especially when a child is involved, it changes you.
“I spoke to Dr. Cuddy,” Nolan said now.
House looked up, taken off guard.
“You what?”
“I called Dr. Cuddy and asked her if she would come visit you.”
“And after she stopped laughing hysterically, what did she say?”
“She didn’t say yes. But she didn’t say no either. She said she’d think about it.”
“And I’m sure she’ll be thinking about it for a long time.”
Nolan looked at him.
“Yesterday morning she called me. She’s coming on Tuesday.”
House’s mouth dropped open.
“This is a first,” Nolan said. “Gregory House, speechless.”
“She’s coming here?”
“Yes.”
House’s whole body tensed.
“I…I don't want her to come.”
That threw Nolan a curve.
“Why?” he said.
“Because, look at me. I’m a fucking mess. I’m on a suicide watch.” He glanced at him knowingly. “You thought I didn’t know that, didn’t you?”
“I always assume you know everything, Dr. House,” Nolan said.
“I don’t want her to see me in a fucking mental institution? Is that so hard to understand?”
“I would think that seeing her in a mental institution would be better than not seeing her at all,” Nolan said.
House looked at his feet.
“Every time I think about that night on her doorstep, I want to stab myself in the eye with a hot poker.”
“Dr. Cuddy doesn’t hold you accountable for the things you said and did when you were sick.”
“If only that were true…” House said, bitterly.
“You’re talking about the car accident,” Nolan said.
“Yup. Upon reflection, I wasn’t exactly in tip-top mental shape at the time.”
“No,” Nolan said. “I suppose you weren’t. I wish you had called me instead of just…reacting.”
“Trust me doc. If I ever get out of here, you’ll be on speed dial in my car.”
“When you get out of here, House. You’re making progress.”
“Oh yeah, I’m the poster child for mental health.”
“I think seeing Dr. Cuddy will help with that.”
“How so?”
“I think you have a lot to say to her.”
“I wouldn’t know where to begin.”
“Of course you do.”
House squinted at him.
“My hallucination,” he said. “You want me to tell her everything I said in my hallucination.”
“I think the part about you feeling like Gandolf. . .”
“Golum,” House corrected, shaking his head.
“Golum-sorry. Never read the books.”
“There were movies, too! And comic books. And video games. And international conventions.”
Nolan shrugged. “The point is, she needs to hear that stuff,” he said. “I needed that to hear that stuff in order to properly treat you. Understanding your deep-rooted sense of ‘otherness’ has been an important tool in our therapy.”
“Cuddy’s not going to care about that. She’s not going to care that I feel like a freak because she already sees me that way herself.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“It’s why she dumped me. And I proceeded to prove her right with every single move I made after that.”
“And now we get back to the self-fulfilling prophecy we’ve discussed so many times in here. You see yourself as an outcast, a reject-so you behave that way. How many have I told you this, House: People want to know you. They want to get close to you. You push everyone away.”
“Sometimes they push first,” House said, quietly.
“You should see Dr. Cuddy on Tuesday. It’ll be good for you. For both of you.”
House shrugged.
“You’re the expert,” he said.
Nolan smiled triumphantly.
“You see? Progress!”
######
The nurse sized up Cuddy.
“Dr. House is excited for your visit,” she said, in a girl-talk kind of way. “He arrived early. He’s been sitting there for a while.”
She pointed to the waiting room, where House was sitting, drumming his fingers on a round table.
Cuddy took a deep breath.
He looked much better than the last time she’d seen him. He’d filled out a bit, like maybe he’d been working out. He was wearing a long-sleeved navy blue tee-shirt and grey sweats. His hair, a bit shorter, was visible in tufts under a grey knit cap. When he saw her, he stood up.
“You came,” he said, simply.
She gave a sheepish smile.
“I came.”
“I’m glad,” he said.
For a moment, there was some uncertainty-would they hug, shake hands? But House diffused the tension by saying, “It’s a nice day. I thought maybe I’d give you the grand tour-such as it was-and then we could go sit outside and talk?
“Lead the way,” she said.
So he took her around.
“This is the cafeteria,” he said. “Where they bring us the finest meats and cheeses. And by finest, I mean least flavorful.”
The dining room was actually pretty nice. Dark wood tables with old-fashioned floral table-cloths, encased in glass, and sturdy chairs.
They kept walking.
“This is the med station, where I get an elaborate cocktail of meds every day, designed to …keep me off meds.” He turned to the nurse behind the counter. “Tell Dr. Cuddy what a model patient I am, Rick.”
“The best. He always swallows his medication right away, without questioning the dosage, and never gives me any grief whatsoever,” Rick said, with a wink.
“Thank you, Rick. . .Moving right along, here is the patient lounge, curiously without lounge chairs. Or patients.”
As if on cue, a skinny guy in oversized pajamas entered the lounge, a copy of Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban tucked under his arm.
“Hey House,” he said. “When are we playing chess again?”
“Have you gotten any better since the last time we played?”
“No,” the guy admitted.
“Then never.”
They kept walking. Cuddy wasn’t sure if he was actually proud of the facility or just so nervous he needed something to do. But she was reminded of how much fun House could be, when he put his mind to it. He could even make a trip to a mental hospital an adventure.
“And this little slice of heaven is my room.”
The room was tidy, spartan. She was surprised to see someone else, a bearded man with an owlish face, lying on one of the beds.
“Oh,” she said, when she saw him. “Hi.”
“Don’t mind him. That’s Oscar. We call him the anti-Alvie. He doesn’t talk. It’s like living with one of the guards at Buckingham Palace.”
He waved a hand in front of Oscar’s face. “How bout those Yankees?” he said. Complete silence. “If a building was on fire and you could only save the Dalai Lama or Gisele Bundchen, who would you save?”
More silence.
“See?” Then he gave a half shrug. “The ironic thing, I still find him a better conversationalist than most of the patients here.”
House smiled. “So, um, that’s it. . . Shall we go outside?”
“Yes,” Cuddy said.
As they left the room, Cuddy took one last look at House’s bed. Neatly made, hospital corners (“Colonel House insisted,” House had once explained to her), and a bedraggled looking stuffed bear, propped up against the pillow.
#####
They went outside, sat on a bench and House looked at her, anxiously.
“Dr. Nolan wants me to tell you all the things I told you in my hallucination,” he said. “Do you want to hear them?”
“I do if you want to tell them to me,” she said.
“I think I do.”
He took a deep breath, as though steeling himself for something unpleasant.
“Are you familiar with The Lord of the Rings?” he started.
So he launched into everything. His apology. His feelings of self-doubt. The sense that normalcy was always going to allude him. His overwhelming sense of shame.
“I know none of this excuses anything that I did. But I just wanted to explain myself. . .” he finished.
Cuddy leaned back on the bench. It was a nice autumn day. Two squirrels were chasing each other up and down a tree. She watched them for a second, before responding.
“I’m glad you told me,” she said finally.
In fact, it was exactly what she had feared: She felt close to him, touched by his candor, by his sense of isolation, by his love for her. In that moment, she wanted him back in her life. It would so easy. Just reach for him, hug him. And he’d be back. Like he was never gone.
Of course, House had no idea she was thinking such things. He thought she still hated him. He peered at her expectantly.
“Do you think you could ever find it in your heart to forgive me?” he said.
She nodded, slowly.
“I do House. I think I really do.”
He exhaled, then looked at her out of the corner of his eyes.
“And . . . us?”
“There is no more us,” she said.
“I know. I know. . .But maybe… friends?”
“You once said that friends was the last thing you wanted to be,” she said, mirthfully.
“A lot has changed since then,” he said. “I’d jump at the chance at friends. Friends would be like scaling a fucking mountain for me.”
“I make no promises,” she said, standing up. “You get healthy, get out of here…and we’ll see.”
“I’m cured!” he said, popping up, with a grin.
She allowed herself to laugh and then allowed herself to hug him.
“I wish I could quit you, Gregory House.”
He inhaled her neck, the smell of her hair, which he knew he probably shouldn’t do, but he couldn’t help himself.
“And I’m so fucking glad you can’t.”
#####
Two months later, he got out, resumed work and sent her an text message.
“I’m healthy, I’m out. I seem to recall there was talk of being friends?”
And she wrote back: “How bout text friends, for now?”
“Less scaling a mountain and more limping up a small hill,” he wrote back. “But I’ll take it.”
“How are you feeling?”
“Determined,” he wrote back.
“That’s the best news I’ve heard all day.”
#####
So House began texting her. Not every day, like he wanted to, but once in a while.
He “live-texted” a Foreman State of the Hospital address: “He actually just used the phrase, ‘Under my steady leadership,’” he wrote. Then later: “Ohmygod, he’s pausing for applause.”
He sent her a text at 4 pm on a Sunday to tell her that Dirty Dancing was on TV.
“I don’t need to watch that every time it’s on TV!” she texted back. Then, a follow-up: “What channel?”
He texted her a bit of hospital gossip involving Nurse Jeffrey and the very married Dr. Green: “It’s very late season Grey’s Anatomy around here lately,” he said. “But more gay.”
Sometimes even a little flirtation crept into their banter.
“This is a real thing. That people eat,” he wrote next to a picture of Heinz Spotted Dick pudding he found at the grocery store.
“Some people will put anything in their mouths,” Cuddy wrote back, with a little winky emoticon.
“Thank God,” House replied.
“Of course you would go there.”
“Hey, you went there!”
“Okay, maybe I did.”
Sometimes their conversations were short. Sometimes they went on for several minutes. But they all had something in common: House initiated them.
He tried not to take that too personally. But it was hard. Was she simply humoring him, because she feared he might relapse? Or did she really care about him?
And then one day, about two months after he got out of Mayfield, Cuddy sent him a picture of Rachel in a pirate’s costume, with the message: “This is what she chose to wear on class photo day. I blame you!”-and his heart swelled three times its size.
He and Cuddy may’ve been slowly creeping back into each other’s lives, but clearly she didn’t see House as a confidante-at lest not yet. House found this out for sure when he had lunch with Wilson a few weeks after the pirate text.
“Have you heard the news about Arlene?”
“Arlene Cuddy?”
“Yeah. Stage three pancreatic cancer. Inoperable.”
“Shit,” House said. He felt horrible. And then he felt even worse because he was less upset about Arlene and more upset that Cuddy hadn’t told him.
“How’s she handling it? Cuddy I mean.”
“As well as can be expected. She’s pretty broken up about it.”
“Thanks for telling me.”
“And House?”
“What?”
“You’re not going to meddle, right? If Cuddy wanted you to know, she would’ve told you.”
“I’m insulted you would even have to ask.”
######
Needless to say, House ignored Wilson’s advice. That night, when he got home, he called Cuddy.
He was relieved when she actually answered.
“I heard about Arlene,” he said.
“I figured you would eventually…” she sighed.
“You okay?”
“So-so.”
“Do you want me to look at the files? Confirm the diagnosis?”
“No, it’s unnecessary House. It’s a pretty clear-cut case.”
“Maybe you can send me the scans all the same. Just for my own peace of mind.”
“Okay,” she said wearily.
Then was a brief silence.
“I want to see you,” he said.
“That’s not necessary House.”
“I know it isn’t. But I do.”
“I don’t think. . .”
“Just once, I want to be there for you. I want to be the person you lean on-not literally of course, because I’ll topple over.”
She chuckled. The first time she had laughed since Arlene’s diagnosis.
“What are you doing right now?” she said, finally.
“I’m grabbing my keys and coming to see you.”
To be continued….
“Good morning, Dr. Cuddy,” a man’s booming baritone said. “This is Dr. Darryl Nolan, I’m the director of patient services at Mayfield Psychiatric Hospital.”
“I know who you are. . .” Cuddy said, gripping the phone tighter. This could only be bad news.
“I’m calling about-”
“Is he okay?” she blurted out.
“Yes, Dr. House is fine. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Cuddy exhaled. So House wasn’t dead. (If anyone could find a way to kill themselves at a mental institute, it was House.)
“He was in pretty bad shape when he arrived here, as you know,” Nolan continued. “But we’re making progress.”
“Good,” Cuddy said, regaining her composure. “But I’m still not quite sure why we’re talking right now.”
“I’m calling to ask you a favor.”
Cuddy wrinkled her brow.
“What kind of favor?”
“I think it would be advantageous, therapeutically speaking, if you would pay House a visit here at Mayfield.”
“A visit?”
“Yeah, nothing official. Just come see him, on visitor’s day.”
Cuddy almost laughed out loud.
“But why on earth would I do that?”
“Because…he has a lot he needs to say to you. Things he imagined he said to you in his subconscious, but never really did.”
Cuddy felt flustered.
“I. . .I. . .is this mandatory?”
Nolan chuckled.
“Of course not. Like I said, I’m asking for a favor. On House’s behalf.”
“What if I’m not … prepared to do House any favors?”
“But you already did, right? Took him in, encouraged him, called Dr. Wilson.”
“That was the least I could do! I mean, he showed up my doorstep in horrible shape. What was I supposed to do? Leave him out there?”
“Frankly yes. Or call the cops, not his best friend.”
Cuddy sighed. Of course Nolan was right.
“Truthfully?” she said. “I’d rather not see him again.”
“Oh,” Nolan said. “I’m surprised. I was under the impression you still cared about him.”
“I never said I didn’t,” Cuddy snapped.
“Dr. Cuddy, you know a lot about House’s struggles with addiction and mental health, so I’m going to be frank with you.”
“Okay. . .”
“Three years ago, when I first treated House, you were front and center in his hallucination. Do you remember what that hallucination was about?”
“Um, sex?” she said, feeling embarrassed.
Nolan chuckled again.
“Yes, sex. But what else?”
“It was about me helping him get off drugs.”
“Right. . .it was a fantasy of being saved by you.”
Cuddy was quiet.
“This hallucination was different. It was a fantasy of…forgiveness. House’s innermost desire is that you forgive him. He hates himself for what he’s done to you. And for better or for worse, his sense of his own worth as a man is very much wrapped in what you think of him.”
“I know that. . .” Cuddy said. That old feeling-guilt, concern, regret-was throbbing at her temples.
“I’m working on that. He needs to find strength from the inside out, not the other way around. But I do think he won’t be able to move forward until you accept his apology.”
“What if I don't think he deserves forgiveness?” Cuddy said.
“Everyone deserves forgiveness.”
“What about murderers? Do they?”
“You don’t think House is a murderer, do you?” Nolan said.
“No,” Cuddy said softly. “Of course not.”
“Then let him apologize to you.”
“It’s not that easy,” Cuddy said.
“Then explain it to me.”
Cuddy tried to find the right words:
“I’ve known House for more than 20 years,” she said. “It’s not an exaggeration to say, there was a time when he invaded nearly my every waking thought. And that was before we were dating! It’s taken a lot of effort to …disentangle myself from House. Leaving PPTH helped. Reflecting on the car crash-and how much worse it could’ve been-helped, too. But when he showed up at my door last month, some of those old, familiar feelings came flooding back. I’ve worked hard to not be in love with Gregory House, you know? I don’t want to let him back in.”
“That makes sense,” Nolan said.
“Thank you for understanding.”
“Dr. Cuddy?” Nolan paused, as if something had just dawned on him. “Before I let you go. Does a teddy beard named Milo mean anything to you?”
Cuddy swallowed.
“Yes. Why?”
“House has brought it to his therapy session a few times. Said it was his good luck charm. I thought you might know something about it.”
Cuddy blinked back a tear.
“It belongs to my little girl. She gave it to House.”
“Oh,” he said. “That explains it.”
She hesitated.
“This visit,” she said. “Can I think about it?”
“Of course you can.”
“Good. Let me . . .sleep on it and get back to you.”
“Take all the time you need.”
“Oh and Dr. Nolan?”
“Yes Dr. Cuddy?”
“Nicely played with the teddy bear.”
Nolan chuckled.
“I was only prepared to pull it out if absolutely necessary.”
#####
“I have something to tell you,” Nolan said.
“Ominous words,” House said.
“Not necessarily.”
“If it was something easy, you’d just tell me. You wouldn’t first tell me you had something to tell me.”
“Good point,” Nolan said, with a grin.
Treating House was different the second time around. The detox had been protracted and painful-as it always was when the body went to war with itself. But this time, once the detox was complete, House made no motions of getting out, no protestations that he was in the wrong place. In therapy, he talked so much about his own worthlessness that Nolan had flagged his file as a suicide risk. As House saw it, the events of the last two years had reinforced his own theories about the misery of life: Happiness is a cruel hoax because it’s always temporary, always taken from you.
“It wasn’t taken from you, House. You let it be taken.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” House had groaned.
At the same time, House had actually become a better patient. More humble, more willing to open up, less sure that he had all the answers. Nolan attributed this to his relationship with Dr. Cuddy and her little girl. Once you’ve given and received love, especially when a child is involved, it changes you.
“I spoke to Dr. Cuddy,” Nolan said now.
House looked up, taken off guard.
“You what?”
“I called Dr. Cuddy and asked her if she would come visit you.”
“And after she stopped laughing hysterically, what did she say?”
“She didn’t say yes. But she didn’t say no either. She said she’d think about it.”
“And I’m sure she’ll be thinking about it for a long time.”
Nolan looked at him.
“Yesterday morning she called me. She’s coming on Tuesday.”
House’s mouth dropped open.
“This is a first,” Nolan said. “Gregory House, speechless.”
“She’s coming here?”
“Yes.”
House’s whole body tensed.
“I…I don't want her to come.”
That threw Nolan a curve.
“Why?” he said.
“Because, look at me. I’m a fucking mess. I’m on a suicide watch.” He glanced at him knowingly. “You thought I didn’t know that, didn’t you?”
“I always assume you know everything, Dr. House,” Nolan said.
“I don’t want her to see me in a fucking mental institution? Is that so hard to understand?”
“I would think that seeing her in a mental institution would be better than not seeing her at all,” Nolan said.
House looked at his feet.
“Every time I think about that night on her doorstep, I want to stab myself in the eye with a hot poker.”
“Dr. Cuddy doesn’t hold you accountable for the things you said and did when you were sick.”
“If only that were true…” House said, bitterly.
“You’re talking about the car accident,” Nolan said.
“Yup. Upon reflection, I wasn’t exactly in tip-top mental shape at the time.”
“No,” Nolan said. “I suppose you weren’t. I wish you had called me instead of just…reacting.”
“Trust me doc. If I ever get out of here, you’ll be on speed dial in my car.”
“When you get out of here, House. You’re making progress.”
“Oh yeah, I’m the poster child for mental health.”
“I think seeing Dr. Cuddy will help with that.”
“How so?”
“I think you have a lot to say to her.”
“I wouldn’t know where to begin.”
“Of course you do.”
House squinted at him.
“My hallucination,” he said. “You want me to tell her everything I said in my hallucination.”
“I think the part about you feeling like Gandolf. . .”
“Golum,” House corrected, shaking his head.
“Golum-sorry. Never read the books.”
“There were movies, too! And comic books. And video games. And international conventions.”
Nolan shrugged. “The point is, she needs to hear that stuff,” he said. “I needed that to hear that stuff in order to properly treat you. Understanding your deep-rooted sense of ‘otherness’ has been an important tool in our therapy.”
“Cuddy’s not going to care about that. She’s not going to care that I feel like a freak because she already sees me that way herself.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“It’s why she dumped me. And I proceeded to prove her right with every single move I made after that.”
“And now we get back to the self-fulfilling prophecy we’ve discussed so many times in here. You see yourself as an outcast, a reject-so you behave that way. How many have I told you this, House: People want to know you. They want to get close to you. You push everyone away.”
“Sometimes they push first,” House said, quietly.
“You should see Dr. Cuddy on Tuesday. It’ll be good for you. For both of you.”
House shrugged.
“You’re the expert,” he said.
Nolan smiled triumphantly.
“You see? Progress!”
######
The nurse sized up Cuddy.
“Dr. House is excited for your visit,” she said, in a girl-talk kind of way. “He arrived early. He’s been sitting there for a while.”
She pointed to the waiting room, where House was sitting, drumming his fingers on a round table.
Cuddy took a deep breath.
He looked much better than the last time she’d seen him. He’d filled out a bit, like maybe he’d been working out. He was wearing a long-sleeved navy blue tee-shirt and grey sweats. His hair, a bit shorter, was visible in tufts under a grey knit cap. When he saw her, he stood up.
“You came,” he said, simply.
She gave a sheepish smile.
“I came.”
“I’m glad,” he said.
For a moment, there was some uncertainty-would they hug, shake hands? But House diffused the tension by saying, “It’s a nice day. I thought maybe I’d give you the grand tour-such as it was-and then we could go sit outside and talk?
“Lead the way,” she said.
So he took her around.
“This is the cafeteria,” he said. “Where they bring us the finest meats and cheeses. And by finest, I mean least flavorful.”
The dining room was actually pretty nice. Dark wood tables with old-fashioned floral table-cloths, encased in glass, and sturdy chairs.
They kept walking.
“This is the med station, where I get an elaborate cocktail of meds every day, designed to …keep me off meds.” He turned to the nurse behind the counter. “Tell Dr. Cuddy what a model patient I am, Rick.”
“The best. He always swallows his medication right away, without questioning the dosage, and never gives me any grief whatsoever,” Rick said, with a wink.
“Thank you, Rick. . .Moving right along, here is the patient lounge, curiously without lounge chairs. Or patients.”
As if on cue, a skinny guy in oversized pajamas entered the lounge, a copy of Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban tucked under his arm.
“Hey House,” he said. “When are we playing chess again?”
“Have you gotten any better since the last time we played?”
“No,” the guy admitted.
“Then never.”
They kept walking. Cuddy wasn’t sure if he was actually proud of the facility or just so nervous he needed something to do. But she was reminded of how much fun House could be, when he put his mind to it. He could even make a trip to a mental hospital an adventure.
“And this little slice of heaven is my room.”
The room was tidy, spartan. She was surprised to see someone else, a bearded man with an owlish face, lying on one of the beds.
“Oh,” she said, when she saw him. “Hi.”
“Don’t mind him. That’s Oscar. We call him the anti-Alvie. He doesn’t talk. It’s like living with one of the guards at Buckingham Palace.”
He waved a hand in front of Oscar’s face. “How bout those Yankees?” he said. Complete silence. “If a building was on fire and you could only save the Dalai Lama or Gisele Bundchen, who would you save?”
More silence.
“See?” Then he gave a half shrug. “The ironic thing, I still find him a better conversationalist than most of the patients here.”
House smiled. “So, um, that’s it. . . Shall we go outside?”
“Yes,” Cuddy said.
As they left the room, Cuddy took one last look at House’s bed. Neatly made, hospital corners (“Colonel House insisted,” House had once explained to her), and a bedraggled looking stuffed bear, propped up against the pillow.
#####
They went outside, sat on a bench and House looked at her, anxiously.
“Dr. Nolan wants me to tell you all the things I told you in my hallucination,” he said. “Do you want to hear them?”
“I do if you want to tell them to me,” she said.
“I think I do.”
He took a deep breath, as though steeling himself for something unpleasant.
“Are you familiar with The Lord of the Rings?” he started.
So he launched into everything. His apology. His feelings of self-doubt. The sense that normalcy was always going to allude him. His overwhelming sense of shame.
“I know none of this excuses anything that I did. But I just wanted to explain myself. . .” he finished.
Cuddy leaned back on the bench. It was a nice autumn day. Two squirrels were chasing each other up and down a tree. She watched them for a second, before responding.
“I’m glad you told me,” she said finally.
In fact, it was exactly what she had feared: She felt close to him, touched by his candor, by his sense of isolation, by his love for her. In that moment, she wanted him back in her life. It would so easy. Just reach for him, hug him. And he’d be back. Like he was never gone.
Of course, House had no idea she was thinking such things. He thought she still hated him. He peered at her expectantly.
“Do you think you could ever find it in your heart to forgive me?” he said.
She nodded, slowly.
“I do House. I think I really do.”
He exhaled, then looked at her out of the corner of his eyes.
“And . . . us?”
“There is no more us,” she said.
“I know. I know. . .But maybe… friends?”
“You once said that friends was the last thing you wanted to be,” she said, mirthfully.
“A lot has changed since then,” he said. “I’d jump at the chance at friends. Friends would be like scaling a fucking mountain for me.”
“I make no promises,” she said, standing up. “You get healthy, get out of here…and we’ll see.”
“I’m cured!” he said, popping up, with a grin.
She allowed herself to laugh and then allowed herself to hug him.
“I wish I could quit you, Gregory House.”
He inhaled her neck, the smell of her hair, which he knew he probably shouldn’t do, but he couldn’t help himself.
“And I’m so fucking glad you can’t.”
#####
Two months later, he got out, resumed work and sent her an text message.
“I’m healthy, I’m out. I seem to recall there was talk of being friends?”
And she wrote back: “How bout text friends, for now?”
“Less scaling a mountain and more limping up a small hill,” he wrote back. “But I’ll take it.”
“How are you feeling?”
“Determined,” he wrote back.
“That’s the best news I’ve heard all day.”
#####
So House began texting her. Not every day, like he wanted to, but once in a while.
He “live-texted” a Foreman State of the Hospital address: “He actually just used the phrase, ‘Under my steady leadership,’” he wrote. Then later: “Ohmygod, he’s pausing for applause.”
He sent her a text at 4 pm on a Sunday to tell her that Dirty Dancing was on TV.
“I don’t need to watch that every time it’s on TV!” she texted back. Then, a follow-up: “What channel?”
He texted her a bit of hospital gossip involving Nurse Jeffrey and the very married Dr. Green: “It’s very late season Grey’s Anatomy around here lately,” he said. “But more gay.”
Sometimes even a little flirtation crept into their banter.
“This is a real thing. That people eat,” he wrote next to a picture of Heinz Spotted Dick pudding he found at the grocery store.
“Some people will put anything in their mouths,” Cuddy wrote back, with a little winky emoticon.
“Thank God,” House replied.
“Of course you would go there.”
“Hey, you went there!”
“Okay, maybe I did.”
Sometimes their conversations were short. Sometimes they went on for several minutes. But they all had something in common: House initiated them.
He tried not to take that too personally. But it was hard. Was she simply humoring him, because she feared he might relapse? Or did she really care about him?
And then one day, about two months after he got out of Mayfield, Cuddy sent him a picture of Rachel in a pirate’s costume, with the message: “This is what she chose to wear on class photo day. I blame you!”-and his heart swelled three times its size.
He and Cuddy may’ve been slowly creeping back into each other’s lives, but clearly she didn’t see House as a confidante-at lest not yet. House found this out for sure when he had lunch with Wilson a few weeks after the pirate text.
“Have you heard the news about Arlene?”
“Arlene Cuddy?”
“Yeah. Stage three pancreatic cancer. Inoperable.”
“Shit,” House said. He felt horrible. And then he felt even worse because he was less upset about Arlene and more upset that Cuddy hadn’t told him.
“How’s she handling it? Cuddy I mean.”
“As well as can be expected. She’s pretty broken up about it.”
“Thanks for telling me.”
“And House?”
“What?”
“You’re not going to meddle, right? If Cuddy wanted you to know, she would’ve told you.”
“I’m insulted you would even have to ask.”
######
Needless to say, House ignored Wilson’s advice. That night, when he got home, he called Cuddy.
He was relieved when she actually answered.
“I heard about Arlene,” he said.
“I figured you would eventually…” she sighed.
“You okay?”
“So-so.”
“Do you want me to look at the files? Confirm the diagnosis?”
“No, it’s unnecessary House. It’s a pretty clear-cut case.”
“Maybe you can send me the scans all the same. Just for my own peace of mind.”
“Okay,” she said wearily.
Then was a brief silence.
“I want to see you,” he said.
“That’s not necessary House.”
“I know it isn’t. But I do.”
“I don’t think. . .”
“Just once, I want to be there for you. I want to be the person you lean on-not literally of course, because I’ll topple over.”
She chuckled. The first time she had laughed since Arlene’s diagnosis.
“What are you doing right now?” she said, finally.
“I’m grabbing my keys and coming to see you.”
To be continued….