Old Dogs/New Tricks part 2
From: house-g @ ppth.edu
To: cuddy-l @ ppth.edu
Subject: JCAHO--just say hell no
Why do they call it a survey? Are they asking my favorite brand of beer or whether I prefer silicone or saline breast implants? No, but according to you they are allowed to ask me to recite the HIPPA law or what to do in case of fire. Frankly, anyone too dumb to know that what you do in case of fire is GET OUT deserves to die a horrible flaming death. Don't call me; I'll be outside playing with the firetrucks.
~~**~~
Cuddy looked up from her desk at a sharp rap on the glass door. Brenda was already walking away, but Cuddy could see the group of soberly suited inspectors filing into the lobby. She gave a little shake of her head and quickly assembled the files she'd need.
This inspection came at what was the worst, and the best time. Actually, it was neither. It was all too typical of her life and times. She needed a distraction from the pitiful shambles of her personal life. She needed to focus on something she did well, and that was her job. It was bad timing, though, because she was undeniably stressed out by the shambles of her personal life. And just to make matters worse, she'd gotten delayed that morning because she still couldn't arm or disarm her new home security system without stopping to read the instructions every damn time.
She felt foolish enough as it was just having the system installed. Sure, some schmuck had gotten his jollies invading her virtual privacy, but so what? She'd cut him off, it was over. Having her home wired was.... It was giving him too much power. She resented the fact that she was giving him enough importance to spend a whole lot of money on preventing him from ever invading her privacy again. She resented most of all the fact that he'd made her feel frightened.
Putting on her game face, Cuddy walked briskly out of her office and approached the group of JCAHO surveyors milling around with an expectant air. House and Wilson were loitering by the clinic desk, and Cuddy deliberately ignored them both. House wasn't scheduled for clinic duty this morning, which meant he was probably up to no good. Right now she didn't have time for his pranks.
One of the surveyors, a slender, fifty-ish man, looked up at her approach. "Hello. Rick Pavao with the JCAHO. I'm looking for the Chief Administrator...?"
"That's me." Cuddy took his offered hand and grasped it firmly. "Doctor Lisa Cuddy, Dean of Medicine."
"Yeah, don't let the outfit fool you," House called out from behind her. "Hooking is merely a hobby of Dr. Cuddy's. By day she's the hospital's evil overlord."
Cuddy forced her expression to remain welcoming as Pavao's smile faltered. "Excuse me for a moment," Cuddy said pleasantly. She turned and stalked back toward the clinic desk. Wilson's eyes were wide as he grabbed a file and made a beeline toward an exam room. Cuddy let him go. As much as she like to, she couldn't hold him responsible for House's utterly inappropriate behavior. Instead she rounded the desk and marched right up until there wasn't enough space between her and House to slide a tongue depressor.
"You're smiling again," House said, a worried frown beginning to creep down his brow.
"I have to smile or our visitors will realize that not only can I not control my doctors, but that my doctors--namely you--feel free to humiliate me." Cuddy leaned her head even closer, forcing House to tuck his chin against his chest to maintain eye contact. "One. More. Word. And I'll make you regret the day you ever decided to cross me."
"Feeling a little tense?"
"That's four words."
"Castration?" House asked warily.
"Worse. I'll call your mother."
~~**~~
From: wilson-j @ ppth.edu
To: cuddy-l @ ppth.edu
Subject: Castration or something worse?
House is in hiding. I'll be by tonight.
Also, need change of address form. And change of marital status, insurance beneficiary...for the official records.
~~**~~
"House sent you," Cuddy said the moment she opened her front door and saw Wilson standing there.
"I'm here because of House, but he didn't send me," Wilson admitted. Cuddy sighed and motioned him in with a jerk of her head. After closing the door behind him, Wilson followed her into the kitchen and stood, awkward, his feet spread and hands deep in his pockets while she pulled a second glass from the cabinet.
"What kind of complaints is he making about the evil overlord now?" Cuddy handed Wilson a glass with a couple fingers of scotch and leaned back against the counter, cradling her own glass against her chest.
"That's not what's interesting," Wilson said. He saluted her with his glass and took a sip. He nodded in appreciation, then nailed her with a penetrating look. "What's interesting is what did you threaten him with that scared him so badly?"
"Scared?" Cuddy was incredulous. Nothing scared House. He might claim she was the spawn of hell and a two-bit hooker to boot, but nothing she did scared him. She knew from House himself that he wasn't afraid of his mother, although it was remotely possible he might be afraid of disappointing her. "It was lame, really."
"Well, whatever it was, it must've done the trick, because something's got him worried."
"He should be worried, the ass," Cuddy snapped. She blew out a long breath, determined to keep her anger under control. "You heard what he said."
"I know. It was...."
"I've tolerated House's innuendos and come-on's for years because I know it's a game to him. He wants to see how far he can push me, wants to see if I'll push him back." Cuddy shook her head. "He crossed a line today."
"House crosses lines every day."
"Maybe it's time we started calling him on it." Cuddy grabbed the bottle and walked to the living room. She set the scotch on the coffee table and sat at one end of the couch, tucking her bare feet under her.
"We call him on it all the time. It just doesn't have any effect," Wilson said. He settled on the other end of the couch and loosened his tie.
"We make excuses for him. You do it. I do it." Cuddy looked at Wilson. "House acts like an ass and we ignore it when possible, try to explain it or excuse it when it's not possible. We never really make him face the consequences of his behavior."
"Because it wouldn't work." It was Wilson's turn to be incredulous now. Cuddy knew as well as he that House ignored any means or method of behavioral modification. He stubbornly refused to care how he affected the people around him. "He's a lonely, miserable jerk and rather than consider the possibility of happiness, or even emotional neutrality, he tries to make everyone else lonely and miserable."
"And we let him make us miserable and lonely," Cuddy said.
"I think I do a pretty good job of that all on my own." Wilson admitted his failings to the amber liquid in his glass. Cuddy sighed because that was kind of a sticking point. House wasn't the one who messed up her relationships. He wasn't the reason she used on-line dating services and he didn't send a cyber-stalker after her. No, House didn't cause her problems. He merely rubbed her face in it.
"House cares," Wilson added.
"I'm not so sure. I've always thought that there was some secret code to House-speak, but now I think maybe he really is saying what he means and meaning what he says," Cuddy said.
"You don't believe that," Wilson said.
"I think maybe I do." Cuddy realized that maybe she really did believe that there was no secret code, that House meant what he said. And that maybe she believed what he said, just a little. Years of degradation and innuendo had been met with tart rejoinders and counter-innuendo and maybe that had been the secret code. Ultimately she'd allowed House to call her a desperate trollop because she'd begun to believe it.
~~**~~
Cuddy finished drying off and pulled on a lace thong. She grabbed the camisole hanging from the hook on the door, then stopped, caught by her reflection in the mirror. She leaned forward, running her fingers down her face. There were small crow's feet beginning to crease the skin at the corners of her eyes and the dark circles underneath were growing more pronounced, harder to conceal.
Her hand continued on down, her fingers tracing the contour of a breast before sliding across her abdomen, harshly judging the softness there. She'd never be mistaken for twenty again even in the kindest light, but she wouldn't be pegged at almost forty either. She took pride in her appearance. She worked hard at it. Too bad she was apparently the only one who'd ever find pleasure in the results.
Still carrying her camisole by the straps hooked over one finger, Cuddy walked to the bed and sat down. She opened the bottom drawer of the bedside table. There, in a box in the back, was everything necessary for a session of self pleasure. She stared at the box, but masturbation seemed like too much effort for too little payoff. It was fine as a stopgap measure, or even as an extracurricular activity during a relationship, but as the only means of gratification…. At the moment it was too depressing to consider. She slowly slid the drawer shut and slipped the camisole over her head. She turned off the light and lay on her back, counting unrealized orgasms in an effort to fall asleep.
~~**~~
From: wilson-j @ ppth.edu
To: cuddy-l @ ppth.edu
Subject: Danger, Will Robinson
I'm taking vacation time until House settles down. See you in...a month?
~~**~~
"I get it," House said, bursting into the exam room. "You're blocking my ability to care for my patient because you're pissed at me. Kind of petty, don't you think?"
"Get this filled at the pharmacy, and make sure you take all the pills." Cuddy ripped the prescription from the pad and handed it to the startled patient. She shooed the woman out of the room, closed the door, and turned to look at House. He was overplaying his moral outrage card, and they both knew it. His expression began to waver as she deliberately ignored him and started to write in the patient's chart.
"You took my patient off the O.R. schedule," House said in a slightly less aggressive tone.
"Because he doesn't need surgery. Not that kind."
"It's the only kind left," House said, exasperated.
"You want to give him a lobotomy," Cuddy said, equally exasperated. "You want to destroy his personality."
"Yeah, well...his personality sucks, so no great loss." House rubbed his face, the frustration getting to him. "Look, he has constant, obsessive thoughts."
"Hence the diagnosis of obsessive-compulsive disorder."
"He has constant obsessive thoughts about murder," House finished with a dramatic rise in his voice.
"Has he killed anyone?" Cuddy asked, keeping her own frustration under control. The less she seemed to react to House, the more it annoyed him. And she was in the mood to annoy him.
"No, because he's not actually a homicidal psychopath. But he can't live with the thoughts. If we don't do something, he won't live with the thoughts."
"Did he actually tell you he's suicidal?"
"Not in so many words, but he made it pretty clear that was the only other option."
"Then get him a psych consult and a forty-eight hour hold," Cuddy said.
"Psychiatrists can't help him. He'd done the therapy, the meds. None of it worked."
"And there's no proof a lobotomy will help. I feel for him, I really do, but I won't authorize an extreme procedure out of pity."
"No, but you'll deny it out of anger at me," House accused. Cuddy slapped the patient file shut. House pointed his cane at her, a triumphant expression on his face. "Do you deny being mad because I embarrassed you in front of the reviewers and taking it out on my patient?"
"I'm furious with you for humiliating me, but that's not why I stopped the surgery."
"Everything's connected," House insisted. "You can't divorce your feelings about me from your decisions about my patient."
"Really?" Cuddy gave House a pointed look as she opened the exam room door. She didn't believe House was right. She believed she was able to keep her personal feelings separate from her professional decisions. But if House thought there was a connection…. "Then maybe you should've thought of that before you chose to humiliate me."
~~**~~
She shoved the door closed with her foot, and veered into the dining room. She set her briefcase on a chair before dropping the mail on the dining room table, then watched it slide across the polished surface. She'd stooped over to pick up an errant sales flyer when she heard the sound of her front door opening. Puzzled, she backed up a couple of steps into the foyer and stared at the man who'd just let himself into her house. He glanced at the alarm box, and so did she, both of them realizing she hadn't engaged the system yet. So when he turned to look at her, she ran.
"Bitch."
Cuddy let out a surprised shriek when he grabbed her by the hair and slammed her against the wall. He twisted her around, still holding her by a handful of hair, and slapped her hard. She felt her lip split against her teeth and she swung her fists wildly, trying to return the favor. He anticipated her, slamming his own body against hers and pinning her to the wall. She tried to wiggle free, get some leverage to break his hold.
"Whore," he whispered against her cheek. "I should've known you'd be like all the others. I should've known you didn't want to be loved the way I was willing to love you. I gave you romance…and the whole time you were fucking all your doctor friends."
"Wha...?" was as far as Cuddy got before he pulled back and drove his fist against her face. Her legs sagged, and he grabbed her by the arm, wrenching her shoulder as he started to drag her, stumbling, down the hall. Her mind and body both fumbled for some kind of advantage, but this wasn't a fair fight. He was bigger, heavier, and he had a plan. She had only a dazed instinct for self-protection
"Slut," he said as he shoved her through the doorway into her bedroom. "That's all you ever were. All you ever wanted."
"No, that's not...not true." Cuddy's mind had nearly frozen in panic. Scream, she wanted to scream loud enough to make him stop, but deep down she knew no scream she could ever make would ever be loud enough. She tried to stumble away from the bed, her head still ringing with the force of the punch. Her eyes swept the room, looking for a way to escape. Would she have time to get out through the window? Would she have time to dial 911, or even to get to the phone on the bedside table? As her eyes darted erratically around the room, she found she suddenly did have a plan. She turned away from him, toward the far wall, so focused now on getting to the alarm panel that she almost forgot he had his own plan, one that differed substantially from hers.
He grabbed her by the hair again, pulling her back against him, a reminder that he would not just stand by while she enacted her plan. "You're not going anywhere until I get what you gave the rest of them. You owe me."
"You didn't want me," Cuddy said as she tried to loosen the grip he had on her hair. "You didn't even want to meet me."
"I needed time to make sure you were for real," he said, his breath hot against the side of her neck.
"You mean time to spy on me."
"Good thing I did. House, Wilson, Chase…. Who knows how many other names I might've found if I'd had more time."
"That's...insane." Cuddy gave up on trying to pry his hands loose and simply pulled away, eyes watering at the pain in her scalp. Just a few more feet....
He grabbed her by the arms again, struggling now to push her toward the bed. Suddenly he changed tactics. He pushed with her, throwing her off balance and slamming her against the wall again and thank god for that because she had just enough control to throw her hand up and slam the alarm pad. There were no fancy flashing lights, no ear-splitting sirens, but the little panic button lit up red and that meant the police should be getting a call and if they weren't, she was going to sue the ass off the alarm company. Assuming she lived long enough to sue anyone.
When he pulled back this time, she dropped to her knees, too winded and dazed to stay upright. "Good a place to start as any," he muttered as he tightened his grip in her hair with one hand and began to unzip his jeans with the other.
"I'll bite it off," Cuddy threatened in a choked voice. Her head was pounding, her vision was a little fuzzy around the edges, and she wasn't sure she was capable of such an act even to defend herself, but she tried her damndest to believe it and make him believe it.
"Then I'll make sure it'll be the last time," he said, but he'd hesitated, apparently unwilling to take the risk. Instead, he grabbed her and hauled her up again just long enough to shove her onto the bed. He ripped her blouse open and tried to twist it back around her arms to restrain her. She did whatever she could to thwart his plans: squirm, kick, spit, scream, sickened by the thought that he might be getting off on her struggling.
There was a crash as her faux-Tiffany lamp was knocked off the bedside table. She lashed out even more vigorously, trying desperately to knee him in the gonads, or anywhere really, because she loved that lamp. It wasn't even real, and yet its destruction fueled her anger. An utterly ridiculous reaction. She was grateful, though. Anger was good, better than fear. She could use anger.
The thought flashed through her mind, leftover from some freshman safety lecture in college, that fighting might get her hurt. She was supposed to give in, do whatever it took to survive. Except she wasn't sure he intended for her to survive. Or maybe he simply didn't care whether she did. In either case, she just couldn't submit. She screamed hard enough to bruise her vocal cords as he pushed her facedown on the bed. She kept on screaming hoarsely even when the weight of his body on hers suddenly disappeared and a different set of hands took hold.
"Princeton P.D. You're safe now, ma'am. You're safe."
~~**~~
"She refused to go to the hospital...."
"It's okay. We've got it now."
Cuddy was perched on the edge of the couch, huddled under a blanket, when Wilson edged past the policeman, House tailing in his wake. Cuddy stared at him, not wanting him and his disapproving attitude anywhere near her. House seemed to get the message because he stayed on the other side of the living room, engaging the cop in a quiet dialogue.
"Lisa." Wilson sat next to her, then lifted one hand to brush the hair back from her face. He sucked in a sudden breath as he saw the abuse her face had suffered. "Lisa, you need to see a doctor."
"I am a doctor." Like everything else for the last twenty minutes or so, her voice seemed distant. The pain in her face felt distant, her very thoughts felt distant, like someone else was thinking them and they were merely filtering through her.
Wilson closed his eyes with a subtle grimace of frustration. He opened his eyes again and began to slowly, carefully examine the side of her face. "There could be fractures. And you might need stitches for that lip laceration. And...."
Wilson's words died away as House joined them. He stood over her, staring down with an impassive expression. "She wasn't raped. At least, that's what she told the cops."
"He didn't have time," Cuddy said. House's eyes traveled further down and she remembered that under the blanket she still wore her torn blouse. The shredded fabric did little to cover her, and she pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders.
"Cop said you triggered your alarm system," House said. Cuddy nodded, and House's expression hardened. "You don't have an alarm system."
For a moment those distant thoughts of hers refused to process his statement, then she remembered that when House and Chase had broken into her house several months ago she hadn't had an alarm system.
"I do now."
To think she'd felt foolish about calling the security company. She'd thought she was overreacting to some internet troll who was probably a thousand miles away. She'd thought she was being silly, but her gut instinct had told her to be sure. Too bad her gut instinct hadn't spoken up before she'd gotten to the point of needing to be sure.
House simply stared at her announcement, his eyes narrowed. Wilson took a moment longer to catch on, then his mouth dropped open. "You knew someone was after you," House said, his voice beginning to rise. "Why didn't you do something?"
"I did. I got an alarm system," Cuddy said. House let out an exasperated sound, and Cuddy looked away, watching the cops, most of whom seemed to be doing little more than loitering. Her shoulders shrugged almost imperceptibly as she glanced back at House. "What do you care? You get to say 'I told you so' and that's all that matters, isn't it?"
House got the strangest expression on his face, like she'd grown horns or sprouted wings. Next to her, Wilson quietly told House to leave and, to Cuddy's astonishment, he did. Her gaze dropped to where Wilson had taken her hand between his own. She realized his hands were shaking, and she couldn't quite figure out why.
~~**~~
"Dr. Cuddy?" Brenda looked up from the reception desk with a surprised expression. "You're not supposed to be here."
"According to whom?" Cuddy didn't wait for an answer, and thankfully Brenda didn't follow her into her office looking for one. Thankfully for Brenda, that was. Cuddy had overslept and then it had taken a lot longer than usual to apply her make-up, trying to hide the facial swelling and bruising that had only gotten worse overnight. The fact that her muscles had tightened up and her bruised shoulder wouldn't allow her to fully raise her arm didn't help matters. She looked like hell and she felt like hell and anyone who crossed her today was going to catch hell.
She couldn't believe she'd slept at all, not after what had happened. In fact, if House or Wilson hadn't drugged her hot tea the night before, she'd eat House's shorts. But first she had to get to the JCAHO exit meeting and she was already more than an hour late for that.
"Lisa." Wilson pushed through the office door. Behind him, Brenda ducked out of sight; she'd obviously paged Wilson to handle the situation rather than risk it herself. Smart move, but decidedly unwelcome.
"Don't start with me," Cuddy told Wilson. She was rifling through her briefcase for the fourth time and still couldn't find the files she needed. "And where the hell are the reports for the JCAHO survey?"
"We've got it under control," Wilson said, his hands spread in what he obviously hoped would be a placating gesture. It wasn't working.
"We?" Cuddy stared at him with growing apprehension. "Where's House?"
"He's running the exit meeting." Wilson spread his hands even further when he saw her disbelieving expression, and it still wasn't working. Cuddy shoved her briefcase aside and marched out of the office. Throwing his hands up in frustration, Wilson tagged along, still trying to appease her. "He's behaving. He even wore a suit."
Cuddy ignored Wilson's protests as she marched to the conference room. Marched might be a bit strong; she wasn't really up to that kind of forceful movement, but the intent was there. She wasn't going to let anyone take control of her life or her job from her ever again. She pushed through the door, Wilson almost tripping on her heels, and found House sitting at the head of the table, the surveyors sitting along either side. Strangely, no one was yelling. Or bleeding.
"He's wearing a suit," Cuddy said to Wilson, dumbstruck. Honestly, she hadn't believed him. She wouldn't have thought House even owned an actual suit. Not one in which all the pieces matched.
House glanced up as the door opened, then his expression hardened as he excused himself from the table. He stalked over to her, but his glare was aimed at Wilson. "What's she doing here?"
"Did you really think we could stop her?" Wilson shot back, sotto voce.
"Do you think you could stop talking about her as if she wasn't here?" Cuddy asked.
"Go home," House said, utterly dismissive. "We got it handled."
"Don't tell me what to do." Cuddy's low, angry voice stopped House in mid-turn. "I do one thing well, only one: run this damn hospital. And no one's going to stop me from doing that one thing. Not...him. Not you."
House had that weird look again, staring at her as if she were somehow alien to him. It angered her. On top of everything else that had happened, House's insistence that she was pathetic and useless and incapable of managing her own life was too much to take.
"Dr. Cuddy." Mr. Pavao had joined their little group at the door. He winced slightly when he got a direct look at her face, which made her feel even better. "Really, it wasn't necessary for you to come in today. Dr. House explained about the car accident."
"The car accident," Cuddy repeated, glancing at House. His face held the kind of innocent expression he could only manage when lying his ass off. But car accident worked for her. It was definitely better than trying to explain to a bunch of suited strangers why and how some freak had ended up believing he had the right to be not only in her life but in her bedroom. "Yes, well, there's nothing I can do about the…car right now, and I wanted to be here to see you off, thank you for your time."
House rolled his eyes, but Wilson's hand landed in the small of her back as he escorted her to House's recently vacated chair. House sighed as he leaned back against the wall and loosened his tie.
"All right, then, next item on the agenda?"
~~**~~
"Hey."
Cuddy startled awake, sitting upright on her office couch with a jerk. House stood next to her, holding out a bottle of water and a couple of pills.
"Don't worry, it's just Tylenol," House said as he dropped the pills into the palm of her hand. He sat down next to her and settled back, leaning his cane against the arm of the sofa.
"Yeah? And what's in the water?" Cuddy asked.
House merely shrugged, unconcerned by her veiled accusation. "Last night you needed it. Today you don't."
Cuddy rolled her eyes, but drank anyway. She set the bottle on the coffee table and leaned back with a groan as her muscles protested the change in position. She closed her eyes and tried to think of nothing, a task more difficult that she would've ever thought before last night.
"I didn't want to be right," House said quietly. Cuddy let out a snort of disbelief. "I didn't. Not about this."
"Well, you were right," Cuddy said, lips pursed with the bitter taste of those words. "Of course, you helped your own cause."
"What?"
"He thought I was doing you," Cuddy said. House's frown deepened. "And Wilson. And Chase."
"Where on earth would he get an idea like that?"
"From you," Cuddy said. "He read my emails, including the ones you sent to me."
"He had no right...."
"And you have no right to demean me at every opportunity," she snapped. She pushed off the couch and began pacing. The anger she'd been unable to tap the night before was still there, waiting for an outlet. Waiting for a target. House was an easier target than aiming that anger at herself. "At least he had an excuse--he's a freak. You're supposed to be my friend."
"Christ," House muttered. He shifted slightly, avoiding direct eye contact. "Why do you listen to what I say?"
"You mean what you say, and say what you mean."
House looked away, visibly uncomfortable as he rubbed his hand across his chin. "Do you really believe I cared more about being right than your happiness? Do you really believe I think you're incompetent?"
"You've been saying it for years...."
House let out a frustrated sound. "Cuddy, you know better. I expect the worst in any situation. I look for it. That doesn't mean I want it." He sighed. "You want to find someone who will treat you the way you deserve to be treated. I hope that person exists. But you've got to stop doing this kamikaze dating thing. Just...do Wilson."
She didn't really know why that sent her over the edge. Her head was a pounding tangle of emotions: shame, fear, anger, loneliness. And the very idea of doing Wilson seemed to punctuate the loneliness, accentuate the desperation. And she started to cry, lifting one hand to cover her eyes.
"Aw...hell," House muttered. Awkward, he leaned forward, rolling his cane between his hands. "Come on, Wilson isn't that bad."
"Get out," Cuddy said. She turned away, wiping at her eyes, her breath still hitching as she tried to stem the flow of tears.
"You don't mean that."
"Yes, I do." Cuddy grabbed a tissue from her desk and wiped the smeared mascara from under her eyes. "And you can stop telling me what to think or do or say any time now."
"Well, someone's got to say something. Otherwise you'll be back to trolling for dicks tomorrow," House said.
"And you'll be back to being a dick tomorrow," Cuddy snapped. She wouldn't be 'trolling' for dates any time soon. She'd be wary of accepting a date even with someone she knew. It was going to take time before she'd be comfortable with the whole idea of dating, but she knew it would happen. Sooner or later, she'd be more lonely than afraid.
"Don't be pathetic."
"Right, because being a lonely, miserable jerk isn't pathetic at all."
"At least it's a more honest kind of pathetic," House said.
"That and a nickel will get you absolutely nothing," Cuddy said. "Your way--you, Wilson, and I are all going to end up in the Old Doctor's Home, sitting in our rocking chairs and sniping endlessly at each other because we have no one else."
"On the bright side, maybe I'll finally get that threesome."
"Don't count on it," Cuddy said darkly.
~~**~~
Cuddy turned off the light behind her desk and slowly began to pack up for the night. In the weeks since the attack she'd recovered physically. The swelling had subsided and the bruises had faded. The psychological injuries were beginning to heal too. Some nights she could sleep all night without jerking awake at the slightest sound, or being torn from nightmares in which the police arrived too late. It was an excruciatingly slow process, one that tested her determination every damn day. It was…exhausting.
"Dinner?"
"Dinner?" Cuddy stopped sorting the files she wanted to take home with her from the ones that could wait and looked up. Wilson was leaning into her office, briefcase in hand and a questioning look on his face. House was standing out in the lobby, blatantly staring at her. "Does that invitation include House?"
Wilson let out a frustrated sigh. He let the door close behind him and stood, blocking her view of House. "How long are you going to stay mad at him?"
"I'm not mad. I'm…disappointed," Cuddy said. Which of course meant she was angry and disappointed in herself but House was still an easier target. She was trying to keep her self-loathing private and she told herself it was because she couldn't be professional, she couldn't be a leader if everyone knew just how shaken and insecure she felt. Some days, she almost managed to believe that.
"Why?" Wilson asked. He took in her incredulous look and shrugged. "There's no point in being disappointed with him. You know what he's like. You know he'll never change."
"So I should just accept him as he is?"
"Either that or...." Wilson made a vague gesture that suggested he couldn't really conceive of what "or" might be. She wasn't sure she could either, but she thought maybe it was time to find out, for her own peace of mind. She needed to know that he really didn't mean what he said before she could ignore it.
"You coming or what?" House had stuck his head in the door and was staring at her from over Wilson's shoulder.
"I have a date," Cuddy lied. Wilson's eyes jerked up to meet hers, then he looked over his shoulder at House. House stared at her, his expression unreadable. Cuddy braced herself for his disbelief, his condemnation, his disdain. Then he gave an almost imperceptible nod.
"Good for you. Have fun." House pivoted around his cane and headed back through the lobby. Wilson gave her a long, searching look, then he too simply nodded and turned to follow House.
Cuddy let out a sigh as they disappeared through the front door. Maybe she was an idiot. She probably was. She'd had the opportunity to spend the evening with Wilson and House. She didn't hate House, and both of them were intelligent, witty companions. Instead, she was going to spend another evening alone just to prove a point, which would turn out to be pointless because House would never change. And, apparently, neither would she.