We're Okay - Chapter 2
Like I can do anything but think about the Season Finale...............
House walked gingerly into the kitchen, his leg still very sore from the strenuous activities from the night before. Making his way towards Cuddy, he noticed that she was buttering some toast, enough for two people. Before she could even register his presence in the kitchen, his hand reached over her shoulder and grabbed an already buttered piece from the plate.
Cuddy turned around sharply, “Hey….”
She was quickly cut off by House who gave her a quick peck on the lips before taking a bigger than necessary bite out of his toast.
With a smile he said, “I could get used to this.”
“What? Kissing me or being fed?”
“Let’s go with both,” he replied and bent down to give her another soft kiss.
As House turned to go seat himself at the table, his eyes met Rachel’s. Before today, he had always seen her as his nemesis - the one who stood in between him and Cuddy. But now, looking at the little girl who was returning his stare with equal intensity and curiosity, she didn’t seem so bad. Really, she was just one tiny reason - an easy out. The real reasons for their prior obstacles were far too numerous to count.
Lowering himself into the chair next to Rachel‘s highchair, House stated, “She’s gotten big since the last time I saw her.”
“And has become a bit of a terror now that she walks on her own,” Cuddy replied over her shoulder.
And, as if on cue, Rachel picked up her sippy cup and threw it to the floor.
“I see what you mean.”
Cuddy turned to put the cup back on the tray of her highchair, but found that House was already bent down picking it up for her. She tried in vain to hide her smile.
“So, is she a master of the English language yet? Already setting tours of Harvard and Yale?” House asked.
Cuddy laughed as she handed House a cup of coffee and sat down next to him. “We’re not there yet. She’s got about fifteen words that she says over and over.”
House nodded and turned his gaze to study Rachel as she picked up Cheerios with her index finger and placed them on the tip of her tongue.
“So, are you going into work today?” Cuddy asked. She did appreciate the fact that House seemed to be open to Rachel, but didn’t want him to feel like that was the most important thing for her.
“Probably, I need to go tell my team ‘I told you so’ about the crane operator.” He paused. “I also need to do a write-up on Hannah.”
“Someone else could do that for you. Are you sure you don’t need a day to recuperate?”
House shrugged. “What else am I going to do with my time?”
“Sleep.” Cuddy said in that ‘duh’ sort of tone.
“Sleep is for sissies,” House scoffed.
Leaning forward placing his elbows on the table, House said softly, “Which leads us to, how do you want to handle ‘this’? At work, I mean.” He motioned his index finger back and forth between him and her.
Cuddy stared back at him. “My personal life is my personal life.”
“I think I’ve heard that one before.” House smiled.
“What do you want to do?”
House inhaled deeply. “I think we should keep it between you and me. I know we have a lot that we need to work through first - take it slow. The minute people find out about us….they’re going to be judging you. I’ll be getting high fives, obviously. But everyday, they’ll be giving us advice, whispering behind our backs. You don’t need that, we don’t need that.”
Cuddy reached for his forearm and smiled. “Not even Wilson?”
“Especially not Wilson. He’s been wanting to play Dr. Phil to us for the last three years now. And besides, he didn’t tell me about Sam.”
“You don’t think that’s a little harsh?” Cuddy asked. “He’s going to kill you when he finds out from someone other than you.”
“What can I say, payback’s a bitch.”
Cuddy laughed. “Well, I know I can keep it quiet. I think as long as we can keep you away from any balconies, we’re safe.”
“Ouch! Just for that, you do not get to finish the rest of your toast,” House said as he reached for her plate with catlike reflexes and stuffed her piece of toast into his mouth.
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Wilson was checking his messages in the front lobby around mid-morning. It had been a long night for him spent in the ER treating dozens of patients and, on top of that, worrying about House. Which was why he was so surprised when he heard singing coming from a very familiar, gruff voice.
“I’m gonna wash that man right out of my hair. I’m gonna wash that man right out of my hair and send him on his way.”
Wilson knew House well. And he knew that House only sang under three possible circumstances - either he was under the influence, had just gotten laid, or was especially proud of one of his ideas or schemes. It was far too early for any bright ideas. And given the rumors he had heard about the events from the collapse site, Wilson wasn’t sure he wanted to know the reason.
“Why are you singing?” Wilson asked House, stepping in rhythm with House’s stride as he made his way to the elevator.
“Why are you wearing a purple tie?” House shot back.
“You’re avoiding.”
House pushed the button for the elevator. “Nope, just don’t feel like answering a question that serves no purpose.”
“House, Foreman told me about last night. Are you okay?” Wilson was hoping that he was, hoping for any sign that House’s unexpected good mood wasn’t the result of a familiar narcotic.
House looked around suspiciously before whispering. “Foreman’s black. You think you can trust anything he says?”
Wilson rolled his eyes. “House, I’m being serious. From what I heard, you were on the verge of collapse last night. Now you’re singing show tunes. What did you do?”
Stepping into the elevator, he said, “Why do you always assume the worst in me? I had a rough night, today’s another day. People die, life goes on. Rinse and repeat.” Everybody lies. House was definitely the leader of the pack of ‘everybody’.
Wilson placed his hands on his hips. “Because experience has always taught me to think that way. Something’s going on that you’re not telling me about.”
“And history’s told you that annoying me is the best way to get an answer from me? I think it’s time you get a new textbook.”
Resigning to the fact that he wasn’t going to make any room with House this morning, Wilson turned towards his office. “Well if you need anything, you know where to find me.”
“I’ll just follow the scent of guilt,” House called after him.
As House watched Wilson walk away, he himself felt a twinge of guilt. One of the downsides of Mayfield was that since he left, his conscience seemed to get the better of him much more often.
“Wilson!”
He turned around to look at House.
“My patient died, I was under the rubble with her for hours. I performed her amputation and she didn’t make it. I just didn’t take it well. But, I’m okay.” House spoke with such gravity and softness that was so rarely heard from him that Wilson didn’t have any choice but to believe that he was fine.
This time it was House who walked away, leaving Wilson staring after him. Wilson didn’t doubt that House was okay, but he did know there was something he wasn’t telling him. The way Foreman had described House’s physical and mental state from the previous night…Well, Wilson had seen him like that on a few occasions before. And not once did it end well - finally checking into Mayfield and overdosing on pain meds were two that sprang to mind.
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Later that afternoon, Wilson slung open the door to Cuddy’s office. Cuddy lifted her head from the endless stream of paperwork with a smile expecting to see House in front of her. She quickly recovered when she saw that this was not the case, silently cursing the fact that Wilson had begun to mimic some of the habits of his best friend.
“What’s going on with House?” Such formalities as ‘Hello’ had long ago gone out the window between them when discussing House.
She hated lying to Wilson. She really did. But she knew that House was right. It was something that needed to be kept between them for now. “What do you mean? He seemed like he was in a good enough mood earlier today.”
“Exactly.” Wilson pointed at her. “That doesn’t seem weird to you? Foreman told me that he was having an especially rough night. And when I came in this morning, he was singing while walking out of the clinic.”
Cuddy was able to successfully suppress a smile. She decided she needed an Oscar for this performance. “Maybe it was because I told him that he didn’t have to work clinic today because of his shoulder.”
“House walks into the hospital everyday with the expectation that he is not going to work clinic. The fact that his expectation was met isn’t going to mean much to him,” Wilson argued.
Cuddy twirled a pen in her hand. “You hang out with him more than I do Wilson. If I know something there’s a pretty good chance that you would have already heard about it.”
“You’re right.” Wilson said apologetically. “So, how are you and Lucas?”
“We’re fine,” Cuddy replied, almost a little too defensively, before quickly changing the subject. “I’m not trying to push you out but I’ve got a lot of work to do. Was there anything else you needed?”
“No, sorry. I’ll talk to you later.” And with that Wilson was gone almost as quickly as he had come, though his suspicions about House had done nothing but multiplied.
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Wilson stood out on the balcony of his office that evening, taking a few moments to collect himself. It had been a long afternoon. One of his patients had taken a turn for the worse and he had vowed her family to stay with them through the end.
He hadn’t spoken with House since their first meeting in the morning and when he went to his office earlier in the evening, he discovered that House had already left. Wilson truly wanted to believe that House was going to be okay. He didn’t have proof that he wasn’t okay, but he didn’t have proof that he was, either.
It was the roar of a motorcycle that roused Wilson from his current train of thought. He saw Cuddy in the parking lot opening the door to her car as a motorcycle, a bright orange motorcycle no less, pulled up right next to her. Wilson couldn’t hear what they were saying or even make out any facial expressions, but even from this distance, he could see that it was a very different conversation than the ones he usually saw them having. Wilson put his palms flat on the edge of the balcony as he strained to make out something, anything, that they were saying.
But then, he no longer needed to strain, opting instead for a look of complete shock. Because it was at that moment that House placed his hand on Cuddy’s hip and dropped a soft kiss on her lips. Cuddy ran a hand softly along his jaw line before getting into her car and driving off. House stood there for a few seconds before hopping onto his bike and following her out of the parking lot.
Wilson pushed himself from the balcony’s ledge and smiled. “He’s going to be okay,” he whispered to himself.