The Mayfield Healing Process - Chapter 7: "The Closest Thing To Crazy"
Title: The Mayfield Healing Process - Chapter 7
Status: Ficlet (~ so far 35,000 words)
Rated: explicit content in some chapters
Characters: Gregory House & Lisa Cuddy
Summary: Set after 5.24 'Both Sides Now' - This story focuses on House in Mayfield, and his healing process.
Disclaimer: ok. fine. It's not (all) mine!! It belongs to David Shore, the lucky b... *sigh*
song for Chapter 7: "The Closest Thing To Crazy" - Katie Melua
CHAPTER 7 - Thursday, June, 4th - The Closest Thing to Crazy
"If I go there, it has to be for a reason."
"Yes."
"…"
"Hello?"
"Who am I talking to?"
"Anna Miller."
"… Anna Miller?"
"Yes. And you are?"
"… I… uh…I'm Lisa Cuddy."
"Lisa Cuddy…" a faint smile flickers on the psychiatrist lips while she repeats the name of the woman at the other end of the line.
"Yes. Doctor Lisa Cuddy."
"Dr. Cuddy. Yes, I know who you are. I'm Dr. Anna Miller. I'm Dr. House's psychiatrist."
"Oh! Right… of course! I uh… I mean… is everything ok with Dr. House?"
"Everything is getting ok… Are you calling about something regarding his admission or … his medical license?"
"No…"
A heavy embarrassed silent ensues. On the other end of the line, sitting at her desk in her office, Cuddy is nervously biting her nails. When she finally overcame her doubts and decided to dial the number, she was ready to face any kind of scenario. House had left Mayfield and had called her with a phone he had managed to borrow from a random person; or he had coned some nurse into giving him a phone and God only knew what else. She was expecting anything. She was waiting for anything… anything but that. That, being someone else's voice answering the phone. Because even though she was still not ready to admit it to herself, the fact was that she dreadfully wanted to talk to him.
Three days. Three days had passed since he had left her that message. She had been listening to it over and over again, letting herself be rocked by the huskily low sound of his voice. His wobbling voice. When, on Monday's evening, she had dialed her voicemail's number to listen to her messages after another tiring day of work at the hospital, she was not prepared for that. Not prepared at all. And yet deep inside of her, she had secretly been wishing for that call. Since the day he had left, a part of her had been longing for a sign, anything, that would connect her with him again. But that didn't mean she was ready for it to happen. She was listening to the different messages she had received that day, updating her on medical cases, confirming meetings, cancelling appointments, rescheduling, calls from peers, informing her of new administrative procedures, from her nanny, reassuring her that everything was fine… She had sighed, her eyes closed and her mind elsewhere. That was her life: planning, assessing, organizing… She wasn't really tired, but she wasn't focused on what she was listening either. She knew all those messages too well. She was used to receiving dozens of them every day. And they were always the same. Always the same. Just with different dates.
And suddenly, in the middle of this ô so familiar old tune, she had heard his voice. And it had felt as if all the air had been sucked out of her lungs in one single puff. She had griped her phone inside her hand while the lump had tightened her throat. From the first syllable on, she had known it was him. No, actually she had recognized him from the very first sound of his breath inside the receiver.
"… Cuddy … I guess this is not the right moment… I … never mind, I'm… just not the lucky guy, aren't I?… I … I hope you're ok … I just wanted to say… Cuddy … I'm … I'm sorry …"
The beep announcing the end of the message had echoed inside her ear like a siren, shaking her out of her stupor. She had looked around her, lost and short of breath, not knowing where she was anymore. She had hung up and soon, driven by an almost unconscious reflex, she had dialed her voicemail again. To listen to it again, listen to him. Just one more time. Again. And again…
"Dr. House called you, didn't he?"
She slightly jumps in her chair, jolted out of her bittersweet reverie by Anna Miller's soft voice.
"What?"
"You're not calling to talk to me Dr. Cuddy, are you?"
"I… well… actually, I…"
"Dr. House didn't steal my cell phone, if that's what you're wondering about. I gave it to him. Because he said he wanted to make a call."
"Oh!..."
"So I assume you are the person he called. Am I right?"
"… Well… Yes. He did. He called me to…"
"Dr. Cuddy. I'm not asking you to tell me what he said. He didn't make that call for my benefit."
"…"
Lisa Cuddy slowly sighs, and Anna Miller doesn't fail to notice the genuine relief that lies underneath that sigh. Another silence follows, during which Anna does nothing other than listen to the breathing of her interlocutor, echoing her own into the receiver.
"Dr Miller?"
"Yes."
"Will it be ok if I asked you some questions about Dr. House?"
"It depends. What do you want to know?"
"How is he doing?"
"He's… still adjusting."
"And detox? How did that go?"
"It was hard. Like detox is. But he's fine now. That really isn't the worst part, you know…"
"Yes, I know… I mean… I guess it isn't… but I assume I can't ask you about that part."
"No, indeed. At least, you can't ask me."
"What do you mean?"
"Dr. Cuddy. If you… feel the need to talk to Dr. House…"
"No! That's fine. I mean, you told me everything I needed to know…"
"Are you sure?"
"…"
"That's your decision. I'm sure you know what you need better than anyone…"
Cuddy gasps, taken off guard by what has supposedly been said innocently but is surely also meant to trigger something in her. The subtle provoking double meaning of Anna Miller's remark didn't escape her attention. She's feeling fragile like never before, trying to live through a destabilizing period in her life, where she feels as if everything she's been relying on all those years is slowly falling apart around her, leaving her doubtful, unsure and above all confused as to acknowledging what her real desires are. For an uncalled-for disturbing brief moment, she feels a wave of emotions overwhelming her.
What does she want? What does she need? Does she at least know what it is? Is she ready to admit it? To herself? To that woman, who seems to have read right through her, digging in all the questions she has tried to repress since he's been gone?
She misses him, excruciatingly. Nothing can fill the void that his absence has left in her life. Nothing and nobody. Not even her sweet little baby girl. And that terrifies her, because she's certainly not prepared for that. No, she isn't. He's a bad curse, a dark shadow, a dangerous attraction. There is no doubt that he will consume her… But he is so compelling, so enthralling, so intoxicating at the same time. What is she supposed to do? He takes her strength, her will, and her resistance away. She just can't fight it.
And anyway, does she really want to?
"I am busy… I'm sorry… I…" She finally says, opting for the coward retreat solution.
"You have to go. Of course."
That tone again, poking…
"Yes, I'm sorry."
"No, that's ok. You didn't disturb me at all… So, good bye then, Dr. Cuddy."
"Good bye."
"Have a nice day."
"Yes, thank you. You too."
Work. Yes. Pretenses and lies. Sweet lies. But she can't hide herself away forever. Maybe she was able to fool a stranger, and was she really? But she can't fool herself.
Not anymore.
"Uh? What are you doing here?"
She jerks on the chair when he enters the room and surprises her there.
"I could ask you the same question." She says, trying to regain her composure, despite her racing heartbeat inside her chest.
"I… I'm looking for Foreman."
"He and the rest of the team are in the lab."
She straightens up in his chair, looking Wilson in the eyes, waiting for him to leave the office. But he doesn't move and keeps standing right in front of her, scrutinizing her with a quizzical but fond gaze.
"I guess… I'm not really here to see Foreman after all." He finally admits, smiling at her.
"Oh…" She slowly bends over and casually puts the red and grey tennis ball back on his desk again.
"Sometimes, I just feel the need to come here and… I don't know…"
"Take a nap in his armchair?" Cuddy completes with her best attempt at sounding playful.
"I already have a couch… which, I don't use! I mean, I don't sleep in my office during the day!" He feels the need to defend himself, with a slightly embarrassed chuckle.
"I know. That's what he does."
She sighs and leans back into his chair's backrest.
"And you? You didn't tell me why you're here…"
"Probably for the same reasons as you are..." She says in a very low voice.
Wilson slightly nods, while she looks away for a split second.
"I spoke to his psychiatrist this morning." She carries on, feeling the sudden surge of confiding in him to get rid of the awkwardness she's been feeling ever since.
"What? Something's wrong?" He asks, his voice immediately taking on a worried tone.
"No," she reassures him, "everything's fine… I guess."
Wilson sighs, relieved.
"Good. Because he seemed fine when I saw him last week."
"You saw him?" She asks, a little too much quickly.
"Yes. I visited him there."
"Visited?"
"He called to ask me to come."
"Oh! He called you…"
She lowers her eyes and strongly bites her bottom lip, mentally cursing herself for letting that simple and completely unsurprising fact affecting her. Of course, he asked Wilson to come. What is not normal in that? Wilson is his best friend. And House surely needed him to feel better. Wilson perceives the embarrassment, and even the slight jealousy in Cuddy's reaction and he takes a step forward to come closer to House's desk.
"Cuddy…" He starts, uneasy.
She promptly lifts her eyes to meet his gaze and commands him to stop with a silent stare. Then she places her hands flat on the desk and pulls herself up. She walks round the desk and heads towards the exit. When she passes by him, Wilson gently but firmly grabs her arms, forcing her to stop. She does and looks up at him. He lets go of her arm, a sorry expression on his face.
"You have to be patient. I'm sure he will call you…"
"He already did," Cuddy says, rising her chin up a notch, assessing the look of surprise on Wilson's face, and silently despising her for enjoying it. She suddenly feels guilty for taking advantage of the situation to feed her assertiveness on Wilson's visibly great puzzlement. "He left me a message, to be more precise…" She adds, baring herself a bit, with this little clarification.
Wilson stays silent. It's obvious that he doesn't know what to say at this point.
"But he didn't ask me to come see him…" She says, her genuine disappointment showing within the tone of her voice.
She looks down at her feet and takes a deep breath.
"Wilson, I don't know what to do." She confesses out of the blue, almost whispering.
"Do you want to see him?"
"I don't know… Ok… Yes… maybe I do." She raises her face up again and dares sustain his gaze.
"Then why don't you go there? It's simple."
She takes another deep breath and her beautiful features take on an unsure look, finally allowing all her fragile most inner doubts to be displayed.
"Because… If I go there, it has to be for a reason… And I don't know if he wants me there… How am I supposed to know how he feels now that he's fine… now that he's probably changed…"
Wilson takes hold of her arm again, making her stop before she dives deeper into unnecessary confusion. He intensely stares at her, conveying his best convincing look through a compelling gaze, making sure she'll believe in what he is about to say.
"Lisa… House is slowly getting better, but there are things that won't change, whatever state of mind he's in. He's still going to be the same genius doctor he was before and…" Wilson's stare on her intensifies, as he slightly comes closer to her face. "You have to believe me, how he feels about you is not going to change either…"
"But I don't know how he feels…" She objects.
Wilson frowns disapprovingly, giving her a 'I'm not buying your crap' almost upset look.
"Cuddy, if there's one thing that you're surely not, it's stupid. So please, don't act stupid now…"
She bits her lips and looks away, not very proud of herself, and of her sudden childish call for reassurance.
"I'm not playing." She says, trying to defend herself.
"I know. That's exactly why I'm telling you this."
"I don't know if it's worth it…" She murmurs, her emotions visibly struggling hard against her rational mind.
"I can't answer that question for you."
Their eyes meet again and the silence that suddenly fills the room carries all the unsaid confessions that she's still not ready to share yet within it.
"I have to go" Wilson says, checking the time on his watch. "I'm seeing a patient in ten minutes."
"Ok." She nods.
Wilson gives her a last supportive smile and walks out of the room.
Her car is parked outside the facility, in the grand alley, facing the main building. She walks towards it, numb, almost mechanically. When she arrives at the car's side, she grabs the knob to open the door and unconsciously, before bending to sit onto the driver's seat, she can't repress the need to give a last glance at Mayfield imposing structure. This place is huge. That's what she first thought when she arrived there, feeling so tiny and fragile in front of the gigantic walls that seemed to want to swallow her inside.
Where he was.
She enters in her car and she searches for her key inside her purse. Her hand is slightly trembling as she reaches out for the starter. She slides the key inside and rests her hands on the steering wheel for a moment, while she inhales and exhales slowly, desperately trying to stop the growing wave from flowing out of her.
But it's pointless.
She closes her eyes and one single tear rolls down her cheek, and she gulps and grips the steering wheel tighter waiting until the tiny salty pearl dies somewhere inside her neck, where she won't have to wipe it away. How could she be so naïve? How could she think he would want her there? Of course he didn't. The people she has met in there were absolutely definite: she couldn't see him because he didn't specifically mention her as a welcome visitor.
She was not welcome.
Not here. Not now. Not in his life. Not ever. Why would she keep clinging on to the delusional hope that she meant anything to him? All this time, all those longing hours, all those agitated nights, thinking, wondering, torturing her mind, weighing the pros and cons, rationalizing. She was willing to give in. Finally. She had come here because she had finally admitted that he was the only man she would ever want in her life. Him and no one else. There was no point in struggling. For a long period of time, she had kept pushing him away, shutting down her heart and its most compelling feelings. She had tried to fool herself into thinking that she wanted to find happiness and that, since he would never bring her that, she couldn't let him be part of her life. But after many years and many battles against her wishes, her fears, her wants, she was finally seeing clearly. She didn't need to be happy. She was not living the life for that. But she could find a certain peace. She just needed to not be miserable. And she knew something for sure: Without him, she was. That's what she had come to tell him.
But they hadn't let her in, because her name was not on the list…
She opens her eyes and the grey massive building is still here, tantalizing her. And he is still in there, unaware of her presence outside. Life is ironic. Life is pain. The tear has dried and she smiles, a shy bitter smile.
It aches. Like Hell. But while she stares at the psychiatric hospital, it becomes evident. She doesn't care if he doesn't want to see her now. He's right. It's the best choice for him. For her. And she will wait, until he comes out. Because she won't give up.
Because she knows what she needs better than anyone.