Endorphins: The Finale
Splat!
The tomato landed, with a thud, in front of Cuddy’s feet. It exploded instantly-a Jackson Pollack of juice and seeds and tomato flesh spraying all around her. Some landed on her shoes. A bit of the juice managed to get on her skirt.
She looked up at the balcony to see the offending hurler, as if there was any doubt.
House was up there with a small boy, a cancer patient with a portable IV drip.
“And that, Timmy, is how gravity works,” he said loudly.
“What are you, five?” she snapped, dabbing her skirt with a tissue.
“Timmy here is seven, aren’t you Timmy?” House said, putting his arm around the boy. “And as you well know, I’m 51-not five. Otherwise, I’m pretty sure you would’ve been arrested months ago. If you know what I mean.” He winked broadly.
“Take Timmy back to his room, House-now,” Cuddy said, glaring. “He’s not supposed to be wandering the halls.”
“And that Timmy, is an example of an angry bit-” he stopped himself. “Well, you’ll find out soon enough. . . Uh, if you make it, that is.”
And he led Timmy back to the cancer ward.
It had been three weeks since their breakup, and House had become nearly impossible to deal with. At first, he was desperate, pathetic-banging on her door at all hours of the night-usually drunk, once literally in tears. When that didn’t work, he switched to angry outbursts, which eventually transitioned to his current state of disruptive mayhem. It was exhausting, relentless, and at times hurtful, “Did you have those ugly bags under your eyes when we dating?” he would say. Or “You should hear what the other doctors have to say about you in the staff lounge. Come to think of it, you probably shouldn’t.” But she had to ride it out. The key was to avoid him as much as possible.
Still, it wasn’t easy, especially because, through his grief, he had buried himself completely in his work (idleness being his worst enemy) and was making more astonishingly brilliant diagnoses than ever. One day, about a week after the tomato incident, he diagnosed a case of Chagas Disease so quickly and ingeniously, she was compelled to stop by his office and congratulate him.
He was sitting behind his desk, studying a scan, his glasses perched on his nose.
“Great work today,” she said to him. “I mean, with the Chagas case.”
He glanced up-and she could already tell by the mask of anger on his face that this wasn’t going to be a pleasant conversation.
“Oh goody! So I get to keep my job for another day? Lucky for me, you’re not as fickle at work as you are in your private life.”
“You know I’m proud of your work,” she said.
“Good. Because your approval means everything to me,” he said. Then he screwed up his face. “Wait, did I say everything? I meant absolutely nothing. But thanks for stopping by!”
She pursed her lips. Her mouth felt dry.
“Okay, I get it. Okay,” she said, starting to leave.
He closed his eyes.
“Wait,” he said softly.
She stopped.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”
She nodded.
“I know, House.”
He looked at her.
“How are you?” he said quietly.
“Been better,” she admitted. “You?”
“Miserable,” he said.
His eyes were wide and searching (“You think I can fix myself?”)-and she forced herself to look away.
“We’ll both get through this,” she said, trying to keep her voice impersonal. And before he could respond, she left.
####
A few nights later, there was a loud and riotous thunderstorm that woke both her and Rachel up.
“Mama, I’m scared,” Rachel said, crawling into bed with her.
Cuddy smoothed her little girl’s hair. She wasn’t the biggest fan of thunder herself-House used to give her grief about it-but she had to be strong.
“Remember what House said about thunder?” she said.
“Some big words,” Rachel said.
“Thermal expansion of plasma in the lightning channel,” Cuddy said. “But what else did he say?”
“That it was the world’s best drum skit,” Rachel said.
“Drum kit,” Cuddy corrected. “And yeah.”
There was a loud crack.
“That was the snare drum,” Cuddy said.
Then, a low rumble.
“And that was the bass drum,” Cuddy said.
Finally, the kind of thunder that was so loud, you felt it rattle inside your bones.
“Mama!” Rachel said, diving into Cuddy’s arms.
“And that was the cymbal,” Cuddy said shakily, hugging her tightly.
“I wish House was here,” Rachel moaned.
Cuddy sighed.
Yeah, she thought. Me too.
#####
In her mind, there were two Cuddys.
There was rational Cuddy: The one who had made the decision to break up with House because she realized that her own ambivalence toward the relationship was actually hurting him.
And there was irrational Cuddy: She was the one who loved him, wished she didn’t, couldn’t help herself. She was also the one who craved him now, missed every part of him.
And lately, irrational Cuddy had taken the lead.
So she began doing things she wasn’t entirely proud of. Or, to put it another way, she began acting like House. She would drive past his apartment. Check to see if the light was on, if his bike was parked at the curb. She would crane her neck, peer through the window, try to assess if he was home, if he was alone. (She never saw anything beyond inconclusive flickers and shadows). She would grill Wilson for insight into House’s emotional state. (“I’m done playing go-between,” Wilson finally said.) She would go to Sullivan’s, House’s favorite bar, after work, nurse a martini for an hour, in the hopes that he might show up. But he never did.
That is, until one night, when she arrived, he was already sitting at the bar. He was slumped over a bit, wearing a white tee-shirt that was too short and tight, as though it had shrunk in the wash. (“You’re a genius,” Cuddy would tease him. “You can’t figure out not to wash cotton in scalding hot water?”). And he wasn’t alone. A slender, elegant looking woman sat beside him. They seemed to be deep in conversation. The woman was rubbing his shoulder.
Cuddy’s put her hand over her mouth.
The woman at the bar, of course, was Stacy Warner.
######
“I’m so glad we finally did this,” Stacy said breezily, taking off her coat, sitting down across from Cuddy.
They were at a small café in New Brunswick, about 20 minutes from the hospital.
“Me too,” Cuddy said, smiling at her.
Stacy looked good-as beautiful and elegant as ever.
They exchanged pleasantries for a bit-talked about Stacy’s new law firm, where she had just made partner, about developments at the hospital, including a prestigious grant that had just come through. And then, Stacy finally said: “I was very sorry to hear about you and House.”
“Thank you,” Cuddy said, sipping her iced tea. “Actually, I’m glad you brought that up because I don’t want there to be any awkwardness between us.”
“Why would there be awkwardness?” Stacy said, chuckling.
“Well, I know you’ve been seeing him,” Cuddy said, cautiously.
“Seeing him? As in dating seeing him?”
“It’s okay,” Cuddy said. “I don’t mind. I actually…encouraged it.”
“Why on earth would you think House and I are back together?” Stacy said.
Cuddy looked at her.
“I saw you two together. At Sullivan’s.”
“It’s true. House and I met for a drink. He was very depressed. He told me that you had broken up with him and he was feeling somewhat lost. I was consoling him.”
“Consoling him?” she said, remembering Stacy’s hand on House’s shoulder.
“Well, tried to at least. He was inconsolable.”
Cuddy felt her face turn red.
“I’m sorry. I jumped to conclusions,” she said. “I’m embarrassed.”
“House is still very much in love with you, Lisa. You know that, right? He’s very hurt and confused by the breakup. He said it came out the blue.”
“I…had my reasons,” Cuddy said.
“Well, he’s a mess. I’m actually worried that he’ll do something rash.”
“Like what?” Cuddy said anxiously.
“Who knows? But is there anyone better at self destruction than Gregory House?”
#####
The phone on Nolan’s nightstand rang at 1 am. This wasn’t that unusual. Nolan gave his home phone number to his patients for emergencies. And emergencies rarely happened during regular business hours.
He picked up.
“Hello?”
“Do you know how easy it is to buy heroin in Princeton?” the man said, shakily.
Nolan sat up in bed.
“House?” he said, shocked. “You took heroin?”
This would be a setback of unprecedented proportions.
“Made some initial inquiries,” House said. His voice was dripping with self-loathing. “It’s actually much easier to acquire than Vicodin. Which is a job for Nancy Reagan, or whoever the hell wants us all to say no to drugs.”
“Why do you want to take heroin, House?”
“Because my life is going so well, obviously!”
“But why heroin, House?”
A pause.
“Because everything hurts. Everything fucking hurts.”
Nolan turned on the lamp on the nightstand.
“I’m glad you called me instead of taking the drugs,” he said.
“Seemed like the smarter move…”
“Where are you now?”
“I’m home. I put my dealer on hold. He’s probably hung up by now.”
Nolan smiled, despite himself. House was his only patient who could joke his way through a mental health crisis.
“I’m getting dressed,” Nolan said. “Can you meet me in my office in half an hour?”
“Can you bring Vicodin?”
“You’re going to be okay, House. Half an hour.”
A pause. Then a somewhat chastened, “Okay. Thanks.”
#####
Whatever crisis had led House to consider taking heroin and to call Nolan in the middle of the night, seemed to have subsided a bit. He looked edgy, a bit gaunt in his oversized overcoat, but not on the verge of a breakdown.
“Nice sweatpants,” he said to Nolan when he saw him.
“I was sleeping, so…this is the best you’re going to get,” Nolan said.
“Sleep,” House mused. “I remember that.”
“Tell me what’s going on,” Nolan said.
“Surprise, surprise, Cuddy dumped me,” House said.
“When?”
“One month, five days, and eight hours ago. But who’s counting?”
Nolan did a quick calculation: The same day Cuddy had come to see him. He had sensed a look of resolve on her face, like she’d already made up her mind. He scratched his head. So much for do no harm.
“Why?”
“That’s the thing. I have no damn clue. She was blathering on about keeping me in limbo and me needing a woman who accepted me for who I am.”
“Well, don’t you?”
“Cuddy accepts me for who I am. Or . . . I thought she did.”
“You told me she was constantly nagging you.”
“I never said that.”
“You implied it.”
“Yeah, she had some issues with me. Who wouldn’t? I’m a lot to deal with.”
“That’s true.”
“The thing is, she took a leap of faith with me, you know? She risked everything for me-personally and professionally. Maybe it was all just too much.”
“Maybe she realized she was hurting you by not fully committing to the relationship.”
“She gave me everything!”
“You were cutting yourself on the couch!”
House looked at his hands.
“I’m not used to admitting that I want things, let alone need them,” he explained. “So yeah, I was afraid of losing what I had. Afraid of the rug being pulled out from under me. Turns out, my paranoia was justified.”
“Maybe you can find another woman who doesn’t make you feel quite so paranoid.”
House gave him a somewhat dirty look.
“I don’t want any other woman.”
“You’re hurt. Still heartbroken. It’s a cliché, but true: There are other fish in the sea.”
House let out a derisive chuckle.
“After all our time together, Nolan, you have failed to recognize one essential truth: I don’t like most people. I can barely stand you, to be honest. As for falling in love? Forget it. There’s one woman for me. One.”
“So Cuddy or death?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You were thinking of taking heroin. That’s close enough, in my book.”
House eyed him.
“But I didn’t, did I? I called you first.”
Nolan softened his stance.
“And I’m very glad you did. . . How’s the leg?”
“Hurts like a mother,” House said.
“I’m going to write you a prescription for tramadol,” Nolan said, taking his prescription pad out the desk. “Just to get you through this period.”
House leaned back on the couch. Tramadol was the strongest non-narcotic pain reliever there was. It would have to do.
“Thanks,” he mumbled.
“Can we resume therapy every week? I don’t want any more 2 am phone calls.”
“That’s probably a good idea,” House said.
“House, it takes courage to ask for help. I’m proud of you.”
“Oh yeah. I’m a pillar of strength,” House said, snatching the prescription out of Nolan’s hands.
######
The next night, Nolan was working late when the phone rang. He waited for his receptionist to pick up, but it just kept ringing and ringing-she had obviously left for the day. He rolled his eyes a bit, answered it.
“Darryl Nolan,” he said.
“Dr. Nolan, this is Dr. Lisa Cuddy. I’m not sure if you remember me.”
Nolan had to chuckle: Two days in a row.
“Of course I remember you. What can I do for you, Dr. Cuddy?”
“I’m having a bit of a . . . crisis of conscience,” Cuddy said.
“A crisis of conscience? You’re going to have to explain.”
“Last time I saw you, you convinced me that splitting up with House was the right thing to do. When I left your office, I felt very certain of what I had to do. But lately, my resolve has weakened. . . I miss him.” She chuckled dryly. “And I can tell how much he misses me, because he’s being a complete asshole at work.”
Nolan laughed with her.
“You know him well,” he said.
She sighed. “The thing is, I was so certain I was making the right decision last time I saw you. So I thought maybe if you could remind me again why I’m bad for him, it might help strengthen my resolve?”
Nolan tapped a pencil against the leather bound calendar that covered his desk.
“I never specifically suggested you break up with him,” he said.
“No, but I got the message, loud and clear.”
“I think I …underestimated the connection you two have. It was a mistake.”
There was a pause.
“That’s quite a mistake,” Cuddy said.
“Then let me help fix it,” Nolan said. “House has started therapy again. Well, he came to me in a bit of a state last night. We’re resuming our normal sessions next Tuesday. Why don’t you join us. Say, 6:15?”
“If you think it will help.”
“I do.”
“Okay, I’ll be there.”
“One more thing, Dr. Cuddy. Don’t tell House you’ll be joining us. I think it’s best if I’m the one who tells him.”
#####
“I have a surprise for you,” Nolan said. “I hope it’s going to be a pleasant one.”
“You got me a pony?”
“We’re going to have a special guest at today’s session.”
House’s eyes narrowed.
“If you flew in my mother from Virginia, you’re a dead man.”
“It’s not your mother. It’s …Dr. Cuddy.”
House stared at Nolan, in some disbelief.
“How did you manage to. . .?”
“She called me. Look, all will be explained when Dr. Cuddy arrives. I think this is something the three of us need to discuss together.”
House leaned back on the couch, processing the news.
“You okay?” Nolan said.
“Yeah, I. . .she called you? How did she even get your number?”
Nolan hesitated.
“Dr. Cuddy actually came to see me once.”
House’s head was spinning.
“When?”
“A little over a month ago.”
The night Cuddy had broken up with him, House had been too devastated to make the connection between Cuddy’s words and Nolan’s. To understand that she was practically echoing the same reasons Nolan had given when he suggested House leave her. Now he understood.
“That was you?” he hissed.
Nolan sighed.
“I may have inadvertently set off a chain of events that were unintended.”
“You bastard.” House clenched his fists, lurched forward.
“What are you going to? Take a swing at me?” Nolan said.
“I should!” House said. His body was still coiled, but he had unclenched his fists. He tried to calm down, regulate his breathing.
“Let’s see if we can all the clear the air together,” Nolan said.
His phone buzzed on his desk. He picked it up.
“Okay,” he said.
Then he smiled at House, encouragingly.
“She’s here.”
#####
Cuddy came in, and stood awkwardly in the doorway. Should she sit next to House on the couch? Or in the somewhat serious looking antique velvet chair in the corner?
“Have a seat next to House on the couch,” Nolan instructed, as if he could read her mind.
She sat next to him, but not too close.
“Hi,” House said, shyly.
“Hi,” she said back, blinking at him.
“Are you two familiar with The Gift of the Magi?” Nolan said, referencing the famed O Henry story where the husband sells his watch to buy his wife expensive combs for her long hair, which she has shorn and sold to buy him a chain for his watch.
Both House and Cuddy nodded. “Of course,” Cuddy said.
“I feel that I have inadvertently created the therapeutic version of The Gift of the Magi,” Nolan said.
They both gave him a curious look.
Nolan turned to Cuddy. “I suggested that House break up with you and he fired me,” he said.
Then he turned back to House: “Then I relayed my concerns to Dr. Cuddy and she broke up with you in an act of some self-sacrifice. Now you’re both miserable. And I’m afraid it’s all my fault.”
“You really suck at your job,” House said.
“I admit, it wasn’t my proudest moment.”
House then turned to Cuddy, hopefully: “So is it true? Do you really still love me?” he asked.
“Of course I do, House.”
“And you broke up with me because this bozo told you to?”
“He didn’t tell me to. He made some irrefutable points. I was holding you at arm’s length. I was never fully committed to the relationship.”
“Of course you were,” House said. “We’d been together for five months, not five years. I have no patience. That’s one of my problems. You’re a mom. You can’t just jump into things because they feel good.”
“But. . .a small part of me-”
“There is no small part of you,” House interjected-and they gave each other wistful, knowing smiles.
“Inside joke,” they explained in unison.
“-a small part of me was holding back,” Cuddy continued. “Breaking up with Lucas, diving into my relationship with you, that was the craziest thing I’ve ever done. I’ve never trusted my feelings for you. They’re too . . . unwieldy.”
“Control is important to you, isn’t it, Dr. Cuddy?” Nolan said.
“I guess so.”
“Why? What’s so terrible about losing control?”
Now both Nolan and House were looking at her.
“I. . .don’t know,” she admitted.
“You should ask yourself that.”
“She’s the youngest female dean of medicine in the country,” House said, proudly. “You think she achieved that by behaving recklessly?”
Cuddy gave a tiny smile.
“Were either of your parents alcoholics?” Nolan asked Cuddy.
Cuddy recoiled a bit.
“What? No! I mean, I guess my mom likes the occasional nip. But I wouldn’t characterize her as an alcoholic.”
“I would,” House said. And Cuddy shot him a look.
“Children of alcoholics often feel a need to control their environments. Because their childhoods were chaotic.”
“That’s not me. I mean, my childhood wasn’t chaotic. My father was a rock, he grounded us.”
“And your mother?”
“She was hard on me,” Cuddy admitted. “Nothing I ever did was good enough.”
“What does she think about House?”
“She thinks he’s an asshole and a narcissist,” Cuddy chuckled. “But I think she was also just glad I had a boyfriend.”
“You haven’t had many boyfriends, have you?”
“No,” Cuddy said, looking at the floor.
“Why not?”
“She was too busy becoming the youngest female dean in the country,” House repeated. “Or haven’t you been paying attention?”
“House, let her answer.”
“I don’t know. I guess I . . .scare some men away.”
“Why?”
“Probably because she’s neither extremely beautiful nor extremely accomplished. Oh wait . . .” House said.
“House…” Nolan warned.
Cuddy blushed.
“I guess I do tend to intimidate some men.”
“But not House.”
She gave House a flirty look.
“Nothing intimidates House.”
Nolan nodded.
“I don’t doubt that men are intimidated by you. You’re everything House says and more. But I’d like to propose an alternate theory. I think you close yourself off from love, much the same way House does-albeit for different reasons. He doesn’t want to get hurt. You don’t want to lose control.”
House and Cuddy both folded their arms defensively-they had a habit of subconsciously mirroring each other that Nolan found amusing.
“Is it possible Dr. Cuddy, that you fear real love and intimacy because those things almost always involve losing control?”
“I … never thought of it like that.”
“Well, it’s something to think about,” Nolan said. He pulled out a notepad, scribbled down a name. “This is the name of a very fine couple’s therapist in Princeton. I think you’ll find that she is accomplished, insightful, and will give you excellent tools to rebuild your relationship.”
Cuddy looked at him, confused. “Wait. You’re not going to treat us?”
“Well, I’m not a technically a couple’s therapist. Besides, I feel like I’ve already done enough damage here.”
“Exactly,” House said. “You broke us. You should fix us.”
Nolan turned to Cuddy. “Is that what you want, too?”
“Of course,” she said.
Nolan smiled, unable to mask his pleasure.
“I’d be honored,” he said. “I’d like to continue treating House, on Tuesdays. So maybe we could have our sessions on Mondays? 6 pm?”
“That works,” House and Cuddy said, in unison.
“Great. Until we really get going on the therapy, my recommendation would be that you limit your interactions, when possible, to this clinical setting.”
House and Cuddy shrugged.
“Okay,” they said reluctantly.
“So I’ll see you both next week.”
They got up, exited the office, rode down the elevator together.
When they stepped onto the street, Cuddy said: “I’m feeling pretty optimistic. You?”
“Very,” he said.
She took his hand.
“I’ve missed you,” she said.
“I’ve missed you, too,” he said. “So fucking much.”
“Come here,” she said, holding out her arms. He went to her, gratefully, and they hugged. When they parted, they couldn’t quite let go of each other, but instead gazed into each other’s eyes.
He gently kissed her on the mouth, because he couldn’t help himself.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered.
“So are you,” she whispered back.
And then they were kissing for real, right there in the street, oblivious to the gawking passersby (or to Nolan, who was watching from the window, shaking his head).
“The Princeton Hilton is five minutes from here,” House said, kissing her mouth, her cheek, her eyelid.
“Nolan says we’re supposed to limit our interactions,” Cuddy said, kissing him back, running her hands through his hair, down his back.
“What the fuck does he know? He almost destroyed us.”
“Good point,” Cuddy giggled.
“So the Hilton?”
“Lead the way.”
EPILOGUE
The floor was littered with boxes and bags and they were making three distinct piles: Bring, throw away, or give to charity.
House took a very old and tattered concert tee, put it in one of the “bring” piles.
Cuddy immediately removed it, tossed on the “throw away” pile.
“Hey, that’s a classic!” House said, retrieving it. “Def Leppard at Wolf Trap,1981. Amanda Knoblach gave me a blow-” he glanced over at Rachel, who was looking through some of the boxes. “-pop in the back seat of her Chevy.”
“That was nice of her,” Rachel said.
House grinned.
“Yeah, it most certainly was.”
Then, noticing the look on Cuddy’s face, he meekly dropped the tee back in the throw away pile.
“Who’s this?” Rachel said, holding up a photo of a lanky young man, hair sticking up in a variety of uncooperative directions, playing the guitar under the tree.
“Never mind,” House said, snatching it from her.
“Oh my God, let me see that,” Cuddy said. “Look at you. You were so cute. What happened? That was right around when we first met, huh?”
“A few years before that,” House said.
“That’s House?” Rachel said, with disbelief.
She inspected the photo again. “Your cheeks are rosy.”
“That’s not rosy. It’s a very manly shade of. . . pink,” House said.
Then Rachel reached into a box that was filled was records.
“Is this a placemat?” she asked, holding up Bruce Springsteen’s “Born to Run.”
“Oh my God, I weep for the future of our nation,” House said.
“It’s a record,” Cuddy explained. “It plays music. It’s like an iPod for really old people.”
“Where’s your piano?” Rachel said, standing in the exact spot where the piano had been. (The wood flooring underneath the piano was a darker shade, unbleached by the sun.)
“It’s already at Mommy’s,” House said. “The movers took it.”
“We have a piano now?” Rachel said, excited.
“Yup!”
“Can I play it?”
“Um, only if you wash your hands first.”
“Will you teach me to play?”
House glanced at Cuddy, who raised her eyebrows as if to say, “It’s your call.”
“Sure. I don’t see why not.”
“Yay!” Rachel said, diving for his bad leg.
“Rachel, be careful! You know what I’ve told you about House’s leg,” Cuddy said.
House grinned, mussed Rachel’s hair.
“It doesn’t hurt one bit,” he said.
THE END
The tomato landed, with a thud, in front of Cuddy’s feet. It exploded instantly-a Jackson Pollack of juice and seeds and tomato flesh spraying all around her. Some landed on her shoes. A bit of the juice managed to get on her skirt.
She looked up at the balcony to see the offending hurler, as if there was any doubt.
House was up there with a small boy, a cancer patient with a portable IV drip.
“And that, Timmy, is how gravity works,” he said loudly.
“What are you, five?” she snapped, dabbing her skirt with a tissue.
“Timmy here is seven, aren’t you Timmy?” House said, putting his arm around the boy. “And as you well know, I’m 51-not five. Otherwise, I’m pretty sure you would’ve been arrested months ago. If you know what I mean.” He winked broadly.
“Take Timmy back to his room, House-now,” Cuddy said, glaring. “He’s not supposed to be wandering the halls.”
“And that Timmy, is an example of an angry bit-” he stopped himself. “Well, you’ll find out soon enough. . . Uh, if you make it, that is.”
And he led Timmy back to the cancer ward.
It had been three weeks since their breakup, and House had become nearly impossible to deal with. At first, he was desperate, pathetic-banging on her door at all hours of the night-usually drunk, once literally in tears. When that didn’t work, he switched to angry outbursts, which eventually transitioned to his current state of disruptive mayhem. It was exhausting, relentless, and at times hurtful, “Did you have those ugly bags under your eyes when we dating?” he would say. Or “You should hear what the other doctors have to say about you in the staff lounge. Come to think of it, you probably shouldn’t.” But she had to ride it out. The key was to avoid him as much as possible.
Still, it wasn’t easy, especially because, through his grief, he had buried himself completely in his work (idleness being his worst enemy) and was making more astonishingly brilliant diagnoses than ever. One day, about a week after the tomato incident, he diagnosed a case of Chagas Disease so quickly and ingeniously, she was compelled to stop by his office and congratulate him.
He was sitting behind his desk, studying a scan, his glasses perched on his nose.
“Great work today,” she said to him. “I mean, with the Chagas case.”
He glanced up-and she could already tell by the mask of anger on his face that this wasn’t going to be a pleasant conversation.
“Oh goody! So I get to keep my job for another day? Lucky for me, you’re not as fickle at work as you are in your private life.”
“You know I’m proud of your work,” she said.
“Good. Because your approval means everything to me,” he said. Then he screwed up his face. “Wait, did I say everything? I meant absolutely nothing. But thanks for stopping by!”
She pursed her lips. Her mouth felt dry.
“Okay, I get it. Okay,” she said, starting to leave.
He closed his eyes.
“Wait,” he said softly.
She stopped.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”
She nodded.
“I know, House.”
He looked at her.
“How are you?” he said quietly.
“Been better,” she admitted. “You?”
“Miserable,” he said.
His eyes were wide and searching (“You think I can fix myself?”)-and she forced herself to look away.
“We’ll both get through this,” she said, trying to keep her voice impersonal. And before he could respond, she left.
####
A few nights later, there was a loud and riotous thunderstorm that woke both her and Rachel up.
“Mama, I’m scared,” Rachel said, crawling into bed with her.
Cuddy smoothed her little girl’s hair. She wasn’t the biggest fan of thunder herself-House used to give her grief about it-but she had to be strong.
“Remember what House said about thunder?” she said.
“Some big words,” Rachel said.
“Thermal expansion of plasma in the lightning channel,” Cuddy said. “But what else did he say?”
“That it was the world’s best drum skit,” Rachel said.
“Drum kit,” Cuddy corrected. “And yeah.”
There was a loud crack.
“That was the snare drum,” Cuddy said.
Then, a low rumble.
“And that was the bass drum,” Cuddy said.
Finally, the kind of thunder that was so loud, you felt it rattle inside your bones.
“Mama!” Rachel said, diving into Cuddy’s arms.
“And that was the cymbal,” Cuddy said shakily, hugging her tightly.
“I wish House was here,” Rachel moaned.
Cuddy sighed.
Yeah, she thought. Me too.
#####
In her mind, there were two Cuddys.
There was rational Cuddy: The one who had made the decision to break up with House because she realized that her own ambivalence toward the relationship was actually hurting him.
And there was irrational Cuddy: She was the one who loved him, wished she didn’t, couldn’t help herself. She was also the one who craved him now, missed every part of him.
And lately, irrational Cuddy had taken the lead.
So she began doing things she wasn’t entirely proud of. Or, to put it another way, she began acting like House. She would drive past his apartment. Check to see if the light was on, if his bike was parked at the curb. She would crane her neck, peer through the window, try to assess if he was home, if he was alone. (She never saw anything beyond inconclusive flickers and shadows). She would grill Wilson for insight into House’s emotional state. (“I’m done playing go-between,” Wilson finally said.) She would go to Sullivan’s, House’s favorite bar, after work, nurse a martini for an hour, in the hopes that he might show up. But he never did.
That is, until one night, when she arrived, he was already sitting at the bar. He was slumped over a bit, wearing a white tee-shirt that was too short and tight, as though it had shrunk in the wash. (“You’re a genius,” Cuddy would tease him. “You can’t figure out not to wash cotton in scalding hot water?”). And he wasn’t alone. A slender, elegant looking woman sat beside him. They seemed to be deep in conversation. The woman was rubbing his shoulder.
Cuddy’s put her hand over her mouth.
The woman at the bar, of course, was Stacy Warner.
######
“I’m so glad we finally did this,” Stacy said breezily, taking off her coat, sitting down across from Cuddy.
They were at a small café in New Brunswick, about 20 minutes from the hospital.
“Me too,” Cuddy said, smiling at her.
Stacy looked good-as beautiful and elegant as ever.
They exchanged pleasantries for a bit-talked about Stacy’s new law firm, where she had just made partner, about developments at the hospital, including a prestigious grant that had just come through. And then, Stacy finally said: “I was very sorry to hear about you and House.”
“Thank you,” Cuddy said, sipping her iced tea. “Actually, I’m glad you brought that up because I don’t want there to be any awkwardness between us.”
“Why would there be awkwardness?” Stacy said, chuckling.
“Well, I know you’ve been seeing him,” Cuddy said, cautiously.
“Seeing him? As in dating seeing him?”
“It’s okay,” Cuddy said. “I don’t mind. I actually…encouraged it.”
“Why on earth would you think House and I are back together?” Stacy said.
Cuddy looked at her.
“I saw you two together. At Sullivan’s.”
“It’s true. House and I met for a drink. He was very depressed. He told me that you had broken up with him and he was feeling somewhat lost. I was consoling him.”
“Consoling him?” she said, remembering Stacy’s hand on House’s shoulder.
“Well, tried to at least. He was inconsolable.”
Cuddy felt her face turn red.
“I’m sorry. I jumped to conclusions,” she said. “I’m embarrassed.”
“House is still very much in love with you, Lisa. You know that, right? He’s very hurt and confused by the breakup. He said it came out the blue.”
“I…had my reasons,” Cuddy said.
“Well, he’s a mess. I’m actually worried that he’ll do something rash.”
“Like what?” Cuddy said anxiously.
“Who knows? But is there anyone better at self destruction than Gregory House?”
#####
The phone on Nolan’s nightstand rang at 1 am. This wasn’t that unusual. Nolan gave his home phone number to his patients for emergencies. And emergencies rarely happened during regular business hours.
He picked up.
“Hello?”
“Do you know how easy it is to buy heroin in Princeton?” the man said, shakily.
Nolan sat up in bed.
“House?” he said, shocked. “You took heroin?”
This would be a setback of unprecedented proportions.
“Made some initial inquiries,” House said. His voice was dripping with self-loathing. “It’s actually much easier to acquire than Vicodin. Which is a job for Nancy Reagan, or whoever the hell wants us all to say no to drugs.”
“Why do you want to take heroin, House?”
“Because my life is going so well, obviously!”
“But why heroin, House?”
A pause.
“Because everything hurts. Everything fucking hurts.”
Nolan turned on the lamp on the nightstand.
“I’m glad you called me instead of taking the drugs,” he said.
“Seemed like the smarter move…”
“Where are you now?”
“I’m home. I put my dealer on hold. He’s probably hung up by now.”
Nolan smiled, despite himself. House was his only patient who could joke his way through a mental health crisis.
“I’m getting dressed,” Nolan said. “Can you meet me in my office in half an hour?”
“Can you bring Vicodin?”
“You’re going to be okay, House. Half an hour.”
A pause. Then a somewhat chastened, “Okay. Thanks.”
#####
Whatever crisis had led House to consider taking heroin and to call Nolan in the middle of the night, seemed to have subsided a bit. He looked edgy, a bit gaunt in his oversized overcoat, but not on the verge of a breakdown.
“Nice sweatpants,” he said to Nolan when he saw him.
“I was sleeping, so…this is the best you’re going to get,” Nolan said.
“Sleep,” House mused. “I remember that.”
“Tell me what’s going on,” Nolan said.
“Surprise, surprise, Cuddy dumped me,” House said.
“When?”
“One month, five days, and eight hours ago. But who’s counting?”
Nolan did a quick calculation: The same day Cuddy had come to see him. He had sensed a look of resolve on her face, like she’d already made up her mind. He scratched his head. So much for do no harm.
“Why?”
“That’s the thing. I have no damn clue. She was blathering on about keeping me in limbo and me needing a woman who accepted me for who I am.”
“Well, don’t you?”
“Cuddy accepts me for who I am. Or . . . I thought she did.”
“You told me she was constantly nagging you.”
“I never said that.”
“You implied it.”
“Yeah, she had some issues with me. Who wouldn’t? I’m a lot to deal with.”
“That’s true.”
“The thing is, she took a leap of faith with me, you know? She risked everything for me-personally and professionally. Maybe it was all just too much.”
“Maybe she realized she was hurting you by not fully committing to the relationship.”
“She gave me everything!”
“You were cutting yourself on the couch!”
House looked at his hands.
“I’m not used to admitting that I want things, let alone need them,” he explained. “So yeah, I was afraid of losing what I had. Afraid of the rug being pulled out from under me. Turns out, my paranoia was justified.”
“Maybe you can find another woman who doesn’t make you feel quite so paranoid.”
House gave him a somewhat dirty look.
“I don’t want any other woman.”
“You’re hurt. Still heartbroken. It’s a cliché, but true: There are other fish in the sea.”
House let out a derisive chuckle.
“After all our time together, Nolan, you have failed to recognize one essential truth: I don’t like most people. I can barely stand you, to be honest. As for falling in love? Forget it. There’s one woman for me. One.”
“So Cuddy or death?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You were thinking of taking heroin. That’s close enough, in my book.”
House eyed him.
“But I didn’t, did I? I called you first.”
Nolan softened his stance.
“And I’m very glad you did. . . How’s the leg?”
“Hurts like a mother,” House said.
“I’m going to write you a prescription for tramadol,” Nolan said, taking his prescription pad out the desk. “Just to get you through this period.”
House leaned back on the couch. Tramadol was the strongest non-narcotic pain reliever there was. It would have to do.
“Thanks,” he mumbled.
“Can we resume therapy every week? I don’t want any more 2 am phone calls.”
“That’s probably a good idea,” House said.
“House, it takes courage to ask for help. I’m proud of you.”
“Oh yeah. I’m a pillar of strength,” House said, snatching the prescription out of Nolan’s hands.
######
The next night, Nolan was working late when the phone rang. He waited for his receptionist to pick up, but it just kept ringing and ringing-she had obviously left for the day. He rolled his eyes a bit, answered it.
“Darryl Nolan,” he said.
“Dr. Nolan, this is Dr. Lisa Cuddy. I’m not sure if you remember me.”
Nolan had to chuckle: Two days in a row.
“Of course I remember you. What can I do for you, Dr. Cuddy?”
“I’m having a bit of a . . . crisis of conscience,” Cuddy said.
“A crisis of conscience? You’re going to have to explain.”
“Last time I saw you, you convinced me that splitting up with House was the right thing to do. When I left your office, I felt very certain of what I had to do. But lately, my resolve has weakened. . . I miss him.” She chuckled dryly. “And I can tell how much he misses me, because he’s being a complete asshole at work.”
Nolan laughed with her.
“You know him well,” he said.
She sighed. “The thing is, I was so certain I was making the right decision last time I saw you. So I thought maybe if you could remind me again why I’m bad for him, it might help strengthen my resolve?”
Nolan tapped a pencil against the leather bound calendar that covered his desk.
“I never specifically suggested you break up with him,” he said.
“No, but I got the message, loud and clear.”
“I think I …underestimated the connection you two have. It was a mistake.”
There was a pause.
“That’s quite a mistake,” Cuddy said.
“Then let me help fix it,” Nolan said. “House has started therapy again. Well, he came to me in a bit of a state last night. We’re resuming our normal sessions next Tuesday. Why don’t you join us. Say, 6:15?”
“If you think it will help.”
“I do.”
“Okay, I’ll be there.”
“One more thing, Dr. Cuddy. Don’t tell House you’ll be joining us. I think it’s best if I’m the one who tells him.”
#####
“I have a surprise for you,” Nolan said. “I hope it’s going to be a pleasant one.”
“You got me a pony?”
“We’re going to have a special guest at today’s session.”
House’s eyes narrowed.
“If you flew in my mother from Virginia, you’re a dead man.”
“It’s not your mother. It’s …Dr. Cuddy.”
House stared at Nolan, in some disbelief.
“How did you manage to. . .?”
“She called me. Look, all will be explained when Dr. Cuddy arrives. I think this is something the three of us need to discuss together.”
House leaned back on the couch, processing the news.
“You okay?” Nolan said.
“Yeah, I. . .she called you? How did she even get your number?”
Nolan hesitated.
“Dr. Cuddy actually came to see me once.”
House’s head was spinning.
“When?”
“A little over a month ago.”
The night Cuddy had broken up with him, House had been too devastated to make the connection between Cuddy’s words and Nolan’s. To understand that she was practically echoing the same reasons Nolan had given when he suggested House leave her. Now he understood.
“That was you?” he hissed.
Nolan sighed.
“I may have inadvertently set off a chain of events that were unintended.”
“You bastard.” House clenched his fists, lurched forward.
“What are you going to? Take a swing at me?” Nolan said.
“I should!” House said. His body was still coiled, but he had unclenched his fists. He tried to calm down, regulate his breathing.
“Let’s see if we can all the clear the air together,” Nolan said.
His phone buzzed on his desk. He picked it up.
“Okay,” he said.
Then he smiled at House, encouragingly.
“She’s here.”
#####
Cuddy came in, and stood awkwardly in the doorway. Should she sit next to House on the couch? Or in the somewhat serious looking antique velvet chair in the corner?
“Have a seat next to House on the couch,” Nolan instructed, as if he could read her mind.
She sat next to him, but not too close.
“Hi,” House said, shyly.
“Hi,” she said back, blinking at him.
“Are you two familiar with The Gift of the Magi?” Nolan said, referencing the famed O Henry story where the husband sells his watch to buy his wife expensive combs for her long hair, which she has shorn and sold to buy him a chain for his watch.
Both House and Cuddy nodded. “Of course,” Cuddy said.
“I feel that I have inadvertently created the therapeutic version of The Gift of the Magi,” Nolan said.
They both gave him a curious look.
Nolan turned to Cuddy. “I suggested that House break up with you and he fired me,” he said.
Then he turned back to House: “Then I relayed my concerns to Dr. Cuddy and she broke up with you in an act of some self-sacrifice. Now you’re both miserable. And I’m afraid it’s all my fault.”
“You really suck at your job,” House said.
“I admit, it wasn’t my proudest moment.”
House then turned to Cuddy, hopefully: “So is it true? Do you really still love me?” he asked.
“Of course I do, House.”
“And you broke up with me because this bozo told you to?”
“He didn’t tell me to. He made some irrefutable points. I was holding you at arm’s length. I was never fully committed to the relationship.”
“Of course you were,” House said. “We’d been together for five months, not five years. I have no patience. That’s one of my problems. You’re a mom. You can’t just jump into things because they feel good.”
“But. . .a small part of me-”
“There is no small part of you,” House interjected-and they gave each other wistful, knowing smiles.
“Inside joke,” they explained in unison.
“-a small part of me was holding back,” Cuddy continued. “Breaking up with Lucas, diving into my relationship with you, that was the craziest thing I’ve ever done. I’ve never trusted my feelings for you. They’re too . . . unwieldy.”
“Control is important to you, isn’t it, Dr. Cuddy?” Nolan said.
“I guess so.”
“Why? What’s so terrible about losing control?”
Now both Nolan and House were looking at her.
“I. . .don’t know,” she admitted.
“You should ask yourself that.”
“She’s the youngest female dean of medicine in the country,” House said, proudly. “You think she achieved that by behaving recklessly?”
Cuddy gave a tiny smile.
“Were either of your parents alcoholics?” Nolan asked Cuddy.
Cuddy recoiled a bit.
“What? No! I mean, I guess my mom likes the occasional nip. But I wouldn’t characterize her as an alcoholic.”
“I would,” House said. And Cuddy shot him a look.
“Children of alcoholics often feel a need to control their environments. Because their childhoods were chaotic.”
“That’s not me. I mean, my childhood wasn’t chaotic. My father was a rock, he grounded us.”
“And your mother?”
“She was hard on me,” Cuddy admitted. “Nothing I ever did was good enough.”
“What does she think about House?”
“She thinks he’s an asshole and a narcissist,” Cuddy chuckled. “But I think she was also just glad I had a boyfriend.”
“You haven’t had many boyfriends, have you?”
“No,” Cuddy said, looking at the floor.
“Why not?”
“She was too busy becoming the youngest female dean in the country,” House repeated. “Or haven’t you been paying attention?”
“House, let her answer.”
“I don’t know. I guess I . . .scare some men away.”
“Why?”
“Probably because she’s neither extremely beautiful nor extremely accomplished. Oh wait . . .” House said.
“House…” Nolan warned.
Cuddy blushed.
“I guess I do tend to intimidate some men.”
“But not House.”
She gave House a flirty look.
“Nothing intimidates House.”
Nolan nodded.
“I don’t doubt that men are intimidated by you. You’re everything House says and more. But I’d like to propose an alternate theory. I think you close yourself off from love, much the same way House does-albeit for different reasons. He doesn’t want to get hurt. You don’t want to lose control.”
House and Cuddy both folded their arms defensively-they had a habit of subconsciously mirroring each other that Nolan found amusing.
“Is it possible Dr. Cuddy, that you fear real love and intimacy because those things almost always involve losing control?”
“I … never thought of it like that.”
“Well, it’s something to think about,” Nolan said. He pulled out a notepad, scribbled down a name. “This is the name of a very fine couple’s therapist in Princeton. I think you’ll find that she is accomplished, insightful, and will give you excellent tools to rebuild your relationship.”
Cuddy looked at him, confused. “Wait. You’re not going to treat us?”
“Well, I’m not a technically a couple’s therapist. Besides, I feel like I’ve already done enough damage here.”
“Exactly,” House said. “You broke us. You should fix us.”
Nolan turned to Cuddy. “Is that what you want, too?”
“Of course,” she said.
Nolan smiled, unable to mask his pleasure.
“I’d be honored,” he said. “I’d like to continue treating House, on Tuesdays. So maybe we could have our sessions on Mondays? 6 pm?”
“That works,” House and Cuddy said, in unison.
“Great. Until we really get going on the therapy, my recommendation would be that you limit your interactions, when possible, to this clinical setting.”
House and Cuddy shrugged.
“Okay,” they said reluctantly.
“So I’ll see you both next week.”
They got up, exited the office, rode down the elevator together.
When they stepped onto the street, Cuddy said: “I’m feeling pretty optimistic. You?”
“Very,” he said.
She took his hand.
“I’ve missed you,” she said.
“I’ve missed you, too,” he said. “So fucking much.”
“Come here,” she said, holding out her arms. He went to her, gratefully, and they hugged. When they parted, they couldn’t quite let go of each other, but instead gazed into each other’s eyes.
He gently kissed her on the mouth, because he couldn’t help himself.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered.
“So are you,” she whispered back.
And then they were kissing for real, right there in the street, oblivious to the gawking passersby (or to Nolan, who was watching from the window, shaking his head).
“The Princeton Hilton is five minutes from here,” House said, kissing her mouth, her cheek, her eyelid.
“Nolan says we’re supposed to limit our interactions,” Cuddy said, kissing him back, running her hands through his hair, down his back.
“What the fuck does he know? He almost destroyed us.”
“Good point,” Cuddy giggled.
“So the Hilton?”
“Lead the way.”
EPILOGUE
The floor was littered with boxes and bags and they were making three distinct piles: Bring, throw away, or give to charity.
House took a very old and tattered concert tee, put it in one of the “bring” piles.
Cuddy immediately removed it, tossed on the “throw away” pile.
“Hey, that’s a classic!” House said, retrieving it. “Def Leppard at Wolf Trap,1981. Amanda Knoblach gave me a blow-” he glanced over at Rachel, who was looking through some of the boxes. “-pop in the back seat of her Chevy.”
“That was nice of her,” Rachel said.
House grinned.
“Yeah, it most certainly was.”
Then, noticing the look on Cuddy’s face, he meekly dropped the tee back in the throw away pile.
“Who’s this?” Rachel said, holding up a photo of a lanky young man, hair sticking up in a variety of uncooperative directions, playing the guitar under the tree.
“Never mind,” House said, snatching it from her.
“Oh my God, let me see that,” Cuddy said. “Look at you. You were so cute. What happened? That was right around when we first met, huh?”
“A few years before that,” House said.
“That’s House?” Rachel said, with disbelief.
She inspected the photo again. “Your cheeks are rosy.”
“That’s not rosy. It’s a very manly shade of. . . pink,” House said.
Then Rachel reached into a box that was filled was records.
“Is this a placemat?” she asked, holding up Bruce Springsteen’s “Born to Run.”
“Oh my God, I weep for the future of our nation,” House said.
“It’s a record,” Cuddy explained. “It plays music. It’s like an iPod for really old people.”
“Where’s your piano?” Rachel said, standing in the exact spot where the piano had been. (The wood flooring underneath the piano was a darker shade, unbleached by the sun.)
“It’s already at Mommy’s,” House said. “The movers took it.”
“We have a piano now?” Rachel said, excited.
“Yup!”
“Can I play it?”
“Um, only if you wash your hands first.”
“Will you teach me to play?”
House glanced at Cuddy, who raised her eyebrows as if to say, “It’s your call.”
“Sure. I don’t see why not.”
“Yay!” Rachel said, diving for his bad leg.
“Rachel, be careful! You know what I’ve told you about House’s leg,” Cuddy said.
House grinned, mussed Rachel’s hair.
“It doesn’t hurt one bit,” he said.
THE END