The Affair, Part 3
Thanks to Frenchie for the beta read.
If you had told House ten years ago, that he’d be having regular, no-strings-attached sex with a beautiful woman in a hotel room and that he’d be unhappy with that arrangement, he’d have told you to get your head examined (but not by him-brain tumors were boring). But that was what Lisa Cuddy did to him. She had messed with his head, permanently, turned him inside out. He was now the kind of guy who actually liked the cuddling part as much as the sex. As he saw it, sex was a basic human need-as vital as eating, sleeping, and shitting. Cuddling was something you did by choice.
So every time Cuddy spent the night, every time she folded herself into his arms and they watched a movie together, every time she playfully swatted him for being a wiseass, it felt like a declaration of love. And every time she left the hotel room, fastening an earring and hopping on one foot as she put on her shoes, saying, “Same time next week?” with a flirty little grin-a little part of him died. He didn’t want to see her next week. He wanted to see her later today. And the day after that. And the day after that….
But last week, finally, his patience had paid off: “I love you,” she said and his heart almost burst.
He was almost where he wanted to be. That is, if he could just get out of this damned hotel room.
Still, even the hotel room took on a whole new feeling tonight. It no longer felt salacious, like he was Cuddy’s shameful little secret. It felt like the beginning of something real.
If only she would show up.
House looked at his watch. 8:20. He was getting antsy.
He flipped on the TV, tried to focus on a Mets game, got bored.
He raided the mini bar, poured himself a beer.
Finally, he called her, left a message: “Is this any way to treat a man you are madly in love with? Okay, I embellished the madly part, but I sensed that’s what you meant.”
He smiled, hung up. Then drummed his fingers on the night table, took a few more swigs of his beer.
He called the front desk.
“Did Dr. Cu-uh, Mrs. Gardiner-call and leave me any messages?”
“No Mr. Gardiner,” the hotel clerk said. “No messages.”
“Okay, thanks.”
He waited 20 minutes, then called Cuddy again.
“It’s customary to call when you’re going to be really, annoyingly late, you know,” he said. Then added, “Call me.”
By 9:30, he started to freak out.
She clearly had changed her mind. She was having second thoughts about everything. Of course she didn’t love him. What the hell was he thinking? She had briefly, in a post-coital state, confused sex with love and now she had come to her senses and remembered what a horrible excuse for a human being he was. He was kidding himself. They would never be together again. He was a fool.
He called her again, “Okay, I get that you don’t want to see me anymore, Cuddy. I’m a big boy. I can handle it. But don’t just leave me hanging here in a fucking hotel room. Have the decency to call me. . . Please.”
Half an hour later he called again: “You know, this is a bitch move, even for you, Cuddy! Even if you regret telling me that you love me, it’s not like you to…”
And suddenly, a chill went down his spine. In fact, it wasn’t like her to leave him alone in a hotel room. Something was wrong. He was suddenly overcome with dread.
The first thing he did was call her house.
A woman with a slight Spanish accent answered.
“Is Dr. Cuddy there?” he asked.
“No. Dr. Cuddy is not here right now. This is her nanny. Should I take a message?”
“Um, no.”
Then, he inhaled a bit and called New Jersey General, asked to speak to Dr. Cuddy’s office.
But of course, when they connected him, it went to a voicemail-not even her voicemail, the blandly professional voicemail of her assistant. (“You have reached the office of Vice President of Administration, Lisa Cuddy. . .”)
So he called back, asked to speak to the head nurse on duty. When she answered, he said: “Hi, this is, uh, Eric Taub, with New Leaf Insurance. I was supposed to meet Dr. Cuddy hours ago and she never showed up. Do you happen to have a home phone number for her?”
There was a pause-an endless fucking pause.
“Mr. Taub, I’m so sorry. Dr. Cuddy won’t be able to meet you tonight. There’s been an accident.”
He felt his mouth go dry.
“Like, some sort of hospital emergency that Dr. Cuddy has to attend to?” he said, hoping against hope.
“No, Dr. Cuddy was in a car accident. They brought her into the emergency room about three hours ago. She’s still in surgery.”
House tried to keep his hand steady, but it was starting to shake.
“Thank you,” he managed say. He hung up, got dressed, and drove to the hospital.
#####
The clerk at the ER desk said she was still in surgery.
“Is she going to be okay?”
“She’s getting the best possible care,” he said.
“I didn’t ask if she was getting the best possible care. I asked if she was going to be okay!”
“I don’t know sir, but if you could just take a seat in the waiting room, I’m sure a doctor will be out shortly to update you on her condition.”
For some reason, it didn’t occur to him that other people would’ve figured this out by now. That there would be phone calls made-a whole network of Cuddy supporters, called into action.
But when he got to the waiting room, there was Arlene Cuddy and Julia Cuddy, plus Julia’s husband David, plus two pretty, fit women who were probably her new yoga friends, plus none other than Dr. James Wilson.
He gaped at them and they gaped right back.
“What the fuck is he doing here?” Arlene said.
“Is she going to be okay?” House said.
“Get the hell out of my sister’s hospital,” Julia said.
“IS SHE GOING TO BE OKAY?” House repeated, his voice rising.
“House, no one knows anything yet,” Wilson said calmly, standing up, grabbing House’s arm. “She’s still in surgery.”
House shook him off.
“Don’t touch me!” he hissed.
“James, get him out of here!” Julia said.
“I have as much a right to be here as you do!” House said.
“No you don’t, you bastard. My sister loathes you. She fears you. She never wants to see you again.”
“Is this the crazy ex?” one of the friends said.
“Yes, this is the maniac who drove his car into my sister’s house.”
“How’d he even know about the accident?” the other friend said.
For a second, House was going to say: “Because she didn’t show up in the hotel room, where we’ve been meeting for passionate sex for the last six months,” but he knew Cuddy wouldn’t approve. Instead he muttered, “I have my sources.”
“He’s like a roach,” Julia said, with disdain. “He gets into all the corners of your life and you can’t kill him.”
“I’ll just sit over there,” House said, gesturing to a chair on the opposite side of the waiting room. “Nobody has to talk to me or even acknowledge my existence. I’ll just sit there in total silence.”
“Why is he here?” Arlene said, suddenly bursting into tears. House couldn’t tell if it was an act or not. “Why is this horrible man here when my baby is fighting for her life?”
“House, you’re upsetting my mother,” Julia said. “Please leave.”
She shot David a “you’re totally useless look” and he stood up and said, “Let’s not let this get ugly”-not necessarily because he wanted to kick House out, but because it seemed the thing to do.
“Come on, House,” Wilson said coaxingly, trying to guide House to the exit.
House looked around the room, realizing the situation was hopeless.
“Fine,” he said, letting Wilson lead him out.
They bumped right into a handsome guy, mid-40s, aftershave, dressed in jeans and a royal blue cashmere sweater.
“Who the hell are you?” House said.
“I’m Gary Barnes, the hospital’s director of finance,” he said. “Who the hell are you?”
The veins began to bulge in House’s neck. Director of Finance. This tool must’ve been Cuddy’s date to the New Jersey General gala. And here he was, acting like he somehow belonged here. Acting like a friend of the fucking family.
“It’s none of your damn business who I am,” House snapped.
“He was just leaving,” Wilson said, dragging House out of the room.
When they were in the hall, out of earshot, Wilson said: “What the hell were you thinking?”
“What the hell were you thinking? You weren’t going to call me and tell me that Cuddy was in a car accident?”
“I was, eventually. Didn’t seem like the first order of business, considering the fact that you haven’t spoken to her in two years.”
House hesitated. Again, the urge to come clean was almost overwhelming. But he had made a promise to Cuddy.
“What do you know about the accident?” he said instead.
“It was pretty bad. Head trauma. Injuries to her leg and sternum. We won’t know the severity until she gets out of surgery.”
“Will you call me the minute she’s out?”
“House, we have no idea how long the surgery is going to take. That could be hours from now.”
“Will you call me the minute she’s out of surgery?” House repeated.
Wilson looked at him. He had only seen his best friend this shaken up once before-right before he went to Mayfield.
“I’ll call you,” he said.
#####
The news was not great. Her leg was indeed broken and she had several cracked ribs. But most alarmingly there was some mild swelling in her brain, forcing the doctors to induce a coma.
“They’ll reassess her condition tomorrow,” Wilson told House over the phone. “They said they’re pretty optimistic.”
“Do they seem even slightly competent?” House said. (There were few doctors whose opinion he respected; Wilson was one of them.)
“They seem like good doctors. . . House get some sleep. I promise to keep you posted. And, whatever you do, stay away from the hospital.”
But of course, House ignored Wilson’s warning. The next day, he snuck into Cuddy’s private room, checked her chart-which, indeed, looked very encouraging-and pulled up a chair beside her bed.
He took her hand.
“You crazy girl. The lengths you’ll go not to play another game of strip chess with me,” he whispered, taking her hand.
She looked beautiful and still: A small bruise on her cheek and another one over her eye, bandages on her ribs and a cast on her leg. She looked like she was having a very restful sleep.
“Traumatic brain injury becomes you,” he said, brushing a lock of hair off her forehead and smiling. Then pressed her hand to his lips. “I’m right here, Cuddy,” he whispered. “They can’t make me go anywhere.”
####
Just as Wilson, Julia, and Arlene were heading to Cuddy’s room, they were stopped in the hallway by a young man in a short-sleeved plaid shirt carrying a clipboard.
“I’m Chip McIntosh, I work in the hospital’s public affairs department and I need to give you our brief hospitality survey,” the man said.
Arlene curled her lip.
“We don’t have any time for any survey. We’re about to visit my daughter, who was in a terrible car crash.”
“It’ll be brief. It’s standard procedure, just to ensure that all our patients and families are receiving the highest standard of care. Actually, it was your daughter who implemented the survey, Mrs. Cuddy.”
Arlene cocked an eyebrow. She liked being well-known around the hospital-sort of like a mini celebrity.
“You say it’s brief?” she said.
“10 minutes tops,” Chip said, cheerfully.
“Okay,” Arlene shrugged. She turned to Wilson and Julia: “I’ll meet you both in her room.”
“Actually,” Chip said. “I need all three of you to take the survey.”
Twenty minutes later, Wilson and Julia and Arlene were all in the waiting room-sitting in a studious row, their hands folded neatly in their laps-still being drilled with questions: “Was the coffee in the waiting room hot enough?” “Did the nurses smile enough?” “Were the bathrooms well-stocked and clean?”
“This is absolutely ridiculous,” Arlene grumbled.
“I actually think it’s nice,” Wilson said, diplomatically.
Just then, Gary Barnes walked into the room.
“What’s going on here?” he said.
“We’re taking this insufferable hospitality survey,” Arlene snapped. “This has to be the dumbest thing I’ve ever. . .”
“Our hospital doesn’t have any hospitality survey,” Gary said.
Chip looked up from his clip board nervously.
“See ya!” he said, darting out of the room, a blur as he bolted down the hall.
“House!” they all said in unison.
Arlene, Julia, and Wilson marched to Cuddy’s room, where House was still sitting next to her, holding her hand, whispering in her ear.
When he saw them, he looked at his watch.
“Crap. I paid for half an hour,” he said, under his breath.
“Unhand my daughter!” Arlene demanded.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Julia said. “Are you some sort of twisted sicko who fantasizes about unconscious women?”
“Just calm down everybody,” House said, lowering his voice. “Let’s just keep our cool and take this party into the hall.”
“You do realize that Lisa hates you right?” Julia said, reluctantly following him. “I mean, I just want to make sure we’re totally clear on this. You don’t think she’s going to wake up and think you’re some sort of Prince Charming because you sat by her hospital bed. You’re not actually that delusional, are you?”
“She doesn’t hate me,” House said, trying to keep his voice steady.
“She sent you to jail. It was the happiest day of her life!” Julia said.
“Cuddy and I are back together!” House blurted out, surprising himself.
There was a brief, shocked silence as they all stared at him.
“Oh my God, you are such a liar!” Julia said. “First you hire Skippy-“
“Chip,” House said.
“First you hire Chip to impersonate a hospital employee-“
“I’ll have you know that cost me 500 bucks,” House said.
“And now you come up with this ridiculous story that you and Lisa are back together.”
“We are,” House said.
“You’re lying. My daughter wouldn’t date you if you were the last man on earth,” Arlene said.
“He’s not lying,” Wilson said, thoughtfully.
“Oh, thank God!” House said.
“He truly believes he’s back together with her,” Wilson continued. Then with concern, “How many Vicodin have you taken?”
“Oh for fuck’s sake,” House said. “I’m not on Vicodin! I weaned myself off Vicodin four months ago. You know why? Because I’ve been having regular sex with her daughter!”
“Get out!” Arlene screamed, close to a complete meltdown. “Get out before I call security!”
“Calm down, you crazy old witch. I’m leaving,” House said. “But I’m not lying. Cuddy and I are in love. And I will be back, whether you like it or not.”
“We’ll see about that!” Arlene shouted after him.
He limped away quickly, with Wilson hastily following.
“House, slow down,” Wilson said.
House stopped, gave a surprised little shrug. “That was a first,” he said, almost to himself.
“Are you okay?” Wilson asked.
“I’m fine. Well, other than my girlfriend being in a medically induced coma-which, little known fact, was actually the original title to that Morrissey song.”
“She’s not your girlfriend.”
“Wilson, she is. Do I seem delusional to you?”
“You seem very, very upset.”
“I am upset! I’m upset that Cuddy is in a coma. And I’m upset that no one is letting me be with her! I don’t have the best track record of being there for her when she’s unwell. I’d like to start fixing that record-right now.”
Wilson peered at him.
“If you and Cuddy are back together, why didn’t you tell me?”
House gripped his cane a little tighter.
“She wanted to keep it a secret.”
“That’s pretty convenient, huh?”
“And completely credible. If you were dating the guy who rammed his car into your house, would you broadcast it to the world?”
“I just can’t believe Cuddy would date you again.”
“It’s been a slow process. First there was an extensive exchange of letters . . .and gifts . . .and, uh, bodily fluids.”
“Gross.”
House shrugged.
“But she finally admitted that she loves me.”
“Maybe I believe you,” Wilson said, squinting at him.
“Maybe?”
“I don’t know House. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice…”
“Than you’re an idiot! I’m not lying.”
“Okay, maybe you’re not. But your presence is very stressful to everyone involved. So do yourself and Cuddy a favor and stay away.”
“Cuddy needs me.”
“She’s unconscious House. Don’t tell me you suddenly believe in the healing power of holding hands with an unconscious person.”
Wilson had a point. This was the sort of thing House mocked back at PPTH; that and friends encouraging patients to “be strong”-like they were prize fighters or something.
“She needs me,” he repeated.
“House, I’ll call you if there’s any change in her condition. But mark my words: stay away.”
#####
Later that day, Cuddy’s swelling was so reduced, the doctors were able to ease her out of the coma.
She woke up briefly, blinked a few times, managed to say her name, the year, the president, before falling back to sleep.
“She’s out of the woods,” Wilson told House on the phone. “Resting comfortably, as they say.”
“Good, I’ll be there in 10 minutes,” House said, grabbing his jacket.
“House, no!” Wilson protested. But it was too late; he had already hung up.
In the hotel lobby, House ran right smack into a courier.
“Gregory House?” the kid said.
“Yeah, get outta my way kid. I’m busy.”
“I’m here on behalf of the State of Jersey to serve you with this temporary restraining order. You are not to go with 20 yards of Lisa Cuddy or it will be considered a violation of your parole and you will be immediately arrested.”
To be continued…
If you had told House ten years ago, that he’d be having regular, no-strings-attached sex with a beautiful woman in a hotel room and that he’d be unhappy with that arrangement, he’d have told you to get your head examined (but not by him-brain tumors were boring). But that was what Lisa Cuddy did to him. She had messed with his head, permanently, turned him inside out. He was now the kind of guy who actually liked the cuddling part as much as the sex. As he saw it, sex was a basic human need-as vital as eating, sleeping, and shitting. Cuddling was something you did by choice.
So every time Cuddy spent the night, every time she folded herself into his arms and they watched a movie together, every time she playfully swatted him for being a wiseass, it felt like a declaration of love. And every time she left the hotel room, fastening an earring and hopping on one foot as she put on her shoes, saying, “Same time next week?” with a flirty little grin-a little part of him died. He didn’t want to see her next week. He wanted to see her later today. And the day after that. And the day after that….
But last week, finally, his patience had paid off: “I love you,” she said and his heart almost burst.
He was almost where he wanted to be. That is, if he could just get out of this damned hotel room.
Still, even the hotel room took on a whole new feeling tonight. It no longer felt salacious, like he was Cuddy’s shameful little secret. It felt like the beginning of something real.
If only she would show up.
House looked at his watch. 8:20. He was getting antsy.
He flipped on the TV, tried to focus on a Mets game, got bored.
He raided the mini bar, poured himself a beer.
Finally, he called her, left a message: “Is this any way to treat a man you are madly in love with? Okay, I embellished the madly part, but I sensed that’s what you meant.”
He smiled, hung up. Then drummed his fingers on the night table, took a few more swigs of his beer.
He called the front desk.
“Did Dr. Cu-uh, Mrs. Gardiner-call and leave me any messages?”
“No Mr. Gardiner,” the hotel clerk said. “No messages.”
“Okay, thanks.”
He waited 20 minutes, then called Cuddy again.
“It’s customary to call when you’re going to be really, annoyingly late, you know,” he said. Then added, “Call me.”
By 9:30, he started to freak out.
She clearly had changed her mind. She was having second thoughts about everything. Of course she didn’t love him. What the hell was he thinking? She had briefly, in a post-coital state, confused sex with love and now she had come to her senses and remembered what a horrible excuse for a human being he was. He was kidding himself. They would never be together again. He was a fool.
He called her again, “Okay, I get that you don’t want to see me anymore, Cuddy. I’m a big boy. I can handle it. But don’t just leave me hanging here in a fucking hotel room. Have the decency to call me. . . Please.”
Half an hour later he called again: “You know, this is a bitch move, even for you, Cuddy! Even if you regret telling me that you love me, it’s not like you to…”
And suddenly, a chill went down his spine. In fact, it wasn’t like her to leave him alone in a hotel room. Something was wrong. He was suddenly overcome with dread.
The first thing he did was call her house.
A woman with a slight Spanish accent answered.
“Is Dr. Cuddy there?” he asked.
“No. Dr. Cuddy is not here right now. This is her nanny. Should I take a message?”
“Um, no.”
Then, he inhaled a bit and called New Jersey General, asked to speak to Dr. Cuddy’s office.
But of course, when they connected him, it went to a voicemail-not even her voicemail, the blandly professional voicemail of her assistant. (“You have reached the office of Vice President of Administration, Lisa Cuddy. . .”)
So he called back, asked to speak to the head nurse on duty. When she answered, he said: “Hi, this is, uh, Eric Taub, with New Leaf Insurance. I was supposed to meet Dr. Cuddy hours ago and she never showed up. Do you happen to have a home phone number for her?”
There was a pause-an endless fucking pause.
“Mr. Taub, I’m so sorry. Dr. Cuddy won’t be able to meet you tonight. There’s been an accident.”
He felt his mouth go dry.
“Like, some sort of hospital emergency that Dr. Cuddy has to attend to?” he said, hoping against hope.
“No, Dr. Cuddy was in a car accident. They brought her into the emergency room about three hours ago. She’s still in surgery.”
House tried to keep his hand steady, but it was starting to shake.
“Thank you,” he managed say. He hung up, got dressed, and drove to the hospital.
#####
The clerk at the ER desk said she was still in surgery.
“Is she going to be okay?”
“She’s getting the best possible care,” he said.
“I didn’t ask if she was getting the best possible care. I asked if she was going to be okay!”
“I don’t know sir, but if you could just take a seat in the waiting room, I’m sure a doctor will be out shortly to update you on her condition.”
For some reason, it didn’t occur to him that other people would’ve figured this out by now. That there would be phone calls made-a whole network of Cuddy supporters, called into action.
But when he got to the waiting room, there was Arlene Cuddy and Julia Cuddy, plus Julia’s husband David, plus two pretty, fit women who were probably her new yoga friends, plus none other than Dr. James Wilson.
He gaped at them and they gaped right back.
“What the fuck is he doing here?” Arlene said.
“Is she going to be okay?” House said.
“Get the hell out of my sister’s hospital,” Julia said.
“IS SHE GOING TO BE OKAY?” House repeated, his voice rising.
“House, no one knows anything yet,” Wilson said calmly, standing up, grabbing House’s arm. “She’s still in surgery.”
House shook him off.
“Don’t touch me!” he hissed.
“James, get him out of here!” Julia said.
“I have as much a right to be here as you do!” House said.
“No you don’t, you bastard. My sister loathes you. She fears you. She never wants to see you again.”
“Is this the crazy ex?” one of the friends said.
“Yes, this is the maniac who drove his car into my sister’s house.”
“How’d he even know about the accident?” the other friend said.
For a second, House was going to say: “Because she didn’t show up in the hotel room, where we’ve been meeting for passionate sex for the last six months,” but he knew Cuddy wouldn’t approve. Instead he muttered, “I have my sources.”
“He’s like a roach,” Julia said, with disdain. “He gets into all the corners of your life and you can’t kill him.”
“I’ll just sit over there,” House said, gesturing to a chair on the opposite side of the waiting room. “Nobody has to talk to me or even acknowledge my existence. I’ll just sit there in total silence.”
“Why is he here?” Arlene said, suddenly bursting into tears. House couldn’t tell if it was an act or not. “Why is this horrible man here when my baby is fighting for her life?”
“House, you’re upsetting my mother,” Julia said. “Please leave.”
She shot David a “you’re totally useless look” and he stood up and said, “Let’s not let this get ugly”-not necessarily because he wanted to kick House out, but because it seemed the thing to do.
“Come on, House,” Wilson said coaxingly, trying to guide House to the exit.
House looked around the room, realizing the situation was hopeless.
“Fine,” he said, letting Wilson lead him out.
They bumped right into a handsome guy, mid-40s, aftershave, dressed in jeans and a royal blue cashmere sweater.
“Who the hell are you?” House said.
“I’m Gary Barnes, the hospital’s director of finance,” he said. “Who the hell are you?”
The veins began to bulge in House’s neck. Director of Finance. This tool must’ve been Cuddy’s date to the New Jersey General gala. And here he was, acting like he somehow belonged here. Acting like a friend of the fucking family.
“It’s none of your damn business who I am,” House snapped.
“He was just leaving,” Wilson said, dragging House out of the room.
When they were in the hall, out of earshot, Wilson said: “What the hell were you thinking?”
“What the hell were you thinking? You weren’t going to call me and tell me that Cuddy was in a car accident?”
“I was, eventually. Didn’t seem like the first order of business, considering the fact that you haven’t spoken to her in two years.”
House hesitated. Again, the urge to come clean was almost overwhelming. But he had made a promise to Cuddy.
“What do you know about the accident?” he said instead.
“It was pretty bad. Head trauma. Injuries to her leg and sternum. We won’t know the severity until she gets out of surgery.”
“Will you call me the minute she’s out?”
“House, we have no idea how long the surgery is going to take. That could be hours from now.”
“Will you call me the minute she’s out of surgery?” House repeated.
Wilson looked at him. He had only seen his best friend this shaken up once before-right before he went to Mayfield.
“I’ll call you,” he said.
#####
The news was not great. Her leg was indeed broken and she had several cracked ribs. But most alarmingly there was some mild swelling in her brain, forcing the doctors to induce a coma.
“They’ll reassess her condition tomorrow,” Wilson told House over the phone. “They said they’re pretty optimistic.”
“Do they seem even slightly competent?” House said. (There were few doctors whose opinion he respected; Wilson was one of them.)
“They seem like good doctors. . . House get some sleep. I promise to keep you posted. And, whatever you do, stay away from the hospital.”
But of course, House ignored Wilson’s warning. The next day, he snuck into Cuddy’s private room, checked her chart-which, indeed, looked very encouraging-and pulled up a chair beside her bed.
He took her hand.
“You crazy girl. The lengths you’ll go not to play another game of strip chess with me,” he whispered, taking her hand.
She looked beautiful and still: A small bruise on her cheek and another one over her eye, bandages on her ribs and a cast on her leg. She looked like she was having a very restful sleep.
“Traumatic brain injury becomes you,” he said, brushing a lock of hair off her forehead and smiling. Then pressed her hand to his lips. “I’m right here, Cuddy,” he whispered. “They can’t make me go anywhere.”
####
Just as Wilson, Julia, and Arlene were heading to Cuddy’s room, they were stopped in the hallway by a young man in a short-sleeved plaid shirt carrying a clipboard.
“I’m Chip McIntosh, I work in the hospital’s public affairs department and I need to give you our brief hospitality survey,” the man said.
Arlene curled her lip.
“We don’t have any time for any survey. We’re about to visit my daughter, who was in a terrible car crash.”
“It’ll be brief. It’s standard procedure, just to ensure that all our patients and families are receiving the highest standard of care. Actually, it was your daughter who implemented the survey, Mrs. Cuddy.”
Arlene cocked an eyebrow. She liked being well-known around the hospital-sort of like a mini celebrity.
“You say it’s brief?” she said.
“10 minutes tops,” Chip said, cheerfully.
“Okay,” Arlene shrugged. She turned to Wilson and Julia: “I’ll meet you both in her room.”
“Actually,” Chip said. “I need all three of you to take the survey.”
Twenty minutes later, Wilson and Julia and Arlene were all in the waiting room-sitting in a studious row, their hands folded neatly in their laps-still being drilled with questions: “Was the coffee in the waiting room hot enough?” “Did the nurses smile enough?” “Were the bathrooms well-stocked and clean?”
“This is absolutely ridiculous,” Arlene grumbled.
“I actually think it’s nice,” Wilson said, diplomatically.
Just then, Gary Barnes walked into the room.
“What’s going on here?” he said.
“We’re taking this insufferable hospitality survey,” Arlene snapped. “This has to be the dumbest thing I’ve ever. . .”
“Our hospital doesn’t have any hospitality survey,” Gary said.
Chip looked up from his clip board nervously.
“See ya!” he said, darting out of the room, a blur as he bolted down the hall.
“House!” they all said in unison.
Arlene, Julia, and Wilson marched to Cuddy’s room, where House was still sitting next to her, holding her hand, whispering in her ear.
When he saw them, he looked at his watch.
“Crap. I paid for half an hour,” he said, under his breath.
“Unhand my daughter!” Arlene demanded.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Julia said. “Are you some sort of twisted sicko who fantasizes about unconscious women?”
“Just calm down everybody,” House said, lowering his voice. “Let’s just keep our cool and take this party into the hall.”
“You do realize that Lisa hates you right?” Julia said, reluctantly following him. “I mean, I just want to make sure we’re totally clear on this. You don’t think she’s going to wake up and think you’re some sort of Prince Charming because you sat by her hospital bed. You’re not actually that delusional, are you?”
“She doesn’t hate me,” House said, trying to keep his voice steady.
“She sent you to jail. It was the happiest day of her life!” Julia said.
“Cuddy and I are back together!” House blurted out, surprising himself.
There was a brief, shocked silence as they all stared at him.
“Oh my God, you are such a liar!” Julia said. “First you hire Skippy-“
“Chip,” House said.
“First you hire Chip to impersonate a hospital employee-“
“I’ll have you know that cost me 500 bucks,” House said.
“And now you come up with this ridiculous story that you and Lisa are back together.”
“We are,” House said.
“You’re lying. My daughter wouldn’t date you if you were the last man on earth,” Arlene said.
“He’s not lying,” Wilson said, thoughtfully.
“Oh, thank God!” House said.
“He truly believes he’s back together with her,” Wilson continued. Then with concern, “How many Vicodin have you taken?”
“Oh for fuck’s sake,” House said. “I’m not on Vicodin! I weaned myself off Vicodin four months ago. You know why? Because I’ve been having regular sex with her daughter!”
“Get out!” Arlene screamed, close to a complete meltdown. “Get out before I call security!”
“Calm down, you crazy old witch. I’m leaving,” House said. “But I’m not lying. Cuddy and I are in love. And I will be back, whether you like it or not.”
“We’ll see about that!” Arlene shouted after him.
He limped away quickly, with Wilson hastily following.
“House, slow down,” Wilson said.
House stopped, gave a surprised little shrug. “That was a first,” he said, almost to himself.
“Are you okay?” Wilson asked.
“I’m fine. Well, other than my girlfriend being in a medically induced coma-which, little known fact, was actually the original title to that Morrissey song.”
“She’s not your girlfriend.”
“Wilson, she is. Do I seem delusional to you?”
“You seem very, very upset.”
“I am upset! I’m upset that Cuddy is in a coma. And I’m upset that no one is letting me be with her! I don’t have the best track record of being there for her when she’s unwell. I’d like to start fixing that record-right now.”
Wilson peered at him.
“If you and Cuddy are back together, why didn’t you tell me?”
House gripped his cane a little tighter.
“She wanted to keep it a secret.”
“That’s pretty convenient, huh?”
“And completely credible. If you were dating the guy who rammed his car into your house, would you broadcast it to the world?”
“I just can’t believe Cuddy would date you again.”
“It’s been a slow process. First there was an extensive exchange of letters . . .and gifts . . .and, uh, bodily fluids.”
“Gross.”
House shrugged.
“But she finally admitted that she loves me.”
“Maybe I believe you,” Wilson said, squinting at him.
“Maybe?”
“I don’t know House. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice…”
“Than you’re an idiot! I’m not lying.”
“Okay, maybe you’re not. But your presence is very stressful to everyone involved. So do yourself and Cuddy a favor and stay away.”
“Cuddy needs me.”
“She’s unconscious House. Don’t tell me you suddenly believe in the healing power of holding hands with an unconscious person.”
Wilson had a point. This was the sort of thing House mocked back at PPTH; that and friends encouraging patients to “be strong”-like they were prize fighters or something.
“She needs me,” he repeated.
“House, I’ll call you if there’s any change in her condition. But mark my words: stay away.”
#####
Later that day, Cuddy’s swelling was so reduced, the doctors were able to ease her out of the coma.
She woke up briefly, blinked a few times, managed to say her name, the year, the president, before falling back to sleep.
“She’s out of the woods,” Wilson told House on the phone. “Resting comfortably, as they say.”
“Good, I’ll be there in 10 minutes,” House said, grabbing his jacket.
“House, no!” Wilson protested. But it was too late; he had already hung up.
In the hotel lobby, House ran right smack into a courier.
“Gregory House?” the kid said.
“Yeah, get outta my way kid. I’m busy.”
“I’m here on behalf of the State of Jersey to serve you with this temporary restraining order. You are not to go with 20 yards of Lisa Cuddy or it will be considered a violation of your parole and you will be immediately arrested.”
To be continued…