FF: What Things Are, Pt. 4
Title: What Things Are
Author: Ellie
Rating: R (for adult themes)
Spoilers: Post-“Who’s Your Daddy?”
Previously:
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
****
Part 4
****
In her kitchen, he found the homemade banana bread and helped himself. He was pleasantly surprised at how good it was, as he hadn’t known Cuddy possessed any baking abilities. As he was pondering why he’d never convinced her to cook for him, he heard her come through the front door and head straight for him.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
Taking another bite of the banana bread, he let her stew while he chewed. “Didn’t I say I’d stop by?”
“I thought you meant my office!”
“Which would be why you’re home at 6:30 instead of the usual eight or nine? A suspicious man would think you were trying to avoid him.”
“And a smart woman knows that you never stick around later than you have to, so if you haven’t put in an appearance by 5:30, it’s highly unlikely it’s going to happen.” Frowning, she snatched the rest of the loaf of bread away from him and headed for the fridge.
“I was eating that!” He banged the fork on the counter like a child, pouting. How far could he push her tonight before she broke?
“It’s rude to eat someone’s food without an invitation. Though God knows it’s never stopped you before.”
“Yet you continue to try. What is it they say about replicating the same actions and expecting different results?” While his face remained neutral, he was pleased to note that she was quickly becoming angry. It was so easy sometimes.
“You wanted to talk. Get talking.”
Her bluster sounded like it always did, but his ear heard the lack of normal engagement. The snappy retorts did a nice job of disguising the uncertainly in her tone, but it was there, and it troubled him. “Well if you’re not going to feed me, let’s take this somewhere more comfortable.”
After a moment, he heard the click of her heels on hardwood as she followed him into her living room. “I didn’t invite you here, House. I’m not a takeout service.”
She looked decidedly less confident that her statement when she came face to face with him. On her home turf, in comfortable surroundings with only him, her barriers were much lower, and the emotions much closer to the surface. He saw them whirling behind her eyes.
“No eating out? I’m so disappointed, Cuddy!”
Collapsing into a wing chair, she looked up at him, pleading. That was the one thing he couldn’t take, that sadly pleading look she got. With anyone else, he would dismiss it, or be provoked into rudeness, but with her it was exotic, like sighting an okapi. It was always different, with her. He sank down on her couch, wishing she were close enough to touch.
“What do you want me to say?” She could sound so young, sometimes.
“How are you, really?” By nature, she lied less than most people, and he was curious.
She sighed and sank back into the chair. “Physically, fine. I took it easy over the weekend. Thank you.” Her eyes told him what she couldn’t, said exactly how much she’d needed that ride home.
Still, it wasn’t something he heard often, and rarely put any value in it when he did. “You’re welcome. What about that touchy-feely crap?”
“I thought you didn’t care about that.” Her eyes closed and her head fell back against the chair. For a long time, it was quiet. He was a patient man when the situation required, and he waited. It wasn’t entirely surprising when something that looked suspiciously like a tear rolled down her cheek.
“Just because I’m not warm and fuzzy doesn’t mean I don’t care.” He knew she knew that, but she needed to hear it now.
When she looked at him, her eyes were strikingly blue, cutting straight to his soul with their despondency. “I failed.”
It seemed such a small thing, no more than an exhalation, inadequate to explain everything she must be feeling. But he’d known her through several different epochs, and the simple statement carried a profundity that cut straight to the essence of the Lisa Cuddy he knew. In all those years, she’d always been her own worst critic, held herself to higher standards than anyone else, had never settled for less than she desired.
Now she had no choice, had been handed less than she desired, but perhaps more than she could handle. No, he thought, there was no such thing as more than Cuddy could handle. He might not always agree with her handling, but there was no situation he wouldn’t trust her with when it came down to it.
“You’ve never been one to settle, Cuddy.”
“It’s not just this. This is just part of it.” She wouldn’t look at him, talking down at the floor.
“When have you ever wanted to be the bimbo chugging Starbucks, driving her two-point-five children around in an SUV, talking on her cell while driving home to her white picket fence and desk jockey husband? Is that what you’re calling success? That’s not you. You have succeeded in not falling into the same stereotype everyone else lives in.”
“No, I’d be miserable with that life,” she said, shaking her head, curls falling loose. “But it doesn’t mean there aren’t some parts of it I’d like to have. And I’ve got none of them.”
“I’m sure if you make some calls tomorrow morning, you can get a white picket fence out front by next week.”
She chuffed, not quite a laugh, then frowned. “What I don’t want I could have so easily. It’s the good things that are difficult. At this point, I’m wondering if I haven’t passed them by entirely.”
“Given a choice, would you take them over everything else you have now?”
“I don’t know.” Her face was concealed by her hand, scrubbing her brow.
He knew how much that admission had cost her; she hated to admit her ignorance or confusion or indecision. It startled him to hear her say it, and for once he wasn’t sure how to respond. So he waited, hoping she’d elaborate.
“In my career, I’ve done so much for so many other people. But could someone else have done it all better? Could someone else have saved your leg?”
They’d come to the crux of the matter. He’d seen her self-doubt all day, and wondered how much it would take for her to confess it. “Does it matter? How would my leg make your life more fulfilled?”
She stared at him as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Yours would be better. How many other people’s lives would have been better if I’d been a better doctor, a better administrator? Maybe it would have been better if I’d settled for the mundane suburban life.”
“Maybe if you hadn’t been there, I wouldn’t have a leg at all. Or a life. Maybe a dozen other people would be dead because you weren’t there. Maybe someone else would have hired the researcher who would have cured cancer if they’d been in charge. This isn’t fucking ‘It’s a Wonderful Life.’ We make decisions because they’re the best for us at the time, and playing a game of maybe after the fact won’t change a damn thing.”
When he finished, she was staring at him as if she was expecting something more, as if his diatribe would have an answer for her. He didn’t have the answers to his own problems, and he certainly didn’t have the answers to hers. “Decide what you want. If it’s what you want, put in your two week’s notice tomorrow morning and move to Utah to be someone’s fifth wife and start pumping out the kids. Or call Dr. Rouse and order up another round of fertility meds. Or go one a few more blind dates. The right answer’s what you want out of life. I don’t have it for you.”
“Maybe you do.” She rose from the chair and settled next to him on the sofa, close enough that her shoulder brushed his. “It’s sad and crazy, but Thursday night you were exactly what I wanted.” Her thumb was so soft as it traced the line of his jaw, catching on his rough stubble.
In a supreme act of willpower, he turned his head half an inch, away from her. “Lisa. I won’t do this now.” Something primal screamed that he was a fool as he stood and turned to look down at her, tucked up on the cushions, looking lost and wounded. He caught her hand in his, thumb caressing her palm. “We both know I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want you. But tomorrow, or next week, you’d regret doing this now.”
Tears slipped down her cheeks, but she nodded and squeezed his hand like a life preserver. “I don’t want any more regrets.”
For a long, silent moment, they just stared at one another, uncertain. Then he said, “They lie when they say that time heals all wounds. But it does give you perspective and a while to figure things out. I’ll see you at work tomorrow.” His thumb grazed her cheek, coming away damp with her tears.
He was halfway to the door when her whisper stopped him. “Thank you, Greg.”
Twice tonight he’d heard that, and it threw off his worldview. He simply nodded in acknowledgement and walked out her door.
****
End Part 4
****
Author: Ellie
Rating: R (for adult themes)
Spoilers: Post-“Who’s Your Daddy?”
Previously:
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
****
Part 4
****
In her kitchen, he found the homemade banana bread and helped himself. He was pleasantly surprised at how good it was, as he hadn’t known Cuddy possessed any baking abilities. As he was pondering why he’d never convinced her to cook for him, he heard her come through the front door and head straight for him.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
Taking another bite of the banana bread, he let her stew while he chewed. “Didn’t I say I’d stop by?”
“I thought you meant my office!”
“Which would be why you’re home at 6:30 instead of the usual eight or nine? A suspicious man would think you were trying to avoid him.”
“And a smart woman knows that you never stick around later than you have to, so if you haven’t put in an appearance by 5:30, it’s highly unlikely it’s going to happen.” Frowning, she snatched the rest of the loaf of bread away from him and headed for the fridge.
“I was eating that!” He banged the fork on the counter like a child, pouting. How far could he push her tonight before she broke?
“It’s rude to eat someone’s food without an invitation. Though God knows it’s never stopped you before.”
“Yet you continue to try. What is it they say about replicating the same actions and expecting different results?” While his face remained neutral, he was pleased to note that she was quickly becoming angry. It was so easy sometimes.
“You wanted to talk. Get talking.”
Her bluster sounded like it always did, but his ear heard the lack of normal engagement. The snappy retorts did a nice job of disguising the uncertainly in her tone, but it was there, and it troubled him. “Well if you’re not going to feed me, let’s take this somewhere more comfortable.”
After a moment, he heard the click of her heels on hardwood as she followed him into her living room. “I didn’t invite you here, House. I’m not a takeout service.”
She looked decidedly less confident that her statement when she came face to face with him. On her home turf, in comfortable surroundings with only him, her barriers were much lower, and the emotions much closer to the surface. He saw them whirling behind her eyes.
“No eating out? I’m so disappointed, Cuddy!”
Collapsing into a wing chair, she looked up at him, pleading. That was the one thing he couldn’t take, that sadly pleading look she got. With anyone else, he would dismiss it, or be provoked into rudeness, but with her it was exotic, like sighting an okapi. It was always different, with her. He sank down on her couch, wishing she were close enough to touch.
“What do you want me to say?” She could sound so young, sometimes.
“How are you, really?” By nature, she lied less than most people, and he was curious.
She sighed and sank back into the chair. “Physically, fine. I took it easy over the weekend. Thank you.” Her eyes told him what she couldn’t, said exactly how much she’d needed that ride home.
Still, it wasn’t something he heard often, and rarely put any value in it when he did. “You’re welcome. What about that touchy-feely crap?”
“I thought you didn’t care about that.” Her eyes closed and her head fell back against the chair. For a long time, it was quiet. He was a patient man when the situation required, and he waited. It wasn’t entirely surprising when something that looked suspiciously like a tear rolled down her cheek.
“Just because I’m not warm and fuzzy doesn’t mean I don’t care.” He knew she knew that, but she needed to hear it now.
When she looked at him, her eyes were strikingly blue, cutting straight to his soul with their despondency. “I failed.”
It seemed such a small thing, no more than an exhalation, inadequate to explain everything she must be feeling. But he’d known her through several different epochs, and the simple statement carried a profundity that cut straight to the essence of the Lisa Cuddy he knew. In all those years, she’d always been her own worst critic, held herself to higher standards than anyone else, had never settled for less than she desired.
Now she had no choice, had been handed less than she desired, but perhaps more than she could handle. No, he thought, there was no such thing as more than Cuddy could handle. He might not always agree with her handling, but there was no situation he wouldn’t trust her with when it came down to it.
“You’ve never been one to settle, Cuddy.”
“It’s not just this. This is just part of it.” She wouldn’t look at him, talking down at the floor.
“When have you ever wanted to be the bimbo chugging Starbucks, driving her two-point-five children around in an SUV, talking on her cell while driving home to her white picket fence and desk jockey husband? Is that what you’re calling success? That’s not you. You have succeeded in not falling into the same stereotype everyone else lives in.”
“No, I’d be miserable with that life,” she said, shaking her head, curls falling loose. “But it doesn’t mean there aren’t some parts of it I’d like to have. And I’ve got none of them.”
“I’m sure if you make some calls tomorrow morning, you can get a white picket fence out front by next week.”
She chuffed, not quite a laugh, then frowned. “What I don’t want I could have so easily. It’s the good things that are difficult. At this point, I’m wondering if I haven’t passed them by entirely.”
“Given a choice, would you take them over everything else you have now?”
“I don’t know.” Her face was concealed by her hand, scrubbing her brow.
He knew how much that admission had cost her; she hated to admit her ignorance or confusion or indecision. It startled him to hear her say it, and for once he wasn’t sure how to respond. So he waited, hoping she’d elaborate.
“In my career, I’ve done so much for so many other people. But could someone else have done it all better? Could someone else have saved your leg?”
They’d come to the crux of the matter. He’d seen her self-doubt all day, and wondered how much it would take for her to confess it. “Does it matter? How would my leg make your life more fulfilled?”
She stared at him as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Yours would be better. How many other people’s lives would have been better if I’d been a better doctor, a better administrator? Maybe it would have been better if I’d settled for the mundane suburban life.”
“Maybe if you hadn’t been there, I wouldn’t have a leg at all. Or a life. Maybe a dozen other people would be dead because you weren’t there. Maybe someone else would have hired the researcher who would have cured cancer if they’d been in charge. This isn’t fucking ‘It’s a Wonderful Life.’ We make decisions because they’re the best for us at the time, and playing a game of maybe after the fact won’t change a damn thing.”
When he finished, she was staring at him as if she was expecting something more, as if his diatribe would have an answer for her. He didn’t have the answers to his own problems, and he certainly didn’t have the answers to hers. “Decide what you want. If it’s what you want, put in your two week’s notice tomorrow morning and move to Utah to be someone’s fifth wife and start pumping out the kids. Or call Dr. Rouse and order up another round of fertility meds. Or go one a few more blind dates. The right answer’s what you want out of life. I don’t have it for you.”
“Maybe you do.” She rose from the chair and settled next to him on the sofa, close enough that her shoulder brushed his. “It’s sad and crazy, but Thursday night you were exactly what I wanted.” Her thumb was so soft as it traced the line of his jaw, catching on his rough stubble.
In a supreme act of willpower, he turned his head half an inch, away from her. “Lisa. I won’t do this now.” Something primal screamed that he was a fool as he stood and turned to look down at her, tucked up on the cushions, looking lost and wounded. He caught her hand in his, thumb caressing her palm. “We both know I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want you. But tomorrow, or next week, you’d regret doing this now.”
Tears slipped down her cheeks, but she nodded and squeezed his hand like a life preserver. “I don’t want any more regrets.”
For a long, silent moment, they just stared at one another, uncertain. Then he said, “They lie when they say that time heals all wounds. But it does give you perspective and a while to figure things out. I’ll see you at work tomorrow.” His thumb grazed her cheek, coming away damp with her tears.
He was halfway to the door when her whisper stopped him. “Thank you, Greg.”
Twice tonight he’d heard that, and it threw off his worldview. He simply nodded in acknowledgement and walked out her door.
****
End Part 4
****