The Down Low
“We've got a problem,” she announces as he takes another bite of his potato chip. He stares at the screen and leans back in his chair.
“This is a really good episode,” he points, a picture of someone's innards vivid on the television screen. “Thank the board for the high def.”
“House...”
“Oy, now you're using my name as a complete sentence. What is it this time?”
“Your team has been traipsing through my office all day arguing about who gets paid what. It needs to stop. I don't have time for this. I've got a donor meeting in twenty...”
“You're always busy,” he interrupts with a frown. “Why not take this opportunity to have a little fun and jerk them around?”
“I'm not you,” she shoots back with a look of amusement flitting across her face.
“No, but why not join my evil forces? At least for a few days. They'll never suspect it. Foreman will take an M80 to his ego and the three stooges will learn that doing good for others only leaves you feeling dirty and used,” he explains, then pauses and scans her up and down. “Which you'd know a good deal about.”
He raises his eyebrows suggestively and she snorts in disgust.
“You're a cretin,” she tells him without any malice.
“So is that a 'yes,' my cretin padawan?”
She shakes her head, folding like a flower at night. “This is going to be so bad.”
“High five, home girl,” he exclaims and holds a palm up high into the air.
She ignores his greasy hand, throwing him a small smile instead, and walks away.
“Don't leave me hanging!” he shouts after her but she's already gone.
On the screen, the OR looks bright silver and blood red.
-
A knock at her door makes her look up from her work and she basically sees his whole department standing outside, looking rather demure through the glass. She motions them in and they enter with their heads all hanging and stealing glances at one another. Taub and Chase glance to Thirteen who comes forward for the group.
“It was our fault,” she says.
Taub seems to gain his courage and steps forward. “We were screwing with Foreman, trying to make him think he made less than we did. Obviously, things got out of control.”
She suddenly feels like a high school principal, slapping the wrists of students who have been sent to her office by their teacher. The simile works, all of them looking small and sheepish at having to admit their fault, at having to confess to the boss.
“Well, someone does something stupid and insensitive, I always figure it was House. Good to know it's catching,” she quips to his team.
None of them look amused by the comment.
“Look, there is no other job. He was just trying to get a raise. Even if you gave him a little more money, I know he'd stay,” Chase offers.
It's amusing, really. How they are all coming to bat for Foreman, and she wonders if they think he would do the same for any of them. Maybe not that much of House has rubbed off on them after all.
“I'm not giving Foreman a raise because the three of you decided to amuse yourselves,” she tells them.
“We know and that's why we want you to take it out of our paychecks,” Thirteen clarifies.
She tries to keep her face devoid of emotion, of not raising her eyebrows or showing them her disbelief. Each of them have the same look, the same face smeared with guilt. She looks to Taub and Chase who say nothing.
“You two okay with this?” she questions.
Chase nods solemnly and she glances over to Taub.
“Is there any other way?” he questions her.
“We're okay with it. Foreman is a good team leader. He deserves it,” Chase adds.
She wonders how much of this has to do with guilt and how much of it has to do with the fact that if Foreman takes over team leader responsibility, they worry about their own jobs becoming nonexistent to compensate for Foreman's monetary gain. Which would never happen but since they are all standing here, she supposes none of them know that.
Just like House had predicted.
“Okay then. That is what I will do,” she agrees. As they all turn to file out, she stops them again. “Just so you know, I have no idea what you are talking about. I haven't seen Foreman in three days.”
She smiles at them as they all exchange a look to one another. The look of “I've just been had.”
As they exit into the clinic, she laughs lightly to herself.
-
“They fell for it,” he hears her say behind him, walking out eventually to join his side on the balcony overlooking the courtyard. “Just when I thought I knew how it would go, it dovetailed there at the end.”
She laughs heartily, so much that her eyes crease in the corners and she shows him a smile.
“It always does,” he agrees, gripping the railing and leaning into the cold breeze.
Below them, life is not a simile about ants. People creep slowly along, some hand in hand, some thoroughly alone. He glances over to her with her palms on the ledge and inhaling the air with a look of serenity on her face.
He retreats inside of himself and tries to remember the last time they could stand together like this. In a past so littered with missteps and banter, being clean and sober and vulnerable has never sat well with him. But if she feels odd about being near him tonight, she doesn't let on.
“You seem down,” she offers, a look of concern etching into her features.
He ponders her misplaced worry, obviously thinking something is wrong with him. Probably wondering is he has gone deep inside of himself to where she can't begin to find him, a pill bottle hidden and ready in his desk drawer.
“It's about...my last case,” he admits to her which seems weird even to him.
“What about it?” she asks, shifting so that she can lean an elbow on the edge of the balcony.
She faces him now and he tries not to acknowledge her any more than he always has, to not stare at her and think to himself how good she looks.
“Have you ever had a moment where you knew the right thing to do but you didn't do it? Just let something happen or someone walk away and that was it?” he says, turning to her, suddenly not wanting to talk about his case.
The worry on her face is replaced with something else altogether: uncertainty. She echoes this with an unsteady, quiet voice, “Why do I get the feeling we aren't talking about your case anymore, House?”
He says nothing but she nods, as if epiphany has hit her as profound as it does when he works on his medical cases. She smiles and looks away, then turns back to him. Accusation smears across her face.
“Because this isn't about your patient, is it?” she asks, taking a step in to him.
Yes, she may have been there for him when Wilson was doing something stupid like giving an organ to a friend and yes, she may have signed off on his hours so he could get his medical license back. And then there was the truce, the metaphorical raising of the white flag over their heads. But he still feels it in him, like he is doing battle with her and for her, and he resents her for it.
“It's what it's always been about, Cuddy,” he whispers to her, leaning in to meet her.
She retracts like a shocked animal, stung by something large and invisible between them. Just like her, he's never been good at this, but Mayfield made him even more bold than he had been before. And even if he drives her completely away, at least she isn't just some possibility in his head.
The air remains unfilled by her voice and she leaves him standing alone, chilled on the balcony in the faint lamp light of his office.