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damelolaTitle: There Will Be No Divorce Chapter 11/15
Author: Lola Lauriestein
Rating: PG 13 this chapter, overall up to NC17
Pairing: House/Cuddy
Spoilers: Everything up to Wilson's Heart, we're going to have to ignore s5 though, sorry!
Disclaimer: not-not-mine, House et al belong to David Shore, Fox etc. The song lyrics of the Mountain Goats belong to them, and if I could write like John Darnielle, I'd die happy.
Summary: The sequel to ‘No Children’, which you can read in its entirety here. How will House and Cuddy cope with pregnancy, therapy and the world getting in their way? House and Cuddy are on the outs, and there are medical problems for their developing baby. Topics including abortion will come up here, and if you need a warning, it's only that I'm pro-choice. Any medical inaccuracies are my own.
Beta by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
lucyvanflick , who has cut away the weeds to expose the flowers here. She's the guiding light of this entire series, and I love her for it!
Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10
“I handed you a drink of the lovely little thing
On which our survival depends.
People say friends don’t destroy one another
What do they know about friends?”
“Game Shows Touch Our Lives”, The Mountain Goats
House scrubbed his face with exaggerated vigor, determined to erase any suggestion that he had let even a single tear escape. In the yellowing light of the men’s room, he looked as ghoulish as he felt.
The one time she was really going to need him and the stubborn woman wouldn’t let him get involved. Waving his hands under the tap to turn on the water, he didn’t withdraw them even as the freezing water poured out,
As his fingers became numb, he mentally reviewed the images he’d stored in his brain. Cuddy’s baby - their baby - was most likely not going to make it. A significant mass embedded in the wall of the tiny heart spelled nothing but bad news. He was sure there would be a flurry of calls to the top surgeons on this coast and everywhere else, but surgical options were likely to be limited.
What killed him about the whole damn mess was that he didn’t have an alternative idea. Other people looked at scans or the notes from other doctors and accepted them at face value. He read between the lines, caught the almost undetectable detail, or pointed out the fallacy of going immediately to the obvious choice. No such luck here; it was exactly how it looked, and nothing in his encyclopedia of weird and cool suggested an alternative.
These high-quality snapshots of a glaring problem left him no wiggle room at all. That Cuddy had been expecting it from him, that it had been written all over her face as she watched him read the results in her office, only made him feel even worse.
Quite the track record: he’d knocked her up, broken her heart and now the child they’d conceived might well be dead before it was even born. What a great way to treat the woman he loved. It was really no mystery why he always ended up drunk, miserable and alone.
The swinging of the men’s room door disrupted his silent self-flagellation, and with a jolt he realized the stinging in his hands. Pulling away from the icy stream, he met Wilson’s eye briefly in the mirror. Too tired to be bothered with the extra steps for a paper towel, he simply dried them on the faded denim of his jeans, provoking a disgusted sigh from his best friend.
“Why aren’t you in there with Cuddy? Something’s obviously wrong.”
House turned to face Wilson, in no mood for another sanctimonious lecture. All of a sudden, Cuddy’s bizarre comment about a proposal suddenly resurfaced.
“A man can’t pee because some chick has a case of the boo-hoos?”
Wilson fussed with his tie unnecessarily. House resisted the urge to point out that it clashed with his shirt.
“I know you, you’re going to leave her there, alone, suffering. What’s going on with her anyway?”
House tightened the grip on his cane, feet shifting awkwardly, the high-pitched squeak of rubber soles on tile producing a jarring note.
“Baby trouble. The not-gonna-be-a-baby kind. We talked, she said she didn’t want me involved, I left. Simple as that. Or maybe it’s something to do with some proposal of yours.”
House could hear the icy coldness in his own voice, it felt too appropriate to tone it down. For a moment, Wilson’s typical embarrassed flush showed on his face. However, he recovered almost instantaneously, with a hint of false bravado
“Hey, somebody had to step up. You bailed out like we all expected, and I couldn’t let Cuddy raise the kid alone if she didn’t want to. It’s not like I haven’t been married for worse reasons. I guessed something’s up with the baby, but what specifically is wrong? Isn’t there anything we can do?”
House stopped listening at the word ”married”. He hadn’t considered that Cuddy meant “proposal” in the flowers and penguin suit sense. He felt an instant burning rage that threatened to blur his vision altogether.
Trying to look calm, he took a step forward. Wilson considered him warily, his words trailing off as House advanced. House strained to keep his voice level, succeeding only in achieving a kind of verbalized growl.
"What is this, Victorian England? Protecting her virtue isn't even a thing anymore, outside of movies and prominent Republican families"
Wilson held up his hands in his familiar gesture of appeasement. House felt the muscles in his arms twitch gently as he tensed for battle.
“Like I said, I was just trying to offer Cuddy what she needed. Babies need a father, but the mother needs somebody around to help too.”
“So you offered to marry her?”
The shrug was the straw that broke House’s back. Without thinking, he lashed out with his left, catching Wilson’s jaw with a fairly decent jab. The crunch of his knuckles took some of the pleasure away, but he definitely felt better for the sucker punch.
Especially when the off-guard Wilson ended up sprawled across the unhygienic floor. The pain in his jaw would be almost as bad as the sudden attack of germophobia that would no doubt engulf him.
"Cuddy doesn’t need anyone unless she says she does. And since I’m the redneck to her Bristol Palin, you can back the hell off."
Fuelled by righteous indignation, House stomped out into the hallway, intent on getting the hell out of Dodge before this day got any worse. At least Cuddy would be too preoccupied to chase him down for hours missed.
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
Cuddy had made it through three days and three nights, remembering to shower, drink the occasional glass of water and nibble half-heartedly at bits and pieces of fruit. Her hours at the hospital had been limited, only a few per day spent sequestered in her office playing phone tag with the nation’s preeminent neo-natal specialists. She’d become an expert in forwarding that one particular email with all her medical details attached without actually reading it, eyes averted each time she added a new address and pressed ‘send’.
The headache wedged behind her eyes as she left the Delaware Clinic had remained stubbornly in place. Focus was a problem, waxing and waning in ten-minute bursts. Wilson and Cameron were constantly hovering on the perimeter of the clinic, frequent visits from whichever nurse drew the short straw ended as soon as the hapless employee breached the office door. Things were slipping, and she was aware that someone, somewhere had to be covering for her or the place would have burned down by now. Too exhausted to question it, she accepted the lucky break and applied her limited energy to researching her baby’s condition, her only respite grabbed in fitful 30-minute naps when her body gave out on her.
House, of course, kept his distance. She wondered if the angry purple bruise on Wilson’s jaw was his doing, but didn’t dally long enough in Wilson’s company to be drawn into conversation. She nodded curtly at anyone foolish enough to make eye contact and escaped the hospital grounds as humanly fast as possible each day.
The fourth morning was the end of it all.
The last of the surgeons she’d contacted had emailed her at some point between Cuddy getting in the shower and arriving at work. In that 90-minute window, the last fragile hope was shattered.
Even the timing of the email was unexpected. Dr. Montgomery was on the West Coast, meaning the reply was sent at some ungodly hour of the morning for her. Cuddy remembered referring patients to her when the neo-natal surgeon had a practice in New York, a casual acquaintance that she knew mostly by reputation. Then something happened with her marriage, one of her surnames evaporated and she’d shown up a few months later out in California somewhere.
The email was courteous but to the point. With little fanfare, there was yet another confirmation of what Cuddy already knew. Though there was a minute chance she could carry the fetus until viable, the reality was that the growing tumor would soon eclipse the developing heart muscle and intrauterine death would occur. Montgomery had been her last chance, the top of her field and the one most likely to attempt something extraordinary. Admittance of defeat from her was somehow harder than all the rest.
Cuddy slumped back in her uncomfortable ergonomic chair, her coat still wrapped around her in her haste to discover the contents of the email. She was waiting for something, though she didn’t know just what.
Then it dawned on her: she was still in denial. What she wanted more than anything was for House to come blazing into her office claiming that the whole thing was a misdiagnosis. If it meant he was intercepting her emails again, she would accept it just for him to come up with one of his outlandish theories that was undoubtedly right.
Cuddy felt a little cheated that her dream of salvation wasn’t forthcoming. After all she had risked and sacrificed to allow House to do that for fifty patients a year. But why couldn’t she reap the benefits for herself just when she needed them?
Though the hour was early (Had she really expected House to save the day before noon?), she consulted her Blackberry contacts and placed the call she’d been postponing.
“Dr Nadat? It’s Lisa Cuddy. I’m going to need a referral.”
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -- - - -
House cursed as his attempts to get more comfortable ended with him whacking his knee on the steering column. The heater in his car was broken and after a frank exchange of views with the charlatan mechanic who tried to charge him the cost of a replacement kidney rather than the cost of a bit of wiring, it had stayed that way.
He checked his watch distractedly, having allowed half an hour on top of Cuddy’s usual extreme earliness. It was approaching her actual appointment time and there was still no sign. Only a couple of days since the last of her email consults confirmed that there wasn’t much hope, she’d moved with her trademark efficiency.
Late last night, he’d checked her patient files again and confirmed that she’d had the laminaria inserted, the little tube of seaweed that would make dilation possible. It seemed almost ridiculous that with all the technology available to them, a little roll of plant-life could be involved in such an invasive procedure.
Finally, he saw her Lexus roll into the parking lot, the luxury car visible amid the few other cars there this early in the morning. Hell, he wouldn’t normally be conscious if he hadn’t stayed up all night rattling aimlessly around his apartment, playing piano until the upstairs neighbors finally cracked and threatened to call the police.
Her sister stepped out of the driver’s seat and opened the door for Cuddy. It must be a bad day for her to let anyone touch her precious car, he surmised. Or perhaps it was just House who was banned from going anywhere near the keys, but either way it was time for him to move.
With more agility than he’d expected after an hour of sitting in a cold and cramped car, he unfolded himself onto the tarmac and set off towards the Cuddy women. Karen saw him first, but before she could finish her gesture of warning, Cuddy herself turned to face him.
Slightly out of breath from the closest he got to a sprint, he had nothing more eloquent up his sleeve than “Hello”.
Cuddy regarded him impassively, her eyes dull and the dark circles beneath them like smudges of charcoal.
“I didn’t ask you to come.”
He shuffled awkwardly as they stood there in the morning cold. House glowered at Karen, and she laid a protective hand on Cuddy’s shoulder.
“I can stay with you, or if you want to talk, I can go and book you in.”
Cuddy considered for a moment, but motioned towards the doors of the clinic for Karen to leave them. Her sister complied with some reluctance.
House watched her go, unable to resist a quip.
“Karen will be disappointed there are no feministas milling around for her to hit on. Not even any pro-life nuts with hand-painted signs.”
As an ice-breaker it was pretty much useless, but he thought he might have seen a flicker of interest in her eyes.
“Are you, uh, are you gonna be okay? You checked these doctors out?”
She nodded, a flinch of irritation at the patronizing nature of the question.
“And you’re sure you’re happy to stick with a clinic? You wouldn’t feel safer in a hospital? If anything goes wrong…”
It finally prompted her to speak.
“This is the most exclusive facility in the state, and they’re equipped for emergency situations, probably better than the hospital. Your obligation to make sure I’m not in a back alley with a coat hanger is met. Go home, House.”
He drew himself up to his full height, hoping to intimidate her into not dismissing him. Unfortunately for him, even on her worst day Lisa Cuddy was not easily intimidated. She’d dressed smartly, though without her usual pointy heels. To a less interested observer, it might well be just another day at the office for her, though her exhaustion was hard to ignore.
“No. Not until I know you’re sure. If this was some stranger’s kid, you’d be bending over backwards to see this through, to take the risk of the baby making it to term.”
“Fetus, House. When did you stop calling it a fetus, anyway?”
He mumbled his answer, but she caught it anyway.
“Since it started mattering so much to you.”
“And you think this is easy for me? You think I’m doing this because I don’t want to try a little bit harder? Or that I thought my last chance at motherhood might be a good time to make a political statement?”
The color had returned to her face, the steel in her voice that he loved so much making its presence felt.
"That’s not what I said. I was simply remarking on the absence of the blind optimism that you seem to apply to everyone but yourself.. And you have to admit, a termination is going to go over well with the other chicks at the next ‘Bitches Who Run the World’ convention.”
Another day the joke might have earned him a wry smile but not today.
“I can’t do this with you, not now.”
She turned to walk away, but he laid a gentle hand on her elbow, the wool of her coat scratchy under his bare palm. He hadn’t been this close to her in days, and the nearness of her made him a little dizzy.
“You have a choice, Cuddy. It might be a crappy one, but I just need to know that you’re doing this because you choose to. That you haven’t given up because I ruined everything by sneaking around for a few extra pills.”
Cuddy looked up at him, eyes squinting slightly against the pale winter sun.
“We both know there’s no miracle to hope for here. It means a lot that you’re willing to put aside your own cynicism, but being naïve here won’t help me. This baby isn’t going to make it, House, and I can’t sit around waiting for it to die. Just because I have to terminate a pregnancy I wanted doesn’t make the process wrong.”
She paused and blinked for a moment. Finally, she spoke up, more quietly this time.
“No woman should be forced to have a child she doesn’t want. It’s just shitty that it worked out this way for me.”
At a loss for words, House overcame his habitual fear of rejection and scooped her into the strongest hug he could muster, still mindful of not squashing her. Planting a determined kiss on the top of her head, he whispered “I’m sorry” with all the sincerity he had.
When he released her from the embrace, she looked a little stronger, a little more like the Cuddy he knew so well.
“We can’t go back, House, but if you want to be here with me, I’d like it. You can stay with me until I get the anaesthetic but Karen will bring me home tonight.”
He shrugged as though she was inviting him over for coffee.
When she turned her back and lead the way to the clinic entrance, he followed willingly, the Vicodin plucked from his pocket increasing the numbness as he walked.
Cuddy stopped immediately outside the entrance and he kept a respectful distance as she took a deep breath and steeled herself. He stroked softly at her back with an open palm and she took it as reassurance to continue, her short strides propelling her the rest of the way.
He’d be waiting when Karen came back to take her home, and they both knew it. After all, it was the least he could do.
Chapter 12 ==>
---------------
Now playing: The Books featuring Jose Gonzalez - Cello Song
via FoxyTunes
Author: Lola Lauriestein
Rating: PG 13 this chapter, overall up to NC17
Pairing: House/Cuddy
Spoilers: Everything up to Wilson's Heart, we're going to have to ignore s5 though, sorry!
Disclaimer: not-not-mine, House et al belong to David Shore, Fox etc. The song lyrics of the Mountain Goats belong to them, and if I could write like John Darnielle, I'd die happy.
Summary: The sequel to ‘No Children’, which you can read in its entirety here. How will House and Cuddy cope with pregnancy, therapy and the world getting in their way? House and Cuddy are on the outs, and there are medical problems for their developing baby. Topics including abortion will come up here, and if you need a warning, it's only that I'm pro-choice. Any medical inaccuracies are my own.
Beta by
lucyvanflick , who has cut away the weeds to expose the flowers here. She's the guiding light of this entire series, and I love her for it!Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10
“I handed you a drink of the lovely little thing
On which our survival depends.
People say friends don’t destroy one another
What do they know about friends?”
“Game Shows Touch Our Lives”, The Mountain Goats
House scrubbed his face with exaggerated vigor, determined to erase any suggestion that he had let even a single tear escape. In the yellowing light of the men’s room, he looked as ghoulish as he felt.
The one time she was really going to need him and the stubborn woman wouldn’t let him get involved. Waving his hands under the tap to turn on the water, he didn’t withdraw them even as the freezing water poured out,
As his fingers became numb, he mentally reviewed the images he’d stored in his brain. Cuddy’s baby - their baby - was most likely not going to make it. A significant mass embedded in the wall of the tiny heart spelled nothing but bad news. He was sure there would be a flurry of calls to the top surgeons on this coast and everywhere else, but surgical options were likely to be limited.
What killed him about the whole damn mess was that he didn’t have an alternative idea. Other people looked at scans or the notes from other doctors and accepted them at face value. He read between the lines, caught the almost undetectable detail, or pointed out the fallacy of going immediately to the obvious choice. No such luck here; it was exactly how it looked, and nothing in his encyclopedia of weird and cool suggested an alternative.
These high-quality snapshots of a glaring problem left him no wiggle room at all. That Cuddy had been expecting it from him, that it had been written all over her face as she watched him read the results in her office, only made him feel even worse.
Quite the track record: he’d knocked her up, broken her heart and now the child they’d conceived might well be dead before it was even born. What a great way to treat the woman he loved. It was really no mystery why he always ended up drunk, miserable and alone.
The swinging of the men’s room door disrupted his silent self-flagellation, and with a jolt he realized the stinging in his hands. Pulling away from the icy stream, he met Wilson’s eye briefly in the mirror. Too tired to be bothered with the extra steps for a paper towel, he simply dried them on the faded denim of his jeans, provoking a disgusted sigh from his best friend.
“Why aren’t you in there with Cuddy? Something’s obviously wrong.”
House turned to face Wilson, in no mood for another sanctimonious lecture. All of a sudden, Cuddy’s bizarre comment about a proposal suddenly resurfaced.
“A man can’t pee because some chick has a case of the boo-hoos?”
Wilson fussed with his tie unnecessarily. House resisted the urge to point out that it clashed with his shirt.
“I know you, you’re going to leave her there, alone, suffering. What’s going on with her anyway?”
House tightened the grip on his cane, feet shifting awkwardly, the high-pitched squeak of rubber soles on tile producing a jarring note.
“Baby trouble. The not-gonna-be-a-baby kind. We talked, she said she didn’t want me involved, I left. Simple as that. Or maybe it’s something to do with some proposal of yours.”
House could hear the icy coldness in his own voice, it felt too appropriate to tone it down. For a moment, Wilson’s typical embarrassed flush showed on his face. However, he recovered almost instantaneously, with a hint of false bravado
“Hey, somebody had to step up. You bailed out like we all expected, and I couldn’t let Cuddy raise the kid alone if she didn’t want to. It’s not like I haven’t been married for worse reasons. I guessed something’s up with the baby, but what specifically is wrong? Isn’t there anything we can do?”
House stopped listening at the word ”married”. He hadn’t considered that Cuddy meant “proposal” in the flowers and penguin suit sense. He felt an instant burning rage that threatened to blur his vision altogether.
Trying to look calm, he took a step forward. Wilson considered him warily, his words trailing off as House advanced. House strained to keep his voice level, succeeding only in achieving a kind of verbalized growl.
"What is this, Victorian England? Protecting her virtue isn't even a thing anymore, outside of movies and prominent Republican families"
Wilson held up his hands in his familiar gesture of appeasement. House felt the muscles in his arms twitch gently as he tensed for battle.
“Like I said, I was just trying to offer Cuddy what she needed. Babies need a father, but the mother needs somebody around to help too.”
“So you offered to marry her?”
The shrug was the straw that broke House’s back. Without thinking, he lashed out with his left, catching Wilson’s jaw with a fairly decent jab. The crunch of his knuckles took some of the pleasure away, but he definitely felt better for the sucker punch.
Especially when the off-guard Wilson ended up sprawled across the unhygienic floor. The pain in his jaw would be almost as bad as the sudden attack of germophobia that would no doubt engulf him.
"Cuddy doesn’t need anyone unless she says she does. And since I’m the redneck to her Bristol Palin, you can back the hell off."
Fuelled by righteous indignation, House stomped out into the hallway, intent on getting the hell out of Dodge before this day got any worse. At least Cuddy would be too preoccupied to chase him down for hours missed.
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
Cuddy had made it through three days and three nights, remembering to shower, drink the occasional glass of water and nibble half-heartedly at bits and pieces of fruit. Her hours at the hospital had been limited, only a few per day spent sequestered in her office playing phone tag with the nation’s preeminent neo-natal specialists. She’d become an expert in forwarding that one particular email with all her medical details attached without actually reading it, eyes averted each time she added a new address and pressed ‘send’.
The headache wedged behind her eyes as she left the Delaware Clinic had remained stubbornly in place. Focus was a problem, waxing and waning in ten-minute bursts. Wilson and Cameron were constantly hovering on the perimeter of the clinic, frequent visits from whichever nurse drew the short straw ended as soon as the hapless employee breached the office door. Things were slipping, and she was aware that someone, somewhere had to be covering for her or the place would have burned down by now. Too exhausted to question it, she accepted the lucky break and applied her limited energy to researching her baby’s condition, her only respite grabbed in fitful 30-minute naps when her body gave out on her.
House, of course, kept his distance. She wondered if the angry purple bruise on Wilson’s jaw was his doing, but didn’t dally long enough in Wilson’s company to be drawn into conversation. She nodded curtly at anyone foolish enough to make eye contact and escaped the hospital grounds as humanly fast as possible each day.
The fourth morning was the end of it all.
The last of the surgeons she’d contacted had emailed her at some point between Cuddy getting in the shower and arriving at work. In that 90-minute window, the last fragile hope was shattered.
Even the timing of the email was unexpected. Dr. Montgomery was on the West Coast, meaning the reply was sent at some ungodly hour of the morning for her. Cuddy remembered referring patients to her when the neo-natal surgeon had a practice in New York, a casual acquaintance that she knew mostly by reputation. Then something happened with her marriage, one of her surnames evaporated and she’d shown up a few months later out in California somewhere.
The email was courteous but to the point. With little fanfare, there was yet another confirmation of what Cuddy already knew. Though there was a minute chance she could carry the fetus until viable, the reality was that the growing tumor would soon eclipse the developing heart muscle and intrauterine death would occur. Montgomery had been her last chance, the top of her field and the one most likely to attempt something extraordinary. Admittance of defeat from her was somehow harder than all the rest.
Cuddy slumped back in her uncomfortable ergonomic chair, her coat still wrapped around her in her haste to discover the contents of the email. She was waiting for something, though she didn’t know just what.
Then it dawned on her: she was still in denial. What she wanted more than anything was for House to come blazing into her office claiming that the whole thing was a misdiagnosis. If it meant he was intercepting her emails again, she would accept it just for him to come up with one of his outlandish theories that was undoubtedly right.
Cuddy felt a little cheated that her dream of salvation wasn’t forthcoming. After all she had risked and sacrificed to allow House to do that for fifty patients a year. But why couldn’t she reap the benefits for herself just when she needed them?
Though the hour was early (Had she really expected House to save the day before noon?), she consulted her Blackberry contacts and placed the call she’d been postponing.
“Dr Nadat? It’s Lisa Cuddy. I’m going to need a referral.”
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -- - - -
House cursed as his attempts to get more comfortable ended with him whacking his knee on the steering column. The heater in his car was broken and after a frank exchange of views with the charlatan mechanic who tried to charge him the cost of a replacement kidney rather than the cost of a bit of wiring, it had stayed that way.
He checked his watch distractedly, having allowed half an hour on top of Cuddy’s usual extreme earliness. It was approaching her actual appointment time and there was still no sign. Only a couple of days since the last of her email consults confirmed that there wasn’t much hope, she’d moved with her trademark efficiency.
Late last night, he’d checked her patient files again and confirmed that she’d had the laminaria inserted, the little tube of seaweed that would make dilation possible. It seemed almost ridiculous that with all the technology available to them, a little roll of plant-life could be involved in such an invasive procedure.
Finally, he saw her Lexus roll into the parking lot, the luxury car visible amid the few other cars there this early in the morning. Hell, he wouldn’t normally be conscious if he hadn’t stayed up all night rattling aimlessly around his apartment, playing piano until the upstairs neighbors finally cracked and threatened to call the police.
Her sister stepped out of the driver’s seat and opened the door for Cuddy. It must be a bad day for her to let anyone touch her precious car, he surmised. Or perhaps it was just House who was banned from going anywhere near the keys, but either way it was time for him to move.
With more agility than he’d expected after an hour of sitting in a cold and cramped car, he unfolded himself onto the tarmac and set off towards the Cuddy women. Karen saw him first, but before she could finish her gesture of warning, Cuddy herself turned to face him.
Slightly out of breath from the closest he got to a sprint, he had nothing more eloquent up his sleeve than “Hello”.
Cuddy regarded him impassively, her eyes dull and the dark circles beneath them like smudges of charcoal.
“I didn’t ask you to come.”
He shuffled awkwardly as they stood there in the morning cold. House glowered at Karen, and she laid a protective hand on Cuddy’s shoulder.
“I can stay with you, or if you want to talk, I can go and book you in.”
Cuddy considered for a moment, but motioned towards the doors of the clinic for Karen to leave them. Her sister complied with some reluctance.
House watched her go, unable to resist a quip.
“Karen will be disappointed there are no feministas milling around for her to hit on. Not even any pro-life nuts with hand-painted signs.”
As an ice-breaker it was pretty much useless, but he thought he might have seen a flicker of interest in her eyes.
“Are you, uh, are you gonna be okay? You checked these doctors out?”
She nodded, a flinch of irritation at the patronizing nature of the question.
“And you’re sure you’re happy to stick with a clinic? You wouldn’t feel safer in a hospital? If anything goes wrong…”
It finally prompted her to speak.
“This is the most exclusive facility in the state, and they’re equipped for emergency situations, probably better than the hospital. Your obligation to make sure I’m not in a back alley with a coat hanger is met. Go home, House.”
He drew himself up to his full height, hoping to intimidate her into not dismissing him. Unfortunately for him, even on her worst day Lisa Cuddy was not easily intimidated. She’d dressed smartly, though without her usual pointy heels. To a less interested observer, it might well be just another day at the office for her, though her exhaustion was hard to ignore.
“No. Not until I know you’re sure. If this was some stranger’s kid, you’d be bending over backwards to see this through, to take the risk of the baby making it to term.”
“Fetus, House. When did you stop calling it a fetus, anyway?”
He mumbled his answer, but she caught it anyway.
“Since it started mattering so much to you.”
“And you think this is easy for me? You think I’m doing this because I don’t want to try a little bit harder? Or that I thought my last chance at motherhood might be a good time to make a political statement?”
The color had returned to her face, the steel in her voice that he loved so much making its presence felt.
"That’s not what I said. I was simply remarking on the absence of the blind optimism that you seem to apply to everyone but yourself.. And you have to admit, a termination is going to go over well with the other chicks at the next ‘Bitches Who Run the World’ convention.”
Another day the joke might have earned him a wry smile but not today.
“I can’t do this with you, not now.”
She turned to walk away, but he laid a gentle hand on her elbow, the wool of her coat scratchy under his bare palm. He hadn’t been this close to her in days, and the nearness of her made him a little dizzy.
“You have a choice, Cuddy. It might be a crappy one, but I just need to know that you’re doing this because you choose to. That you haven’t given up because I ruined everything by sneaking around for a few extra pills.”
Cuddy looked up at him, eyes squinting slightly against the pale winter sun.
“We both know there’s no miracle to hope for here. It means a lot that you’re willing to put aside your own cynicism, but being naïve here won’t help me. This baby isn’t going to make it, House, and I can’t sit around waiting for it to die. Just because I have to terminate a pregnancy I wanted doesn’t make the process wrong.”
She paused and blinked for a moment. Finally, she spoke up, more quietly this time.
“No woman should be forced to have a child she doesn’t want. It’s just shitty that it worked out this way for me.”
At a loss for words, House overcame his habitual fear of rejection and scooped her into the strongest hug he could muster, still mindful of not squashing her. Planting a determined kiss on the top of her head, he whispered “I’m sorry” with all the sincerity he had.
When he released her from the embrace, she looked a little stronger, a little more like the Cuddy he knew so well.
“We can’t go back, House, but if you want to be here with me, I’d like it. You can stay with me until I get the anaesthetic but Karen will bring me home tonight.”
He shrugged as though she was inviting him over for coffee.
When she turned her back and lead the way to the clinic entrance, he followed willingly, the Vicodin plucked from his pocket increasing the numbness as he walked.
Cuddy stopped immediately outside the entrance and he kept a respectful distance as she took a deep breath and steeled herself. He stroked softly at her back with an open palm and she took it as reassurance to continue, her short strides propelling her the rest of the way.
He’d be waiting when Karen came back to take her home, and they both knew it. After all, it was the least he could do.
Chapter 12 ==>
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on 2009-03-25 01:29 am (UTC)House is definitely possessive, and who wouldn't be for a woman as fantastic as Cuddy?