Good-bye, My Love

TITLE: Good-bye, My Love
SUMMARY: Cuddy miscarries and House tries to cheer her up the only way he knows how.
RATING: PG-13
DISCLAIMER: So not my characters.




House sits at the piano, picking out his own melody and playing it over and over again. He can't quite find the right note-- should the line go higher or lower?-- but he tries it both ways. Both unsatisfactory. He's taken to writing his own music now. He tries for higher, listening to how the light melody fills the room.

The phone rings, startling him into silence. He turns slightly towards the small table with the answering machine and waits for it to pick up. It's Wilson.

“You need to see Cuddy. She's at the hospital,” is all the message says. House grabs his cane and winces as he tries to stand. Something in Wilson's tone sounds urgent. Questions flood his mind-- why is she there? Surely, it's too early? And when he got to her hospital, would he find a smelly, disgusting baby wiggling in her arms?

He walks out into the frigid night air and swings one leg over his motorcycle. It's just now getting warm enough that riding at high speeds in open air isn't unbearable. He ends up at the hospital in record time and goes as fast as he can towards the large automatic doors.

Without hesitating, he hurries up towards the NICU unit. The first thing he hears is a baby sobbing as if it's trying to declare that the world is about to end. He finds the nurse on duty and asks her where Lisa Cuddy is staying. Since he's a doctor he's allowed wherever he wants, thank God, without a whole lot of questions. In addition, even the nurses know about the pact he'd made with Cuddy. Donate sperm, don't make a huge fuss about it later.

He stands outside of the large glass door to her room and it opens automatically. The midwife that Cuddy's mother had hired pushes him gently out of the door and he stumbles clumsily. His leg doesn't enjoy being pushed around. “Watch it,” he hisses. “What's the matter?” he adds when they're finally out the door. House makes sure to glare at Becca as she leads him over to the waiting room.

“Miscarried. We think she has a weakened cervix.”

His stomach clenches at the words and he swears that the world has literally tilted on its axis. He has to hold on to the back of a chair for balance.

“You'll have to have tests done, too, of course,” she says, and he hears her at a distance, as if she's talking to him from another planet. “The doctors think a weakened cervix is the extent of her problems, but anything could have happened at this stage. Deformed sperm, problem with the egg, you get the idea.”

“Yeah, I know what happens when a woman miscarries,” he snaps. “I have a medical degree, which is way more than you have. Are you even certified?”

Becca doesn't even flinch, and he wonders if she's the spawn of Nurse Brenda. Instead, she chooses to ignore him. “The doctors have you testing a couple of days from now to give you two ample grieving time.” She hands him a pamphlet called 'Dealing With Your Loss' with a picture of a lilly on the front. “Counseling groups for women and their spouses meet on Thursdays.”

“I have work on Thursdays.”

“I'm sure you can find time.”

“I have work every other day of the week, too.”

“If Lisa wants it, I'm sure you'll find time.”

“We actually didn't have sex or anything.”

“Maybe not, but you still experience an emotion called sympathy, right?”

“Not often,” he says, grabbing his cane and heading back towards Cuddy's room, which is where he wanted to be in the first place. She's sleeping when he gets there, and he quietly pulls over a chair and sits there for awhile, just watching her breathe. A pile of tissues have found solace in the corner of her bed and she's pale. He knows she's been crying, and he hopes she doesn't wake. Then he'd have to find something to say.

Nurses come in and out and glare at him as if he's intruding. One of the nurses makes a note on her chart and then leaves. After awhile, he falls asleep, too.

When he wakes, he's cramped up all over and his leg is letting him feel the full consequences of his choice to sleep in a chair instead of a bed. He reaches into his pocket for his Vicodin and notices that Cuddy is awake, too.

She's watching television, something mindless. It doesn't even look like she's really aware of what's going on. Without even looking away, she says, “House. What did I tell you about taking Vicodin in front of me?”

He smiles slightly, relieved that she isn't going to start to cry any time soon. “Like I've ever listened to you before.”

“That's true.” She finds one of her dirty tissues and blows her nose.

“Here. Let me get you clean ones.” He reaches behind him and finds the tissue box. When he hands it to her, she thanks him but still doesn't look at him.

“Don't you have work?” she asks after awhile.

“Work can wait.”

“I'm your boss and I'm telling you work can't wait.” She smiles slightly and says, “Amuse me. Do clinic hours for a change.”

As he walks out, another baby is screaming bloody murder. House nods to himself and thinks, “Yeah, me too, kid.”

XXXX

When House opens the doors to his office he finds his three fellows staring at him as if entirely unsure how he's going to react. Surprisingly, the coffee has already been made for him. Cameron stands, looking at him anxiously, as if he's going to do something rash.

“Let's play a game,” House says sarcastically. “Let's find a case so I can send you three out to perform painful tests on a poor innocent guy while talking about me behind my back.” He sits at his desk and begins to sift through the piles of paperwork on his desk.

“That's not what-- I wasn't going to--” Cameron stutters.

“Y-y-you gonna spit that out any time soon?” he asks. Then he turns to Foreman, who's staring at him with one eyebrow raised. “Yes, I'm being crueler than usual.” Then he turns to Chase, who's trying to ignore the situation. “And you? I don't know what your problem is.”

“I have a case,” Chase says suddenly, looking up from a file he's reading. “Guy came into the clinic with flu-like symptoms--”

“As all great cases start,” House interrupts. “Go. Do whatever you need to do.”

The three fellows look at each other, obviously puzzled. “Um, House?” Foreman says as he stands. “Aren't you going to give us three reasons why this case is boring?”

“I would only do that if I actually cared,” House says, turning on his computer. “Go.”

He enjoys the peace and quiet. House hasn't slept well and he needs rest. But instead he surfs the Internet. After awhile, he becomes bored and plays Solitaire until there's a gentle knock at the door. He tries to ignore it, but it comes again. “Come in,” he yells.

It's Wilson. “Hey.”

“Since when have you knocked on my door?”

“Since I decided to act like a civilized human being.”

There's an awkward pause and Wilson stares at the whiteboard as if it gave out free answers to all the mysteries of life. “How's she doing?” he asks.

House shrugs and finds the last card that he needs to win the game. “She kicked me out and made me go to work.”

“Are they going to test you two?” he asks.

“Yeah, although they can save their lab equipment. It's not like I'm going to be impregnating her again.”

“You can try again. Once they know she has a weakened cervix, they can fix it the next time around.”

House hits refresh and lays a Queen on top of a King. “There won't be a next time.”

Wilson finally turns to him and frowns. “This actually, you know, isn't your fault.”

“I never said it was.”

“Why wouldn't you try again?”

“Think of it this way. No crying babies at three o'clock in the morning. No child welfare checks that I may or may not pay, depending on my mood. No poop.”

Wilson sighs, turns, puts his hand on the doorknob. Then, annoyingly enough, he turns and points a finger in House's direction. “You're mourning. In your own twisted way, you're grieving.”

“Am not.” House still can't be bothered to fully look up from what he's doing.

“Talk to her, House.”

“Why? What can I say to her? I'm not going to offer to try again, I'm not gonna tell her I'll be there for her while she sobs into my shoulder. I'm not going to lie to her.”

House finally looks up in time to see Wilson frowning at him. After a long moment: “Here's an idea,” he explodes. House realizes that Wilson is furious. His whole body is practically in movement now, guided by his gesticulations. “Try to be there for her. Get past the pain in your leg for ten minutes of your day and be there for her when she wakes up. It's not like you do anything besides sit at your computer and order your team around.”

“Wow,” House says, standing slowly. These days the pain in his leg is only getting worse. “You've finally gotten past your passive aggressive tendencies. So here's my dilemma. If you were being passive aggressive right now, you'd walk out, slamming the door and I could ignore you. Since you're suddenly being confrontational, I have to deal with you directly. Get out.”

Wilson turns his head far enough to look at the door, but then looks back at House. He shakes his head and, without another word, walks out just as Cameron rushes in, staring at her folder instead of looking at the two men.

“I ran a CBC and the patient came back slightly anemic. Foreman's checking her out because she started to show signs of-- what?” she asked, looking up from her folder and finally seeing House's expression for the first time.

XXXX

Thursday comes a lot sooner than House wants it to. Up until this point, he's mostly been able to ignore her and the entire situation. Now, though, he has to confront it. He sits outside in the waiting room and leafs through a magazine. He's just finished; Cuddy is still being poked and prodded at.

Fifteen minutes later, Cuddy opens the door to the office. Her eyes look puffy, as if she's spent the last several years sobbing her eyes out. And to them, it does feel like years. She sits down next to him and exhales as if she doesn't have any energy left. “Don't,” she whispers, peering over his shoulder at Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie nursing orphans. She winces and turns away.

“You all right?” he asks stiffly.

Whoops. Wrong thing to say. It looks as if her eyes are filling up again, but House gives her the dignity of looking away. He pretends he doesn't see it.

“Yeah,” she says in a choked up voice. “I guess I just wasn't meant to... I tried so hard, and...” she clenches her arms close to her chest and presses her lips together. House thinks inappropriately that she looks beautiful when she's crying.

“You'll find someone, right?” he says, tossing the magazine back on the table.

“Yeah,” she says distantly.

“It's only a weakened cervix.”

“I don't know.” She rests her right arm on the armrest and rubs her hand over her eyes. “I'm just so tired. I can't do this anymore.”

He sits there, not knowing what to say to her. He shifts around uncomfortably in his seat and there's a long pause before Cuddy tries to stand again. “I can't bear to be in this place any more.”

“Want a beer?” House asks.

Cuddy laughs. “No thanks, House. But thanks for the offer.”

He watches her go and thinks of how beautiful she is. When he finally leaves, it is late and one of his three fellows have already closed the office for the night. As he walks past Cuddy's office, an idea strikes him. He finds a janitor mopping a spot up in the hall. (He doesn't want to know why it needs mopping.)

“Will you open this door for me?” he asks.

The janitor smirks slightly. “Naw. I'd get in trouble for that.”

“Come on.”

“I don't think so.” He looks at House up and down as if afraid he'll steal the furniture.

“If you don't open that door, I'll beat you up.”

“I'd like to see you try,” the janitor says, laughing and staring at his cane.

“Come on. I'll give you a fifty. And you're in during the next poker game at my house.”

The janitor looks at him, considering. “Okay, but don't touch anything. And only because you've had a rough day.”

“I've had a series of rough days for the last eight years,” House says as the janitor turns the key in Cuddy's lock. He walks inside and marvels at how neat she keeps her office. Besides the stacks of files and paperwork on her desk, everything is neatly organized. He begins opening drawers, trying to find an envelope. Damn. She keeps her top drawer locked.

Oh, yeah. He's already tried it before.

He searches for an envelope while the janitor stares at him suspiciously. At one point he opens the door and sticks his head out. “Look. I can't move the chair. I've got a limp.” Then he slams the door in the janitor's astonished face. He continues to mop.

Finally, success. He finds one in her large bottom drawer, on top of a stack of papers. He picks it out and then finds a pen and a piece of paper. After slipping the piece of paper on the inside, he sticks the envelope on her computer keyboard and leaves the office.

XXXX

When Cuddy returns, she seems to be mostly herself again, except for few moments when she stares off into space instead of lecturing at him to do clinic duty. House watches her when she enters the office again, curiousity getting the better of him, as always.

She opens the envelope and smiles warmly. When she looks up in his direction he walks away as fast as his limp will allow. He does clinic duty that day, not even complaining once.

House leaves early for lunch, finding Wilson in the cafeteria. He grabs his potato chips as always while Wilson gives him a long-suffering sigh. They sit down together and House eats the chips as loudly as he can.

“Sorry I yelled at you,” Wilson says, nonchalantly taking a bite of his sandwich. “I don't know what got into me.”

“Since you seem so eager to see her pregnant, maybe you should donate.”

Wilson laughs at that. House always likes it when Wilson laughs. His entire face breaks out into a grin, and then his shoulders start to shake almost belatedly. “I'd make a terrible father.”

“You'd make a better father than I would. You'd get all worried and do your motherly thing as soon as the baby threw up for the first time.”

“Oh, hush.” He smiles though, and House thinks his smile is well worth it.

Cuddy finds her way into the cafeteria shortly afterwards. A few of the nurses look at her strangely, as it's not often that Cuddy takes her lunch with the rest of the staff. She only has eyes for Wilson, though. House pretends to be busy finding the perfect chip to chuck at Wilson's head.

“Thanks for the card,” Cuddy says to Wilson. “You're not much of an artist, but--”

“I didn't-- what?” Wilson says, looking confused.

“Stop trying to be so modest. It made me feel much better today, let me tell you.”

House stands up quickly and grabs his cane. He begins to walk away, but not until he throws his last potato chip in Wilson's direction.

XXXX

“Are you trying to set me up with Wilson?” Cuddy asks, her coat draping over her arm. She's found him in the diagnostics office late. The fellows have all gone home.

“What?” House asks, leaning over his desk to shut down his computer.

“You heard me.” She moves towards him slowly and places one hand on his desk.

“Yeah, because I spend most of my life playing matchmaker. Yesterday I pawned Cameron off to Dr. Gravens in pediatrics.”

“Dr. Gravens is married.”

“Whoops. My mistake.”

“You wrote the card, didn't you?”

“And signed my name 'James Wilson'? Unlikely.”

“You know how the card was signed?”

Damn. “I don't want to try again,” he says, as way of explanation. And also to change the subject.

She looks at him sadly and then comes over to him. She rests a hand on his chest and he wonders why. What she wants from him. “I know.”

“You know?”

“I wanted to try one more time,” Cuddy says. “But somehow it just seems like it was my only chance. You know?”

“You'll find another donor. A hot woman like you? Just flash your breast in New Orleans, get beads, then get men to donate sperm. Or get laid, whichever.”

She laughed softly. “I'll keep that in mind.”

Cuddy starts to turn away and gives House one last look. “But if you ever change your mind--”

He rolls his eyes and she pulls on her coat. “Okay.”

“You all right?”

She thinks for a moment. “No. But I will be.”

And with that, she shuts the door on him. He watches her turn left, grabs his coat, and stares at nothing for awhile.