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Torch Songs for Two	By : Veresna Category: G through L > House Views: 4667 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own House, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Chapter Two: Where or When

Dr. Gregory House
was
well-versed upon the subject of �Fight or Flight�, or the theory that
species
have evolved so that there is an automatic response elicited from the
body when
presented with a perceived threat or extremely stressful situation. He
could
have given an in depth and profound lecture upon the subject, detailing
the
exact biophysical mechanisms involved in the rapid release of cortisol,
adrenaline and other hormones into the
bloodstream and their subsequent effects upon the autonomic nervous
system. Not that he would have ever
willingly given such a talk, of course.
He would always snark that the only doctors who were gifted at
lecturing
were obviously also supremely unfit to actually practice medicine. He much preferred to dispense wisdom in the
form of sardonic asides and cryptic comments rather than a structured
discourse. But, if he were ever forced
to give such a lecture, he might have ended his remarks with the advice
that if
one wished to observe such an event firsthand, it was probably best not
to be
lying naked next to the person who was experiencing the phenomenon.
For her part, Lisa
Cuddy would
always steadfastly maintain that she at no time meant to do physical
harm to Dr.
House; she was only trying to move as quickly as possible to what she
perceived
to be a much safer distance. She would
admit, however, that there was a general flailing of her arms and legs
and that,
in her efforts to kick the sheet free from the bottom of the bed (so
that she
could continue to wrap it securely around herself), she had
inadvertently managed
to plant more than one substantial blow to his unprotected flesh.
�Jesus, Cuddy!� he yelped, springing to a
sitting
position.
She heard him take
in several
loud, gasping breaths as she tied the sheet over her chest. Hopping out of the bed, she bent down to
study the floor.   Although there were
a
few objects scattered about, she could see nothing that remotely
resembled a
piece of her own clothing.
�What the hell is wrong?� he demanded, in
between a
few more groans.
�This isn�t funny,
House,� she
yelled. �Not at all.� She brushed the hair away from her face and
continued
to look around the room for something more conventional to wear.
�Does it sound like I�m laughing?� he
countered.
�I mean it, House,� she said,
straightening up and
planting her hands on her hips.
There was a street
lamp shining
in through the window beside the bed and she could just barely make out
the
outline of his torso in the dark.
She took another breath and pointed a
finger in his shadowy
direction.
�I am going to get
dressed and
head to the nearest ER, and have my blood and urine tested. And if they find the slightest trace of
Rohypnol, or Ketamine, or, or-�
She hesitated, suddenly at a loss.
�GHB?� he offered.
�Thank you, yes.�
she said. �You are going to lose your job,
and your
license, and, and-�
�And go to jail, go
directly to
jail, without collecting two hundred dollars?� he asked sarcastically,
obviously unmoved by her threats.
�This isn�t a game of Monopoly, House.�
�No, it�s not even
�The Game of
Life, by Milton Bradley�,� he agreed.
�But, I�m starting to think we might be trapped in an episode of
�The
Twilight Zone�.�
She heard the
bedsprings squeak
as he moved to lean his back against the headboard.
�Cuddy,� he said,
his voice very soft and even, �are you seriously accusing me of raping
you?�
She opened her mouth to respond and then
hesitated.
�No,� she finally
said,
sighing. �I know from experience that you
are capable of a lot of perfectly horrible, awful things,� she muttered. �Including,� she continued, �slipping someone
a drug without their knowledge and breaking the law.
But rape,� she admitted, shaking her head
wearily, �that�s not exactly your style.�
�Wasn�t that the
same thing you
wrote on my last performance evaluation?
Remind me not to ask you to speak at my next parole hearing.�
�But,� she said,
another idea
springing into her mind, �you are genetically incapable of resisting
the chance
to take advantage of a situation.� She
began to pace back and forth, her mind trying to fit together the
pieces of a
plausible scenario. �So, we were out somewhere,�
she said, gesturing with her hands, �and I had a little too much to
drink,� she
theorized, shrugging her shoulders, �and instead of being a gentleman
and
taking me home, you brought me here and��
Her voice trailed off.
�Tore your clothes
off, threw
you onto the bed and ravished you?� he suggested, helpfully. �Ooh, I like that. You
know, Cuddy, this �date rape� fantasy is
a lot hotter than that pirate/wench fantasy we played out last night. Of course, in that one I barely had time to
get my hands on your golden doubloons before you were buckling up
against my
swash.�
She stopped pacing and turned to face him,
crossing
her arms across her chest.
�Well,� he said,
�since I obviously
would have to get you very drunk in order to entice you into my
bed, you
must have one hell of a hangover, right?�
�Oh,� she said, her anger dissolving in a
split
second into uncertainty.
�Come on, Cuddy, if
you were
sloshed enough to have a blackout, you gotta at least have a headache?�
he
suggested.
�No,� she said, shaking her head.
�Need a bucket to hurl in?� he asked,
solicitously.
�No!� she repeated, her voice rising in
exasperation.
�Hmm, let�s see,
differential
for the after effects of a large amount of alcohol:
achy limbs, cotton-mouth, sore
eyes-feel free to stop me whenever we hit upon a symptom that actually
matches.�
�Oh, shut up, House,�she said, running a hand through her hair. �I don�t feel drunk, and I don�t feel high,
and I don�t feel hungover.
I feel�fine,� she sputtered.
�Yeah.�
She shivered again
�But, I�m not fine, am I?�
�Admitting you need
help is your
first step on the road to recovery,� he replied, in a saccharine tone
of voice.
�Bullshit,� she murmured.
�Oh, sure when the shoe�s on the other
foot,� he
jeered.
She sighed. �How
long of a journey do think it�s going to be?� she asked.
�Don�t know yet,� he admitted.
He heard her utter something that was
halfway
between a groan and a laugh.
�Do you always have to be so damned
honest, House?�
�Come, sit,� he
said, patting
the bed cover. �I promise there�ll be no
more ravishing until you request it,� he added.
�On me word as a pirate, aargh!�
She lowered herself into a sitting
position on the
edge of the bed.
�On the bright
side,� he began,
switching on a lamp that stood on the table beside his side of the bed,
�I
would say that physically you are as strong as an ox.�
She blinked and shielded her eyes from the
sudden
light.
�The proof of that
being how
much my leg is still hurting from that kick you planted on it about
five
minutes ago.�
�Oh, come off it,
House, I did
not hit you that hard,� she said, her eyes still closed.
�Yeah, right,
�Iron-Leg
Cuddy�. What were you doing in your
nightmare, kicking field goals?�
�Why, were your
footballs
impacted?� she asked, managing to open her eyes wide enough to squint
at him.
�No, just my thigh,� he snarled,
moving the
blankets to the side.
�Well, if you
expect me to kiss
your booboo,� she began, and then abruptly stopped.
�Oh, my god, House, what happened?�
Her eyes were all
the way open
now and she was staring down in horror at the deep, wide depression and
hardened scar tissue covering nearly half of his upper right thigh.
�You
don�t remember this?�

�No,� she murmured,
unable to
draw her eyes away from his crippled leg.
�But, I didn�t do that,� she said, pointing at the
damaged area.
�Wanna bet?� he
retorted. He threw the covers back over
his leg and
shook his head. �Oh, Houston,
we definitely have a problem.�
He paused and
pursed his lips,
staring up at the ceiling. After a
moment, she heard him start to softly hum the theme song from �The
Twilight
Zone�.
Doo-doo-doo-doo,
doo-doo-doo-doo

�What-� she began,
but the
question died on her lips as she found herself staring into his face.
The House she
remembered was
clean-shaven, with brown, wavy hair that arranged itself in wiry curls
above
his forehead. But the man now sitting
beside her sported hair liberally sprinkled with gray, cut and combed
in a severely
short, haphazard fashion that did not quite disguise the fact that it
was
beginning to thin considerably on the top of his head.
The face was swathed in dark stubble that ran
over his chin, cheeks and upper lip, but stopped just short of being
long
enough to be called a beard or moustache.
She had to admit that it oddly complemented his thin and narrow
features. But somehow the whiskers did
not quite hide the fact that there were deep lines etched into his face
that
she could not recall seeing before.
There were new wrinkles around his eyes as well, although they
remained the
startlingly deep and clear blue of her memory.
The other thing
that was instantly
recognizable was the expression upon his face.
It was the look of absolute concentration that she had seen
countless
times before even though she could not, right at this moment, have
given any
details as to the last time she had seen it.
House had just been handed a puzzle, and, as frightened and
confused as
she was, she took comfort in the knowledge that he would give the
conundrum his
full and undivided attention until he came up with a solution.
�Okay,� he said,
suddenly
breaking out of his reverie and reaching behind him to plump a pillow
behind
his back. �Let�s see exactly what you do
remember.�
He reached over to
the bedside
table and retrieved a small, orange pill bottle. Expertly
opening it with one hand, he raised
the bottle to his mouth and tilted it until one white, oval pill fell
onto his
tongue. Cuddy watched silently as he
swallowed the pill dry and replaced the bottle on the stand.
�What�s that?� she asked.
�Viagra,� he
replied
instantly. �I�m under strict orders to
take one every hour as long as you are in my bedroom.�
He waggled his eyebrows again. �You
insatiable wench!�
�Viagra is a little blue pill,� she
informed him.
�Well, your pharmacopeia
knowledge is still basically intact,� he observed.
�On the other hand, you only remembered two
out of the three �date rape drugs�, so I think I have to mark you down
to a B+
on that subject.�
He paused for a
moment to rub
his eyes. �So, let�s move on to
something a little more basic. What�s
your name?�
�Oh, don�t be ridiculous!� she protested.
�BZZZZ, wrong!�
�All right, Lisa
Cuddy,� she
answered, �And before you ask, yours is Gregory House.�
�Yes,� he nodded.
�Although,� he
shrugged, �I would have accepted one of your pet nicknames for me. Lately you�ve been calling me �Jackhammer�,�
he confided.
�Jackrabbit is probably more like it,� she
sniffed.
�Unbelievable,
folks! Yes, she may have lost the
rest of her mind, but the �insult House� neurons of her disease-riddled
brain
are still firing on all cylinders.�
�Pavlovian response after years of
conditioning,�
she replied.
�No doubt. Do you remember where we met?� he asked.
�University
of Michigan�
�Very good,� he
said. He leaned
back and crossed his arms. �So, Lisa Cuddy,� he continued in a
strangely
cheerful tone, �want to tell the studio audience what you do for a
living?�
She sighed.
�I�m a doctor.�
He nodded and then
quirked an
eyebrow upward. �You are allowed to add
a few embellishments to your answers you know.
A few extra details you just might be able to remember, like-�
�I�m an Endocrinologist.�
�And?� he prodded.
�And I am the Dean of Medicine at
Princeton-Plainsboro
Teaching Hospital.�
�You sure of that?�
�Yes,� she said,
huffily. �I�m also sure I was the first
woman and
second-youngest person ever to achieve that position.�
�Whoo, folks, sounds like she�s going for extra
credit here! Now,
for the big question.� He uncrossed
his arms and leaned towards
her. �Well, tell me, Dean Cuddy, how many
years have you been at your current post?�
�I-�

She hesitated and for a moment he could
see her eyes
whipping around the room.
�I have been Dean of Medicine since June
of 2000,�
she answered, finally.
�Ooh,
and she was doing so well,� he said, shaking his head.
�You see folks,� he said, lifting his hand to
his mouth to whisper conspiratorially to the unseen audience, �she
thought I
wouldn�t notice that she avoided telling me the number of years,
because in
order to do that-�
He dropped his hand
and frowned
at her. �She�d have to remember what year it is now.�
After a few seconds, Cuddy dropped her
eyes to stare
down at the blanket.
�Any idea?� he prompted, softly.
Keeping her head
down, she
slowly traced a pattern with the tip of her right index finger before
finally
raising her face back to his and shaking her head.
�Nope,� she admitted.
�It�s your fault,
you know,� he
said. He gestured with his hand. �I used to have this room plastered in �Naked
Babe Calendars�, but you made me take them down.�
�So,� she said,
blinking her
eyes rapidly as she felt them fill up with tears. �How
worried should I be?�
�Worrying doesn�t accomplish anything,� he
said.
�So, you�re not worried?� she challenged.
�Are you kidding?�
he said, �I�m
envious. Do you know what I would give
to wake up some night and be unable to remember Vogler
and Tritter?�
She looked at him blankly.
�Not important,� he
assured her with
a wave of his hand. �Just
a big, hulking brute and a jackass.
Kind of like Mike Myers and Eddie Murphy in �Shrek�,
except in this case the black dude was the ogre.�
�Just remember
this,� he said,
leaning forward. �You owe me,� he
informed her gravely.
She raised her eyebrows and regarded him
dubiously.
�Anyway,� he said,
shrugging his
shoulders, �I think we need to move on to the next stage of the
differential.� He rubbed his palms
together. �I�m thinking the breast exam
should be next, don�t you?�
Her scowl deepened and she crossed her
arms firmly
over her chest.
His lower lip went
out in an
exaggerated pout. �Oh, come on,� he
whined, �You promised I could be the doctor the next time we played.�
�Any more cute
comments and
you�re going to find yourself on the receiving end of a proctology
exam,� she
warned, raising her eyebrows.
�Boy, your memory
really is
bad,� he taunted. �We did that two
nights ago. Well, if you�re going to be pissy about it, I guess we�ll just have to the
stupid,
boring neurological exam instead.�
He held up his
hands with both
forefingers pointing upward. With a
sigh, Cuddy reached out to wrap her fists around the extended digits.
�Oh, come on now,�
he chided, �I
know from experience that you can hold on much tighter than that.�
�Well, you know
that you have to
hold on really tight to keep a grip on small things,� she
jeered, as she
frowned and tightened her grip.
�Ouch!� he murmured, �and ouch,� he added,
nodding
at her hands.
She released her hold.
�Good strength and
symmetry,� he
said. �Pizza time,� he announced,
raising his eyebrows.
She nodded and raised her hands in front
of her, as
if holding a pizza box.
�Eyes closed,� he ordered.
�I�m not going to cheat,� she protested.
�Not
consciously, maybe. But if you�re
looking at your hands and one of them starts to droop, you are going to
compensate for it automatically.�
�Oh, all right.� She closed her eyes and waited.
After what seemed a very long time, she
opened one eye to peer at him.
�No pronator
drift,� he
assured her.
�I can stop?� she asked.
�Sure,� he said.
�What took you so long?� she asked,
opening her
other eye and lowering her arms.
He shrugged. �I was just wondering how long I could get
you to keep your eyes closed around me.�
He nodded at his wrist watch. �The
answer is thirty seconds, in case you�re interested.�
�Is that relevant?�
�No, it�s just
something I�ve
always wondered. It might be useful
information
for the future.�
He ignored her
scowl and reached
out to wrap the fingers of his right hand around her wrist. Finding her pulse, he raised his left arm and
once again consulted his watch.
�Do you always wear your watch to bed?�
she asked.
�No, but I fully
intend to in
the future. In case you ever make that
�Jackrabbit� crack again, I want some data to defend myself.�
He released her wrist.
�Hmm, your pulse is
a little
rapid,� he said, �But, then again, you are in close proximity to my
naked bod.�
�Well, that explains the nausea,� she
murmured.
He shot her a quick, inquisitive glance.
�No,� she said, shaking her head. �No nausea or dizziness.�
�Can�t you ever be serious?� he admonished
her
sternly.
Turning to the
nightstand, he
leaned down and pulled out a drawer.
After a few moments of rummaging around, he turned back to her
with a
penlight and reflex hammer in his hand.
�How long is this going to go on?� she
protested.
�Oh, if I only had
a dime for
every time you�ve said that while we�re in bed together,� he replied,
flicking
the penlight on and off to check it.

"You'd have ten
cents. Honestly, House!"
�Just a few more
things,� he
promised. �I want to make sure it�s safe
for me to drive you to the ER or if we need to immobilize you and call
in the
ambulance.�
�Do you think it�s
really that
serious?�
He sighed and
tossed the light
and hammer onto the bed cover. �Cuddy,
it�s been eight years since my leg injury.�
�It�s serious,� she agreed.
�But, most probably temporary,� he said.
Picking up the
reflex hammer, he
started by tapping on her right bicep.
Cuddy found herself torn between trying to watch and grade her
own reactions
and studying House�s face to see if it looked as though he was finding
anything
irregular.
He said nothing,
his face
remaining impassive as he continued testing her reflexes until he came
to her left
knee. Although she could have sworn it
was an absolutely normal response, he frowned and repeated the test. She bit down on her lip and struggled to
remain calm as he bent down to study the area more carefully. She remained still as he brought his right
hand up and ran his fingers over her kneecap.
A few seconds later his hand began to move upward, and just as
his
fingers slipped underneath the sheet that was still covering her thigh,
her own
hand shot out and slapped him away.
�You pig!�
�Well, I see that
reflex is
still working,� he said, waving his supposedly injured fingertips in
the
air. �And after all the time and energy
I spent to override it�
�You said this was probably temporary,�
she stated.
�Yeah,� he said, tossing the hammer aside.
She flinched
involuntarily as he
suddenly raised his hands to her head, but managed to hold still as he
began to
run his fingers over her skull.
�Probably is not a word you like to use,�
she
observed.
�Neither is
temporary,� he said,
pulling a face. �Reminds me of Tipperary, and, god, you
know how
I hate that word. No bumps,� he
announced, lowering his hands and picking up the penlight.
�So-�
�So shut up and
tell me if you can
read those numbers,� he said, gesturing at the clock which stood on the
nightstand.
�Yes,� she said, and then leaned over to
study the
clock more carefully.
It was an old and
battered
digital model, the kind where the numbers were printed on little pieces
of
plastic that flipped over on a rolodex-like cylinder rather than
illuminated on
LED.
�Oh, my god, House,
that is ancient. Don�t you ever throw
anything out?�
�Hey!� he said,
sounding
insulted. �If I didn�t let old and
creaky things into my bedroom would you be here?�
She stuck out her tongue and sat up again
as he
picked up the penlight.
�Keep your eyes
focused over there,�
he said. �I assume no double or blurred
vision?�
�Nope.�
�Pupils responsive
and equal,�
he murmured.   �Now, follow the
light!�
he commanded.
She tried but did
not quite
manage to keep a straight face as he accompanied the movements of the
penlight with
whirring and whooshing sounds, like the landing of an alien spaceship.
�Any verdict so far?� she asked, as he
clicked off
the light.
�No sign of loss of
either motor
or neural function,� he said. �But,
strangely enough, you do seem to have gained a sense of humor.�
�Personality changes can occur after a
stroke,� she
said, quietly.
He paused and rubbed his thumb across his
forehead. �I don�t think it�s a stroke.�
�But you�re not sure?�
He frowned and bent
towards the
drawer again. �Damn, I knew I had a MRI
and PET scanner in here somewhere,� he grumbled, rattling
around the
contents of the drawer.
�So, ER time?�
He straightened and nodded his head in
agreement. �ER time.�
�I, uh, better go clean up.�
�Bathroom�s that way,� he said, pointing
to the door.
�Okay.� She stood up and took a step towards the door
before spinning back to look at him, a strangely guilty look across her
face. �Stacy?�
He immediately
lowered his eyes
and laughed shortly. �Gone, briefly
back, and gone. For a
couple of years now.�
She looked relieved
for a moment
and then another apparently disturbing idea crossed her mind.
�House, we�re�not��
He looked up at her again and raised his
eyebrows.
��married, are we?� she asked.
�That brain-damaged you aren�t,� he
assured her.
She threw him a smile and turned back
towards the
doorway.
�Do me a favor?� he
called out,
as she took a few steps forward. �Drop
the toga?�
�Why?� she asked, suspiciously,
moving to tighten the sheet around her.
�Well,� he said,
rolling his
eyes, �It�s a little hard to assess your posture and gait with all that
fabric
in the way.�
She hesitated for
another moment
and then turned away from him and began untying the knot she had made. The sheet tumbled to the floor and she walked
swiftly and surely to the bathroom doorway.
�How was that?� she asked, looking back
over her
shoulder.
He was sitting with
his arms
crossed over his chest, staring at her with his head tilted to the side. After a moment, he gave a start and shook his
head.
�Sorry,� he said,
�I was momentarily
mesmerized by the sight of that giant ass swinging through the air. You better do it again,� he urged.
�House!�
�No problems observed,� he assured her.
�Good,� she said, and turned to step into
the
bathroom.
�Don�t lock it!� he
called out,
as the door closed behind her. �In case
you don�t remember, I�m not exactly physically capable of breaking down
a door
in case you decide to pass out on me,� he warned.
He heard a muffled �Okay� from behind the
closed
door.
Closing his eyes,
he took in a
deep breath and brought his hands up to massage his temples for a few
moments. Then he reached over to pick up
the Vicodin bottle with his left hand and his cell phone with the other. He dispensed another pill onto his tongue,
returned the bottle to the table, and swallowed as he punched in a
number.
Foreman answered on the third ring.
�What the hell do you want, House?�
�Mornin�,
Sunshine, how
are you?�
�Ticked
off. Please tell me what is so damn
important at three o�clock
on Sunday morning that couldn�t wait
until Monday, or at least daybreak?�
�New case.�
He heard a snort. �Since when do you go looking for cases on
the weekend? Or at
all?�
�This one came
looking for
me. Heard I had the biggest, stiffest
cane in New Jersey and-�.
�What is it, House?�
�Well, I kind of
think it�s one
of those brain-thingy things and since you are one of them brain-thingy
doctors��
�Okay, I�ll be in the office in about an
hour.�
�No, you�ll meet me in the ER in a
half-hour.�
�The ER has a neurologist on call, you
know?�
�Yeah, but this is kind of a VIP
situation,� House
explained.
Foreman snorted again.
�One of Cuddy�s precious donors?�
�No,� said House, his voice suddenly
sounding tight
and tired. �It is Cuddy.�
There was a short silence.
�What symptoms?�
Foreman asked. House could hear the sound
of bed springs squeaking
and fabric rustling in the background.
�Paroxysmal memory
loss.�
�We talking minutes or
days?�
House sighed. �Well, she�s definitely blacked out on the
past eight hours, but she�s also pretty hazy going back years at the
moment.�
�Any signs of stroke?�
�Nope, everything looks okay on the
limited neuro
exam I just gave her.�
�So, you thinking
TGA?�
�Makes the most
sense so far,
but I need confirmation from the scans.
And a complete exam by a NEU-RO-LO-GIST,� he snarled, starting
to get
annoyed and feeling slightly anxious about the fact that Cuddy had not
yet
re-emerged from the bathroom.
�Well, the most
frequently
documented trigger factors for TGA are extreme physical exertion,
exposure to
cold water and �sexual intercourse.�
�Yeah, I�ve read the textbooks too, you
know.�
There was another pause.
�So, is there something you want to tell
me, House?�
�Yes,� he hissed. �We were running a three-legged marathon at midnight and then we decided to cool
off by
taking a skinny dip in Carnegie
Lake.
Would you just get to the damn ER?�
House snapped the
phone off and
sat listening to the sound of water swishing in the bathroom sink. He wondered briefly if he should mention to
Cuddy that, despite the fact she was at this moment so earnestly
washing the
traces of his semen from between her legs, a lot of people were soon
going to
figure out that they had been sleeping together.
With a muffled
groan, he eased his
legs over the side of the bed and bent down to retrieve his cane from
where it
was leaning against the wall. Being
careful to keep the weight off of his right leg, he gingerly rose to
his
feet. He tried a step and then grimaced
and bent at the waist, moving his hand down to massage the recalcitrant
limb. After about a minute, he
straightened and tried
again, this time managing a few more steps.
He stopped for a
moment and
turned to look back at the disheveled bed, and then glanced down at his
feet
where the discarded sheet lay in a heap in front of him.
He took his cane and, balancing on his left
foot, pushed it out of his way.
The tap of his cane
echoed in
the silence as he hobbled over to retrieve Cuddy�s clothes from where
they lay
mingled with his own in the hallway.
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Torch Songs for Two

Chapter Two: Where or When

�Youdon�t remember this?�

Doo-doo-doo-doo,doo-doo-doo-doo

�I-�

�You
don�t remember this?�

Doo-doo-doo-doo,
doo-doo-doo-doo