Aug. 11th, 2009

[identity profile] whatstheddx.livejournal.com
"House," the nurse announced as he walked into the common room. House craned his neck to look over his shoulder from where he was seated on the armchair in front of the TV. The nurse held up an envelope. "Mail for you."

He walked over to House and held it out for him to take. "Don't forget you're on cleaning duties tonight."

"Yeah, yeah," House replied dismissively. He took the envelope. His stomach did a small flip at recognising Cuddy's handwriting scrawled on the front. He looked back up to the nurse. "You can go away now."

The nurse rolled his eyes but walked off. House lay the letter on his lap and returned his attention to the television. He wasn't sure he wanted to open it. God only knew what Cuddy had written to him. She'd said in the therapy session the week before that if she wrote him a letter that detailed everything she wanted to say to him, it would be a novel, which hadn't made him feel the slightest bit positive. He tapped his feet in a fidgeting manner on the floor and drummed his fingers on the armrest, trying to ignore the letter on his lap. But with each passing second, he grew more and more curious until he couldn't stand wondering what it said anymore. He grabbed his cane, shifted off the armchair and headed out of the common briskly to go to his room.

Once he reached it, he shut the door behind him and leaned back against it. He hooked his cane over his forearm and dug his thumb under the envelope flap to tear it open. His heart sped up a little as he pried the letter out and opened it and the very first thing made him frown in surprise. Snugglebunny? She was still going on about that? "I am not a snugglebunny," he muttered under his breath, not that Cuddy would of course hear him.

The unexpectedly light-hearted manner in which Cuddy had started the letter, though, put him a little at ease. He started to read the rest of the letter, slowly limping further into the room until he was by his bed. He sat down, put his cane aside, and re-read the letter again. It was a lot shorter than he'd expected. He'd expected a letter several pages long, double-sided, crammed with all sorts of issues Cuddy had with him. Instead, she'd only truly addressed one major issue, the one that was hardest for either of them to negotiate around. After he read the letter a third time, he sat in silence for a little while.

He wished Cuddy was here with him right now, so he could talk to her about the letter. Well, argue with her about the letter, more accurately. The issue of Judaism never failed to get his hackles up. But being she wasn't here, he had no choice but to churn the letter over and over in his mind. Eventually, he folded the letter and tucked it back into the envelope and reached over to the nightstand to put it away in the drawer. His eyes landed on the ultrasound picture Cuddy had brought in for him and he plucked it up before scooting back onto the bed to lie down on his back. With an arm tucked under his head and his ankles crossed, he held the sonograph above him and stared at it.


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