cuddys_house | Saturday, 21 April

Saturday, 21 April

Cuddy turned off the light in the kitchen and headed for the front door. She grabbed her purse and a light jacket, then stopped, looking around and feeling as if she'd forgotten something.

The past week had been very long and very hard and very lonely. The only reason she'd been able to cope with it was because she knew House was where he needed to be to get the help he needed to have. Whenever she got down thinking about him confined to a psychiatric hospital and worried about what their future really held, she reminded herself that this was for the best. It didn't make her feel any less lonely but at least the loneliness had a purpose and she could live with that.

She gave herself a shake to clear the cobwebs collecting in her mind and strode to the door. She pulled the door open, and nearly got a fist in the face.

"Oh, God." Wilson jerked back, pulling his hand away just before he hit her instead of the door. "I.... Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Cuddy said, puzzled but amused. "You missed. The question is--why were you about to knock on my door?"

"I think you should let me drive." Wilson put his hand up before she argue with him, again, that she was perfectly capable of driving herself to Mayfield. "I know what you said but what if something happened? What if you go into labor?"

"For heaven's sake, Wilson," Cuddy said, stepping out onto the porch and locking her front door behind her. She turned to face him. "I'm not hiking off into the wilderness. And I have my cell phone," she added, waving phone at him before tucking it away in her purse.

"I know. And I don't care," he said with vaguely apologetic shrug. "You alone and being this pregnant makes me nervous. Please--let me drive."

She stared at him for a moment. She hadn't been looking forward to making the drive alone with nothing to distract her from her thoughts. In some ways, she wasn't looking forward to seeing House because she was worried about what she might see. If he was having a bad time of it, she would have a hard time staying optimistic. And then she'd have the long drive home again, alone.

"Okay, you win," she said finally. "But you have to let me buy you lunch."

Wilson gave a relieved nod of his head. Then he gave her a quirky little grin. "Well, this will be different. Normally on a road trip, I have to pay for all the food."

*

Cuddy was actually glad she'd let Wilson drive. He was, as always, enjoyable company. More than that, though, he knew the situation. She didn't have to pretend with him. He understood some of what she was feeling--he was probably the only other person who could--so she didn't have to explain herself. They took turns reassuring each other that everything was going to be just fine. Even if neither of them was completely convinced, it was still nice to hear it.

She found herself getting almost unbearably nervous as they went through the visiting procedure in the reception area. After signing in, her bag was searched and they had to turn over anything that could potentially be used to cause injury. It was a horrible feeling to have to look at ordinary, everyday things like nail clippers and calculate how much damage it could do. And she was only visiting. House must feel like he was in prison.

"It's okay," Wilson said quietly, placing his hand on her back as an orderly led them to House's room. She answered him with a terse nod, then stopped in her tracks when the orderly went to knock on one of the doors.

"Do you...?" Wilson stepped back and nodded down the hall. "I'll just wait over here. Yell when--if--House is ready to see me."

"Thank you." Cuddy walked to the door just as the orderly called through the door to announce House had a visitor. He opened the door for Cuddy then, and headed back down the hall. Cuddy took a deep breath and stepped through the door. That first moment of seeing House churned up a whole bunch of emotions but she pushed them down and smiled at him. "Hi. Okay if I come in?"

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House let Cuddy pull him to the bed and he sat beside her with another sniff and a slouch of his shoulders. He studied his hands, twiddling his thumbs and fingers together by his lap as Cuddy talked, then leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. He resumed studying his hands and fingers then. He fidgeted a lot, his doctor had observed during one of their sessions in the week. Always fidgeting, be that with his leg jiggling or his fingers toying with something or the fact that he often couldn't sit still. Anxiety, she'd called it, coupled with classic learned addictive behaviour.

"Haven't really been in a visitor mood," he said. "This isn't exactly the kind of place you want to hang out with people in. And besides, these damn meds make me constipated. As if feeling constantly dizzy and nauseated while I get used to the medication isn't bad enough, I can't crap, either. Doesn't exactly make for the perkiest of moods on top of everything else that's happened this week."

He twisted his fingers together and then looked over at Cuddy. "Sorry I haven't called you since I got in here. Been having a bit of difficulty trying to work out what I'd say to you on the phone. 'The food's crap, I hate my doctor, I haven't taken a dump in four days and I'm sorry for how much I've fucked everything up'?"

He snorted humourlessly and looked back down to his hands. His doctor had encouraged him to call Cuddy but he'd refused to. In fact, the only person he'd called was Wilson and it was such a brief and pointless conversation. He'd been half doped out of his head at the time, anyway. Not the good kind of doped out, either.

"I've missed you, though," he admitted quietly after a short pause.

She hadn't expected him to call. She would've liked to hear from him but she hadn't expected it. He had a huge adjustment to make, not just adjusting to being in the hospital but an adjustment of his whole life. She'd told him to focus on himself and she'd meant it. He didn't need to be worrying about calling her.

"You can call and tell me that if you want," she said, reaching over to clasp his hand in hers. "You can call and tell me the food's crap and the doctor's crap and the crap is...not happening."

She made a mental note to talk to his doctor. Confidentiality meant the doctor wouldn't tell her anything, not without House's permission. She wasn't even his wife so she had no real legal standing. That didn't mean she couldn't tell the doctor a few things and first on the list would be to start House on a stool softener. Side effects from the drugs were unavoidable but that didn't mean they couldn't be mitigated. There was no need for him to be miserable from constipation.

"Missed you, too," she said quietly. She gripped his hand tighter, then brought it up to rub the back of his hand against her cheek. "I always miss you when you're gone."

She gave him a little smile and rubbed over her belly with her free hand. She'd noticed changes in the baby's activity level when she was with House. She knew the baby could hear and recognize House's voice and she was convinced the baby reacted to it. One of her friends had told her she was imagining things but Cuddy was convinced.

"I think Junior misses you, too. I think he knows when you're around and when you're not."

He watched Cuddy lift his hand to her cheek and though he wasn't one for sentimentality in any shape or form, Cuddy saying she always missed him when he was gone was the best thing she could've said right then. He'd had a lot of time to think over the past week - or to try and not think - and the future of his relatonship with Cuddy had been one of those things that had been on his mind. It had been such a crazy week, with a crazy turn of events and he and Cuddy hadn't really gotten a chance to really talk much since their weekend away. After all the hurt he'd caused her, he really didn't know what state he'd left her in. It was reassuring to know that, in spite of everything, she still loved him.

He lowered his eyes to her belly and managed the first almost smile since Cuddy had arrived. Probably the first almost smile since he'd arrived at the hospital a week ago. "You don't honestly believe that," he replied, giving Cuddy a skeptical look.

He eyed her stomach again, then untangled his hand from hers and placed it on her belly. He rubbed it as though he was caressing the baby. A month. This kid was going to be born in a month. And he was in here, classed as officially 'mentally ill'. He expected to feel panicked and anxious, typical feelings he got about the baby, especially so close to the due date and because of the current circumstance he was in.

But maybe his drugs really were deadening him because he felt strangely... empty more than anything. Empty. Silent. Dead. He slowed the caresses to a stop, then dropped his hand away and looked over at the window instead. He squinted at the mid-afternoon sunshine glaring through the glass. He felt so... lifeless.

"Maybe I'll be out of here by the time the kid's due to be born," he said a little distantly.

Edited 2009-07-25 03:20 (UTC)

"I do honestly believe it," Cuddy insisted. "It's been studied. Babies can hear and even recognize familiar voices while still in the womb. Junior knows your voice."

Junior didn't know House was daddy but she had no doubt the baby knew House's voice. She knew it responded to his voice. Junior responded to her voice, too. She didn't know how a baby's brain processed the muffled sounds it heard but she knew Junior heard her and no one could tell her any different.

She watched, worried, as House seemed to drift away from her again, mentally speaking. For a moment there she felt like he was more present, that they'd connected, but now he was staring into the distance again. She sighed but reached over to rest her hand on his thigh. She was going to have to get used to this. She was going to have to allow for what the drugs did to him and be patient until the worst effects had subsided.

"I wanted to speak to your doctor about that, actually, but I wanted to talk to you first. I hope you'll be back home before the baby comes but in case you aren't, I want to make sure we have a plan in place so you can take get a temporary pass to be there when the baby's born. Wilson's already agreed to come get you and bring you back to Princeton-Plainsboro so it's just a matter of making sure the staff here knows what to do."

Cuddy had spoken in a rush, wanting to get the words out there before.... Well, before House could say he didn't want to make arrangements. One of the difficult possibilities she'd had to consider with him being hospitalized was the possibility that getting better might not mean he'd be more accepting of the baby. It might mean he'd decide it really, truly wasn't what he wanted for his life. And she didn't know what she'd do if he felt that way.

"It's your choice, though. We'll figure out a way to get you there if you want to be there."

The feel of Cuddy's hand on his thigh brought House's focus back to where he was and who he was sitting with. The lack of concentration he had bothered him - he wasn't sure if it was the effect of the antidepressants, the way they made him drowsy, or if he was so easily distracted because of his thoughts and the ways being in Mayfield affected him. This hospital was like bedrock - once you hit that place, there was little point in hiding behind problems anymore because every single patient was being forced to faced their issues in one way or another.

He remained peering out the window as Cuddy talked, though he listened and he heard every word she'd said. He reached a hand into his pocket to retrieve the tissue to wipe his nose again. "Of course I want to be there," he said, looking down at the tissue as he folded it ready to be used.

He quickly wiped his nose and sniffed, then turned his head to Cuddy. "Just not sure if you want me there. I mean, I'm not exactly..."

He turned to the rest of the room and waved the hand he was clutching the tissue in at his surroundings as if to say, 'I'm not exactly father material'. And he wasn't, either. No child deserved to be brought into the world with a mentally ill dad. He wanted to be there but he doubted his own self-worth to the situation and his own capabilities of being a father. So many changes had already happened, this particular change of making the drastic decision to come to Mayfield being one of the biggest changes of all. Adding a new child into the mix... Well, it was a big and messy subject that he knew his doctor was going to want to get stuck into sooner or later and he wasn't looking forward to it.

He quickly wiped his nose with the tissue and pocketed it again. He couldn't really handle thinking about it right now. Couldn't, not just because it was a topic he had no idea how to broach and deal with, but also because he was just so damn drained and numb. "I want that coffee," he said, changing the subject.

"Then we'll make sure there's a plan in place because I want you there."

Cuddy wasn't sure how far she could believe anything House said just then. He still had all his psychological problems clouding his judgment and now his mind was clouded by the medications as well. She was determined to keep a positive outlook, though, and believe he did want it even if he wasn't sure about how he was going to participate.

As far as his feelings of uncertainty and his questions about his self-worth.... Well, those weren't new. He'd been having issues with his feelings of worthlessness all along. Hopefully therapy was going to help him with that. The fact he now carried a psychiatric diagnosis was immaterial in her mind. No, not immaterial--in her opinion it was a good thing because it meant he was getting help. She didn't attach the same stigma to mental illness as much of the world did. To her, it was simply another disease that required treatment.

"Okay," she said when he abruptly demanded coffee. "Let's find Wilson before he can get engaged to one of your fellow patients and get you some coffee. Maybe after that we can go outside for a while."

She grabbed her purse and waited for House to slowly get himself moving. And sure enough, when they stepped into the hall, she saw Wilson at the far end, engaged in a conversation with a young female patient, looking very earnest and concerned as he nodded in response to whatever she was saying. He caught sight of them the moment they stepped out of House's room and broke off the conversation. He headed toward them, hands stuffed in his pockets.

House grabbed his cane, snorting mildly at what Cuddy said about Wilson. And sure enough, when he stepped out into the dim, lime green hall, Wilson was talking to Justine, the young woman in House's group therapy sessions and with whom he was rostered on cleaning duties. Well, at least something hadn't changed, House thought to himself as Wilson approached. If anything, he was relieved that something was familiar and he was quick to latch onto it.

"You just can't help yourself, can you?" House said. He gestured around the corridor with his hand. "I guess this kind of place is like one huge pantry for you to snack out of."

"It's good to see you haven't changed," Wilson replied, rolling his eyes as he stopped before House and Cuddy. But then he dropped into a more concerned expression as he regarded House and his tired, haggard face. "How've you been holding up?"

"With my cane. How else do you think?"

Wilson's lips twisted into a barely there smile as if to say he was glad House was doing okay. House's deflective answers were at the very least a reassurance that despite everything, he was surviving. Wilson then glanced at Cuddy with a slight questioning raise of his brows. He was interested to know what House had said while Cuddy was alone in the room with him. Now wasn't the time to ask about it, however, not while House was standing right here. Maybe later when he was back in the car with Cuddy and heading home.

"I was just heading into the common room for some coffee," House continued, not really noticing the small exchange between Wilson and Cuddy. He had his hand in his pocket and was fishing his tissue out of his pocket to wipe his nose again and he stepped around Wilson to lead the way to the common room. While he did, Wilson fell in step with Cuddy, his hands still bunched his pockets and he glanced at Cuddy again with another questioning, curious look.

Cuddy stood to the side and watched as House and Wilson traded their usual banter. Well, it wasn't exactly usual but it was close enough to normal to be reassuring. As long as House could harass Wilson for being Wilson, she knew the fundamental House was still intact even under the drug haze.

Cuddy nodded her head almost imperceptibly when Wilson glanced at her. She didn't want to come right out and discuss House's condition in front of him. That would only embarrass him, possibly reinforce his feelings of worthlessness. When House started down the hall, though, she let herself fall a few steps behind him.

"He's a little...fuzzy," she told Wilson in a low voice.

Wilson looked after House as they followed him. His verbal exchange with House hadn't indicated any strong signs he was having any serious difficulty with his thinking but he could sense something was off. He nodded. "That's to be expected, I guess."

Cuddy gave a noncommittal shrug. It was to be expected but it was still hard to watch. House was like a balloon with the air let out. His energy, his personality--it was as if they'd leaked out leaving a shell. She didn't like seeing him that way even though she knew as his treatment progressed, that spark would come back.

"Don't worry," Wilson said, giving her a small pat on the shoulder. Then he followed House into the common room where he eyed the coffee with a suspicious eye. "So how bad is the coffee here?" he asked House as he reached for a cup. Cuddy was still on her self-imposed coffee ban so she simply took a seat at a small table near the windows.

When he entered the common room, House swiped a mug up from the drainer - the dishes he'd been forced to wash, as today was his rostered day of cleaning - and thumped it down onto the counter. He grabbed the jar of instant coffee just as Wilson and Cuddy entered the room. He watched Cuddy take a seat at the table, then turned to Wilson who'd joined his side.

"Hospital grade bad," he replied, sniffing as he grabbed a spoon to scoop up the coffee grounds with. "They can't make anything too enjoyable in here, just in case you start getting happy."

His stomach was still on the queasy side due to the meds, and the smell of the coffee as he poured hot water into the cup wasn't anywhere near as appetising as it normally would've been. The first several days of starting his medication, he could barely stomach anything at all, not even water. His stomach had settled a little in the last day or so, though (save for the constipation), and he'd been drinking a fair bit more coffee than normal ever since if only to attempt to make his mind more alert. It wasn't exactly working, however. The drugs had a greater say over how his mind behaved than caffeine overdose did.

He scooped two heaped spoons of sugar into his black coffee, stirred it and threw the spoon in the sink with a loud clatter. Then he grabbed a clean glass from the drainer and filled it with water. He hooked his cane over his forearm, gathered the cup and glass up and limped across to the table Cuddy was seated at. He thumped the glass of water down in front of her and slumped on the chair closest to her with a sigh.

A few other patients were in the room, as it was free time for everyone. One of them was watching TV on a low level, another patient was reading the paper on the couch by the window, and two patients were playing chess on one of the other tables. It was a depressingly quiet, stagnant atmosphere, indicative of just how quiet and lonely his days in here were.

"Gotta love how sedated this place is," he remarked dryly, watching the chess players. "It's like everyone's in a coma."

"Fabulous," Wilson said sarcastically as he fixed himself a cup. "Next time I'll remember to bring you a cup of Starbucks."

He joined House and Cuddy at the table once he had his coffee. He took a sip and grimaced at the taste. Cuddy smiled at his reaction and decided not being able to have coffee was probably a good thing here. Her expression sobered, though, when House mentioned how quiet the room was. Looking around, she realized just how little noise there was, even in the corridors. She supposed the more disruptive patients might be kept on another ward but even assuming these were the best behaved patients, it was still too quiet, almost stifling.

"For some people, I imagine sedation is what they want. They're probably tired of all the drama in their lives and just want their brains to be quiet for a while," Cuddy observed. She didn't know if House felt that way. She didn't doubt he'd love to eliminate some of the drama in his life but as to whether he was willing to endure the numbing effects of the drugs to gain some peace.... She didn't want to ask that question. She didn't want to unwittingly encourage him to think he'd made a mistake by coming to the hospital. It was simply too early to know how his body would tolerate the medications long term.

"Maybe you should suggest some livelier group activities," she said, trying to keep the mood light. "Bingo. Karaoke. Jello wrestling."

Well, he was definitely tired of all the drama in his life. The hurtful drama, that was. The painful drama. All the stuff that had led to him ending up in here. He didn't want sedation. He wanted... well, he wanted a better life than the one he had.

"Except bingo with House would probably turn into an underground organised crime ring," Wilson replied, also trying to keep the tone light. Wilson crossed his arms over his chest. "And the only karaoke I've ever seen House get involved in was under the influence of something that's no doubt heavily banned here. Alcohol, I mean."

"Everything's heavily banned here," House replied. "Including having a sense of humour."

Wilson cocked his head. "Depends on what you mean by 'sense of humour'. Most people don't really tend to appreciate yours."

"My sense of humour's just fine. It's everybody else with the problem."

Wilson shook his head slightly, deciding not to get into an argument with House over the subject. If anything was reassuringly familiar, it was that House was still blaming everyone else for his issues. Well, it was reassuringly familiar but it wasn't exactly reassuring. Wilson had to wonder just how much progress House was actually going to make with therapy, knowing how bristly House was towards psychotherapy and admitting his faults and struggles.

Meanwhile, House picked his coffee up and sipped it, then quickly put the cup back down to reach for the tissue in his pocket again. At the same time, he turned away just in time to sneeze. He sneezed a second time and then a third. "Damn medication," he muttered before blowing his nose. He wiped it a few times, sniffed and stuffed the tissue back into his pocket. "All I need now is something to gag my mouth with, then all orifices on my body would be officially blocked."

He lifted his hand to his head and gave it a rub before he dropped his hand on the table with a loud thump. "So, are either of you going to tell me anything interesting, or are you just going to sit there in awkward silence when you're not attempting to keep the mood light?" he demanded, getting quickly frustrated by the tension he could feel coming from both Cuddy and Wilson. More than that, though, he was frustrated with himself and the fact that he was in here, and how much of a failure he felt he was. That was the one thing the meds couldn't numb. "I'm still the same House, you know."

Edited 2009-07-26 02:19 (UTC)

"Well, I've volunteered to gag you on many occasions," Cuddy reminded him, choosing to deflect House's frustration and make a little joke of it.

"I think I have, too, now that you mention it," Wilson said, fingers playing with the handle of his coffee mug. His eyes widened and he glanced at House when House smacked the table.

"The problem is, life just isn't as interesting when you're not around to stir up trouble." Cuddy reached over and covered House's hand with her own. It was true. With House in the hospital, her own life was in something of a holding pattern. She was still busy at work and still busy preparing for the baby but her daily routine consisted of working, going home to eat and sleep, getting up multiple times during the night to pee, then going back to work. There wasn't anything interesting about it.

"So unless Wilson's been getting up to no good in his hotel room...," she continued.

"Oh, no--leave me out of this," Wilson protested, holding his hands up. "I've been leading a very quiet life. Celibate, even."

"Not what I heard from the new nurse on the chemotherapy unit." Cuddy gave Wilson a pointed look, hoping he'd either confess or--if he really was celibate--he'd make up some story for House's benefit.

"I think she must've confused me with Chase," Wilson said, giving her a surreptitious little wave with his finger.

"Chase is too busy chasing Cameron," Cuddy said.

"No, seriously," Wilson said. He looked at House as if looking for an ally. "I'm so over dating nurses."

The truth was, House wasn't sure who he was trying to reassure by announcing that he was the same House - Cuddy and Wilson, or himself. He sure as hell didn't feel like the same person this past week. There were plenty of factors he could find to blame for that: the meds, the unfamiliar setting, the huge change he'd made in his life, the fact that he was surrounded by other mentally ill patients. But external blame or not, that still didn't take away from how much he felt like an empty shell rather than a complete person.

He didn't look too impressed when Cuddy rested her hand on his, though he didn't pull his hand away. The exchange Wilson and Cuddy then had made House snort in spite of himself. He knew what they were trying to do and in a way, he did appreciate it. The conversation about Wilson and the nurses and life not being interesting without House around was, after all, familiar.

"You are not," House replied matter of factly to Wilson's claim he was over dating nurses. "The only time you'll ever get over dating nurses is when they stop coming to you with sob stories and a shoulder they need to cry on."

"Which always lands me in trouble in some way," Wilson admitted. "Which is why I'm over dating them."

"Oh, please," House retorted. "You're about as clever at learning new tricks as a senile dog when it comes to things like that." Cuddy mentioning Chase and Cameron reminded him of something, though. He turned to her. "I guess me being here means I missed the Chase and Cameron shenanigan smackdown. I was looking forward to being a spectator to that, too."

He had been, too, when he'd told Cuddy about Chase and Cameron over dinner in the b&b. But the sudden reminder of the b&b immediately drew his memory to what unfolded that night there, up in the bathroom. He suddenly wished he hadn't brought it up now. He reached for his coffee and took another sip.

"Chase and Cameron have been porning up Princeton-Plainsboro," he informed Wilson, seeing he knew Wilson would probably ask what he was talking about if Cuddy hadn't already told him. "I caught them in the janitor's closet last week." He sipped more of his coffee and added in a more sullen tone, "Seems like more than a week ago now."

Cuddy left her hand over House's. Not only did she enjoy the simple touch but she could also gauge his level of tension to some extent. She felt him relax a little when he was chiding Wilson about his dating habits, but then he tensed again when he mentioned Cameron and Chase.

"So I heard," Wilson said when House told him about Cameron and Chase's exploits. "Unfortunately I didn't hear about it until after Cuddy had already called them in and smacked them around a little. Otherwise I would've taken pictures for you."

"What are you? A couple of voyeurs?" Cuddy asked, exasperated. She honestly thought at times House provoked his fellows simply for the pleasure of watching them get in trouble. Even if he didn't actively provoked them, his own attitude toward rules encouraged their own independent spirits. She could understand that kind of independence could help them be the kind of creative doctor House was, but she still wasn't going to let them screw in her hospital.

"Voyeurism isn't my kink," Wilson said, mildly. He jerked his thumb in House's direction. "But I think he likes watching you get all...domineering."

"And I didn't smack anyone," she said, giving both men a reproving look. She refused to acknowledge the domination reference. "I merely explained I wouldn't tolerate that kind of behavior and if it happened again, I'd fire their asses." She gave a little shrug and admitted. "For a moment there, I thought Chase might wet himself. Cameron was more interested in finding out who snitched on her."

Edited 2009-07-26 04:09 (UTC)

"Cuddy's not called a DOM for nothing," House agreed with Wilson.

That was about the extent of his contribution to the conversation at that point, however. His mind had slunk back to the events from the week previous that led to him being in here. Due to the anticholinergic activity of his medication, he was easily agitated and his concentrated easily distracted, and he started to toy restlessly with the handle of his cup while jiggling his good leg in an anxious manner.

"Oh, come off it," he replied to Cuddy a little absently. "She's not interested in who. Cameron knows who snitched on her. She's interested in reactions." He suddenly almost jumped out of his skin at the sound of a crash coming from behind him. He snapped his head in the direction of the noise and saw Justine, the patient Wilson had been talking to in the hallway, standing at the sink where she'd accidentally dropped a dish while washing it.

"House?" Wilson asked. He exchanged a confused frown with Cuddy, then turned back to House. "Is everything okay?"

House glared at Justine, who muttered an apology to everyone in the room, before he turned back to Wilson and Cuddy. He gave his forehead a fretful run with his fingers, then shook his head to dismiss Wilson's concern. He startled easily at sudden noises, yet another side effect of the antidepressants. It was a side effect that would ease with time as his body adjusted. It had only been a week so far, however; as with any strong medication, particularly antidepressants, he had to start on the lowest dosage and slowly increase over time, which meant the side effects were going to persist until he was stabilised on the correct dose.

"No, she's interested in passing moral judgments," Cuddy said. Once she'd berated the two doctors for their behavior, Cameron had sneered at her and pointed out she was being a hypocrite given her relationship with House. Cuddy had damn near lost her temper at that. She had worried from time to time that a situation would arise which could possible cause a conflict of interest between her personal life and her professional responsibilities. Cameron's accusation had hit a sore spot. Fortunately, there was no conflict this time. As she'd pointed out to Cameron--in a tightly controlled but very angry voice--she wasn't telling Cameron and Chase they couldn't have a relationship. She was telling them they couldn't screw in her hospital which was something Cuddy had never done so Cameron could just get off her moral high horse and get back to work, thanks very much.

Cuddy didn't get a chance to explain all that since Wilson's would-be girlfriend dropped a dish and House nearly jumped out of his skin. She put her hand on his shoulder to calm him, giving Wilson a small shrug when he looked at her. She'd seen House react to loud noises before as part of his PTSD. This wasn't the same, though. This was more like a generalized irritability where anything or everything could provoke an over-reaction.

"Why don't we go outside?" Cuddy suggested, gently rubbing House's shoulder. "Maybe a walk would make you feel a little better."

"That's a good idea," Wilson agreed quickly. He got up from his seat. "In fact, I'll go find whoever's in charge and tell them where we'll be. I'll meet you at the entrance."

Cuddy watched Wilson set his cup in the sink, noting he didn't miss the opportunity to say something to the girl. She turned back to House when Wilson left the room.

"You going to be okay?" She hesitated, then added, "If my presence, or Wilson's, is bothering you, it's okay to ask us to leave."

"I'm fine," House quickly snapped as Cuddy rubbed his shoulder and said about a walk possibly making him feel better. He felt stupid and helpless enough about his behaviour without Cuddy making any kind of fuss over him or drawing any attention to it. He didn't, however, refuse when Wilson added that he'd meet them at the entrance.

House, too, looked over his shoulder at Wilson and saw him make some comment to Justine, though for once he didn't make a comment. Instead, he turned back to Cuddy and shook his head. Wilson and Cuddy's presence was bothering him but not in the way Cuddy insinuated. It bothered him because of the situation. Hell, the whole situation bothered him.

"I'm fine," he said again after a pause, still dismissive but a little calmer this time. He grabbed his coffee and took another large gulp, then reached up and brushed Cuddy's hand from his shoulder. He gulped more coffee and rested his elbows against the table with his shoulders hunched while he peered down at what remained in his cup.

"I hate this," he murmured, and he wasn't talking about the coffee. "I wish that..."

He paused again, then was about to say more when he heard Wilson approach from behind. "We can head outside for about half an hour," he said. Wilson hesitated, realising maybe he'd just interrupted something, maybe a talk Cuddy and House had been having in his absence. "Uh. When you're ready to head out, that is," Wilson added.

House stared down at his cup for another moment, then nodded and pushed the cup away. "Now's fine," he said flatly, scooting the chair back.

"Okay, you're fine," Cuddy said although she didn't believe it for a moment. He'd made enough complaints about how he felt, about the place and the other patients, for her to know that he wasn't at all fine with the situation. She also knew arguing with him about it would be counter-productive. She was tired of arguing with him. Let his therapist battle through his defenses for a while.

She frowned when he pushed her away but she folded her hands in her lap without commenting. She hesitated to even attempt to reassure him when he started talking again. She was afraid he'd just argue with her about that as well. He was irritable, he was clearly unhappy, but there was nothing she could do about it. She'd known he wouldn't be happy about getting help but he needed it. She was sure if he could just get through this initial stage, things would seem a lot better.

When House pushed away from the table, Wilson took hold of her chair to pull it back. He leaned in and whispered, "Sorry."

"It's okay. He was just...venting."

"He's miserable," Wilson said, looking over at House as he approached the door.

"You think I don't know that?" Cuddy said, grabbing her purse from the table as Wilson pushed her chair in. "What am I supposed to do about it? He needs this."

"I know, I know," Wilson murmured. "I'm just saying...."

"Well, don't," Cuddy whispered harshly. "It's not helping." She glanced guiltily at House, hoping he hadn't noticed the exchange between her and Wilson. Normally she wouldn't have a hope but with his mind fogged by drugs, it was at least possible he was oblivious to their whispered conversation. She didn't want him feeling even more self-conscious about his situation.

She tugged on Wilson's sleeve to get him to follow her as she hurried after House.

House headed for the door and it was only when he came to a stop by the doorway that he realised Wilson and Cuddy were talking. He looked at them over his shoulder. He hadn't heard anything they'd said, but the fact that they hadn't been walking right behind him was all he needed to know. He couldn't find the energy to be angry or anything else besides resigned. Of course he was paranoid at whatever it was they were talking about but even paranoia wasn't enough to shake off the numb feeling. Mostly he was just humiliated at the whole situation.

"There's no need to pretend you're not talking about me," he said without much expression once Wilson and Cuddy had caught up. He stepped out into the hall and limped with a heaviness to his step towards the direction of the exit that led out to the hospital grounds. When he reached the door, he shoved it open and squinted at the sunshine. The fresh air was almost like a shock to the system - crisp and a little chilly.

A handful of people were out on the grounds, most of the patients, a couple of them nursing staff keeping watch. He didn't wait up for Wilson and Cuddy at first, choosing to walk ahead on his own for a short while. He hadn't really been outside since he'd arrived at the hospital, because of therapy groups and needing to take naps as a result of adjusting to his meds. Not to mention that outside time was monitored and kept within a specific and strict schedule that the hospital kept.

Wilson didn't make an effort to catch up with House at first. He bunched his hands into his pockets while walking alongside Cuddy and just watched his friend walk on ahead. He knew this was best for House, being here. But he was also worried. He wasn't used to seeing House so... deflated. House hadn't even really been trying to pretend everything was okay, which indicated to Wilson that this change House had faced was hitting him hard. He glanced at Cuddy a couple of times and at one point simply withdrew a hand from his pocket and lightly touched her lower back in a silent gesture of support. He had to wonder just how much she really was coping, only a few weeks away from the birth of her child and House locked away in this place. But typically, Cuddy wasn't giving away too many clues.

"You okay?" he murmured to her.

House, meanwhile, slowed in his step after having walked on his own for about five minutes and then stopped to look back at Wilson and Cuddy. He waited for them to catch up with him and when they did, he reached for Cuddy's hand.

"We weren't pretending anything," Cuddy pointed out as she tried to catch up to him. She hadn't wanted him to notice but she also didn't want to lie to him. No more than she felt she had to for his own good, that was. It was a fine line to walk--being honest with him in order to encourage him to be honest with himself versus not being so honest as to make him paranoid and self-conscious.

When it became obvious House wanted to walk on by himself, she stopped trying to waddle along at his pace. She let herself slow down, looking after his slumped shoulders. She glanced to Wilson at her side when he asked how she was doing.

"It's not me you should be worried about," she said in a resigned tone.

"You're the only I might be able to help, though," Wilson said.

Cuddy ignored his implied offer. There really wasn't much Wilson could do other than to lend an ear when she worried. What she needed to be okay was for House to be okay. Unfortunately there wasn't anything either of them could do about that. House's recovery was up to him. All she could do was wait and offer moral support, which was as good as doing nothing.

"He's miserable. I know he's miserable, but he was miserable before he came here," she told Wilson, asking him to understand that her demand that House get help hadn't been based on a whim. She wasn't sure Wilson even knew she'd given House an ultimatum but it didn't matter because she knew. She knew and every time she looked at House she felt guilty.

"He's needed help for a long time," Wilson said in a consoling tone. "I know that. It's just odd to see him like this."

"It's horrible," Cuddy murmured to herself. She put a small smile on her face as they approached House, reaching to grasp his hand when he held it out. They continued along the path with she and Wilson on opposite sides of House, silent for the first few moments.

"The grounds are actually kind of nice," Cuddy said after a moment. What she really wanted to say was to ask House if he was warm enough and how his leg was doing. She figured he wouldn't put up with much fussing, though, so she settled for watching him for signs he was having a problem. "The building kind of looks like a set for a horror movie but the grounds aren't bad."

"There is a bit of gothic feel to it," Wilson agreed, glancing over his shoulder at the building. He turned back to look at House. "Haven't seen any ghosts wandering around the place, have you?"

With Cuddy's hand in his, House twined their fingers together and firmly squeezed her hand. Maybe coming outside had been a good idea because he felt less, well, claustrophobic. Seeing the same lime green walls, the same floors, the same faces, the same corridors, over and over and over again - being in the hospital reaffirmed the surreality of the situation, like he really was trapped in an unsettling recurring dream. Outside, though, he could almost pretend he wasn't a prisoner if he focused on the fresh air or the view that spread out away from the hospital building. He could almost imagine he was back where he was supposed to be, in Princeton, walking hand-in-hand with Cuddy somewhere everyday.

Wilson couldn't help noticing that House had reached for Cuddy's hand, either. He couldn't recall the last time he'd seen House express any kind of open affection for anybody, not since Stacy. Holding hands was hardly a huge gesture of affection, either, but it was huge in his eyes when it came to House. He was glad that House had finally found someone to have that kind of openness with, though it reminded him of his own loneliness.

House snorted when Cuddy said about the building being a set for a horror movie. And of course he hadn't seen any ghosts. But he replied to Wilson, "I've seen plenty of trolls. They wear white uniforms and call themselves psych nurses. Like that one over there."

He pointed with his and Cuddy's joint hands towards one of the nurses on the grounds wandering slowly along the path and keeping an eye on everybody. House then tugged on Cuddy's hand as they neared a bench by a tree and started towards that to take a seat. He released her hand and sat down, Cuddy and Wilson taking a seat either side of him.

He lay his cane on the ground and leaned forward with his elbows propped on his knees and his fingers laced together. He probably should've worn something a bit warmer for an outdoor excursion. Still, the chilliness that seeped through his clothes at least made him feel a little alive instead of lethargic and sedated.

"So, what have they got you on?" Wilson asked after a short pause of gazing around the hospital ground and quietly observing House.

"Drugs, and not the fun kind."

Wilson exchanged a quick look with Cuddy. He wasn't privy to all the details that led to House ending up in here, but he did know House's battle with Vicodin, even after months of not taking it, was part of the reason he was in the psych hospital.

"Amitriptyline," House continued with a weary rub to his face, oblivious to the look Wilson and Cuddy had shared. "Prazosin. Diazepam." He dropped his hand away and added dryly, "I have to report daily to my doctor about the state of my penis, thanks to priapism being a side effect of prazosin." He mimicked his psychiatrist, "'How's your erectile function today, Greg?'" Then in a mock cheerful voice, he 'replied', "'It's great, thanks for asking! This place really makes me think about getting it up.'"

Cuddy let out a quiet 'harumph' when House pointed out the troll on the grounds. He was hardly a fan of nurses under the best of circumstances. He probably hated being under their control rather than the other way around. Cuddy felt genuinely sorry for them. Being a psych nurse wasn't easy; being House's nurse had to be a major pain in the ass.

After taking a seat on the bench, Cuddy put her hand on House's back as he leaned forward. She leaned against the back of the bench, leaving as much room for Junior as possible, and rubbed her hand lightly over his back. Maintaining a physical connection wasn't necessarily for his benefit, although if it helped, all the better. She did it for herself. She missed him, and with him locked up here for an undetermined amount of time, she felt a deep need to get as much closeness as she could.

"Oh, come on," she teased lightly. "Someone asking after your penis is your idea of a good time." She gave him a little pat on the back. "Just as long as the doctor's not asking for a demonstration of your erectile function."

Wilson let out a snort of amusement but he didn't let the teasing deflect him. He didn't know everything behind House's decision to commit himself but he knew it had to be pretty serious for his friend to even consider the option. And since Wilson was the kind of person who needed to assure himself that someone he cared about was getting what he needed--in case Wilson needed to step in and save the day--he wanted to know how House's treatment was going.

"So they've got you pretty well loaded up on meds," he said. "How much talk therapy are you getting? I assume you've got group sessions every day...?"

House managed to crack a small, mild smile at Cuddy's remark. Truth be told, though, he found the daily questions about his erectile function one more thing to add to the humiliation of being in here. Of course, medically he understood why the psychiatrist asked him. Priapism was a serious and harmful condition that required emergency medical attention, and his blood pressure had always been a little higher than normal, which meant he had to be monitored extra closely. But that didn't take away the personal humiliation of it. It was one thing to be a doctor and another thing to be a patient, and House hated being a patient.

"Too much," he replied to Wilson's question about how much talk therapy he was getting. "Two daily group sessions, one daily one-on-one psych sessions, and a 'community meeting' before breakfast where we have to discuss our plans for the day and use 'feeling words'. Every single day."

Wilson nodded. The disparaging tone House used was impossible to miss, which didn't surprise Wilson in the slightest. House hardly even opened up to him, and he and House had been best friends for twenty years. He could only imagine how uncomfortable House was in therapy sessions and how difficult he made them for everybody else. Still, as Wilson understood it, House had been the one who'd wanted to be committed here. That said a huge amount about not just House's condition but about House's realisation for some kind of change.

"Not to mention those trolls always trying to talk to you when you want to be left alone," House continued. "Doesn't matter if you're trying to eat your meal in peace or trying to take a dump in peace. They're everywhere, get into everything, interrupt everything. They're like cockroaches.

"Good practice for fatherhood, I suppose. Kids are pretty much the same."

"Hey," Cuddy said, sitting up straight, her hand sliding from his back. "Kids aren't.... Being a parent is nothing like being a patient on a locked psych ward."

She snapped her mouth shut and looked away. She knew House hated being here and she knew he wasn't happy about fatherhood but she was offended he'd compare the two things. More than offended.... If he really felt fatherhood was as much a dismal prison as a psychiatric hospital then how was he ever going to accept it? Why would he even want to?

"I'm sure House didn't mean it literally," Wilson said, hastening to play peacemaker. He glanced at House but, deciding that was an unlikely source of help, he turned his gaze on Cuddy.

"Nevermind," she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. House was unhappy--angry, even--and drugged. She knew she shouldn't take anything he said right then as fact. Being only weeks, or even days, away from giving birth made her a little sensitive to the subject, though. Which, of course, was part of the reason he was here. She couldn't be objective enough to help him. She wasn't objective enough to not take things he said personally.

"Why would they ask you what your plans for the day are when your day is scheduled for you?" she asked House, wanting to move past the issue of impending parenthood.

House had found Cuddy's hand on his back soothing, so looked at her a little surprised when she pulled her hand away. He frowned at her remark about the comparison of kids and being locked in a psych ward.

"I never said that," he replied. He'd meant that the way in which the psych nurses pester was the same as the way kids did - never leaving you alone, always wanting to know what you were doing, asking lots of questions. He thought he was making a joke but apparently not. And no, he didn't mean it literally, as Wilson pointed out.

House stared down at his hands as he twisted his fingers together. He didn't have the energy to get into a fight about it, though. "Because it's somehow supposed to make us feel like we're more in control of our day to day lives in a psych prison," he replied in a sarcastic tone to Cuddy. "Plus we're supposed to have 'plans' to use our free time effectively. Like painting. Or putting together a puzzle."

Wilson sighed. He didn't know whether to feel sorry for House and his very clear disdain of the whole psych hospital regime, or whether to point out that he'd been the one to voluntarily commit himself. Neither reaction was particularly useful, though. And if there was anything he could at least find reassuring, it was that House hadn't lost his spark so much that he wasn't vocal about his time in the hospital. He knew, too, that House probably needed to vent and he and Cuddy were the only people he'd seen since he arrived here. It therefore made sense he'd be venting at them.

"And I take it you don't do either of those things to pass the time," Wilson replied. "In fact, you're more likely to go around making diagnoses of organic causes for why all the other patients are in here, much to the chagrin of the medical staff."

"I'm not allowed to 'play doctor'," House said, looking at Wilson. "I get reprimanded with a condescending, 'your behaviour is not acceptable' and then get sent to time out whenever I misbehave or break the rules."

"So, in other words, you spend all your free time in time out," Wilson replied.

House looked back down at his hands. Well, Wilson was partly correct. He had spent time in time out, though not heaps of time. All the napping he'd done over the past week had kept him out of trouble for some of the part. Wanting to keep to himself had also gone in his favour, too. "Somebody has to be the McMurphy of the cuckoo's nest."

"Makes sense it would be you," Wilson agreed dryly.

House twiddled his thumbs together, then looked over at Cuddy. He wasn't sure if she was still upset with him about the comment he'd made about fatherhood and psych nurses. He returned his gaze to his hands again. He'd already brought this up with Cuddy but he decided to mention it again. "Well, maybe with all the time out, I'll be allowed out on a good behaviour bond to see my own little cockroach scuttle into the world."

"House," Wilson said warningly under his breath, loud enough for only House to hear.

House ignored him. "And by cockroach, I mean our baby," he said, looking at Cuddy. "Whose birth I wouldn't miss even if I was lobotomised by one of the trolls patrolling the hospital."

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