Disclaimer:Not mine. Shore & Co.'s.
A/N:This one goes to Ines (aka sheis1963) for her winning bid on my offer on the help_lisa auction over at LJ. :) She donated to my chosen charity: Save the Children. Thanks, love!
As always, big thanks to my dearest beta, Penelope S Cartwright. :)
To my readers, rest assured that I WILL be updating Absence and Broken Strings at some point. I'm on my FINAL semester of Uni and will be ridiculously busy working on my thesis. Thank you so much (and continuously hoping) for your patience and understanding!
MY SHORTEST ONE-SHOT EVER! LOL! :D
Post-Bombshells.
For Tonight
.
She'd expected to see her sister on the other side of the door. When she peeped through the peephole though, it was the man whose heart she'd just trampled on earlier that night.
He was the last person she wanted to see on her doorstep that night. The last person she'd expected to see.
Sighing deeply, and feeling the onset of tears making their way out of the corners of her eyes, she spoke his name quietly, "House." It was quiet, but enough for him to hear.
"I don't want you here," she added, her voice cracking and almost inaudible.
"I need you," he whispered in defeat. "Right now. Just for tonight."
"Go home, House," she said, her forehead pressed against the door. Her heart was constricting, aching to let him in, but she couldn't do that.
It was the last thing he wanted to say. It sounded like blackmail, but it was her alone who could keep him from falling back into hell. Hell, he'd escaped since they got together.
"Cuddy, please," he said, wrapping his fingers around the bars on her front door's small window. He held onto the bars like a lifeline. At that moment the metal bars were his only anchor. His salvation, his assurance of sanity and safety, even though it was also his cause of destruction, was on the other side of the door before him.
"House, I can't do this. Go home," Cuddy whispered, her voice not as firm as she wanted it to be.
"Don't make me go back, Cuddy," House's voice cracked, letting his forehead fall heavily against the wooden barrier separating them. "Don't make me go back."
It had cost him everything to go to her. His house had been too suffocating, the Vicodin in his bathroom too insidious, his mind darkening... He couldn't go back. He'd rather go to her, see her after what had happened, just so he could escape the past that could, at any time, resurrect itself to become his present and future.
"Go to Wilson," Cuddy whispered, hating herself for pushing him away.
"I can't, Cuddy. I'll fight him. I can't fight you."
Brows furrowing, Cuddy asked, "What do you mean?"
"There's Vicodin in my apartment..." He trailed off, pausing as he took a deep breath, shuddering. "I can't..."
His voice broke again and he said, "I can't."
Desperate, but not knowing what else to say or explain, House sighed. "I just can't, Cuddy. I don't want to go back to that."
"Get rid of them," Cuddy told him, shaking her head to keep her thoughts from running too wildly inside her head. "Only you can keep them away, House. Ultimately, it's up to you," she whispered.
"I want them," House mumbled numbly, his grip on the metal bars loosening before he absentmindedly ran his hand along the door before him. "I want them because I don't want to feel how I do right now. But I don't want to go back."
They were quiet for a while before House honestly admitted, shuddering, "I'm afraid."
Her mouth falling open slightly, eyes red-rimmed and watery, she glanced at him through the peephole. All she saw was his slouched, trembling frame.
Slowly, she unbolted the door and gently opened it for him. They stood quietly for a while, not looking at one another.
When they did meet each other's eyes, Cuddy stifled a gasp upon seeing his eyes as red-rimmed as she knew hers were.
"Just for tonight," House whispered. "I'll ask Wilson to clear it up and go back home. I won't get in your way. Ever again."
Head lowering, House added, "Just tonight, I promise."
"Okay," Cuddy said before leaving to get him some pillows and a blanket.
Halfway through her hallway though she stopped and turned to glance at him. Assessing his state and his blatantly heavy limp, she knew he needed the bed more than she did. Besides, if he was in the bedroom, there was a much less chance of him escaping back to his apartment in the middle of the night without her noticing.
"You take the bed," she whispered, their eyes meeting. "I'll take the couch."
"I can't," he whispered, eyes shutting as he tried to block of the many memories ensconced in his mind and that bedroom.
"You need it for your leg," Cuddy reasoned, brows drawing together as she wiped her face with her palms. They were both so tired.
"I can't go in there," he almost inaudibly mumbled.
She was about to insist, but she seemed to have understood why and all she did was nod in acceptance of his refusal.
She turned on her heel and went to get the pillows and blanket.
She was about to exit her bedroom when she dropped the items in her arms on top of her bed and grabbed her Blackberry off of the night stand.
She dialed Wilson and waited for him to answer.
"Wilson," she greeted when he picked up.
"Cuddy? Is everything all right?" Wilson answered groggily.
"I need you to go to House's apartment and get rid of his Vicodin. I don't know where it is, I don't want to ask him right now, but please, get rid of it. Search his apartment for any hidden stash we may have missed before."
"Cuddy, why would he need-" Wilson cut himself off when realization dawned on him.
"You broke up with him?" He asked as cautiously as he could.
"Earlier tonight." Cuddy confirmed, lips firming into a straight line.
"Why?"
"Wilson, I'll talk to you later. Please don't do this now. It's too much." Cuddy pleaded.
"Where is he?" Wilson asked in concern.
"He's here. He came to me, saying he couldn't stay in his apartment, because of the Vicodin. I think he came here because he couldn't get rid of them either," Cuddy explained, glancing at the doorway with sadness and guilt in her eyes.
"Okay, I'll get dressed and be on my way to his place in a few minutes," Wilson said in all seriousness. "Don't let him out of your sight."
Cuddy would have laughed had she not been so concerned about House's state at that moment.
She ended the call and threw her phone on top of her bed. Picking up the pillows and blanket, she carried the items into the living room. Her heart hammered instantaneously when she didn't see House there.
"House?" She called out his name, hoping he was only in the kitchen.
She quickly set down the items in her arms on the couch and checked the front door. Bolted.
He wasn't in the kitchen where she checked next, so she headed to Rachel's bedroom. Sure enough, House was there, curled on the couch in her daughter's room.
"You make me feel safe," House whispered quietly. "You and Rachel."
"She's at my mother's."
"I'm sorry, Cuddy," he truly was. Sorry for being such a disappointment. Sorry for putting her through this. But she was the only one who could keep him from tripping over the edge of misery yet again. Together or not, he needed her at another dark moment. He unsteadily stood up and painfully made his way back to the living room. He adjusted the pillows and lay down, pulling the blanket up. He was ashamed of himself, he really was. He wasn't there so she'd pity him or guilt her into taking him back. He really was in pain and was really afraid of falling off the wagon again.
"Don't run off on me, House," Cuddy whispered as she left him alone in the living room.
"I've never run off on you, Cuddy," he whispered tiredly before succumbing to sleep.
Cuddy's heart clenched at that. He never had. Not when it mattered. He may have taken a pill to be able to sit beside her with the glaring fact that she could die, but he had been there. Beside her. Holding her hand. And apologizing for being late.
Shaking her head, Cuddy slid into bed.
She didn't fall asleep. She was too alert. Ears sensitive to any and all sounds around her. She wouldn't be able to forgive herself if he slipped out of her home to go foraging for Vicodin. She wouldn't let him do that again. Not now, not on her watch. She should have pushed for him to stay in the bedroom while she took the couch. It would have been easier to keep an eye on the front door. Not the windows though, she thought. Sighing, Cuddy pressed a hand to her head. Thinking was starting to give her a headache.
"Cuddy?" House's voice interrupted her thoughts a couple of minutes later.
She sat up in bed and looked at him, head leaned against the jamb of her door. He was looking at her through half-lidded eyes.
"House?"
"Was I that bad?" He asked her in a defeated voice. He had promised himself that he wouldn't stray to those thoughts let alone ask her for another chance, but he needed answers.
Surprised at his question, she asked, "What?"
"Was I as horrible as you-"
"I didn't say you were horrible!" Cuddy quietly, defensively cut him off, throwing the covers off of her and sitting up in bed.
"It's what I heard," House mumbled, sliding down the jamb, so he was seated on the floor with his back resting against it.
Shaking her head, Cuddy told him, "It's not what I said."
"I didn't want to lose you. I wanted to be there. I knew I had to be there," he whispered. "And I was," he looked at her sadly, sincerely. "I was there. I lost you anyway."
Silence wafted over them for a long moment until House broke it.
He got to his feet unsteadily then turned to head back to the couch. He didn't even know why he talked to her and she didn't even answer his question.
A few minutes after he got back on the sofa he heard her approaching, but kept his eyes glued to the ceiling. She sat beside him on the couch and took hold of his hand, asked him softly to look at her.
"You were never horrible," she started, when his eyes finally met hers. "But I never thought you'd fall back on Vicodin just to be able to bear seeing me and the possibility that I was going to die."
Taking a deep breath, Cuddy continued, voice shaking slightly. "You have no idea how scared I was, lying alone in a hospital bed, uncertain of what was going to happen to me. To the people I loved that I'd be leaving, if I really were dying. I spent half the time on that hospital bed thinking when you'd finally show up - I knew, hoped at least, that you would- and the other half thinking about Rachel and who would take care of her if something happened to me, thought how she was going to lose another mother."
"I'm sorry, Cuddy," House whispered, squeezing her hand tightly. Gazing into her eyes, he told her, "I know anything I say won't excuse what I did. I just..." He trailed off, breaking eye contact for a while as his chest constricted at the memory.
"You just what, House?" Cuddy gently prodded, wanting to hear his side, which she'd failed to do earlier that night.
Taking a deep inhalation of breath, House met her gaze once more.
"I just had you. I'd just... Finally had you," he said in a voice filled with a multitude of emotions.
He paused for a while, somewhat only realizing what he really just lost before he continued speaking. "And you were being taken from me too soon. I didn't know how to handle what I felt. I didn't know how to handle what I might feel."
Cuddy's eyes softened at his admission, his fear still present in his eyes, but now had a mixture of regret and longing in them.
"I don't want to be in a world where you're not in it, Cuddy," House whispered, daring to brush his thumb along hers. "I need you in my life."
Cuddy wanted to tell him she needed him in hers as well, but she didn't want to give him false hope when she herself was confused at the moment.
"Were you high?" She asked in a whisper, surprising herself by finally allowing him to speak about that night. She'd never really given him a chance to explain what happened, why he'd done what he did. She'd only settled on making and believing her own conclusions.
"No."
"No?" Cuddy's brow arched at his firm answer, searching his piercing blue eyes for that glint of a tell that he's lying.
"I was numbed a bit, but that one pill didn't make me high. I just couldn't sit there, useless, believing that I could lose you."
Cuddy nodded, letting him know that she understood that.
"Where were you?"
"Trying to diagnose you."
"You had a patient, I had my own doctor."
"We didn't set the patient aside. In fact, patient's gone home a day or two after your surgery."
"I wasn't your puzzle to solve! I needed your comfort more than-"
"I couldn't comfort you, remember? I had to be useful in some way, at least. So we tried diagnosing you, and we did."
Cuddy sighed, pressing a palm to her face. "And you did," she echoed quietly.
House nodded, looking down. "Yes. During your surgery."
"Thank you," Cuddy whispered, moving her palm from her face to her lap.
Again, House nodded in acknowledgment.
Giving his hand one last squeeze, Cuddy let go and stood up. His head tilted to look at her, waiting for her to speak.
"You should get some sleep," Cuddy told him.
"You, too," House whispered before closing his eyes. "Goodnight, Cuddy."
"Night, House," she said, then headed back to her bedroom, certain she won't be able to sleep.
It turned out that she did, though, when her eyes opened to a bright morning, light entering her home through the windows.
She shot up in bed and, with a heavy heart, walked towards her living room to see if he had honored his promise to not run off.
Her heart sank when she saw the couch vacant, the blanket he'd used folded neatly and settled on top of the pillow she had lent him.
Knowing there really wasn't a way for her to keep him from the drugs she had unintentionally pushed him back to, she walked to her kitchen to start her day.
She just hoped that Wilson had successfully cleared his apartment of Vicodin.
"Morning," House's voice almost made her leap out of her skin when she heard it.
She felt guilty for having assumed he'd went searching for drugs when she thought he'd left, her gut churning. She almost always assumed the worst in him. But something in her bloomed as well in knowing that he didn't leave no matter how difficult it must've been for him to not cave into what his mind thought he needed most.
"Morning," Cuddy greeted, taking in the vision of him seated on the counter top, nursing a mug of coffee in his hand. He must have been up a lot earlier because there was no steam coming from the contents of his cup. "How are you feeling?" She asked him.
"Better, thank you," he answered, nodding curtly.
"I called Wilson," he told her after a while. "I'll be staying with him for a while."
He didn't add that staying with her just made him hurt more than his leg could ever make him feel. It would sound like he was purposely hurting her, punishing her. She didn't deserve it.
"That's good," Cuddy nodded, making herself a cup of coffee.
"Cuddy?" House called her name moments later while she was lazily stirring the coffee in her mug.
"House?"
"Will I be able to make it up to you?" House asked after a few seconds.
"House-"
"I love you, Cuddy, I-"
"House, don't-"
"I don't want us to end like this."
He had moved to stand in front of her, his arms daring to wrap around her waist, pulling her into a hug.
"I love you," he whispered again, his voice muffled by her hair.
Swallowing hard and trying her best to not wrap her own arms around him, Cuddy stated, "It's not about me not loving you, House. I still do." His arms tightened slightly with her admission and he sighed against her hair. She had missed feeling his strong arms around her frame, missed feeling his skin brush against hers, but she couldn't give in to the feeling. "But I need someone who will be there for me and Rachel through the good and the bad. Someone who wouldn't bail on me, on us, because he was afraid of feeling pain."
"I can do better, just give me the chance, Cuddy," he firmly pleaded, pulling from their embrace and looking into her eyes. He had to try one last time to win her back. He wanted to avoid doing it the night before, but he couldn't.
A sad, small smile at her lips, Cuddy cupped his cheek with a hand.
"House, I-"
"Please," he desperately whispered, his eyes closing briefly at the feel of her hand upon his skin again. "Don't give up on us so easily."
"I know I screwed up bad. I know. And I regret doing what I did. I've never regretted anything as much in my life. But please, give me the chance to be here for you now. Give me a chance to prove that I can do better."
"It's not that easy, House," Cuddy whispered, her heart clenching at the sight of his eyes losing some of their light. "You hurt me."
"I know. I'm sorry," House sincerely told her, his hands moving to cup both her cheeks as he looked deeply into her eyes. "I'm so sorry I left you alone. I'm sorry I took the Vicodin."
"I know you are," Cuddy whispered. "But I just can't go back. We can't go back."
Sighing heavily, House stood defeated once more before her.
"I'm sorry I could never be the man you needed me to be. I'm so sorry," he whispered sincerely, knowing he couldn't convince her to give them another chance at a relationship.
With one last kiss to her cheek, he whispered, "You deserve so much better," before almost inaudibly whispering his gratitude for letting him stay the night and his goodbye.
"House," Cuddy called out to him, but he was already halfway out her door, and what she would find out later, out of her life.