A/N: This is my first attempt at fanfic. Feedback is 3.
Disclaimer: I don't own House M.D. or any of its characters. Some of the dialogue is reworked from the episode. No copyright infringement intended.
Foreman didn't expect to find House in his apartment. But there he was on his couch playing video games. "What are you doing here?"
"What's happening with the patient?"
"Angio showed a clot in the brain in his middle cerebral artery. Started him on Streptokinase to break it up. Look, how ever bad you think you're going to be in that room, not being there is worse."
"You keep talking like Wilson, your face will freeze like that."
He sat beside House, grabbed the video game controller and sighed. "If she breaks up with you, you're playing by yourself."
A couple of hours had passed. House was still at Foreman's distracting himself with video game play when his cell phone rang. "Yeah?" Suddenly his body went numb and his heart felt like it was trapped in a vise. Foreman put the game controller down and looked at House.
A lump caught in House's throat as tears welled up in his eyes. He swallowed hard and stared blankly trying to process all the information. All he could manage to say was, "Okay," before hanging up the phone.
"What's going on?"
House's voice trembled, "Imaging showed enhancing masses across multiple lobes of Cuddy's lungs."
"That's what kidney cancer looks like when it metastasizes."
"She's dead."
House slowly rose to his feet and left Foreman's apartment without another word. He hopped on his motorcycle and rode around aimlessly. Everything was moving in slow motion. Nothing was making sense to him. His world was crumbling around him and he felt powerless.
Unable to defeat his inner demons, he retreated to his apartment. He had every intention of going to the hospital and being there for her Cuddy. But he was too afraid. Afraid of completely opening up and connecting with people, even with his girlfriend Cuddy.
House pushed open his front door. It felt extremely heavy. He blindly tossed his keys and cane aside and headed for his desk. Inside the top drawer was a bottle of Scotch. He grasped the bottle in one hand and hobbled toward the piano with a tumbler in his other hand.
As he sat on the piano bench with his Scotch he gripped his right leg and rubbed it vigorously. He was in pain. Not just his leg, his whole body was in pain. All day he had beaten himself up.
He mind was racing. Why couldn't I have seen that there was something wrong with her? Is she the next one to die because she's made me a worse doctor? I should have seen something! What the hell is the matter with me? The guilt just washed over his face.
He took a swig of Scotch and slammed the tumbler down on the piano. A mix of emotions and alcohol flooded his brain. She needs me, he thought as he poured another glass of liquid courage and began to quietly weep at the piano.
His fingers pounded on the keys while he roughly sang Mose Allison's "Back on the Corner" in a grating voice. Then he looked at his empty glass, wiped his eyes and continued to softly sing and play the remainder of the song.
She needs, ME, he thought as he poured and downed another glass of Scotch. The alcohol burned his gullet.
Then the room grew quiet. His fingers unexpectedly went numb but he resumed singing anyway until his throat closed up straining the last line of the song.
Anger stirred in his brain and his hands shook uncontrollably. He got up from the piano and shouted to an empty room, "I can't do this!" He was hammered but that didn't stop him from pouring another glass. However, before taking a sip, he looked down at the glass in his hand one more time before hurling it against the wall. It shattered to the floor. "This isn't going to help me."
The pain was too unbearable. He frantically started searching around the apartment for another distraction. He hobbled over to the hallway closet and pulled out a small tin box. It was empty.
He then climbed a few shelves of his bookcase and haphazardly tossed books aside until he came across a copy of Orpheus & Eurydice. Between the hollowed pages of his book contained a friendly face: a small vile of his secret, secret stash of Vicodin.
He clutched the bottle tightly, headed toward the bathroom and descended to the tiled floor. Overcome with sadness, hopelessness and pain, he opened the bottle and placed two pills in the palm of his hand, swallowed them whole and then closed his eyes for what seemed like an eternity.
House got to his feet and looked at himself hard in the bathroom mirror. He didn't like what he saw. He was completely stoned out of his mind.
As he turned the faucet on and splashed cold water on his face, he saw his toothbrush resting on the countertop sink. It was enough to make him go absolutely insane. "I need to get out of here. Every single fucking thing in here reminds me of her."
Without another thought, he hurriedly grabbed his keys, shoved the bottle of Vicodin in his jacket pocket and dashed out of the apartment.
Meanwhile back at the hospital in the DDX room, Taub, Foreman, Chase and Masters stood around the glass table discussing the current case. They were at a loss of what to do in terms of their patient's care and needed House's expertise.
Chase questioned the team first. "Where's House?"
Foreman replied, "Hopefully, with Cuddy. She did get some pretty awful news."
Masters took a seat at the table and chimed in, "I called her. She doesn't know where he is either."
Foreman shook his head and strolled toward Wilson's office. Wilson was at his desk corresponding back to a patient's email on his computer when Foreman walked in.
"Have you seen House?"
"No." He continued typing.
"He left my place last night after you called. No one has seen him today. Any idea where he'd be?"
"No."
"And you're not worried about that? He's not good with bad news."
Wilson finally took his eyes off his computer screen at looked at Foreman. "Yes, I'm worried. But this isn't about House. It's about Cuddy. She is the one who could be dying and he's trying to make this about himself. I'm not playing."
"Okay."
"She still believes he'll show up. He'll either get over himself and be who she needs him to be or he won't."
Wilson appeared to be fed up with House's bullshit, but as soon as Foreman left, he grabbed his phone and redialed House's cell number.
A half-naked House lay on a hotel bed with his fingers interlaced behind his head. His cell phone vibrated loudly on the nightstand. He picked up the phone and glanced at the caller ID. It was Wilson. Again.
House tossed the phone back on the nightstand.
A woman in a white hotel robe emerged from the bathroom and sat on the edge of the bed. "You must be a very popular guy. Aren't you going to get that?"
"Believe me, it's best I don't. The guy's a buzzkill."
"Okay. What do you want me to do?"
House popped the lid off his Vicodin bottle and tossed two more pills down his throat. "I've lost someone I really care about. Just take the pain away. Make me forget."
House removed a wad of cash from his wallet as the woman dropped her robe around her ankles when suddenly his cell phone rattled again. With resignation, he picked up the phone but remained silent on his end.
"House, where are you?" It was Wilson.
"Are you really going to be calling me all night?"
"Yes. I'm worried about you. We all are."
"If I tell you, will you stop bothering me?"
"Yes." He lied.
"Fine. I'm at the Hilton Garden Inn throwing a pity party for myself with some of New Jersey's finest whores. I'm about to screw another girl, girl number three to be exact, so can we make this quick?" His voice slurred.
"House, what are you talking about?"
"Life has thrown me another curveball Wilson and I've lost everything. My happiness. My sobriety. Cuddy. My. Cuddy." His eyes began to glisten. "She's given me everything. She was THE only one for me. Now, how am I supposed to live without her? Without her, I am nothing."
"Are you high? Oh God, you're high, aren't you? Look House, Cuddy is fine. She doesn't have cancer."
"I am fated to be alone and miserable."
House paused then shook his head from side to side. He was trying to comprehend what Wilson was saying but his head was in a fog. "Wait. Did you just say that Cuddy is okay?"
"Yes! The tumor was benign."
"Great. Great, I really screwed up this time. I can imagine how she must hate me right now."
"She doesn't hate you. She's disappointed and upset you weren't there for her. But, now I don't know. She's probably going to hate you now in the state that you're in." Wilson went into lecture mode, "Really? Vicodin! Hookers! House, did you really think…"
The line went dead before Wilson could continue.
"Please leave," House demanded. The hooker swiped the cash off the nightstand, gathered her things and stepped out of the room.
"Shit. I've really done it this time." House sat on the bed in shock and removed the cap from the bottle of Vicodin dumping the remaining pills in the palm of his hand. Without hesitation, he gobbled them all up. "It's over. She'll never forgive me. I don't deserve her." He grabbed his phone and jacket. "I need a change of scenery."
Foreman walked into his apartment and saw Gregory House out cold and sprawled out on his living room couch. He slammed the door shut and startled him.
"Geez, was that necessary? You scared the living crap out of me." He held his chest tightly and panted.
Annoyed, Foreman asked, "What are you doing here?"
House deflected. "What's happening with the patient?"
"Angio showed a clot in the brain in his middle cerebral artery. Started him on Streptokinase to break it up." He waited a beat. "Seriously, House, you didn't answer my question. What are you doing HERE?"
House bit his lip. "I came here because I had to get out of the hospital. I needed a distraction." He rubbed his eyes and shook the cobwebs out of his head. "But then I realized your place was just as boring and uninteresting as you." Foreman arched his brow, un-amused.
House continued, "I must have fallen asleep. It's a good thing that you woke me up though. I was having the MOST fucked up dream ever." His body shivered. "For a minute there, I thought I had lost Cuddy. I thought I had lost myself."
"Look, how ever bad you think you're going be in that room, not being there is worse. And if you don't man up, you may very well lose her. So, stop being a stubborn ass."
"Yeah, I know. You're right." House slowly stood up and headed toward the door. As his hand grasped the doorknob, he paused for a moment and took in a deep breath and muttered to himself. "She needs me."
The following morning Taub, Foreman, Chase and Masters stood around the glass table in the DDX room discussing the current case.
Chased questioned the team. "Where's House?"
Foreman responded, "Hopefully, with Cuddy. She did get some pretty awful news."
Masters chimed in, "I called her. She doesn't know where he is either."
"There he is." Taub pointed to House who was quickly limping through the corridor.
The team exited the conference room and followed House toward the elevator bank. Chase called after him, "House, the patient isn't responding to the antibiotics. We…"
The elevator doors opened and House stepped in. "Sorry, wish I could help you." He pressed the fifth floor button. "But somebody else needs me right now."
A shadowy figure stood in the doorway of Cuddy's room. She had been asleep, but somehow she sensed his presence and woke up.
House softly whispered, "I should have been here. I'm sorry."
A weak smile formed on her face. "I knew you'd come."
"This isn't easy for me, you know. I'm fucking terrified right now and it's hard for me to open up, even with you. But I'm trying to do better. I'm trying to be better." His voice changed. "There are thing's I've never told you. They happened a long time ago before we met. I promise I'll tell you those things when I'm ready and you'll understand why I've always kept people at arm's length. But right now, this isn't about selfish me. This is about you. This is about us." He grasped her hand in his and pressed his lips to them. "I love you. We'll get through this."
Just then the surgical staff entered the room. One of the nurses asked, "Ready, Dr. Cuddy?"
House kissed her softly one more time. "I'm right here." And then he placed his hand over her heart. "I'll ALWAYS be here."
Cuddy was taken out of her room and wheeled down to the OR. The anesthesiologist placed a mask over Cuddy's nose and mouth and said, "Okay. I want you to count back from ten."
Cuddy took one last look at House who was watching over her from the observation deck. She inhaled deeply and began counting backward, "Ten, nine…eight…se…"
And then everything went dark.
Hours had passed and the night turned into day. All night long Cuddy had been plagued with usual, disturbing dreams. She mumbled and stirred in her sleep.
Suddenly, her eyes fluttered open and adjusted to the brightness in the recovery room. And then they focused on House who was sitting uncomfortably in the recliner next to her trying to pass the time with an old magazine article.
He had been beside her all night long and he looked absolutely horrible, like he had been through the ringer. His hair was disheveled and his oxford baby blue shirt was a crumpled mess. He was just…perfect.
With a lopsided smile, he spoke first, "Hi."
"Hi."
"Guess who doesn't have cancer?" He waited a beat. "Me. Also you. Actually, you for sure. Me?"
"House!"
"The tumor was benign. Oncocytoma. They got it out. You'll be fine."
Her brows furrowed. "Then, what was in my lungs?"
"Once they ruled out cancer, I remembered that your mom was allergic to antibiotics. So, I had them test your blood. Your IgE levels were through the roof. The lung masses were an allergic reaction. So now you're off the antibiotics. Your lungs should clear right up." He smiled at her. "And I brought you something." He dug into his pocket, pulled out a small piece of folded paper and handed it to Cuddy.
"What's this?" She opened the paper.
"I had them also test your hCG levels as well. I figured there had to be a reason why you've been acting bitchy lately. At least to me."
Cuddy stared at the paper. Her eyes grew larger. "Oh my God…"
"Yeah. I was surprised too." He carefully placed a gentle hand over her abdomen and smiled. "Looks like the tumor wasn't the only thing growing inside you. You're seven weeks pregnant."
The End