A/N - House brings out the long winded diatribes in me, but this was begging to be written. After all the slash, I needed something het to make up for it. So enjoy.
They weren't supposed to have ever seen each other again. It was something that had been understood. That this was supposed to have just been one night, and that they'd both move on with their lives and act as though it never happened, even though neither of them really could just forget. It had been understood before they'd even met. Before blue eyes had met grey, and well before they'd crossed the line into the one point that they'd know would change them both forever.
She had known who he was, everyone did. Greg House was a legend on campus. Already kicked out of one school, everyone wondered how many more it would take before he'd get his degree. Known for his antics, but even more for the building he lived in, she had known fully well who he was and what she was getting into when she'd walked up the battered stairs-hating every step because of her heels. The banister had long since been kicked off the wall, and sat in the hallway between the bathroom and the stairs to the bedrooms.
And he had known who she was, simply because if there was a radar for the up and coming pre-med students, Lisa Cuddy shown brighter than anyone else on it. A bright blip of passionate, unbridled ambition. He found himself slightly jealous of her, because she was what he would be if he had a work ethic. When he bothered to grade papers for the class he had been forced to assist in, hers were always the ones with white spaces still left on the page. The ones where his comments fit into the margins, rather than extending onto several pages stapled to the back.
And they had purposely avoided each other all party. But the hours were drawing on, and both of them were recklessly tipsy. Neither of them were drunk, because House's roomate had long since fallen down the stairs, popping his bad knee out of place, and House had not yet lost all control over his vices. He still had some semblance of prudence and responsibility. Only because he knew there wouldn't be another chance, that this was his last chance to prove himself to his father.
Prove to the world that he was not Neil Perry. (The movie wouldn't come out for another seven years, but the analogy has been so burned into his brain that it even applied to memories of a time when Robin Williams had been no one more than Mork.) He wasn't going to cave in the face of rising pressure from his father. He had considered becoming a music major just to spite his father, but had always reconsidered. Because he wasn't Neil Perry, and rather than follow through with something, he caved to the pressure that had rested on his shoulders.
But it was later in the night, when nearly everyone left in the house had long since found a corner to curl up in and pass out, when blue eyes met grey, over the tops of empty beer glasses, and the carnage of a card game long discarded. And that moment they knew that there was nothing else. He had long since given up his bottle of whiskey, tucking it into a locked freezer in his room, where none of the other drunks in the party could get to it, switching over to the cheap keg that had been purchased just for this reason, cigarette in hand to mask the taste of yeast-flavored water.
Both of them had known that this moment would come. He had known the second that she had shown up, brighter than anyone else, inciting a rare grumbling of respect from him. She had known the second she had laid eyes on him, and the authoritative way that he bossed everyone else around. His roomate, his classmates, how he got everyone around him to cater to his every whim. Everyone called him a jerk, and she knew that, but it was only because they were too weak to resist.
And when they finally allowed themselves to look at one another, it was perchlorate meeting phosphor, it was an explosion that would rock the rest of the world. They hadn't needed to talk, but they had, both of them trying to delay the inevitable. They knew it was coming, and they knew that the fallout would be great, but this was mutually assured destruction. It was why both of them knew that this would never happen again, that it couldn't happen again.
This was putting the match to the fuse, but this time the blast would be a little one. This was the test, to see just how much it took for the fragile structure to cave inwards. They knew that the next one would be bigger, and they hadn't wanted that. He didn't want to blow away the few people he had that cared as collateral damage, and she didn't want to put a blossoming career into jeopardy. So they had talked, delaying the inevitable. He commented on her latest paper, she commented on a patient he'd saved, even though he wasn't even an intern yet.
And when the final person had crawled into the final unused corner, things changed. The kiss felt round the world began, and it forever changed the way they were. She didn't like the feeling-not of the kiss, that was amazing-but of the raw, all-consuming want. It was a primal need, seemingly stirred in a part of her body long thought vestigial. This was ambitious, unbridled passion, and she was afraid of it, because of what it could mean. She couldn't stay past the morning, she didn't want any of this, but she needed tonight.
And he knew that he did too. She could see the reflection of her own emotion in his eyes, and neither of them had any clue what the word to describe it was. If there even was a word to describe it. They both felt it, and neither of them even wanted to think about putting a name to it, because if they did, they'd both run scared. But they knew that they needed this. Clawing, desperate, frantic as they made their way up the wooden stairs to his room.
He tasted like tar, and it had tasted good on him, where it had tasted horrible on everyone else. She took it as one more sign that they were not meant to be. It was something that she hated, but she was giving up a pet peeve in favor of him. And she refused to be that woman, who gave in and let all of his annoying traits slide, simply because of whatever it was that this was. This was just a raw, desperate need.
He had been surprised they hadn't woken everyone else up.
The morning came, and they were reluctant to get up, even though they both knew this was going to happen. They laid there and talked, about everything and nothing before she finally realized that there was no way to avoid this. It hadn't been nearly as awkward as they had thought. Instead it was a mutual acceptance that this was they needed to do. He had wished her luck with her studies while she dressed, and she had wished him luck with his life. It hadn't come out as an insult, but rather a compliment, knowing that he had a tough road ahead with his unconventional ways, but he needed to be supported instead of shunned for it.
They saw each other from time to time on campus, never saying anything more than pleasantries, always keeping the distance of last names. Always cool and collected, both of them ignoring the feeling as though there were a rope looped around each of their waists, and that it was slowly growing shorter, pulling them closer and closer. They knew it was no good for anyone else, that it was no good for them, and they lied to themselves that they didn't want it.
He had graduated, and she'd gone to med school, and they had thought that things were done. They kept track of one another, although they'd never say it. It was just paying closer attention to articles in journals, and snapping up whenever they'd hear the other's name in the gossip circles. He hadn't been surprised when Wilson told him that she was now his boss. She hadn't been surprised to hear he'd been fired from another job. But both of them maintained the distance, knowing that whatever happened between them would only be bad, for everyone. That it could never lead to anything good.
So when Wilson had suggested she hire him, she told herself that it wouldn't be a bad idea. That this was because the hosptial needed him, and because he needed a job. That this had nothing to do with whatever it was she felt. She didn't know what it was. And she didn't want to know what it was. Which was why they'd kept away. He knew that it was a bad idea to go anywhere near there, even though his best friend was there, because it was dangerous. Because it meant that there was the risk that there was something more that no one wanted, that there was the threat of imminent destruction if their paths were to cross.
So she she finally got up the nerve to call him one late November night, he wanted to hate her, for being the one to start this. "Doctor House?" The voice had sounded exactly the same. A little more world-weary, but definitely still the same.
"What do you want?" And his was every bit the gruff tenor that would occasionally slip into her dreams.
"This is Lisa Cuddy from Prince-" She didn't even get past the first syllable of her workplace before she was cut off.
"I know who you are Cuddy. What do you want?"
"I heard what happened at Avera-"
"If you called to pity me, stop now."
"I'm not calling to pity you, I'm calling to offer you a job."
"Why?" They don't need share pleasantries, they don't need to talk about old college classmates. They've always been more to the point.
"Because you're a good doctor. And you're cheap."
"How cheap is cheap?"
"Eighty grand, full benefits, relocation costs included." It was a deal he couldn't pass up, he told himself. Wilson was there. He was going because it was a last chance, and his friend was there. And she told herself it was for the good of the hospital, that this didn't mean anything, that this didn't change anything.
And when he showed up in the hospital, they found themselves pointedly avoiding each other. When they did run into one another, it was forced pleasantries and the distance that last names enforced. There wasn't anything there, they told themselves. There wasn't anything, there had never been anything, there would never be anything.
They lapsed into a sort of easy companionship. He irked her, she fought back. They tip-toed around one another, and he was conscious of a line not to cross. As time went on, the line moved further and further back. And every now and then, blue eyes would meet grey, and they would see the effect of the glance on the other. They both knew that the other felt it, and they both knew that this could never be. They would destroy one another and everyone around him.
She'd met men, but none of them lasted long. He had Stacey, and things had fallen into a sort of easy life. They still could feel the rope around their waists, and even though the cord had lengthened in the time that they had been apart, every day they both could feel it tightening by a fraction of a centimeter each day. He'd push, and she'd push back, and they'd leave everyone else in their crossfire. Diffused explosions, controlled demolition. Both of them refusing to let this consume them, like it so wanted to do.
It had been easier than they'd thought. Both of them lied, and said that it was nothing. He had found himself a woman who was every bit like her, who challenged him, who made him fight every day for what he wanted, and he called himself happy. She had her career, which challenged her, and she called herself happy. But they both knew that it was a lie. That there was something that ran deeper than superficial feelings, that the unspoken thing between them was a primal want. No, not a want, a need.
They busied themselves with their lives, interacting only as much as they needed to for work, ignoring everything that had passed between them, neither of them wanting to rock the boat. This was something that went unspoken, because they both knew what it meant. This was not something to be taken lightly, this was the world attempting suicide, by trying to force them together. This was the universe trying everything it could to get them to self-destruct, and take everything else with them.
And then everything had changed.
A game of golf had permanently changed the world.
She always felt as though she was the one that betrayed him. That because she had been the one to give Stacey the option that eventually ruined his life that she was to blame. It wasn't Stacey's fault, the girl had only been trying to do what she could. But the fault had laid squarely on Cuddy's shoulders, it was her idea, knowing that House wouldn't want what he'd become. That he'd have rather died there, in a medically induced coma, than to be reduced to a sliver of what he had been.
They'd avoided each other more after that. She avoided him, afraid of him working it out. Afraid of him pushing her away like he'd pushed Stacey away. Because while both of them knew that this was going to be the end of everything good, they also knew that they needed each other more than they would ever say. They fall back upon cold courtesies, and gentle prodding. Both of them avoiding the obvious, both of them refusing to speak.
But time wore on, and they slowly fell back into the push and push back routine. Where he'd leer at her, make comments that any other woman would have called sexual harassment, and she'd merely give him more clinic hours. They acted as though that was the way their relationship was supposed to be, because it was. Controlled demolition. Slowly letting off the sparks, before one happened to ignite the powder keg. This was the Balkans at the start of the first world war, all it needed was one little shove, and they'd fall into the schism that they'd walked along the edge of. And once they fell, there would inevitably be the fallout.
Misery loved compnay, and he was more miserable than ever. It made everyone else around him miserable. Who in turn made everyone around them miserable. His misery had destroyed three of Wilson's marriages, because his wives couldn't stand seeing someone they loved so miserable, and they went on to ruin other lives with their own misery. It was a chain reaction, and the epicenter of it was centered around Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. And she hadn't been far behind-she pushed away any relationships she had, spreading her own misery and self loathing around.
She cared for everyone on her staff she told herself. When he had been backed into a corner with the law, with no other option, she told herself that she would have done this for Wilson, or Dukakis the radiologist, or Lewis down in the ER, or even Terry the creepy kid who worked in the morgue. That this was simply what a boss did to support her staff. She tried to find the middle road, and hated herself for it, because the middle road was what had gotten her into this in the first place. But she wasn't doing it because it was him. She lied to herself, and said that she'd have done it for everyone, not just a friend.
She hadn't known why she'd lied for him, but she had.
And that was when they found themselves hanging from the opposite sides of the schism, their fingers scrabbling to pull themselves back up and right themselves before they fell and ruined whatever tenuous hold they had over themselves. He knew she cared, he'd always known. And she knew that he knew, and she knew that he cared too. It was evidenced by the softer way he treated her-kinder, more caring. He'd been the one she confided in about her desperate want for someone to love her-about her want for a child, because she knew that she was never going to give in to whatever it was that this was.
They knew it was inevitable, but they continued, pushing the limits, knowing that it wouldn't end anywhere good. They tried to fight it, and tried to back off, but the comments became more brazen, as he knew that the rope around their waist was pulling them tighter and tighter. The inevitable was coming their way, and they fought to keep their holds on the edges of the cliff, refusing to let go and let themselves fall.
They convinced themselves that they were friends, and friends were allowed to be close to one another. They both knew it was a lie, but then again everybody lied. They were fooling themselves, but it was worth it. They both cared about the world, though they showed it in different ways, and both of them knew that this would fail spectacularly. She had thought about it every day since blue eyes had first met grey. She knew that this was going to bring the rest of the world down with them, because there was no way in hell that this was going to work.
He told himself that he was just going to push her away, and that she didn't need that. Contrary to popular belief he did have a heart, and he did care for the people who he allowed to get under his skin. Wilson and Cuddy were the only two currently in his life that he wasn't biologically related to. Stacy had been once, before she'd betrayed him. He supposed the team was sort of there, he did care what happened to his ducklings, but he'd never really admit that, not even under pain of torture, the way he'd admit that he cared what happened to Wilson, or what happened to Cuddy.
He told himself that she didn't need his damaged goods, and she told herself that she didn't want him. They made up falsities as though it made it better. They both pretended as though they could delay the inevitable until they were both dead and in the ground, and it wouldn't matter any more. He hated this, and so did she. And they knew that they each hated it, but neither of them wanted to do anything about it.
And then finally the tipping point was reached. The point of no return, where they knew there was no turning back. Where something had to give, and they had no choice but to give in to this. Whatever it was, there was no way to avoid it, it dragged them in, and refused to let them go. They had known it was coming, and they had known from the first time he had set foot in Ann Arbor, the second she had heard of Greg House, and the moment he first looked at a paper written by Lisa Cuddy.
It had happened in one of his rare moments of concern-she was crying about losing the one thing that she had wanted most, leaving her more alone than ever. And he had been there for her, because that was what he needed to do-not because it was what he wanted to do, not because he really wanted her to know he cared, but because he felt compelled to against his will. And she had needed him there, no matter how much she wanted just the opposite.
And they had kissed in her living room. It was a tender moment, and there was the rise of pure, unadulterated, unbridled need in both of them. Something that they had both longed for for over two decades. Blue eyes had met grey, and they knew that this was it, that the inevitable had come. And she had surrendered willingly, every last tatter of restraint had disappeared, too lost in the feeling of being alone. He didn't know why he did it, just that he needed to.
And he didn't want to run away, but he needed to, because he didn't want this to end, and the only way it could never end was if it never began. She knew why he'd run, and she didn't blame him for it. She couldn't, no matter how much she wanted to, she couldn't. So she rationalized, reminding herself of why they would never work. Voiced her concerns to Wilson, who for once, didn't have any advice that she wanted to hear.
They had fallen, but they'd managed to stop themselves before they fell all the way into the schism. They found an outcropping on their respective sides, and had landed on it. While it was a harsh, jarring landing, it was what was best for everyone, and everything around them. They hung to the wall, back as far away from the edge as they could go, too afraid of falling in again.
But like a butterfly flapping it's wings in China and forming a tornado, what had happened had changed them, and thus changed the world. He hid further in himself, and she hid herself in work. They returned to the closest thing to normalcy that they could, despite knowing that everything was different between them, and that they were falling off the cliff. House influenced Wilson influenced his patients. Cuddy influenced the board, who influenced the people that they hobnobbed with. They were the butterfly effect, and neither of them had asked for it. Neither of them wanted it.
The end was coming, and they both knew it, but they were trying. They were trying to stop it from happening, lying to themselves that they hated each other, because they knew it would never work. They were just too alike, they were just too different. He was the maverick, and she was the mother hen, and they knew that it was all going to end soon, with an explosion that would bring the rest of Princeton, the rest of Mercer County, the rest of New Jersey down with them.
She was the match to his fuse, and they knew that they needed it, but they refused to bring everyone down with them. This was going to end in disaster, and neither wanted it. But it was coming, it was inevitable. They were just trying to delay it until the fallout wouldn't bring the rest of the world down with them. Trying to delay it until it didn't matter anymore. But both of them knew that it was impossible to deny it forever, and that sometime it was going to come. And both of them were afraid of what it would entail.