She entered her office. She looked like someone who's been looking around for some time but couldn't find what she was looking for. She looked back one last time before admitting defeat and turned back her gaze inside her office. And there he was; standing by the window, looking outside, wondering. The door squeaked her entrance, but he didn't turn back to look at her. Still, she felt relief seeing him.
- There you are, I've been looking all over … she noticed something was wrong. What's wrong? She cut short.
His response took time to fill the silence. He wanted to speak; he wanted to tell her all about what was going on. Just like that, the whole story. But he couldn't bother her with that, she would not understand. Last time she didn't want to hear it either. Last time; one year ago, when there was no Lucas, when Rachel was too young for her to feel too guilty and when Vicodin took too much from his sanity. After a year, he understood that hallucinating her saving him, was just a way to protect him from the pain it would cause to realize what that cold "Screwed you" meant at this time. The warm, guilty and protective Lisa Cuddy he hallucinated then never was the Lisa Cuddy standing behind him right now. Hate suddenly spiked in his heart only to torture him more with the depressed feeling love left after taming it. Love. Was it love he was feeling for her? Was he ever capable of such feeling? He didn't know, and that is as far as he pushed the questioning. Whatever he felt, those mixed emotions he had, that weight in his chest; he was feeling for no one else but her. She was the reason for his disease. Remembering that, his leg hurt a bit. Yes, he thought, she was reason even then. He hated her a little more.
- House? She said calmly, you okay?
She stepped forward timidly, not sure if she really wanted to know what was on his mind. Scared of what he might say. Scared of the reaction she might have – or not have – then. What then? She hated unanswered questions; she hated the feeling. Her heartbeat accelerated. Her breathing followed. She hated that physical response to stress too. She took a deeper breath to calm everything down. She also knew it wouldn't work.
She was about to say his name again but he finally answered:
- I can't do this anymore. He surprised himself saying in an almost emotionless tone.
She did not understand.
Without even looking at her, he turned back and headed for the office door. She felt herself confused. She couldn't even form a complete question in her head.
He didn't have to look at her to know exactly what face she was wearing. In other circumstances, he actually would've taken pleasure in leaving her like this. It was his personal way of leaving an impression on her. But now, it was just painful. He wanted to hang to this pain to forget the other one in his leg which was rising with every step he took.
Suddenly, his leg tightened and the pain irradiated thoroughly. It was almost as painful as when it all started the very first time. He stopped and gasped for air as he couldn't hide or lie for it anymore. His hand tightened around his cane as he leaned all his body weight on it, fighting to stand and praying for relief.
- HOUSE, she shouted as she ran for him, concerned.
- DON'T, he almost screamed, touch me!
She starred at him; half scared, half confuse.
- Don't … touch … me. He repeated, breathing with every word. Just … leave. He continued.
He took a break to breathe. His free hand was now massaging his leg to no avail.
- Just … leave … me alone! He finished. I … don't need you.
She wanted to speak, but didn't know what to say. She wanted to do something, but couldn't decide if she would be better off leaving. She looked at the door, tempted. She looked back at him, agonizing; his face wrinkled by pain, his body shaking and curled up. She wanted to take him in her arms, held his face; she wanted him to hold on to her, to need her. He said he needed the opposite. As hurtful as this thought was, she foolishly came to think that she could take away his pain. That he just didn't know how much he, in fact, needed her. Somehow, she wanted to be the only one who'll save him. But still, confusion never left.
- GO FUCK YOUR ASS OFF OUT OF HERE! NOW IS IT CLEAR ENOUGH FOR YOU?
She froze.
She didn't like how he said that. Somehow, she had got that "fuck your ass off" was, in fact, an insult regarding her relationship with Lucas. Her expression changed, she suddenly felt pity for him and anger kept rising.
She stepped back slowly, pissed. Tears she wanted to hide from him slowly filled her eyes. Old son of bitch, she thought.
He looked at her briefly to confirm that she would leave after that. He turned back at his pain which was a bit less painful, but constant. She would leave now, he concluded. He continued the breathing. He heard the door open, squeak and closed back.
She had left him alone… again.