"you do make me feel funny"
and with that, he's gone, and you're left staring blankly out of the door, wondering what to do. part of you wants to go after him, to push him against the hospital corridor and taste him, feel his body against yours like you did last year. the other part of you wants to walk away, lock those feelings away in a little box, leaving you able to get on with your job and your life.
you go to see Wilson, and he's sympathetic, as ever. he tells you to do what you think is right, and you just stare at him, because everything's muddled now. you don't know what's right and what's wrong anymore. you love House, but you hate him as well. he's everything that you want, yet at the same time he's all the things you detest.
Wilson asks you about Lucas - 'how's everything going with him?' - and you shrug non-comitally, and re-arrange your face into its most convincing smile. Wilson looks carefully at you, and you feel your resolve crumble, and it all comes tumbling out of your mouth. everything you've felt over the last few months, since House left your life and Lucas entered it again. you don't want to hurt either of them, but most of all, you don't want to hurt yourself. you can't bear the thought of hurting Rachel; Rachel, your daughter. your life revolves around her. she deserves the best of everything; clothes, education, family. she needs stability, and as her mother, you're the one who has to provide it.
Wilson raises an eyebrow, and you can almost read his thoughts. the words 'House' and 'family' don't go together, like two pieces of a broken jigsaw. Lucas is great with Rachel, he gives you the stability that you crave. the family you've always imagined. he's kind, charming, romantic; but you don't love him.
you realise that now, as you meet Wilson's eyes. you like him; you care about him so much. but it's not the same. it's not the same affection that you have for House. you don't feel as confident, as witty, as womanly around him as you do around House. there's none of the sparring, the conflict that you thrive on.
"what are you going to do?"
it's a perfectly reasonable question. but you just can't think of an answer. you feel the tears begin to prick at your eyes, and you silently scold yourself for being so pathetic; you promised to yourself long ago that you'd never cry over men, especially not at work. you're so damn confused, everything's jumbling up in your head, and you don't know what to do. it's not fair to keep stringing Lucas on, but you can't place all your bets on House; it's too risky.
"i can't... i can't leave him. i need to think of Rachel"
Wilson nods, trying to show he understands, and you sense that he does, in a way. you wipe away the mascara that's trailing down your face, thank Wilson for listening – anytime, cuddy – and then you walk back to your office.
you pass him on the way. he makes some smart comment about your ass, but you barely hear him. he can tell something's wrong; he grabs your arm, - cuddy? -, forces you to look at him. your eyes meet, and you feel your knees buckle slightly. there's genuine concern swimming in them, and you want to tell him everything you've just told Wilson. he deserves to know, not just about Lucas, but about how you feel. but the words stick in your throat.
"i'm fine"
you shrug his hand off your arm and walk away, as the tears threaten to spill again.
