Part One: Three Days

Chapter 1: Truth

"Is this how it's going to be?" House asked.

When he woke up, he'd found her on the balcony having a cup of coffee – if that's what you could call it – from the pot she'd made with the complimentary packets in the kitchenette area. She was dressed in her yoga clothes, her hair bound in a ponytail, her face free of make-up. She obviously hadn't skipped her morning ritual. She'd somehow managed to stretch and pose even though she'd barely slept at all that night. He knew that for a fact because he hadn't slept either. He'd been going over everything in his head, reliving the past few months, analyzing the past few hours. She'd tossed and turned, paced and meditated; he'd sifted through data, remembering every word and expression as he searched for answers.

He'd finally decided to soak in the tub, thinking it would relax him, maybe even dull the growing ache in his thigh and get ahead of the pain. It was an exercise in futility. The next few days would be torture for him. Each relapse and corresponding detox brought new demons and magnified pain. It was the nature of the beast. He couldn't escape it.

The sun had only just risen when he joined her at the small café table. He'd poured himself a cup of the bilge water she'd made and sipped from it as he propped his bare feet on the rail in front of him. She hadn't acknowledged him. She'd continued to stare into the horizon, holding her mug in both hands close to her chest just under her chin. The golden hue of morning formed an angelic glow around her and he couldn't take his eyes off her. He'd been staring at her profile for the past ten minutes, mesmerized. She hadn't moved, hadn't said a word. He was invisible to her.

"We're going to be locked in here for the next few days and you're going to give me the silent treatment?"

Cuddy slowly turned her head to look at him. Her eyes were tired and empty. His chest tightened and the hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach seemed to expand.

"I don't know," she finally said. "I never learned the proper protocol for sitting vigil through a detox with your ex. I'm kinda out of my element here."

Ex. Those two little letters hurt worse than the growing ache in his leg.

"You seemed so confident last night," he pointed out. "And less of an ex."

While he'd been in the shower, she'd called housekeeping and had them change all the linens and provide a large supply of towels and wash cloths. She'd also contacted the front desk and made arrangements for meal deliveries. Wilson had come with IV fluids, nausea, diarrhea and cold meds, a couple of ice packs, a heating pad and some other miscellaneous things she'd requested, as well as an overnight bag her sister had packed for her.

"Julia wasn't very happy," Wilson had told her. House was listening from the bedroom.

"She's furious."

"She's worried."

"I know," Cuddy had sighed. "She was there the night I broke up with him."

House could imagine there was some unspoken conversation passing between them in the pause that followed, and he didn't like it. So he stepped into the room, effectively shutting down their silent dialogue.

"I brought you some clothes too," Wilson said to him. "I wasn't sure if you'd brought enough with you."

"I didn't bring any," he said, gesturing to the hotel robe he was wearing. "I was planning to be naked.

Cuddy closed her eyes, her cheeks turning pallor before she picked up the bag of supplies and disappeared into the bedroom.

House gulped, silently berating himself.

I'm fighting for you. Something you didn't do for me. Her words continued to taunt him.

"You could at least try to be human, House," Wilson said. "She's here for you."

"She shouldn't be." House sighed and sank down onto the loveseat. "She should be taking care of herself, not nursing me."

Wilson only gave a brief pause before dropping onto the seat beside him.

"Wow. At least you see that."

"She only just got out of the hospital."

"I'm glad you remembered."

"Are you trying to be annoying, or is this the new you?"

"The fact you can get your head out of your ass long enough to see she's still recovering from surgery and should be resting gives me hope."

"I don't know who's more pathetic," House said. "Me or you."

"She loves you."

"I don't deserve it."

"Probably not," Wilson agreed. "Everyone has their vices. You're ours."

House turned to glare at him. "Is that supposed to be encouraging?"

"No, but it's true," he said. "It's why you chose us."

"Because your delusions of discernment and adequacy are only surpassed by your masochism?"

"Wilson shifted in his seat and leveled him with a stare. "Because we are loyal."

"Humph," House crossed his arms at his chest and began to sulk. "And destined to leave when I finally get my shit together?"

Wilson shook his head and grinned.

"You're not that lucky," he said. "And if that's been your plan - to self-destruct at every turn to ensure we stick around - you may want to consider a new strategy."

House stared intently at the space in front of him. Wilson knew he wasn't seeing anything. He was withdrawing, battling the demons of self-hate that had found their abode deep inside him.

"It's not easy for her either, you know," he went on, hoping his friend was hearing him. It was a hit or miss at times with House. "You've both been through a lot."

"You told me to do what I needed to do to be there for her," House said. Surprisingly, it wasn't an accusation. There wasn't a bite to his tone, just a deep sadness he hadn't seen in House the entire time he'd been with Cuddy. Still, Wilson felt defensive…and guilty.

"She was scared," he said. "She needed you, not your team."

"I know."

"She kept waiting for you, believing you'd show up," he went on. "She didn't believe you'd let her down."

"I know."

"Do you know how happy she was when you finally came? Do you have any idea how much…"

"I know!" House snapped. "Where was all this concern when I was falling apart? When I couldn't think of anything but what might be wrong with her? What might be killing her? All I could think about was how to save her! But I couldn't save her! The one time she really needed me and I was helpless, a complete failure."

"Which is why you just needed to be there with her," Wilson bit back. "You were keeping your distance so you could think clearly, but she needed you to…"

"I told you I suck at comfort and support."

"And I told you to figure it out," Wilson pushed himself off the loveseat and glared down at House. "You think the only thing you offer of any value is your medical genius? You think that's the only thing she could really need from you?"

I need you. House growled and pushed his fingers roughly through his hair in frustration. She'd needed him. She said she still needed him. How could he ever be what she needed?

"She's happy with you, House," Wilson continued. "Even when you're being an ass and at your worse, she genuinely likes being with you. All you had to do was show up."

"I did."

"You were stoned."

"I took one pill. One pill! I was hardly stoned," he argued. "And it was no more than you'd give some family member of one of your patients."

"I would give them anti-anxiety meds, not Vicodin."

"For anxiety, not pain."

"You lived without Vicodin for a year and a half, House," Wilson said. "This isn't about pain, it's about addiction."

Everything you've ever done is to avoid pain.

House felt the tension that had been tightening in him for days finally snap. "I'm in pain!" he yelled, gripping his thigh and awkwardly standing to face Wilson in full attack mode. "I'm an addict, but I'm also in pain. I'm always in pain. I realize some of it is psychosomatic. I'm not an idiot. I can ignore it when I'm happy. I can ignore it when I'm with her because there's something good and perfect to hold onto. There's something worth fighting for. But that doesn't mean it's not there! Why is that so fucking hard for everyone to understand? It's a law of physics. The more pressure you put on something, the weaker it gets. The pain gets worse when my life is worse."

"She knows you're in pain."

"No," he spit it out. "She forgets. Just like you. She told me as much. She forgets. You forget. Everyone forgets! In all my neediness and co-dependence and emotional damage, with a limp and a disgusting scar in my thigh, you all forget. I AM A CHRONIC PAIN PATIENT."

"I need to go speak to the front desk." Both House and Wilson whirled around, startled by the interruption.

Cuddy stood in the entry, her eyes red and swollen with unshed tears, her skin pale.

"Are you okay?" Wilson quickly asked, rushing over to her in concern.

"Can you stay for a bit?" she stepped away from him and avoided the question.

"Of course," he said. "But…"

House was jarred from his thoughts by a knock at the door.

"That will be room service," Cuddy said, standing and stepping over his legs as she slipped into the room. She returned to the balcony a few minutes later carrying a food tray.

"What level is your pain?" She asked while she organized the breakfast items on the small table.

"Manageable," House shrugged.

"A number, House," she gently chastised. She had noticed him favoring his leg more than usual when he'd joined her on the balcony. "You know the deal."

House rolled his eyes and took a swallow of coffee.

Cuddy stopped what she was doing and turned to look at him, studying him for signs and symptoms that would indicate how deep he was in the initial withdrawal stages.

"Six," he finally said.

Cuddy nodded. He wasn't sure if she was agreeing with him or accepting his answer.

"You should eat something while you can."

"You mean before I start puking my guts out and wishing for death."

"I was hoping to bypass the vivid imagery until after breakfast," she snipped. "But we do need to get an IV started on you. It will be better for you to be fully hydrated before it gets much worse."

House waited until she'd disappeared into the room before reaching for a croissant. Now she was talking. She was "Cuddy- the-caregiver," aloof and distant, taking charge and managing everything again, but she was talking. It was enough. For now. Any interaction was an opportunity at this point, a chance to find a chink in her armor, to break through the wall she'd erected. He needed time create a strategy, to plan his next move.

This isn't a game, House. Wilson had been so adamant when he'd talked to him last night. He was so certain Cuddy would forgive him if he'd just talk to her.Let her in, House. Give her a chance to deal with that almighty truth you believe in.

She returned with the supplies and Cuddy noted he had prepared a croissant with butter and blackberry jam. It was plated on her side of the table. He hadn't bothered picking anything from the tray for himself. He was too busy moving the butter knife between his fingers, solving a puzzle no doubt. She had a feeling it was the same puzzle she'd been working through all morning.

House turned to look at her, watching as she tied the elastic band around his arm and began to work on the IV. Her touch was gentle and steady. His eyes were intense and probing. He wanted to get in her mind, to read her thoughts and know her feelings. He wanted to understand what to say and do. He wanted to know how to repair what had broken between them.

"I'm not confident." Her soft words silenced his thoughts. Their eyes locked. "A captain never shows doubt or fear when the ship is going down."

House knew she was responding to his earlier comment, but he was afraid she may be revealing even more.

"We're sinking?"

She gathered the wrappers and debris from the IV supplies, crushing them in her hand before whispering. "It feels like it."

His eyes narrowed. "Now? Or before?"

"I put it on a slow drip," she explained as she nervously adjusted the IV line. "The pole will be annoying to roll around, but better in the long run." He didn't care about the damn IV.

"You felt like we were sinking?"

Cuddy sighed and moved to sit in the chair at the other side of the table.

"I always felt like we were just on the verge of imploding."

A searing pain shot up his neck and through his skull to his temple.

"So you tried to steer away from the danger?"

She didn't answer. She didn't have to. He'd felt it too. He'd acquiesced and apologized and submitted to every rule she'd given in his own attempt to prevent what seemed to be an inevitable crash.

Cuddy unrolled her silverware and placed the napkin on her lap before taking a bite of the croissant he'd prepared.

"Do we have a chance?" he asked.

"I don't know," she said. "I don't have the answers."

It wasn't what he wanted to hear. It wasn't what he wanted to feel: this sense of loss, the powerlessness, the nausea. It was nerves more than the detox, but she was right. He needed to get something on his stomach now.

House reached for a cheese danish. He was pretty sure she'd specifically requested them. She hated them; they were his favorites.

"I told you I'd do horrible things to you," he grumbled. "It was only a matter of time before you realized it was a mistake."

Cuddy paused. "You think it was a mistake?"

"Don't you?"

I thought I could do this. He'd felt the sting of her words; the pain he'd felt when she walked out that door was greater than any he'd experienced. He hadn't been able to hide it or deny it; nothing would stop it. He'd finally just shut down, slipped into a kind of dissociative pain coma: a member of the walking dead.

"No."

House stared at her, baffled by her quick response. "But…"

"I couldn't handle it," she explained. "But I'll never regret being with you."

It was like Stacy all over again. The I-love-you-but-I-can't-be-with-you syndrome.

"Let me guess," he said. "You felt alone with me."

He'd thought it would be different with Cuddy. He thought she understood him on a fundamental level.

Cuddy frowned, clearly befuddled by this words. "No," she contradicted him. He still felt the dark shadows surrounding him, threatening him.

"I just wasn't enough." He dropped the pastry onto the dish and fell against the back of the chair.

"I never said that," she said. His voice was almost an echo, resounding from somewhere deep inside his soul, and it put her on guard. She didn't know where this was leading, but was certain she was following him into dangerous waters.

He crossed his arms over his chest, an angry scowl forming on his forehead.

"You didn't have to," he said. "You needed to see if we would work. We didn't. Your grand experiment failed."

"Don't do this," Cuddy sighed.

"Do what? Point out the obvious?" He wiped a bead of sweat from his brow. "I couldn't even begin to fix myself and you couldn't tolerate a less than the perfect boyfriend. I was an idiot to even try."

"I know you're hurt, but there's no need to revise history," she said.

"There's no revision needed. The truth speaks for itself."

"I was happy with you," she said. "That's the truth."

"Evidenced by the amount of nitpicking and complaining you did," he said.

"I didn't nitpick…"

"Toilet seat," his head quickly turned and he caught her eyes in a bitter glare. "Toothbrush."

Cuddy stilled. "We talked about that," she said. "Expecting a little consideration is hardly nitpicking."

"Oh that's right! I didn't take out the trash, which logically means I don't care about you."

"Those are pretty normal arguments for couples, House. It's not the reason we split up."

"Of course not!" he snapped. "I screwed up. I always screwed up. You just turned to clichés and trite excuses for a reason to lock me out of your house. That way you didn't have to deal with the fact you crawled into bed with a man who would never be your Prince Charming."

"I didn't want Prince Charming," she said sharply, feeling the ire rising in spite of her determination to remain calm. "I wanted you."

"Bullshit!"

Cuddy flinched at the rancor in his tone and sat back in the chair, unconsciously putting additional space between them.

"From the day we met I was a jerk," he said. "It was part of the reason you were hot for me."

"Yes, that's what it was," she responded sarcastically.

"You've got terrible taste in men."

"What? So you're my mother, now?"

"For once she's right."

"Screw you," she snapped.

"You already did!" he bit back. "I should have seen it coming. Sex is always a weapon, but when you start intentionally using it…"

"I didn't use sex as a weapon," she said defensively. But there was woundedness in his tone that had her considering his words, weighing his version of events against her own.

"Oh, please," he rolled his eyes. "You were like a sexual goddess. The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away."

"I never…"

"You blessed me when I did something good and cursed me when I didn't."

Cuddy sank into the chair, mortified.

"Go ahead," he said. "Tell me where I'm wrong." He turned to rest his elbows on the table, challenging her to prove him wrong.

Her mind was reeling, her stomach turning. House had turned a mirror on her and she didn't like the reflection staring back at her.

"That's not fair." It was a weak argument. It wasn't an argument at all. "I wasn't using sex as a tool. I was hurt and afraid. I was trying to build something, but you kept…"

"What?" he interrupted. "Breaking the rules? Lying? Cheating? Generally pissing everyone off?"

"Exactly."

"I've been doing that for years."

"And I've put up with it," she pointed out.

"Until you had me locked in your thighs." His outrage was intensifying as the frustration he'd kept so tightly sealed found an outlet. "Once I'd entered the promised land, I should have been healed. Miraculously healed from my screwed up life. Hallelujah!"

"Don't be crude."

"Nothing about sex with you is crude," he said. "To be fair, if anything could save me, that thing you do with…"

"This is all about sex?" Cuddy snapped. "You couldn't be there for me because I wasn't your ready fuck every time you wanted it? Is that what you're saying?"

She threw the napkin onto the table and glared at him resentfully.

"I was an idiot to think we could ever have a real relationship," she went on. "All you care about is easy access to a crotch. Any one will do because you're incapable of..."

It was like red to a bull. House felt a violent rage come over him, an overwhelming need to defend what they shared, to protect the one perfect thing he'd had in his life.

"We were more than sex! Don't try to demean what's between us!"

She was undaunted. "Isn't that just the pot calling the kettle…"

"You were EVERYTHING to me!" House shouted, slamming his fist on the table as he glared at her. "You were the one that got me, that knew me better than anyone! You understood me, and that's why I trusted you. That's why I gave it a chance. I trusted you!"

He was trembling and the sweat was dripping from his brow. Cuddy had grown pale.

"I couldn't do anything right," he vehemently said. "Everything we'd built over the years was totally negated. You doubted every move I made and questioned every motive. You had to control everything."

House leaned heavily on the table, gripping the edges so tightly his knuckles became white. He was fiercely shaking his head as he continued: "I couldn't follow the rules and I paid the price. I always pay the price."

"House?" Cuddy whispered, reaching out to touch his hand. It was cold and clammy.

"It's better not to care," he pulled his hand from hers and pushed it through his hair, lost in a dark thought she felt certain encompassed more than their relationship. "I know better. I know better than to show any weakness."

"Maybe we should shelf this conversation for the time being," she suggested. It was very likely the withdrawal was worsening and exacerbating an already explosive situation.

His eyes were wide and wild when he looked at her.

"I lied to you to save a patient and you kicked me out for three days." It was clearly an accusation.

"You lied to me," she sounded petulant to her own ears.

"To save a patient."

"We went over this," she said. "It wasn't about using sex to control you. It was about trust."

"You didn't trust me."

"You lied! People in relationships don't lie."

"Why?" he challenged. "You know me. You know I'd only lie to you if telling the truth would prevent a patient from getting help or if the truth would get you in some kind of trouble."

He was circling back to this topic for a reason. There was something he needed her to know, something he needed her to understand. She tried to put aside her thoughts and feelings, to listen intently and consider his words.

"We've worked with this perfect dysfunctional balance for years. Why did that suddenly have to change? Why did I suddenly have to tell you the truth?" he asked.

Cuddy frowned, but he pushed on. "Do you really think I didn't consider you when I was making the decision?" he asked. "You don't think I know what your guilt and my anger would do to us if that patient had died because of some bureaucratic bullshit we could have easily worked around?"

"You should have talked to me," she insisted. "You should have trusted me to…"

"Go against the board? To needlessly put yourself on the line and risk your career? Again? For me?"

"You weren't protecting me," she argued "You wanted to protect YOU!"

Even as she passionately argued the point, she was starting to doubt her reasoning.

House paused a beat before responding.

"Because I'm selfish and will always choose me first."

His words stung. She had said that to him that fateful night when she'd broken up with him, when he'd begged her not to leave.

No. No. Don't. Please don't.

House seemed to deflate, all the passion and indignation vanishing into a haze of defeat.

"Things are always so black and white with you," he mumbled. He was fidgeting, nervously moving his leg as his hand ran along his thigh. His muscles were starting to ache, his head was pounding, and he was becoming convinced there would be no saving their relationship. She was here. She would save him – again – but he'd end up alone. He'd always be alone.

"It's not that way for me," he continued sadly. Cuddy noticed a crack in his voice and the flush creeping up his neck. "Everything is grey."

This wasn't the first time she'd heard him say this.

You see things as they are and how they could be.

House stood, gripping the IV pole for support as he stared down at her.

"I can't ignore the truth just to reach some idealized vision of what could be," he said. "I can't change the truth. Even for you."

As he disappeared into the room, leaving her alone on the balcony, Cuddy felt a tear roll down her cheek.

House didn't know how long he'd been lying there. He was curled up on the bed in a loose fetal position. His leg was pounding, he fluctuated between chills and fever, and his head felt like it would explode at any minute. That was nothing compared to the weight in his chest.

He was afraid. Afraid of the pain. Afraid of a life without her.

House felt the mattress shift and opened his eyes.

"Hi," she said, and slipped into bed beside him.

Cuddy turned her back to him, curling against him and taking his arm, wrapping it around her as she held his hand to her chest. House didn't hesitate. He pulled her against him, snuggling closer and holding her tight like a lifeline.

She was quiet. He didn't know what she was thinking. He didn't know why she was here in his arms, but he relished it. He breathed her in, memorizing her smell, the feel of her body against him, the softness of her fingers entwined with his.

"Julia was always the perfect child," Cuddy said after a few minutes. "Mom always favored her. It didn't matter how good I did in school, how many awards I received, how many competitions I won, Julia was always the one who got the attention."

House lightly moved his chin along her shoulder as he listened to her talk.

"Dad tried to compensate," she said. "He always encouraged me to do better, to take the more challenging classes, to fight a little harder to be the best. But he liked Julia better too."

House looked at her, surprised. He'd always assumed she was a daddy's girl.

"He appreciated my mind," she answered his unspoken question. "He respected me in some ways, but he loved Julia. She was soft and demure. The proper little lady."

House kissed her just beneath the ear. "You're parents are stupid."

Cuddy chuckled, but continued her story. "I learned the best way to get their attention was to solve a problem," she said. "I was always good at organizing, and taking charge."

"You mean bossing people around?"

"It takes years to master that skill," Cuddy grinned.

"You have a Ph.D."

"Shut up," she elbowed him in the stomach, but nestled deeper into his embrace. "Whenever I felt afraid or alone, I'd find things to organize or fix. Things around the house and with mom's charity work. They would be impressed and brag about me to their friends. Sometimes mom would even hug me…People needed me, and for a little while I felt like a mattered."

House understood the feeling. It was why he'd become infatuated it the Baraku. Being needed always trumped social class and rules and propriety.

"I still do that when I'm afraid," she whispered, and House stopped breathing. "When things feel out of control and I don't know what to do, I fix."

Cuddy looked over her shoulder at him, her grey eyes glassy and cloudy with raw emotion. "I didn't mean to make you feel like you weren't enough," she said. "I was just afraid."

"Of me?" His voice was thick and raspy.

"Of losing you," she said. "On paper, we're pretty screwed up."

"You're reading the wrong manuals," he said. "In reality, we're almost perfect."

Cuddy smiled and turned in his arms, her eyes locking with his in an intense, piercing stare.

"I want this to work," she said.

House began to breathe again.