Three hours later, House led Cuddy to his apartment. He ushered her inside and shut the door behind them. When he turned back around, he was faced with a bruised cheek and red-rimmed watery eyes.
"Cuddy," he said, sadly. Steadying himself, he grabbed her hand and led her to his couch. They sat in silence for a moment, before she finally felt forced to say something. It was too quiet and too still otherwise. "Thank you for tonight House," she faltered over her words, "for staying with me, for everything." Cuddy fidgeted nervously, wringing her hands. She didn't like to feel so exposed.
"I'm not going to leave you alone with this Cuddy," he said, sadly. He knew he was a jerk, but she had to know that he would try for her. In that moment, he would do anything he could.
She looked up, as his words washed over her. They were cleansing and pure in their own way. "House?" she asked. She needed reassurance that he meant it. The intensity of his gaze quickly caused the tears in her eyes to escape.
He pulled her to him and drew her legs gently across his lap. One arm slipped around her shoulder, while the other held her securely against him. "Cuddy," he sighed softly, "I'm not going anywhere."
She nodded against his neck, hands tangled in his shirt. She stayed stiff in his arms, until she could fight it no longer. Her silent tears evolved into painful sobs, as she trembled in his embrace.
House was House. He didn't whisper words of comfort or tell her that everything would be okay. Instead, he held her close and brushed his lips against her forehead. He let his warmth and strength give her comfort in the only way he knew how.
After several moments, she gave into the exhaustion and started to quiet. He rocked her gently, never once loosening his grip. "Do you want to take a shower?" he asked, patiently.
"Please?" she asked, quietly. Her voice cracked and was raw with need.
He couldn't resist stroking the side of her face, as he spoke, "Of course." Helping her stand, he led her to his bedroom. "Let me just grab you some clothes."
She watched him move about the room, searching. Unsure what to offer her, he finally handed over a t-shirt and boxers. "Everything's in there. You'll find your way around. Towels are under the sink," he explained, nervously. He knew she needed to get clean, but he was uncomfortable with her being out of his sight.
"Thank you House," she murmured. There was none of the confidence or spirit that she usually expelled just a quiet thank you and empty eyes.
They went their separate ways, both lost in their own minds. Cuddy didn't bother to look in the mirror as she stripped her clothes off and stepped into the warm heat of the shower. She just wanted to forget. Dwelling on what happened would do nothing but prolong the events, she told herself.
House made his way back to the couch, waiting for Cuddy to finish. Sitting down, he listened to his shower running. He replayed the previous hours in his head: the waiting, the police, more waiting, the hospital. He had been lost until he had Cuddy safely away from prying eyes. She had looked so small and vulnerable to him, even though she had put up a brave front.
Resting his face in his hands, he thought about what was to come. He knew Cuddy, almost as well as he knew himself. She would go about her normal activities, pretending nothing had happened. Realistically, she needed to come to terms with things; otherwise, she would push herself until she broke.
Cuddy had stayed under the water long enough. She had cleaned herself twice over, but knew the lingering feelings would not leave with a simple shower. The last thing she needed was House barging in there thinking something had happened. Shutting the water off she collected herself, trying to be strong. If she couldn't be strong for herself, she knew she could do it for him.
House heard the water shut off and got up to wait in the hall. He had been protective over her all night and planned to be the first thing she had to face, when she stepped out of his bathroom.
She quickly dried herself off. However, she slowed her actions to examine her bruised body under the harsh bathroom lights. It still seemed so unreal, but here she was, in House's bathroom, putting on his clothes, letting him take care of her. As she pulled the shirt over her head, she smiled. It smelled just like him. It was a small comfort, but she would take any she could get.
A chill ran through her, as she thought about how her night would have gone without him there. She starred at her scarred reflection, contemplating what would have been different. However, her thoughts were interrupted by a soft knock on the door.
"You okay in there Cuddy?" He cursed himself for acting so worried, but he had never been a patient person. His stomach felt tight and his lungs constricted; he needed to see her, hear her, anything.
Cuddy opened the door slowly, and with great relief was met with the sight of him standing there waiting. He was leaning against the opposite wall, looking at her with nothing but concern.
"How are you feeling?" he asked.
"A little cleaner, I guess." She shrugged, uncomfortable talking about herself.
"You can um, you can have my bed." He couldn't help feeling awkward about the entire situation. Their whole dynamic had changed.
Panic flashed across her features. She wasn't ready for sleep, wasn't ready to be alone.
"Cuddy," House said, softly. He didn't know how to get through to her; he would do anything she needed.
Seeing his open vulnerability and realizing that she was the complete focus of his attention, suddenly left her feeling extremely shy. "Will you stay with me?" she asked, looking away with a child-like innocence.
He couldn't answer her. The trust she was giving him left him feeling the full effects of the severity of the situation. If he screwed up now, it could very well be the end of the Lisa Cuddy he knew.
Letting it weigh on him for a moment, he finally agreed. Silently, he encased her hand with his and led her to the bedroom.
