~ Chapter Four ~

Failure

He didn't go to directly to her place.

He wandered down the rain slick streets of Princeton. The gray clouds that hung low from overhead threatened rain, but it held off. He too, was trying to postpone the inevitable.

He knew that Wilson was right; he needed to talk to her. If anyone was an expert on downward spirals, it was him, but he couldn't bring himself to go to her home. His stubborn streak just wouldn't allow him to do the easy thing, even though he knew it was the right thing. He had to mull over every possible outcome, and the consequences. He had to work up every ounce of his courage to go and do it.

He had to admit, mulling things over on his bike allowed him the privacy to do that. There was nobody on the road with him, just the sound of winding road under his tires

It allowed him to clear his head, and to figure out just what he needed to do.

So it was late when he finally pulled in front of her house. The skies that had threatened his ride all late afternoon and evening finally opened up on the way to her house. If he believed in them, he would have thought it an ill omen.

He limped as fast as his leg would let him to her door, becoming saturated in the process. He shook his head as he ducked onto her porch, feeling the water run down his face. He licked his lips, tasting the rain on his tongue.

He hated wet weather.

Those were his thoughts as he stared at the front door of her house. He bit his lip, not wanting to knock. Knocking would lead to a conversation, and that was something he had been avoiding like Clinic Duty. It was such a simple task, knocking on the door, but his hands felt like the bones had been replaced with lead weights.

The, the image of her sitting on the exam room table, so lost and upset, with tears in her eyes filled his mind. It was quickly replaced with the images of her that had haunted him, recently; the dark circles under her eyes, the far-away, completely devastated look she would get when she thought no one else was around. As he thought about her, the task suddenly became easier.

** ** ** ** **

She sat on her plush sofa, a mug of steaming hot tea was warming her hands. The television was off, and soft, sad jazz floated through the room. A pile of papers were stacked on the low table in front of her, begging her to go through them. She wanted desperately to take them up on that offer, to escape her misery through work.

But she hadn't been able to.

She told herself that she was being foolish, that she should be able to get herself out of this funk. She sipped her tea, the only thing she'd been able to stomach lately. Initially, she had worried that her lack of appetite and emotional state may have been a sign that she may have been pregnant, but the blood test had come negative, and her period had arrived right on time. Now she was wondering if she should take Wilson's hint to see a shrink, but her stubborn pride wouldn't allow her to.

She had to get through this on her own.

While she was musing about her situation, a loud knock from the front door echoed through her home. She nearly dropped her mug; she knew that knock. It wasn't as harsh or impatient as it usually was, but it was the clear thud that was made by wood rapping hard on wood.

Her stomach dropped. She didn't want to see him, not here, in this personal and private setting. The hospital was neutral ground, in a way. It was a place where she could hide herself under a professional veneer. A place she could escape to when her private life became to much.

She found herself fighting a bitter laugh. It used to be the other way around.

He knocked again, louder and more urgent this time. She sighed. She knew she should answer it, but she just couldn't bring herself to do it.

She didn't have to.

He tested the handle, and the door opened. She recognized his distinctive gait as he limped down the foyer, into the living room. The sound of his cane striking the floor echoed through the room, and her heart began beating rapidly. She tightened her grip on the coffee cup, and she bit her lip, preparing herself for the worst.

"Taking this rather hard, aren't you?" He didn't sit down, and he couldn't look at her as he entered the room. She sat on the couch, and he focused on objects around the room, not wanting to meet her eyes, to see her misery.

He didn't sit down, either. He felt out of place, like a wolf entering a rival's den. This was her sanctuary, her place of comfort, and he was invading it. He was an uninvited guest here, and he felt it.

She didn't say anything. She was tired of fighting, tired of trying so hard to achieve all her dreams, in both her professional and personal life, only to fail in one, and, despite all her efforts, to succeed but be called a bitch whenever she stood up for something in the other.

"Cuddy." He interrupted her thoughts. She felt the weight he put on the word. Names had a type of power, and he put more force in to her's than usual. He wanted her to react, to do something, to yell at him, to slap him. To do something other than look so defeated, but she didn't even look up at him.

He took a deep breath, and he walked over to her. He placed his large, calloused hand on her shoulder, hoping she'd react to his physical touch. "I'm..." The words stuck in his throat. He swallowed, his mouth dry. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

She felt the warmth of his hand laying heavily on her shoulder. She craned her neck around, looking at him for the first time, not knowing what to say, fearing that he'd just answer her with a deflection. She took in his wet clothing and the water dripping from his close cropped hair and craggy face.

He gave her a small half-smile, mistaking her look for that of disbelief. "Sorry, it slips out. I'll go back to being an ass now." He removed his hand from her shoulder, and he moved around, sitting down next to her on the couch. He looked at her, taking in her oversized sweatshirt and worn jeans, thinking that she looked beautiful, but it wasn't the right time to tell her that. "You're not a failure, you know."

She inhaled sharply, then looked at him. "You're ruining my couch."

"It's just water, your couch will be fine," he chided her. He softened his voice a little. "And so will you." At her look of disbelief, he added, "trust me, I'm an expert on surviving failures."

She felt her lip quiver, but she bit it, determined not to cry, not in front of him. "I'm forty-two," she choked out, harshly, "and I've never had a lasting relationship."

He was silent for a few moments. The soft approach hadn't worked, and he became annoyed at her self-pity. His stopped fighting his self-control, and he opened his mouth. "Oh, boo-hoo," he rolled his eyes. "You're the fucking Dean of Medicine of the largest hospital in Princeton. You're also a new mother, who's doing a great job, besides the fact you cheated to get your kid." She gave him a dirty look, but he continued before she could retort. "Do what everyone else in your situation does; buy a vibrator or buy a boyfriend. Preferably the latter. Wilson accepts credit cards."

She felt her anger rise. He knew she was going to erupt, but he stood his ground, keeping his unwavering gaze on her, daring her to react. "You son of a bitch," she hissed, rising. "Get the fuck out of my house."

He stood up slowly, using his cane as leverage, and he gave her one last, long look. "You know I'm right. The ball's in your court now. Don't drop it."

It wasn't until she heard the door slam shut that she realized she was holding in her breath. She exhaled, then she slumped back down to the couch, letting the tears fall freely.