Just wanted to apologize for a lack of update. Life's been happening (or not happening for that matter), but, in any case, things were being sorted out in my life and yeah, so, hopefully there won't be as long a wait for the next chapter.
The sweat was dripping into her eyes and she couldn't breathe.
After falling outside, Cuddy had taken to going to a gym instead. She quickly became a regular, attending for several hours a day, nearly seven days a week. The few times when she wouldn't make it to the gym, she worked out at home, often running up and down her basement stairs until she became dizzy.
"Just a little longer," she muttered to herself. "Almost done."
She was running on a treadmill. She was almost through with six miles after biking for an hour and a half. Cuddy began to feel light headed. She closed her mouth and took in a deep breath through her nose.
The machine beeped. Cuddy slowed her pace to fall in step with the treadmill until it stopped completely. Breathing heavily, she stepped off the treadmill and stood still, wanting to catch her breath. She felt like she was going to collapse.
Cuddy quickly placed a hand over her heart as it palpitated beneath her chest. It lasted for a few uncomfortable seconds before the feeling faded. Shaking her head slightly, Cuddy walked on wobbly feet towards the benches near the wall.
She stopped at her duffle bag and pulled out her water bottle. She took a long drink from it and then sat down on the bench. A ringing snapped her to attention and she dug through her duffle bag until she found her cell phone.
Cuddy flipped it open and held it near her ear, but kept distance because she didn't want to sweat on her phone.
"Hello?" Cuddy breathed out into the phone.
"Hey." It was Wilson. "What are you doing?"
"Just got done exercising," Cuddy answered, still working on regulating her breathing.
"Oh," Wilson replied. "I was trying to get in touch with you for the past three hours."
"Is something wrong?" Cuddy let her back rest against the wall.
"I wanted to let you know the status of McEnery's cancer treatment," Wilson said. "The results came in today."
"And?" Cuddy prompted and took another drink of water.
"And the treatment's working," Wilson continued, "but the side effects are taking a toll. I suggest we move him into the hospital to see if we can improve his health."
"What are his side effects?" Cuddy pulled a towel from her duffle bag and wiped her face.
"Confusion, low heart rate, and persistent headaches," Wilson rattled off the problems plaguing Mr. McEnery.
"And that's from the drug?" Cuddy asked and shoved her towel back into her duffle bag.
"Yes," Wilson answered.
"Admit him and see if we can help him," Cuddy told him. "The McEnerys have been donors to our hospital for the last ten years and they deserve the best."
"Thanks."
"Yep."
Cuddy zipped her duffle bag and slid it over her shoulder before standing to her feet. Wilson hesitated on his end of the line before speaking up.
"Lisa?"
She breathed out. "Yeah?"
"Are you all right?" His concern was clearly evident in his tone.
"Yeah." Cuddy nodded even though he couldn't see her. "Why?"
"I don't know." Wilson paused. "You sound winded."
"Just had a work out," Cuddy replied.
"Right," Wilson agreed. "Never mind." He paused for a second time. " Well, thanks, again. I'll see you tomorrow."
"Okay." Cuddy frowned. "Bye, James."
"Bye."
Cuddy hung up her phone and picked up her bottle of water. She took another long drink from it before she headed for the door, her legs feeling like lead and her head throbbing.
A look of confusion crossed over Cuddy's face as she approached her front door. She adjusted the duffle bag strap on her shoulder as she stepped onto the porch.
House removed himself from where he was leaning against her front door. Cuddy stopped in front of him, eyeing him up.
"What are you doing here?" she asked.
"Waiting for you," he answered.
"Why?"
House shrugged. "Was in the neighborhood."
"And you thought you'd wait?" Cuddy stepped past him and unlocked her front door.
"Why not?" he replied.
Cuddy pushed open her front door. "I can't let you in. I'm going to shower."
House watched her as she entered into her home. Cuddy turned to face him, making sure he was going to leave.
"You're getting naked and you're telling me to leave?" House said as he raised his eyebrows.
"Yes," Cuddy told him and attempted to close the door.
"Right."
House stopped the door before she could close it, and forced his way inside. Cuddy debated on what to do for a moment before she decided to give up with a sigh. She let her duffle bag drop to the floor as she made her way to her bedroom.
Watching her go, House knew something had happened to his Cuddy. His Cuddy never gave up without a fight. Instead of following her to her bedroom and pestering her further, House made a detour to the kitchen. Once inside, he went over to the refrigerator and opened the door.
House examined the contents of the nearly bare fridge. There was a half filled Brita water pitcher and a four cans of diet coke on the top shelf. The middle shelf held a few stalks of celery, two cucumbers, and one green pepper all in plastic bags. A box of baking soda sat on the bottom shelf, alone.
Using the tip of his right sneaker, House pulled open one of the two drawers underneath the bottom shelf. Two apples and an orange sat in another plastic bag. The other drawer was empty. House pushed the drawer closed and straightened up.
"What are you doing?" Cuddy asked as she stood in the doorway with her arms folded over her chest.
"Was thirsty." House swung the refrigerator door closed and looked to her. "Your fridge is going through a famine."
"I'm going to the store tomorrow after work," Cuddy told him defiantly.
"What are you having for dinner?" House asked, eyebrows raised. "A celery and cucumber salad?"
"I'm—" She thought quickly. "Going out."
"With who?" House questioned.
"A friend," she answered simply.
"A friend who?" he prompted further.
Cuddy frowned. "What's with the third degree, House?"
He shrugged. "Bored."
"Well, be bored somewhere else."
Cuddy took House by the arm and quickly ushered him to the front door. She managed to get him outside before slamming the door in his face and locking it.
Letting out a sigh, Cuddy paused at her front door, knowing that he was still standing on the other side. She wanted to open the door, she wanted to let him back in. But, she couldn't let herself do so. Instead, she headed for her bathroom to take a shower.
Her body was heavy the next morning and House thought she might be dead. At quarter to eleven in the morning, he was on her doorstep because she didn't show up to work and she didn't call.
House used her hidden key to let himself in. He examined the quiet house upon entry before heading to her bedroom. His eyes fell to her in bed, one of her arms thrown haphazardly above her head. Her eyes were closed, but she was breathing.
"Cuddy." House approached the bed carefully.
She didn't open her eyes and she didn't move. There was a pause on her part before she finally spoke in a very soft voice.
"What?"
"Get up." House tapped the arm above her head. "Come on."
"I'm sick," she lied. "I have the flu."
"You didn't call," he said.
"I forgot," Cuddy replied and finally opened her eyes to look at him. "How did you get in?"
"Hidden key," House answered.
Cuddy shut her eyes. "Put it back on your way out."
"You don't have the flu," House told her.
"Why are you trying to ruin my life?" Cuddy groaned.
"Why are you?"
House waited for an answer, but she didn't give him one. He wrapped his hand around her small forearm and gave a tug.
"Can you get up?" he asked.
He let go of her arm and it fell back down to where it had previously been. She didn't flinch or show any outward indication of the movement.
"Don't want to," she replied.
"But, can you?"
Cuddy groaned in response because it was much easier than admitting the truth. House understood the groan and left her bedroom.
He made his way into her kitchen and opened the door to the refrigerator. House let out a sigh, noting that she hadn't touched anything from the day before. He reached down to the drawer and pulled out the orange.
House limped over to the counter and grabbed a few paper towels. He peeled the orange and pulled it apart into sections. After rinsing his hands, he placed the orange in a paper towel and took it into the bedroom for her.
"Eat this," he said. "For your flu."
Cuddy opened her eyes for a second time and stared at the food in his hand. Her arm felt like a ten pound weight, but she managed to lift it and take a piece of the fruit. She shoved the wedge into her mouth and bit into it, the acidic juice moistening her mouth. She swallowed quickly, nearly choking.
House set his cane aside and placed the orange on the night stand. He took hold of her arm and pulled her up, not wanting her to choke. She felt like dead weight and that left him feeling scared, yet curious. He still wasn't quite sure how this happened.
Using both hands now, he helped her to remain sitting upright. Cuddy refused to make eye contact. She was so embarrassed by the present situation that it was starting to make him feel embarrassed. House sat down beside her and picked the orange back up.
"We going to talk about this?" he asked and extended another wedge.
"No."
Cuddy took the piece and shoved it into her mouth. She squished the juice from it with her teeth, but let the rest of the fruit remain in her mouth.
"Cuddy."
"No." She swallowed hard. "I'm fine. I was feeling sick before. I'm all right now."
She pushed her covers off and attempted to climb from bed, but House held her back. She figured that was a good thing, though, because her body still felt like heavy rubber and she was uncertain if she could stand on her own.
"You need to eat this."
House took her hand and placed another section of orange in it. She put the piece in her mouth as she thought over the previous days.
Cuddy decided that this wasn't all that bad. She did need something to eat, she knew, and an orange wasn't a bad choice. Besides, her senses seemed heightened, which made the fruit taste even better.
"Finish this." House gave her the paper towel with the rest of the orange it. "I'm calling in work for you."
He stood from the bed, but Cuddy grabbed his arm with her free hand. She shook her head.
"No. I'm going in. I need to go in."
House pulled his arm from her grasp and stared down at her. "You need to eat."
"I am," Cuddy told him. "I do. I just felt sick. Stomach thing. I have to go in."
He frowned. "Cuddy—"
"I'm going in, House," she cut him off quickly. "I'm fine."
"You're not fine," he replied. "You don't eat."
"I'm eating right now," Cuddy said and bit into another section of orange.
House narrowed his eyes at her. "You know what I mean."
"No, what do you mean?" she challenged him.
He held her eye contact before shaking his head. House picked up his cane and then made eye contact with her again. Cuddy continued to eat her orange.
"I'll leave you to it, then." He began for the doorway. "See you at work."
Cuddy watched as he limped out of the room. She remained in bed, suddenly not caring that House even bothered to show up at her home. She finished off the orange and wiped her mouth with the paper towel.
She was feeling much better now, much more alert. Cuddy scooted to the end of the bed and stood. Her head buzzed for only a moment before clearing. She drew in a deep breath and began to get ready for work.
