CHAPTER FOUR

"You sure you want to divorce him?"

The sound of Richard's voice made Cuddy jump as she was coming out of Rachel's room, closing the door quietly behind her. Her daughter was asleep already, exhausted from the night's excitement. Cuddy was grateful, having been worried it might have the opposite effect, riling her up so much that she wouldn't be able to sleep at all. She rested a hand over her heart, letting out a breath and furrowing her brow in confusion.

"What are you talking about?" she asked. Richard's face was covered by shadow, giving him an almost menacing appearance, his stance rigid.

"House," he said plainly. "You seemed like you were having second thoughts."

"When?" Cuddy scoffed.

"You know exactly when," he said, his voice rising just a bit as he finally stepped toward her. He forced the volume of his voice down, moving away from Rachel's room and into the kitchen. The last thing they needed was to wake her. "When I pulled the car around you looked like you two were getting along pretty well."

Cuddy's heart sank. He'd seen that?

"I was thanking him for what he did for Rachel," she said. Richard rolled his eyes.

"Of course...of course that's what it was about. Rachel likes him better than me. I've known that for a while, but I got over that quick. But I never thought you would like him better than me too!"

"I don't-"

"Trust me, Lisa. That's not what it looked like from where I was sitting."

"And you could read exactly what was happening so pitch-perfectly from out in the car, then?" she challenged, her voice rising too, now. "Richard, you don't know what you're talking about-"

"I know exactly what I'm talking about!" he practically yelled, and he made a point to bite back his anger, shooting a glance over at Rachel's room for a moment.

"Richard, just calm-"

"If you tell me to calm down, Lisa, I swear..." He cut himself off, and Cuddy's entire body went tense and cold. She squared her shoulders, refusing to shrink back away from him despite the fact that her instincts were fighting to do so. He let out a harsh breath and placed his hands on his hips, and when he spoke again, his voice was full of barely controlled anger: "How am I supposed to know you really want to be with me when you look at him like that?"

"You think I'm cheating on you?"

"No, but you have a...a past with him, Lisa. You can't deny that."

"I can't change that."

"I know, but my worry is that the past isn't entirely in the past."

"It is," she assured him.

"If you'd been able to see what I had seen, the way you two looked at each other, you wouldn't say that." Cuddy stared at him incredulously.

"You can't be serious. Richard, I'm done with House."

"Do you still love him?"

"What? I-"

"Just tell me. Yes or no. Do you still love him?"

"You can't possibly think that I'm-"

"Yes or no, Lisa!" he demanded, his voice rising again, fury and hurt mixing together in his eyes until they swirled with emotion in a way that reminded Cuddy of the days with House, of when they'd fought and broken each other so thoroughly that she wondered if maybe he'd destroyed her for anyone else.

She'd managed to convince herself that he hadn't until now.

Richard's shoulders slumped. "God...you do, don't you?"

"No-" He turned from her.

"Don't even bother...don't lie to me, it will only make it worse..."

"Richard-"

"I just need a minute, okay?" She reached forward, placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Richard-"

The impact of his hand sent her reeling backwards, his angry shout – "Get off me!" – ringing in her ears as she reached out behind her, fumbling for something to grab on to, to steady her on her feet. She grasped the edge of the kitchen counter, leaning her weight against it as she brought her hand to the side of her jaw, palpating the already-swelling flesh there and wincing when pain erupted under her fingers. She looked up at Richard and saw a horrifying mixture of fear and disbelief in his eyes that she knew had to be mirrored in her own gaze.

He took a step toward her, slow and tentative, like he was approaching a wounded animal. "Lisa..." he choked out. "Lisa, I'm-"

"Get out," she managed to croak.

"Li-"

"Get out!" It was yelled the second time, angry and hurt. "Richard, get out!" Her mind was in a haze, and the world blurred around her as Richard took his coat and left, obeying her command.

She managed to make it to the couch in the living room before her legs gave out under her, and her mind and heart raced at a frenzied, horrified pace until she could do nothing but hide her face in her hands and fight back a stabbing sense of shame at the tears that rolled down her cheeks.

When she saw House in the clinic, she took herself halfway by surprise when her hand immediately – almost reflexively – flew up to her neck, as if he was analyzing her every move, as if his eyes could pierce through the concealer she'd piled over the bruise that morning that still didn't quite cover it up completely.

"Why are you staring?"

"What?"

"You're staring? Is my fly down. Course I can't blame you, but-"

"I'm not staring."

She turned away, intent on walking off in the opposite direction as quickly as her heels and a good excuse would allow, but as she did, she couldn't cover up a wince as she twisted her neck in just the wrong angle, her jaw aching with the movement.

"Hurt your neck?"

She pursed her lips and avoided eye contact.

"No," she said. And it was halfway true, at least; she hadn't done anything to it.

Her heart began to race when he reached out, brushing her hair away so gently that she almost couldn't believe it was him doing it, and she glanced around the clinic uncomfortably, knowing that people would talk if they saw. He stared at her jaw intently, gaze slowly decaying from curiosity to concern to fury.

"Did he hurt you?" he asked, voice so low and calculated that it was almost frightening.

But not frightening in the same way as Richard's had been the night before, she noticed.

"No," she lied.

"You're lying."

"Nothing happened, House. And it's none of your business anyway." She turned from him again, stalking away. Inevitably, he followed.

"Of course it's my business," he said.

"Maybe it was once," Cuddy spat, whirling around to face him. "But it's not anymore."

"Just because we're not together doesn't mean I can't-"

"House," she said, raising a hand to cut him off and dropping her tone to a low near-whisper, trying to pretend she didn't feel eyes on her. "Just drop it. I mean it, alright? It's none of your business. It doesn't concern you. Drop it."

She knew that he would protest; she could see it in his eyes, so before he got the chance, she walked away – back straight, shoulders squared – and left him there in the middle of the clinic doorway.

Cuddy braced herself the moment she heard the door open, leaning forward against her desk, back to the doorway, taking a breath. The sooner she dealt with House, the better, though even now, she didn't exactly know what "dealing with him" really meant. That would reveal itself soon enough, she supposed, and she could here footsteps approaching her slowly, hesitantly, so she closed her eyes a moment, squared her shoulders and turned.

"Richard?" she breathed. He paused, looking up at her sheepishly.

"I know, I know...you probably don't want me here. I shouldn't have come to your work to talk to you about this, but I...I couldn't let it wait, you know? Please just let me speak before you kick me out?" His voice was soft and careful, so different from the harsh, stinging tone he'd used the previous night, and Cuddy found herself deflating.

"Okay," she said.

"Lisa, I'm sorry." He took a few more steps toward her. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to...I know I can't say anything that will make it okay, and that's...that's how it should be. Because it wasn't okay. But Lisa, I promise it will never happen again. I promise..."

"Richard," Cuddy said carefully. "You hit me..."

"I know."

"And what about Rachel? After that-"

"Lisa...I would never..."

"I know, but..." She reached up to massage her jaw where the bruise under her makeup was still changing color. "I know you wouldn't."

"Will you give me a chance to make this up to you?" he asked.

She thought on that. Would she? Of course she would...but did she really want him? Of course she did...Of course, of course, of course, she kept repeating in her own head. Of course, this and of course, that, but those words must have lost their meaning somewhere along the way because they didn't provide anywhere near the amount of assurance that they once had.

"You're a moron."

Both Cuddy and Richard turned in surprise at the sound of that gravelly voice, barely suppressed fury boiling just beneath the surface.

"House..." Cuddy said, and she just barely had time to react before House was striding across the room, knuckles white from his hard grip on his cane, getting up close to Richard and narrowing his eyes menacingly.

"What are you doing?" Richard asked.

"I could ask you the same thing," House hissed. "Could ask you why the hell you came here after hurting Cuddy the way you did?"

"This is none of your business. You don't even know what happened-"

"I know you're slimey enough to hit the woman you supposedly love. Don't need to know much more than that, really."

"House, get out!" Cuddy said. "Richard's right, this isn't any of your business! I told you already, it doesn't concern you, so drop it!"

"No."

"What?"

"No, I won't drop it. I don't care if you're not with me, I still care what happens to you. Although you're making it really damn hard for me when you're apparently thick enough to still want to be with a guy who hits you-"

"You have no idea what you're talking about," Richard growled.

"I know enough to know that you don't deserve her," House replied icily.

"House-" Cuddy cried, but it was already too late; Richard's fist cut through the air and connected with the side of House's head, knuckles slamming into skull and sending House reeling backwards, just barely keeping his balance. "Richard!" Cuddy ran forward and grabbed Richard's shoulders, pulling him back as House steadied himself.

"Knew it," House said, a pained edge to his voice as he brought a hand to the side of his face. "Short temper. It figures."

"Both of you stop it!" Cuddy inserted herself between them in an effort to stop this insanity. "I will call security if I have to! This is ridiculous. House, get out!"

"Have you really sunk so low that you'll take a son of a bitch like him? You really do welcome all comers, don't you?" Cuddy bristled.

"And you wonder why I want to divorce you," she spat. At that, House stepped back, shooting the sourest of glares that he could at Richard before he limped out of Cuddy's office.

"Good riddance," Richard mumbled, and Cuddy looked at him incredulously.

"You hit him."

"It was self-defense."

"Richard, I don't want to hear it. House is a bastard, but you're certainly acting no better."

"I came here to apologize-"

"We can talk about this later, okay?" she sighed, rubbing her temples. "I have to go take care of this."

"It's already taken care of. Why do you keep chasing after him?"

"Just let me take care of this," she repeated, leaving no room for argument. "Go home. We can talk about this tonight, okay? Just go home..."

She left him there in her office, hoping to God that he would listen to her and be gone by the time she returned.

She found him in the parking garage, stalking toward his piece-of-junk car, obviously fuming as he searched for his keys.

"Where are you going?"

"Home," he barked. "A bar, Tuscaloosa...It doesn't even matter as long as I'm away from here."

"House-"

"Have fun with your boy-toy, Cuddy. I promise not to get in your way anymore."

"House, if you leave now I will fire you." He paused at that, and finally turned to face her. His expression was eerily devoid of emotion, as if he was so buried by hurt that all he could do was hide everything behind a stony mask lest she see just how much pain he was in.

"Fire me, then," he spat. And he got into his car.

Cuddy didn't move from her spot, didn't try and stop him as he put the key in the ignition and sped away.

Cuddy should have let him go. As much as it hurt to see him leave, as horrible as she felt for knowing that she was at least partially responsible for the pain she'd seen in his eyes, it was the smart thing to do. The safe thing to do. She should have gotten through her day, gone home early, hugged her daughter, talked to Richard and moved on with her life the way that healthy people were supposed to.

But instead she was at his door.

She stood there, motionless, for about ten minutes, thinking back on all the other times she'd stood here in front of this door, debating whether or not to knock and wondering if he already knew she was there. She thought of the time she'd found it ajar, let herself in and seen him lying on the bathroom floor, pills in hand, how they'd made love in the early hours of the morning, not caring what it would bring. She thought of the time she'd almost left before he'd grabbed her by the wrist, looked her in the eye and told her he loved her, so frightened, but so sure that he meant it, about how she'd smiled as her heart had warmed with affection and pride in her chest. She thought of the kisses, the wordless gazes, the long nights spent breathless and tangled in the sheets and each other.

She knocked.

He came to the door more quickly than she would have expected; she'd thought that he would be avoiding her, but he just looked resigned, worn, so very tired that it made Cuddy's chest ache.

"I don't want to fire you," she said wanly.

"Figured you wouldn't come all the way here to tell me that," he replied.

"House-"

"Let me guess. You don't need me to protect you. You don't want me to interfere with your relationship anymore. You want me out of your life. I've already gotten all that, thanks."

"I wanted to marry him."

The silence that descended after she spoke was heavy and stifling.

"I want to marry him," she corrected. "Richard...that's why I wanted you to sign the papers. So we could make it official."

"Figures," House spat, turning from her, but leaving the door ajar.

"What, you don't think I would want to settle down with anyone after you, House?"

"No, it figures that your judgment would be so shot that you'd want to marry a guy who hit you."

"I told you it doesn't concern you, House. You don't know what happened."

"I saw what happened in your office. He has a temper, Cuddy."

"You provoked him."

"And did you provoke him?" House hissed, gesturing bitterly at the mark on her jaw. "When he did that to you, did you provoke him then?"

"I-"

"Don't you dare say yes, Cuddy. Don't you dare, or I'll lose the last of the respect for you that I have."

"Things escalated, House. We talked about it. I've been with him for a long time, House. He's not violent."

"Sometimes you don't know someone at the start. People don't change. They just show you who they really are. Do you really want to be married to him, to have him help you raise your daughter when that happens?"

"I married you, didn't I?" Cuddy spat.

"And why was that, huh?"

"What are you-" He advanced, looming over her as he spoke, but she wasn't afraid. She was never afraid with him. Angry yes, frustrated yes, betrayed and hurt and furious at times; but never afraid.

"Why did you marry me?" His voice was soft now, more genuine, like he was actually searching for an answer instead of just trying to prove a point. "You've known me for years. You knew I was never a nice guy, not like you apparently think Richard is. But you married me anyway."

"Because I loved you," she admitted.

"Why?"

Suddenly she could see all the pain in his eyes, and not just the pain from this afternoon, not just from the bruise forming on his face. She could see all the pain from the night when she'd left him; from the day he'd come to pack his things and take them from her house, making it feel too big for just her and Rachel; from when he'd knelt down to her daughter and told her that he wouldn't be around much anymore before saying goodbye and ruffling her hair. All of it swirled in his eyes, coupled with pain from years gone past, from absent fathers and missed meals and nights spent in tears instead of sleep.

"Don't you think you deserve it?" she asked.

"I never did."

The look on his face when he said that...it was enough to rip Cuddy's heart out, enough to make her want to curl up and weep for him because that that moment, she knew he believed it, and it just made him look so tired, so empty.

It took her a moment to realize that she was kissing him, slow and deep and desperately wanton, like it was the last time she'd ever kiss him and she wanted to commit the feel of his stubble and the taste of his breath to memory forever. As if she was back in time, back on that night before she'd left him, when she'd kissed him so chastely, her mind already wandering to separation at every convenience, not knowing that it would be the last time.

She didn't think about how wrong it was, didn't think about how horrible it was to be doing this now when she'd been pestering him to sign the divorce papers for days. She couldn't. It hurt too much. So she ran away inside her own head, finding solace in the way his tongue flicked across her lips, how his arms wrapped around her like he was just as desperate for this as she was, how his muscles flexed beneath his shirt. All the little things she'd missed, without having realized it until now.

"I don't want you to leave..." she found herself saying, and she told herself even as she melded her body to his that she was talking about his job.

"Maybe I should..." he said, his lips just a breath away from hers.

"Don't," Cuddy pleaded. "Don't..."

She was undone.

This was not about the future; the future could wait. This was about her, and it was about him: House and Cuddy, Greg and Lisa, husband and wife even now. She could not fathom the concept of wrongness as they waltzed their way to the bedroom to a lopsided meter, she following his lead along with every beat of their hearts. There was no wrong here; wrong could not exist here, not in this warm embrace that filled her up from her toes to her fingertips and everywhere in between. There was no wrong; there was only want.

She wanted him. She wanted him to want her. She wanted to love him and let him love her, to make sure he knew he deserved it and feel for a moment like she deserved it as well. She wanted his bravado, his asinine misanthropy, his rugged, rough-edged soul that would cut anything that got too close without knowing just where to lay bare hands on it safely.

She wanted the man who had played with her daughter after her bed time and who had let her sneak juice when he'd thought Cuddy had had her back turned. She wanted the man who had fought through the pain to dance with her at their wedding reception, even if it meant having to stretch his leg out under the table for the next hour. She wanted the man who was a danger to everyone, including himself, but who had always made her feel safe around him. She wanted the man who had so much love to give that it scared him, that he chose pain instead because that was what he understood best.

He nipped at her neck, mumbling words against her skin that she couldn't understand, and she pressed her nose into his hair, smelling earth and mint. Was it possible to love a scent? To really love it as much as the person? Was it possible to love a familiar touch or a sound or word?

"Do you want to go?" he asked breathlessly even as they lowered themselves onto the bed, shedding clothes as they went. "Go back to Richard...to Rachel..."

"I should," she said, cupping his face in her hand. "I should...I know I should...but I can't...I have to...have to..." She sighed and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pulling herself up to kiss him once more.

Their lips moved together even as they were joined, and held him close, flush against her bare body, pressing him tightly against her at every point she could. It was as if she wanted to melt into him, into his flesh and bone.

"Why did you leave?" he asked even as he moved slowly, languidly within her. There was no pretense now, and there were no walls to hide behind. He was pleading, begging her for an answer even though she knew it wouldn't help. "Why did you..."

"Why did you let me?" she said, and he opened his eyes then, and she knew that she must have been going crazy at that moment because she saw tears shimmering there.

"I shouldn't have..."

"You were too stubborn not to." She moaned helplessly beneath him, rolling her hips against his, just needing to be closer. "So was I...always too stubborn...always..."

Her palm went flat against the plane of his back, running down his spine, resting at his hip before she locked her legs around his waist and her fingers around his neck, pulling gently at his short hair.

"Why did you love me?" he asked, so softly she thought she'd imagined it amidst their sighs and murmurs. She opened her eyes then to see him staring at her, intent and focused.

"Because I couldn't help it."

She cried out beneath him soon after, desperately pulling him closer because she just needed to feel all of him against all of her one more time before she could possibly even think of letting it go. She pressed her lips to his neck and whispered soothing things in his ear as he with rigid and shook in her arms.

She didn't know when she fell asleep; it happened so quickly that she didn't have time to feel any regret. But she was only asleep for about an hour, waking up in darkness, enveloped in warmth. When she turned over, House was staring at her, his electric blue eyes cutting through the shadows to find her.

"If you want..." he said, eyes and tone both equally broadcasting utter resignation, "I'll sign them."

"Why?" she asked.

"If you want," he repeated, and he rested his head back on the pillow and pretended to sleep.

She slipped out in silence and told herself that she didn't say anything more because she didn't want to wake him.