~ Frostbite ~

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House wished he could sleep through the night. Just once, especially this night. But, pain reared it's ugly head. His eyes opened wide, and it was all he could do not to curl up in a ball and cry.

He was spooned up against her bare back, one arm curled underneath his own head, the other draped across her body. Their legs were intertwined together. With a self control he didn't know he had, he disentangled himself from her limbs, leaving her snoring softly on the bed, then he limped out of the room.

It was cold in the living room. He had been happily warm underneath the comforter on the bed, and the chilly air caused his thigh to spasm even more. He sat down heavily on the couch, rubbing his leg, letting out hissing breaths of frustration as he worked the seizing muscle, trying to loosing it. It had been a nightly ritual for nearly a decade.

He tried not to wake them; he really didn't want them to see him like this. He didn't want anyone to see him like this, hunched over and wracked with pain. Tears of frustration stung his eyes as he drove the heel of his hand over and over the damaged muscle, trying to rub out the pain.

He paced a circle around her living room, and when the cramping became intense, he fell back on her couch, his chest rising and falling heavily. He closed his eyes, and he tried to massage the agony away, but it seemed to latch on to his nerves like a pit bull, not letting go.

He was so wrapped up in the intense ache, that he had failed to notice that she was standing in the doorway of the living room, watching him. She licked her lips. She had known that he had chronic pain; hell, the entire hospital was well aware of that fact, but she hadn't know just how bad it was.

She watched him, grunting softly as he attempted to rub the ache out of his leg, hunched over. The back muscles that she had caressed so lovingly just a mere few hours before had become tense and bunched with pain.

She bit her lip, trying to draw up the courage to walk over to him, to give him comfort, but her feet had turned into lead weights. She stood there, rooted to the carpet in the hall, watching him, her own eyes filling with tears.

No!, she screamed at herself. She would not allow herself to pity him. He didn't want it, nor did he deserve it. He just wanted to be perceived as a "normal" man. She blinked back the tears, swallowing the lump that had formed in her throat. She reached up, and she wiped her wet cheeks, watching him.

He caught the movement out of the corner of his eye, and he twisted around. He let out a hiss of surprise when he saw her there, and he quickly stood up. Unfortunately, his leg wouldn't support him, and it cramped up, causing him to fall back to the couch. "Dammit!" he cried, feeling the heat of her stare there. "Go away," he hissed through clenched teeth.

"To where, Greg?" she asked softly. Was that pity he heard. His lips curled up in a snarl, and he was ready to let loose a bitingly cruel remark, when she approached him. She held out a bottle of pills with one hand, while nervously playing with the sash on her silk robe with the other. "You left these in the bedroom," she whispered softly. "Come back to bed when you can."

She turned to leave him alone with his demons, but he darted out his hand. He gripped her forearm tightly, so tight, that she was sure she would have bruises the next day. "Stay," he choked out. "I don't wanna be alone." He took a deep breath. "I don't want to do this, alone."

She was startled at his admission. She didn't say a word, but she moved to the opposite end of the couch, and she curled up by the arm, tucking her feet beneath her. She didn't avert her eyes from him as he popped the cap open on his pill bottle, shaking the capsules out into his hand. He dry swallowed the pills, then leaned his head back on the couch, still rubbing his thigh.

The sky had lightened slightly, but there was no bright orange light. Thick white flakes still fell outside her windows, burying the world outside, and they sat in silence, waiting for the other to speak first. She shivered slightly, drawing the robe around her even more tightly than before. He seemed oblivious to the cold, sitting in nothing but what god gave him, rubbing his thigh, though almost absently. His brow was creased in thought. "Why?" he finally asked.

She tilted her head to the side, confused. "Why what?"

He frowned. "Why me. Why not Lucas? Why do you want an old, crippled bastard like me." He finally looked at her, his eyes piercingly blue in the gray light. "I'm just going to hurt you."

She rubbed absently at her arm, where he had gripped her so tightly the night before. "You have hurt me," she said softly. "You've hurt me with the word's you've said in the past. When you told me I'd suck at being a mother. All your comments about me not being a real doctor." She took a deep breath. "Your actions after I agreed to foster Rachel." She closed her eyes. "Your words, that night. In my office. Before..." she trailed off, looking away.

The silence that filled the room was thick. He stared at her for a long time, letting her words sink in. He HAD hurt her, more times than he wanted to admit. His words hadn't left physical scars, but he could see the small emotional ones he had caused. They were there, in her eyes, and he could see them every time she looked at him. He licked his lips. "I'm not going to apologize for all the things I've said," he mumbled, his voice hoarse. She opened her eyes, watching him. "I'm not gonna promise that it's not gonna happen again, it probably will." He admitted, softly.

She stared at him, feeling like the couch was a gulf separating them. "You know why I dated Lucas?" she asked, tearing her eyes away from him. "After you were released," she began, hesitantly, not waiting for his reaction. "After you came back, and quit, when you told me," she smiled sadly. "When I came to your apartment, and, you told me that," she inhaled. "That I wasn't the reason you quit."

He stared at her, "Yes? You weren't."

"I know, but...I realized I was trapped in a game you wanted out of," she sudden found a frayed thread on her robe fascinating. "Lucas had been making advances for months. Offering to baby-sit Rachel. Bringing me dinner." She couldn't look up. "He was there for me."

He stared at her classic profile. Not for the first time, he was reminded of the Greek goddess. Not Aphrodite, she was much to bold, too wise. Athena, maybe. Goddess of Wisdom. "I wasn't," he admitted, sadly. "And I can't promise you that..."

She lifted her eyes to his. "I know." She shook her head. "I shouldn't love you," she sighed. "but I do. I know it's gonna hurt more than it's gonna be good. I know that you're not going to be there when I need you the most. But you're then one I want. You're what I need."

He smiled, sadly. "As long as you don't have any expectations," he began, and she scooted closer to him. He drew her into a tight, one armed embrace, and she nestled her head against his chest. "Thank you," he whispered, softly kissing her dark hair.

"You're welcome," she whispered to his chest. At that moment, the power kicked back on, the television blaring through the living room, startling them both. Rachel began wailing at the sudden noise, letting them both know she was awake.

House scowled at the noise, and he growled as Cuddy got up, "her timing sucks."

She gave him a little grin, then went down the hall to tend to her daughter, leaving him to think about her words.