Chapter 7

House sat on the edge of the hospital bed, his bag packed. Cuddy was awkwardly gathering her things, obviously trying to procrastinate the inevitable. "Before you go, I need to say something," he told her. Cuddy faced him and fidgeted. He looked right into her eyes as he spoke. "I could have killed you. I could have killed Rachel. Anyone in that house. I could have hurt you or Rachel or any of them. It was, truly, the most thoughtless thing I've ever done." She stared at him, taken aback. "It's the truth, and I'm sorry," he added.

She leaned against the doorframe. "I don't know what to say exactly."

"You don't have to say anything. That's the beauty of an authentic apology." He sighed, like a heavy weight had been slightly eased. "And I should thank you too. For coming. For all this." He waved his hand around the room to signify all the awfulness that she had helped him through in there.

"House, I… I didn't ask you to do this. This isn't… There isn't some promise that…"

"Relax, Cuddy. I didn't detox for you." She studied him. "I could never get clean for you, or I'd have done it a lot sooner." He saw her shifting her weight from foot to foot before she finally decided to just plop down in the chair across from his bed.

She furrowed her brow. "Was it the Vicodin? The crash? Were you…" She trailed off.

He looked at the speckled tiles on the floor as he spoke. "Was I taking Vicodin? Yeah, of course. Was I high enough to be out of my mind? No."

"Then… what? Why did you do this?"

House swallowed hard and kept his gaze steady on one particular tile with a chipped corner. "The Vicodin is the problem. Well, a huge part of the problem. And I realized it when I saw Rachel."

"You don't want her around someone with an addiction - " Cuddy started to explain for him.

"No," he interrupted. "I mean, yeah, but… It wasn't parental or protective. It was an epiphany." Cuddy waited for more explanation. "I don't know if you'll understand this, for a million reasons."

"Try me."

"I saw her and… the gravity of what I'd done hit me, yes. And something told me I had to tell her. And something else told me I had to get a pill. And you were there and she was there and I knew I couldn't just pop a pill right then. And so I had to listen to the other impulse. I had to… stay there." He pinched the bridge of his nose for a brief moment, right between his eyes. Then he looked up at Cuddy again and he told himself to try to trust her. He concentrated on the silvery blue windows staring back at him. "That's what I do, when I'm in pain," he explained. "I take medicine… I mean, that's how I saw it, how I always felt okay with it. But then I watched Rachel hear this unbelievably crazily upsetting confession from me, and I watched her face. I saw these flickers of confusion and sadness and anger and fear. And then she took this deep breath and she focused on me and what I was saying, how I was apologizing and she was able to get over her emotional response. She didn't get hung up on any one of those emotions, but just kept going and… I guess… connecting with me. And that's what hit me - a six year old was able to do something I couldn't do, Cuddy. The Vicodin… over time, I've just forgotten how to handle the pain. Not just my leg, but any pain. I've forgotten how to just be… human, I guess."

Cuddy stood and stepped closer to him, slowly. She took his hands from their resting spots and held them in hers. "You… have a lot of pain, House. Of all kinds," she told him.

He shrugged. "I know. And I've used that excuse, with others and with myself. But the thing is, there's always some line in the sand, right? Some place where the excuses no longer hold up. And… I wasn't especially high, Cuddy, when I drove into your house. The drugs didn't cause something in that immediate moment. But they caused me to be completely unable to handle those emotions. I saw you in that window and I told myself to leave and this part of me knew everything I was doing was wrong, but this other part of me thought I just… could not weather this. That it would break me, if it didn't find some release." He saw her suck her lips in and he knew it was because that part of him was the giant chasm between them. "And that part of me is new. I was always crabby and skeptical and pompous, but I didn't have to hurt things - or people - to handle my pain." He looked back down at his tile. Cuddy squeezed his hands.

"That's really… amazingly insightful, House."

"Yeah, well. Thank your kindergartener. She's my new shrink, by the way." He looked up and winked at her. Cuddy hugged him to her, pulling his head to her chest. He wrapped his arms around her waist, snuggled against her, and murmured, "The girls miss me."

Cuddy gave a throaty laugh. "I'm glad that even sober you are basically an adolescent. It's reassuring." They just held onto their embrace for a minute. Then Cuddy finally spoke. "I hope… God, I just hope everything for you." He laughed at her ineloquence. He pulled her tighter to him.

"See, like right now, I don't want you to leave and my hands are already getting ready to pat my pockets." Cuddy pulled back and looked down at him. She looked sad.

"I have to go, House."

"I know that. I'm not trying to manipulate you. I'm just trying to help you… understand me."

She nodded. "I'm not sure I'm the one who was so in the dark about all this." He grinned and nodded. "And I'm really proud of you and – I mean, Christ, House, you know I love you. I just think, for the immediate moment, we need a little space. But, you know, I could... could come back."

He made a clicking sound in his cheek. "Yup. You could. That's what I'll keep telling myself. Just stay away from all the other surly genius misanthropic diagnosticians, okay?"

"Oh, don't worry about them," she said, waving her hand like this was the silliest idea in the world. "It's the limp that gets me." She smiled down at him.

"Well, that's a weight off."

[H] [H] [H]

House sat there thinking for a few minutes, watching the hustle and bustle that was so familiar playing out in a different medicinally-scented context. He was just about to stand up, grab his bag, and head out, when his phone rang.

"They miss me already, don't they?" he teased when he answered. Cuddy laughed. "I thought we needed space," he reminded her.

"I'm walking away as we speak," she promised. "But…" He waited. "Look, I just have this stuff nagging at me and I don't know if this is the time… but…"

"Jesus, Cuddy. Spit it out. We never do things at the appropriate times."

She sort-of laughed but it morphed into a heavy sigh. "What happened between us… What you did was… very awful…" she trailed off.

"Well, this has been a nice chat," he joked.

"Shut up and just listen. This is hard for me." So he did. "I just… I feel guilty, House, because I recognize… I'm not an idiot. I know that I did a lot of things wrong with us. I am part of this mess. And I feel guilty when I think you are taking the whole burden of our, like, demise on your shoulders."

"I'm not."

"Because, yes, you should have been capable of handling your emotions – even these overwhelmingly hard emotions – in a very different way."

"I know."

"But I also was not handling mine in a functional way."

"I know."

"And that must have frustrated you."

"It did."

"And, in a way, you have a right to hate me."

"I don't."

"Don't have a right or don't hate me?"

"Don't hate you."

There was a long pause. He could hear the clicks of her entering her car, the door slamming shut. He pictured her safely nested inside.

"Why not?"

"Because I love you."

She groaned. "Dammit."

He laughed. "What?"

"It's like even when you're trying to be simple you complicate things. I've spent forever loving you when I know I'm not supposed to, when I know the things you say and the things you do mean I shouldn't. How can you just... stay there, without fighting it?"

"I've told you why. Most of the time, it feels good."

"But what about the rest of the time?"

"I don't worry too much about that."

"Why not?"

"Because it wrecks the good part. It bleeds in, if you get too hung up on the bad part. It metastasizes." There was a long silence. A nurse stepped into his room and began talking to him in a hushed tone until he gave her a dirty look and waved her out.

"I'm sorry I broke up with you the way I did. I was scared of how mad I was at you." House didn't respond. He didn't want to tell her it was okay, but he didn't want her to feel too bad, and he couldn't decide what to say. "And I'm sorry I was so hard on you for so many things during our official relationship. I know you were just being who you always were and suddenly that wasn't okay."

"What, are we listing our sins backwards now?"

He heard her take a deep breath. "And I'm sorry for how I started things, for how I started us."

"Don't be sorry for that, idiot."

"No, I… I did it all wrong, House."

"You… Cuddy, you saved me that night."

"I could have saved you without sleeping with you. I'd done it before."

"It wasn't the sex - " he started to protest.

"No, I know. I know… I just… Look, here's the thing and I just have to say it all because it's the truth."

"I like the truth."

"Well, the truth is, I have loved you so long I can't really remember not. And part of me always thought we would end up together. And that possibility both thrilled and terrified me. Because being with you… it's thrilling and terrifying. And so this part of me kept wanting to preserve that possibility, to keep you there on the horizon. And another part of me wanted to tie it off, to move on to something that made more sense and was tidier and safer for my heart. Because I like everything to be tidy and safe and perfect, House, and you are not even capable of pretending to be perfect. And then, God, then Lucas came along and I don't even fucking know why… He was connected to you a little. So if I did that, if I settled for him, at least I'd have this tangential connection to you… and it just went on like that for a while." She paused and he gave her space to gather her thoughts. "And then he proposed and I was so fucking conflicted about the whole thing, but I just bit the bullet and said yes… and then there you were in my face right away with that goddamn book and your goddamn stubborn way and your help with that girl. And I tried the whole fucking time to just stick to my choice and hate you enough that it would end this. This!"she yelled. "This thing we're in right now, which is us ten and twenty years ago just exponentially more complicated. And I tried to scream at you and tell you to leave me alone, but this other half of my core self was screaming at me that I'm crazy and doing the wrong thing." She was crying now. Not heaving or sloppy, but he could hear it in her voice.

"Cuddy, you don't have to explain yourself to me."

"Yes, I do, House, because I make you explain yourself to me all the time." She took a shaky breath. "So I couldn't do it. I couldn't marry someone else and let the possibility of us go."

"I'm glad," he reassured her.

"But the thing is, I did the fucking same thing in reverse. I chose the other path, the path with you, but had one foot out the door the whole time."

That hurt. He'd always felt it and so it was validating, but it hurt him to hear her say it, to admit that she hadn't really been in it with all her heart.

"So I really fucked it up, House. You're exactly right - it will bleed into the good stuff. I was so scared of what we might be that I never really enjoyed what we were. Instead of letting the realization that I couldn't marry someone else lead me to open myself more fully to the possibility of you – to slowly get ready to make that choice – I jumped from one conflicted situation to the other and pulled your heart along with me. And I butchered it. And I'm sorry. I'm really not that good at handling my emotions either, and I can't even blame a narcotic."

House laughed quietly at her joke because the rest of it was so tragic.

"I should have gone there and comforted you and made up with you and taken your stash and put you to bed and just gone home. And then I should have allowed us the space to start, in a way that wasn't linked to pain and addiction and broken hearts. I know it looked like I was being bold and brave, but I was really just too chicken to try it in the clear light of day."

House waited a beat and then asked the only thing he was thinking. "And what are you now, in the clear light of day?"

"I'm taking the time to figure that out. To not make the same mistakes. To not hurt either of us."

He considered her process, her equally-analytic nature. "Can I just suggest one thing?"

"Yeah."

"I've come to the conclusion that if we avoid the pain, a lot of other stuff goes with it."

He heard her click her tongue. "Yeah."

[H] [H] [H]

"Well, hello, Greg." Nolan said as House dropped into the chair across from him. House met his eyes for a moment and then started looking around the office. "How are you?"

"Well, I'm visiting a shrink, so you can probably infer a few things from that."

"I also saw you going through withdrawal, so I can infer a few things from that."

"Like?" House tossed back.

"Like something bad happened. Some sort of rock bottom, to make you willing to go through that."

"Or… like something bad happened and that's why I ended up back on drugs in the first place."

"Not as interesting," Nolan explained, which was so Housian it piqued House's interest.

"Why not?"

"Doesn't have to be rock bottom to make someone go back on drugs."

"Yeah, my meter ran out and I just couldn't take it." Nolan chuckled and then just waited.

House stopped fidgeting and just sighed, finally settling his gaze on Nolan's face. "You weren't hallucinating. You weren't suicidal. You weren't arrested. So I'm just curious about the chain-of-events."

"Yeah, apparently you have to be hallucinating or suicidal or arrested to get in here. I'm the only one who's denied entrance into the loony bin."

"You don't need in-patient treatment."

"How do you know?"

"You were out there. In the world. And you showed up now, right?"

"So if I stop showing up for appointments, you'll hospitalize me?"

"Have you thought about why it is you want to be in a place most people are trying to get out of?"

House shrugged. "It worked before."

"You think living here is what worked?"

"I just thought I should do it all the same way."

"Why?"

"Because it was successful the first time."

"That was then. This is now."

"Okay, thanks. Wanna open a few more fortune cookies before I pay you for the hour?"

Nolan smiled patiently. "House, you're doing this for a reason, the same way you detoxed for a reason. As your doctor, it would be helpful to know what that reason is." House shifted a little and brushed something off his shoe with the other foot. "There's only one way this is gonna work, House. And I'm not saying you have to tell me everything, but you can't bullshit me. You can't lie to me. Just give me some truth, and we'll go from there."

House scowled. He looked at Nolan. "You know about… about Cuddy and prison and all that?"

Nolan nodded solemnly. "I know some of it, from perspectives other than yours."

"Well, I think I just recently started to… understand it. And… it scares me a little."

"Why?" Nolan asked, as if House had done the most innocuous thing in the world, driving through someone's home and getting sent to prison.

"I think I have forgotten how to handle bad feelings… the really bad ones… without Vicodin." He explained to Nolan how he had come to see Cuddy again, had gone to try to win her back in some valiant way, and been caught unprepared for Rachel and the emotions she conjured up. He explained that moment of being simultaneously in his shoes and hers and admiring her ability to handle it all. He relayed his own memories of handling it all - violence and fear and disregard at the hands of someone who supposedly loved you. "I don't want to ever be that man," he declared, the object of his spite neither specific nor hypothetical.

Nolan looked at him for a while, and House was used to it. Nolan had always taken his time sizing him up, probably trying to decide which of many things to address first. "Well," he began, "it seems pretty clear to me that we need to talk about your father, House."

"There's nothing to say. You know it all anyway."

"I know broad strokes. But you're coming here asking for help with something nuanced – how we handle overwhelming emotions. You're telling me stories to prove you once did it successfully, and saying that you fear you've lost that ability because you relied on painkillers for too long. Well, there isn't a simple formula. We have to go back and figure out how you did it."

House stood up and began pacing a little, not frantically, but slowly around the room. Nolan sat quietly. "That crap doesn't define me. I don't even think about it anymore."

"Are you sure that's a good thing?"

"Look, all I want is to be able to function with people. I don't wanna be Mr. Congeniality or start adopting orphans or something. I just don't want to avoid… avoid loving someone out of fear of hurting them. I wanna be able to handle my own shit without hurting anyone."

"I understand. And I'm suggesting that the roots of that impulse might be very deep."

House whirled on him, pissed off. "You're suggesting that he broke me! And it's bullshit. I never let it get to me."

Nolan stayed quiet while House gathered himself back in, turning to a window and drumming the sill with his fingers. After a minute he asked, "Why is it you're so willing to live on the margins – to be seen as possessing unusual intelligence, to be unusually antisocial, to manage an unusual amount of pain – but being told something run-of-the-mill - that you experienced a classic childhood context for fostering problems in adult relationships - puts you off so much?"

House stared out the window, his brow furrowed. He felt naked, exposed, and so he didn't want to stay but he couldn't leave in this state. "Because if you tell me that that stuff matters, then you're essentially telling me I'm so fucked up I'm unlovable." He swallowed hard and thought of Cuddy, deliberating somewhere about whether he was worth the risks.

Nolan smiled and changed the cross of his legs. "House. I'm telling you that stuff matters. I'm telling you you're fucked up. And I'm telling you it might just take a special kind of love."