Author's note: I know there was quite a long hiatus between chapters here. For those still reading, I'm forging on. I will finish this story.
The trial had begun. Cuddy and House knew they would be called as witnesses, but they didn't have to be there every day. Actually, they were not permitted to attend the trial until the moment they were scheduled to testify so they wouldn't be influenced by other things they would hear. The pair talked very little to each other or to others. They knew the trial was going on and it was very stressful, but they tried to forget what was going on in the courtroom.
They both worked long hours and almost always went home together. They didn't formally live with each other, and they didn't talk to friends or family about the fact that they were a couple. Cuddy was still stressed about the trial, House was still learning to be in recovery, and they spent a lot of time leaning on each other. House was turned on by almost anything since he wasn't taking drugs anymore and Cuddy liked the contact and distraction he provided. There was a very close bond between them and they needed each other. Examining what was going on between them seemed too dangerous because they couldn't risk losing each other.
They were both called to testify on the same day. They met with the prosecutor to be as prepared as possible. Two other women had verifiably been attacked by the suspects: one had died, and the other refused to testify. After meeting her one time, Cuddy understood why. The other surviving woman looked completely broken, frightened and anxious. As soon as Cuddy saw her, she was even more determined to do everything in her power to ensure that the attackers would not be freed.
Cuddy entered the courthouse with House by her side. They waited nearly an hour before she was called into the courtroom. She stood, straightened her skirt and looked at House for reassurance. "I'll wait here until you come back," he assured her. Right before she walked through the door he said, "Get 'em, Cuddy."
Her eyes were fiery when she looked back at him before she went inside.
For the next half hour, Cuddy was inside the courtroom. House was relieved he didn't have any narcotics nearby, because he wasn't sure if he could have ignored the urge to take them if they would have been handy. Cuddy, with total tenacity, answered each of the questions the prosecutor asked her. She could see one of the brothers winking at her when her eyes would go toward the defense's table. If his goal was to intimidate her, he was failing. Each time she saw him, she became more emboldened. The way they looked at her creeped her out and made her skin crawl. She felt violated and dirty, but she wasn't going to let it stop her.
After the prosecution was done, it was the defense's turn to question Cuddy. Right away the attorney started to question whether or not the attack had even taken place. Then she began to see how they were defending themselves.
"Mr. Chapman has a different version of events, Dr. Cuddy," the attorney said. "He told me that you invited him and his brother to your home for sex."
"That is completely untrue," Cuddy answered.
"Is it? Why else would they have come to your specific residence?"
"I can't speculate about why they chose me. I'm not sure why they chose any of their victims."
"Alleged victims. I don't see any other so-called victims testifying. Now, Dr. Cuddy, my clients have told me that you made them wait for you outside when Dr. House came home. They claim that Dr. House caught you with them, and became enraged. They tell me that your injuries were actually sustained from his jealous rage."
"That's ridiculous. Dr. House and I weren't dating. Your clients also believed that he was my husband. Our relationship was not intimate when the attack occurred. Dr. House has never physically harmed or attacked me. He helped me get out alive that night."
"Not intimate then—perhaps it was solely sexual at that time."
"It was professional. He was also a friend. Our relationship was not in any way sexual. Even if it was, that has nothing to do with—"
"Just answer the questions, Dr. Cuddy."
The prosecutor spoke up, "Your honor, I object. Why is this relevant? Dr. Cuddy is permitted to have a personal life."
"It's indicative of Dr. Cuddy's character. The fact that Dr. Cuddy invited Mr. Chapman and his brother to her home for sex supports my client's claim that her injuries were sustained from Dr. House's actions."
"Hurry up and make your point," the judge decided.
"Dr. House was hurt, too," Cuddy answered before questioned again. "And even if I did, what about the other women?"
"Your honor, please instruct the witness to avoid such outbursts and only answer the questions she is asked," the defense attorney requested.
"Dr. Cuddy, you are so instructed," the judge stated.
"Now, Dr. Cuddy," the defense continued, "do you often make it a habit to proposition strangers?"
"No. I do not."
"Do you make a habit of sleeping with your employees?"
"No. I do not."
"What exactly is your relationship with Dr. House at this time?"
Cuddy cleared her throat, "We're personal and professional associates."
"I'm confused, because Dr. House seems to show up a lot at your home late at night. Do you use Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital as a hunting ground to meet men to suit your—"
"Objection," the prosecution interrupted. "He's badgering the witness and this is irrelevant. Dr. Cuddy is not the person on trial here."
"Sustained," the judge answered.
Cuddy answered the rest of the questions. The claims seemed ridiculous, but they infuriated Cuddy. The case still sounded strong, but it seemed completely unfair that she, one of the victims of these attackers, was being accused of anything in that situation.
The one thing she knew, the defense attorney, the two attackers staring her down, the pressure of being under such scrutiny, would not break her. These people in the courtroom would not make her lose her poise and they definitely would not make her cry.
When she stepped down from the witness stand and walked out of the courtroom, she did so with pride. House was worried when she found him. "What happened?" he asked.
"I'm done."
Before she could say anything else, House was called in. They didn't question him in the same way. The prosecution asked him to testify about what he had witnessed that night. The defense asked about his relationship with Cuddy, and he looked confused. His answers were becoming more snarky, and then he realized that the defense was trying to get him to lose his temper. They wanted to prove that he was an angry, dangerous, jealous man who was capable of assaulting Cuddy. House also knew that if he really lost his temper or said anything too far out of turn, his testimony could be thrown out.
He was so angry that he was sweating. When he was done he realized that his left hand was grabbing onto his left leg so hard for so long in anger that he had trouble letting go. He limped out of the courtroom with tremendous pain. Cuddy was waiting for him, still stoic and unemotional. Once he joined her, she was concerned for him when he looked closely enough.
The prosecutor came out to update them. After all of that, they had to leave because there was nothing else they could do but wait.
When Cuddy was driving back to the hospital when she asked, "Do they need you?"
"My team?"
"Or anyone else. Are you needed at the hospital?"
"No."
At the next intersection she turned to go a different direction. House wasn't sure what she was trying to do. She wasn't going to his apartment, her place or the hospital. She pulled into the hotel they took refuge in after the original attack. She got out of the car and walked up to the entrance. He didn't ask questions and she didn't explain. They both knew. She got them a room. The same room they almost called home was open, so she requested it.
After they were inside, she closed the door and he heard her go back to her full locking ritual and then she grabbed the chair and braced it against the door knob. "I'll be right out," she said before she went into the bathroom and showered. He heard her lock the bathroom door to keep him out.
When she came back into the room with a towel wrapped around her, she looked like she might crack.
He asked, "What happened at the trial?"
She shook her head and stood in front of him. She showed him a moment of worry before she answered, in complete control, "Not now."
He didn't have time to respond because she unzipped his jeans and reached for his dick. He was torn at first because he wanted to know what happened in the courtroom. He wanted to know what had her so clearly upset, but it was hard to ignore her hand. It didn't take much for her to start making him hard, and really his resistance only lasted for about thirty seconds before he realized he didn't want to resist.
"You sure you don't want to—you know—talk or—anything?" he asked, uncomfortably making a last ditch effort to be a gentleman.
She pulled him to the bed. She didn't take off her towel or engage in foreplay. She was really mechanical, and he liked how she went for what she wanted, but didn't like how she acted like she was emotionless. Still, with the way she was turning him on, he wasn't going to stop her. He lay back on the bed, his knees still bent and hanging over the side.
She knelt over his hips and didn't pause before she lined up the head of his cock with her core. She wasn't wet like she normally was. She was wet enough to take him in, and her tight pussy swallowed his whole erection in one slow but forced downward push. She didn't move once she had him in her. She was sitting on his lap as she stared up at the ceiling. She looked like she wanted to cry, but wouldn't let herself do it.
"Cuddy?" he asked.
"No," she shook her head once to the side, hoping that he would stop talking. She couldn't handle him caring about her.
His hands rubbed her thighs while his thumbs stroked along her skin. He was honestly worried about what was going to happen because she was obviously not at all okay. Sensing that he was starting to worry, she started to ride him. Her eyes were closed while she moved. She seemed relieved that they were having sex, but not really all that turned on. The sex was just something to do that felt better than anything else at the time.
He grabbed her towel and pulled her down. He kissed her, wanting her to enjoy the sex and hoping to stop her sadness. "You're so hot," he said. He kissed her again but felt like he didn't really say what he wanted to say and she wasn't really listening anyway. So when he stopped kissing her, he said, "You're so beautiful," because it was so much easier than saying that he loved her. It was hard to say even though he'd said it before.
She closed her eyes tight shut and tried to concentrate on the man between her legs. She sat up again and started to slide him in and out of her body, enveloping him in her tight sheath. She stopped again with him inside her and he asked with concern, "Are you okay? You really want this right now?"
"Don't worry, I won't leave you frustrated," she hissed through her teeth.
"I didn't say that."
"Fine."
"Fine," he answered, groaning when she started to move a little.
Her expression made her look like she was in so much pain. "Am I doing something wrong?" he asked, even confusing himself by asking her questions when he could have shut up and fucked her.
"Besides the fact that you keep talking?"
"Cuddy," he said with a firm voice.
"Don't."
"Come closer."
"You're inside me, I don't think I can be much closer."
He moved to his side, forcing her to fall onto the bed next to him. They were facing each other, half of his cock still in her. "I don't feel like talking," she almost screamed.
"Good."
He started kissing her neck and shoulders, opening her towel. He was feeling all over her body. She seemed to like it for a minute, but she became frustrated very quickly. "Just fuck me," she ordered.
"That's what I'm trying to do," he snapped back, but it didn't stop him from caressing her body.
He was already moving in her, but after her orders, he picked up the pace. She was getting wetter in response to him, making her hot was his biggest turn on. Things between them became passionate, some would say rough. They were like that though. She scratched through his skin with her nails as they were each fucking each other with such vigor.
"Harder," she instructed, counterthrusting against him just as roughly.
He could feel his cock hitting the end of her each time and feel her entire body spring back on the force of his thrusts. Her hands reached for his ass so she could pull him against her until he couldn't get any closer. By that point he forgot that he was worried about her. All he could feel was the insanely good sex and the fact that he was going to cum really soon and really hard. She was moaning, her voice getting higher and higher until she cried out in relief.
The repeated stimulation was nearly too much for her but he kept going, cumming as soon as her body began to release its tension. The way his dick twitched as he unloaded in her caused mini after-orgasms while she gripped his shaft, drawing every drop from him.
His arms were heavy around her while he felt the way she kept moving her hips against his pelvis until they were both completely finished. His breath started to return to normal while he noticed the sweat dripping down his spine and along his temples. Fucking Cuddy was definitely the best thing in the entire world.
As he started to come down from the perilous high of cumming and making her cum, he remembered how distraught she had been. He felt almost bad for not being more tender and gentle with her. She didn't want tender and gentle, she wanted passion. She needed to forget the other places in her life that were so miserable. She needed him. It usually made them feel better when they'd replace sadness or worry with sex. It was their respite.
Her eyes were closed, her neck craned while she faced away from him.
"Cuddy?"
"What?" she sighed. Usually she sounded relieved after sex, but she still seemed concerned that he was going to bring it up again.
"You okay?"
"Don't worry about it. I don't expect that from you."
"I want to know," he said when he kissed her neck.
"We have to get back to work."
"Take the day off. You still sound worked up. I can help with that."
"You want to fuck again?"
"I always want to fuck again."
"Fine," she answered, "then drop the cross examination and let's fuck."
"In a few. I'm not that quick."
"Let me up and I'll check my email until you're ready," she said, pushing his shoulders.
He trapped her against the mattress, "What the hell did I do to piss you off?"
"You didn't do anything, let me up."
"What happened?"
"Nothing."
"You can't make everything perfect."
"I'm not trying to, House, leave me alone!"
"Never."
She stuttered, but shook her head and turned away.
"Why don't you trust me yet? What do I have to do to make you trust me?"
"I do," she sighed, but she remained unfeeling and cold. "Some things are best unsaid."
"Like what? Like 'I love you'? You know that I love you. You can't turn that on and off at your convenience."
She struggled to get away but he wouldn't let her leave. "Let me up," she complained.
"Why? You afraid of me suddenly?"
"No. You're trying to get answers from me and you aren't playing fair."
"I want to know what's wrong so I can fucking help you. I don't like being shut out. I hate this whole unfeeling thing you're doing."
She looked angry and he thought she was going to unleash on him. Then he saw all of the pain from the day on her face. As soon as she allowed herself to acknowledge how he felt, all of her emotions woke up in her body again. She stuck her face against his chest and wrapped her arms around him like she was never going to let go.
She faced him for a second when he thought she was going to say something, but he could see how difficult it was for her. Speaking seemed painful, but she finally said, "The testimony went well but the defense claims that I invited them back to my place for sex. They want it to seem like I was consenting—like I'm some slut inviting disgusting men who haven't bathed in days into my bedroom. I guess I'm that desperate."
"Who cares if you're a slut who invites disgusting men who don't bathe into your bedroom?"
"I care. And I'm not a slut—"
"I'm not saying you are. I'm saying that even sluts who like the hygienically challenged don't deserve to be beaten, raped and potentially killed. I don't see how it's relevant."
"Neither do I. The worst part was I could feel their eyes all over me. They want me. They want to hurt me. It's demeaning, creepy. I hate the way they make me feel. And I don't think anyone believed their defense, but maybe it cast enough doubt. I don't know what I'll do if they go free. In there it was all very—real. I remembered everything. I could feel them there. I keep trying to put this behind me and it keeps coming back. I think I'm better and I'm not."
"There's always a chance that those feelings will come up. Sometimes it's no problem at all, sometimes it is, like my addiction, too. It's part of us. Just because you felt like shit after having to face them doesn't mean you aren't doing well. It means you felt like shit after you had to face them. You're so fucking strong. You're doing this for the woman who's too scared to do it for herself and for the woman who's too dead to do it for herself. You're doing it for the women who might be out there who were too scared to report the crime and for all of the women they didn't have a chance to attack because you stood up."
"Don't be nice," she said, sadly.
"Fine, you're also uptight, domineering and you have a really big ass."
"Well that's better."
"I'm not being nice, I'm being mean. I'm forcing you to see what you're not seeing. If I was nice, and if I had half a brain, I'd be fucking you again right now and I'd never say this crap."
"Even you need a break."
He reached for her soaked slit and started to touch her again. "It'll time out."
"Some twenty year olds would be jealous of your rebound time."
"It's not me—it's you."
She got on him again after enough time had passed and they were ready for sex, enveloping his rock hard erection within her for the second time that afternoon. She gave herself a minute once he was the whole way inside her, but this time she looked at him and asked, "What if I always need you?"
He stalled for a second and said, "What if you stop needing me?"
"I don't think I can go back to that."
"Good."
They shut off their minds and their words and returned to speaking the language they spoke so naturally.
