Hey ma peeps.

The reason I haven't updated in SO LONG: AP Biology. That class hates me. One day, you're going to log into FanFiction and say "Hey, where's writingmonkey10?" And AP Biology is going to waltz into your room from your computer and say, "Oh, her? I ate her." I don't understand why it hates me so much. Sigh, but I'm on Thanksgiving Break so hopefully I'll be updating a bunch this week. ;)

Don't own House. Enjoy!

Chapter 9

House woke up to a loud slam of papers. It was Wilson presenting his friends with a pile of discharge papers. Oh, how convenient.

"What…" House moaned angrily. All of a sudden, he snapped his eyes open, realizing that he had woken up – to the slamming papers. No nightmares this time – a first in a week and a few days. Things were looking up.

Wilson waved the papers above him. "Discharge papers. Need your signature in a couple places before Cuddy makes her mark. I'd forge it for you to save you the trouble but I figured you'd gladly sign it yourself. After all, you're directly benefitting."

"Gimme!" House said like a three year old.

Wilson half threw them over and House skimmed to see where his signature was needed. He frowned and pouted. "I thought you said you needed my signature in a couple places?"

"It is only a couple," Wilson argued.

"Yeah, right...you should have just forged it," he complained.

Wilson rolled his eyes. Of course he'd whine. "Yeah, my bad. I'll keep that in mind for next time you land in here."

"What's that supposed to mean?" House asked suddenly.

"What's what supposed to mean?"

"The next time I land in here? Just so you know, I don't plan on getting kidnapped any time soon."

Wilson was speechless for a moment. House was being defensive…over something he'd been ignoring and at times, casually deflecting. Casually mocking even. This was different. "Okay…just sign the papers so you can get out of here in a couple of hours."

"A couple of hours? That's bullshit. I'm an employee; can't you pull a few strings? Don't I get benefits?"

"You not being fired is about as large as a benefit you can possibly receive. And by pull of a few strings you mean do something illegal that could get me fired," he noted.

"Oh, Cuddy wouldn't fire you…but yes, if you could do something illegal that worked I'd be very happy."

"Right," Wilson muttered. "Oh, and you are not going home…to your home, I mean. You can't stay anywhere alone."

"Don't you trust me?" House whined.

"There is no way you can walk three meters without collapsing--"

"I did it before!"

"And you were high on morphine! For the past few days all we did was put you on heavy dose pain medication. And as soon as you're off those you're going to feel the pain. And then you'll do something stupid."

"Will not," House scoffed. "I'm never stupid."

"It's either this, or you're staying here at the hospital, no matter how many times you decide to sign the discharge papers. And I won't be bringing you dinner."

House's eyes widened, pretending to be horrified – especially at the last sentence. Sarcasm put aside, House realized he was going to have to choose one or the other. There was no talking his way out of this. After a few seconds of contemplation he sighed. "Fine, as long as you're fridge is stocked with pizza and beer."

Wilson smirked a little, "Who said you were staying at my place?"

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"You said WHAT?" Cuddy half screamed. Wilson was standing in front of her desk in her office with that stupid, smug smile on his face. She wanted to slap it right off.

"Don't yell at me!"

"Oh, like hell, I'm going to do more than yell. I'm going to--"

"It's a good idea!" he quickly interrupted, not entirely eager to hear the rest of her threat. "You can both deal with what happened this way. Instead of running around in circles and getting nowhere."

"Wilson, are you insane? Did you even think about what you were saying when you said it? Scratch that, did you even think? I never knew House was coming over to my place so I have nothing ready, he's going to make my life hell, steal my tampons and hoard my bras…you know how to deal with that, not me."

"I don't have bras. Or tampons come to think of it…"

"You know what I mean! You know how to deal with him! Not me."

"So do you," Wilson argued back. "You hired him."

"I know how to handle him at work. Not when I'm stuck under the same roof for weeks on end. I'm going to kill myself…no, I'm going to kill you first." She threw her arms up in the air, giving up. "Forget it. He is not staying with me."

"He's not staying with me," Wilson replied firmly.

"What exactly did he say when you told him I voluntarily wanted to take him in?"

"I have no idea…I quickly walked out of the room without even glancing at his expression. Kinda wish I did now…"

"He's not staying with me," Cuddy repeated.

"You know it's a good idea. You were the one saying that he needs to take what happened seriously and that it doesn't' seem like it even affected him."

"Well, I was wrong," she half muttered, remembering her discovery a few nights ago.

"Exactly!" he exclaimed causing Cuddy to stop arguing. "That's exactly what I mean! You know he's suffering and you think it's best for him to stay at home by himself?"

"I never said that," Cuddy said, raising a finger, as if pointing to the statement. "I said he should stay with you."

"All this week and part of last, you two have been dodging the issue. If you brought it up, he'd bring it back down. You got nowhere. You've been trying to pretend it never happened. The problem is, it did happen, and you're both going to have to deal with it eventually. This forces you two to talk about what happened, like grown up human beings."

"Do you see this ending well, Wilson? House and I talking about our feelings?"

Wilson said nothing for a moment but laughed a little. That was the exact same thing House had said just the day before.

"What?"

He nodded a little and started backing out of the room. "He's staying with you or he's stuck staying here. Either way, he's all yours."

She was about to protest again but Wilson was already out the door. She groaned and collapsed into her seat behind her desk, trying to focus on the work ahead of her. Lying right on top of the pile of work were House's discharge papers. All they needed were her signature. It was either the hospital or her place. Thanks a lot, Wilson.

A small part of her, okay, a huge part of her knew that this was a good idea and what Wilson said made sense. If she wanted to talk to him, this was the way to do it – he had no escape. Sure, it probably wouldn't be five minutes before they started ripping out each other's throats, but eventually they'd make it to the talking stage.

She picked up the papers, pen in hand. Suddenly the task seemed a lot more formidable than it had five minutes ago. Sighing, she signed the papers, imagining all the ways she could make Wilson's life hell for making her do this.

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Wilson was right…once they took him off the magic drugs, it hurt a lot more.

House could concentrate, he could function no problem. He just had to get used to the idea of chronic pain again. A week-long break had been nice; now all he needed to do was get used to the idea. It hurts and it doesn't go away…how could you forget? In a feeble attempt to take his mind off it, he was in Coma Guy's room, watching some TV. Since he had no cable, he'd been making it a habit to stop by every now and then. Besides, Coma Guy probably missed him.

He heard the door slide open and looked over from where he was.

"Had a feeling you'd be in here," Cuddy said leaning on the door.

He let his head roll back and moaned. "Mommy….can I have some of the good drugs now?"

"Not unless you plan on staying here for the next couple weeks…which brings me to the reason I'm here."

Before House could say anything she quickly had her say. "First, I did not tell Wilson I wanted to take you in so don't flatter yourself." At this statement, House grinned, for some crazy, psychotic reason, pleased and apparently amused. Cuddy ignored the look and continued. "Second, you are sleeping downstairs--"

House scoffed. "It's not like I can get upstairs."

"—away from my bedroom. You will not enter my bedroom or my bathroom and you will stay away from my closets and drawers."

"Aren't the closets and drawers in the bedroom?" he verified.

"You got it?" Cuddy responded, not ready to play games. It was bad enough that she had to do this.

"So many restrictions…how do you expect me to have any fun?"

"I expect you to get better without you taking my underwear."

"You know…last time I was at your house for that one case, your stairs didn't stop me," he said grinning. "And you know quite well that they won't stop me now. And yet you're still taking me in…"

She knew this was coming, and had the perfect reply. "Works for me…you can park your butt here with Mr. Stevenson for the next couple weeks."

"Who's Mr. Stevenson?"

She waved her hands in the general direction of the sleeping man in the bed.

He rolled his eyes and pretended to whisper something to the comatose patient. "Some dean of medicine. She doesn't even know your real name…"

"You can have lunch with your coma friend for the next couple weeks, or you can stay at my place. Take your pick."

House pursed his lip in mock consideration. "As long as you don't cook any of that nasty tofu and expect me to eat it. At least coma guy doesn't care about what I stick down my throat."

Cuddy nodded. "And I'd like to keep this new arrangement quiet, if you don't mind." Which he obviously will, Cuddy told herself.

House grinned, verifying her speculation. "Oh, I do mind."

"Seriously, House."

"Relax, because it's you, I'll keep it quiet," he answered partially sarcastically. Partially being the operative word; a part of the statement actually sounded sincere and Cuddy had no idea how to respond.

"O-kay…" she said mostly to herself and quietly left the room. As soon as she was gone, House quickly massaged the gaping hole in his thigh. He stayed in that position for a few seconds, weighing the pros and cons – to move back to his room, or not? His leg was killing him which made moving anywhere last on his to-do list, but his arm was hurting too and it would take him forever just to change into a pair of pants…speaking of which, he was going to have to tell Wilson to bring up a pair. He groaned and grabbed the still attached IV pole, dreading the trek down the hall.

So he was moving in with Cuddy. Wilson had said she had volunteered but House had known that was an obvious lie. He could tell just by looking at that stupid grin on his face. If Cuddy had suggested it, all House would hear from Wilson was "You'd better not eat her by next week" or "Give her a break, she's hurting too" or "Don't look through her diary." Blah, blah, blah.

Under any other circumstance, he probably would've already set up booby traps or thrown out all her underwear. But things were…complicated. And House hated complicated, especially when it had something to do with him. He was going to have to talk about what he did, why he did it, what had happened before they had found him. He'd have to open up doors in his head he wanted to keep locked up forever, doors that hadn't been opened as of last week, and some even years before.

He didn't think he was quite ready for that.

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It was ten thirty at night and Cuddy was honestly surprised House hadn't dragged his butt downstairs to bribe, goad, or torture her out. Wilson had already left two hours ago and now, after finishing a mountain of paperwork, she was on her way out too. She grabbed her coat and purse and made her way to the elevators.

Meanwhile, House was in his room, struggling to put on his damn shirt. Wilson had brought over a pair of jeans and a shirt and House had decided to start with the jeans, deciding he'd rather be seen struggling to put on a shirt as opposed to a pair of pants. So far, he wasn't having very much luck. He couldn't lift up his arm above his head without it hurting and he didn't want to irritate his stitches too much. And as if that wasn't bad, he still had to put on a jacket. It was freezing outside.

Oh…and shoes. Damn it.

After two minutes of getting nowhere, he forcefully pulled the shirt over his head and straightened, ignoring the bursts of pain across his arm and chest. Once finished, he stayed seated on the chair and closed his eyes, rolling his head back. Nothing to do but wait for the pain to subside.

Moments after he closed his eyes, he heard the door slide open and the annoying squeak of wheels. He opened one eye, suspiciously, knowing it was Cuddy and a wheelchair. Just by looking at her face, he could tell she was pissed that he hadn't put on shoes or a jacket.

"House, what are you doing?!"

"You," he answered. "If you're referring to what's going on in my head."

"You haven't even put on your shoes!"

"You know, I'm flattered that I still have the ability to surprise you."

"It's past ten, you've had hours to--"

"Mommy, stop yelling at me!" House pouted, pretending to cry.

Cuddy sighed and sat down in another chair across the room. "Just hurry up. I'm tired."

House opened his eyes and turned to look at her, somewhat surprised. "You're going to watch me get dressed?"

She didn't reply but grabbed a nearby magazine, trying to ignore him.

House continued, knowing she was listening anyway. "Well, if you had told me that before I wouldn't have been wearing anything when you walked in here."

"I don't have time for this. I'm tired."

"So you said."

"Hurry up!" she half yelled slamming down the magazine. It wasn't really anything for her to get mad about. On the usual scale of severity, House not putting on his jacket was definitely a minor issue.

And of course, he knew that. He smiled a little, waggling her finger at her. "You, Lisa Cuddy, are mad at me."

"Of course I'm mad. I'm tired, I've had a crappy day and--"

"I would say you've had crappy days…you've been mad at me for the past two or so days now. I haven't even had the opportunity to get on your nerves yet. Well, to the best of my ability."

"I haven't even been in your room for two days."

"Which is how I know you're mad at me. And I haven't done anything all that dramatic recently. So you have no rational reason for being mad at me…"

"Just get dressed."

"So you're either pregnant," House continued.

"I am not--"

"Or…someone has pissed you off. And I'm usually the first candidate."

Cuddy sat back and folded her arms across her chest as she sat back, waiting for him to finish. She might as well, he'd continue anyway. When he said nothing, she started, "And if you're not the reason I'm pissed off?"

He shrugged. "That would make everything that much more interesting."

"So either way I'm enabling your endless curiosity."

House nodded once, pleased. "I love how that works. Don't you?"

"Just put on your jacket."

He rolled his eyes and grabbed the hospital cane next to him. Then he expertly extended it, allowing the end to pick up his jacket. Once he had dropped it on his lap, he repeated the same procedure with each of his sneakers. He stuffed his feet inside, not bothering to tie the laces. He wouldn't have been able to bend down that low anyway thanks to the pain in his side and chest.

Now for the exciting part. He managed to drape his jacket over half his shoulder but was having trouble getting one arm through the sleeve and keeping the jacket up at the same time. Damn arm…it was just as useless as the leg. If he cut off both he'd look like an oddly shaped half-person.

House didn't even realize Cuddy had left her seat to hold up the coat, allowing him to slip his arm through. Then she carefully held up his upper arm close to the crook of his elbow, touching his bare skin. The contact was quick and almost instantly covered by his sleeve, but Cuddy found herself holding her breath and trying not to look at the ghastly stitches as she helped him. When she did glance at him, she could tell he really was trying to get his arm through, as if it was the most difficult task in the world. A jacket. He couldn't even put on his damn jacket. The thought made her want to cry.

It's temporary. As soon as the stitches are out and he's recovered completely, he'll be fine.

He's House. He has to be fine.

When he had his jacket on, she stepped back, giving him room to stand up and walked over to the wheelchair. House only raised up his left leg and moved his foot around. "My shoes, Mommy...tie my shoes."

Cuddy smiled slightly and brought the chair closer, ignoring him. "You're going to be sitting in here so it doesn't matter if your shoes are tied."

"It's funny how you think I'm going to actually sit in that thing."

"Come on, House. Let's go."

He grabbed his cane and stood up and made a face at Cuddy and half hobbled towards the door. She could each step was painful; hell, getting out of the seat was painful. It was why he had used his cane to bring everything closer before he started putting it on rather than sit on the bed to get dressed. Moving was too much of a hassle.

After he had taken a few steps toward the door Cuddy moved the wheelchair behind him and tugged at his good arm – the one holding the cane. He stumbled a little but landed in the wheelchair with a loud sigh and show of rolling his eyes.

"You're mean," was his only reply.

"Of course I am," she replied half-heartedly as she led him to the elevators.

It was honestly a sight to see: House sitting in a wheelchair without plotting a plan of escape and Cuddy wheeling him out; neither of them complaining. Of course, they had already had their fair share of banter in the room but none of the nurses or doctors watching knew that. What they saw was something they had never imagined – it was almost terrifying.

Neither of them noticed the eyes following them as they left the hospital and forced into the cold and biting wind outside. Cuddy silently kicked herself for not parking her car closer.

Getting into the car proved to be another challenge. The wind was enough to make it that much harder for House to get up and when he did, he almost fell over. He managed to catch himself but not before Cuddy reached behind him to steady him for a moment.

"You okay?"

"I got it," he grunted finally lifting himself up completely and sitting down inside the car. She knew he hated the attention and he hated not being able to do simple things by himself, but she couldn't help but worry.

What could she say? She was an administrator; it was what she did best.

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"What the hell are we doing here?" House asked, exhausted. They were parked outside his apartment and the last thing he wanted to do was stand up if he didn't need to.

"We need to get you a change of clothes," she replied, undoing her seat belt.

"You get it," he murmured, trying to sleep.

Cuddy half snickered, not really into it. "I am not going through your drawers."

"Sure you can!" he said, smiling. "Unlike you I don't hold on to a bunch of meaningless rules that are going to end up being broken anyway."

"I am not going through your drawers."

House didn't answer. He didn't so much as move even a centimeter, making sure Cuddy understood he wasn't going anywhere.

Cuddy sighed loudly and got out of the car, slamming the door behind her. House smirked a little, his eyes still closed. His smirk quickly disappeared when the passenger door opened and the cold air rushed into his face. House opened his eyes, looking up at Cuddy who was glaring down at him. "Get out of the car!"

"No need to get all frustrated." he snarked back. But he swung his legs out of the car, grabbed his cane and stood up, closing the door behind him. It wasn't as windy as it had been a few minutes ago so he didn't have trouble staying on his feet. The two of them walked toward the door and House let them in. As he turned the key, he vividly remembered when he had opened the door almost two weeks ago just to see Ethan holding a gun pointed directly at him. He pushed the memory aside and opened the door.

It was just as he had left it that night. His cane was still lying next to the door where he had dropped it and a different jacket and bottle of Vicodin was still lying on the couch. No one had been in here since that night. House ignored it and collapsed on the couch, exhausted. He had moved around enough for one day.

"House, get up," Cuddy said, sitting on a different chair. "We need to get going."

"No."

"Please…get up…" she groaned, also tired. She just wanted to go home and get in bed.

"Watch me."

He wouldn't really stay there all night, would he? Cuddy thought to herself. Unfortunately, she was sure that was the case. House could sleep standing up if he put his mind to it. After sitting there for a full minute, House opened his eyes and slowly lifted himself from the sofa. Cuddy's eyes brightened for a moment, thinking he was about to get a change of clothes so they could get out of there.

She stayed where she was as House walked into his bedroom. Just before he closed the door, he yelled, "Good night!" and quickly locked it so Cuddy couldn't force him out.

Seriously?!? she thought to herself. She ran up to the door. "House!"

"La la la la la…" House sang in a high pitched voice. "You can't catch me…"

"House get some clothes and get out so I can go home!"

"I don't think you're in the position to give orders."

"I can't believe this," she said, walking away from the door and sitting down on the couch.

"Again, I am extremely flattered I still have the ability to surprise you."

He'll come out eventually, she told herself, knowing quite well he wasn't going anywhere. But this was pushing it, even for House. She didn't have anything with her, what did he expect her to do, sleep on the couch all night.

She laughed a little but stood up. Of course that's what he expected and she wasn't about to let him have that satisfaction. She took the keys he had dropped on a table and left his apartment.

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He opened the door a few seconds after he heard Cuddy leave. She'd be back, he knew. All she had done was gone to her place to get something to change into for tomorrow – and probably something to change into for tonight. House sighed, he was going to end up missing whatever she was going to wear to bed.

What he wanted most of all, however, was to be alone. Even if it only was for ten or fifteen minutes. He left the hospital cane in his bedroom and grabbed the one that was still on the floor next to the door, trying not to think of Ethan standing over him with a gun in his hand. As soon as he had, he quickly limped over to the piano and immediately began to play, trying to distract himself, despite the slight sting in his arm. Instead, he was replaying the events in his mind subconsciously, remembering. The click of the gun as he was led out of his apartment, the pain he was forced to endure every time he was kicked, punched and beaten.

You know why Cuddy won't fire you.

He remembered the sickening sound of the knife piercing his side, and the sharp sting as Ethan yanked it back out…

The helpless cripple. She feels sorry for you; she feels guilty.

…the sting of each of the cuts along his arm…

Do you want me to end it, House? Do you want me to kill you?

He was back in the room again. The stench of his own vomit was overpowering, his face was wet and sticky and blood was slowly trickling down.

Before I pull the trigger, you would have begged for me to do it days ago.

He could see Cuddy weeping over him, trying to save him but knowing it would take a miracle now. He could see the pain he was causing her. A part of him asked himself why she even cared so much.

Welcome to hell, House.

House wasn't fingers had long stopped playing and were now limp across the keys. He could hear him. He could hear Ethan, almost as if he was in the room with him, sitting on the couch, playing with the knife in his hand, mocking.

Welcome to hell, House.

The memories echoed in his head and retreated back into the darker holes in his mind, waiting to be rediscovered.

reviews are always welcome.