Props to mlover4evr for that AP Bio skit. It made me really happy ;)

Don't own House. Even though I really wish I did because Lucas would NOT be dating Cuddy if I was in charge of the show. Pfft…what makes you think I'm angry? I'm not angry…I'm just voicing my opinion…lol. Enjoy!

Chapter 10

"This is not going to work," Cuddy yelled into her phone as she drove back to House's apartment. She had gone home and picked out a few outfits for work and something to wear to bed. Currently, she was trying not to run into something due to her anger.

"What makes you say that? Where are you?" Wilson asked.

"He's staying with you. He's going to kill me!"

"No, he won't! Where are you?" he repeated.

"I'm on my way to his place!" she yelled, frustrated. "I just left my home."

"You left him alone?"

"Yes…no…he's only been alone for fifteen minutes and he's not going to go anywhere. I took his keys. We stopped by his place so he'd get something to wear for the next couple days and he ended up locking himself in his room like a three year old."

"And you're the one who's now looking for something to wear for the next couple days," Wilson completed, thinking to himself. "It's brilliant, really."

"Wilson! This is ridiculous. It's like taking care of an annoying third grader."

"Well…you always wanted kids," Wilson suggested.

"I am not doing this."

"He was tired and exhausted and probably wanted to be alone for a while. He wasn't trying to make your life hell. Well, that might have been an added bonus in his point of view but I seriously doubt that inflicting pain was his primary motive this time."

Cuddy was about to argue but her mouth immediately clamped shut as she thought about it. It was such a House thing to do, she felt like an idiot for not realizing it at first. Why was she being so insensitive? She knew House, understood him more than most people, and yet she was assuming the worst. "He could have just said so…" she mumbled.

Wilson scoffed on the other line. "Yeah, that sounds like House. Talking, discussing…"

"Okay, I get it," she interrupted, pulling up in front of House's place. "I have to go. Good night, Wilson."

"Good night. And try not to kill each other."

Right, she thought to herself as she hung up and exited the car, carrying her duffel bag with her and let herself inside. The lights were off so she assumed House was sleeping. She was about to drop her stuff quietly on the couch when she noticed there was something already there. She quickly switched the lights on, hoping it wasn't House passed out on his couch.

It was a blanket – two blankets she soon realized – and a pillow along with a single slip of paper. She picked it up and read it, a small smile forming on her lips.

And you thought I was mean…

She chuckled and sat down and as she did, she immediately felt guilty. She didn't give him half the credit he deserved. Despite everything that had happened, he had come so far by himself. She was forgetting that this had nothing to do with her and that he still hadn't even talked about what had happened to him, and she doubted he would voluntary come out and talk about it. She had to give him time.

She thought back to the night she realized he was having nightmares. It was affecting him, and probably still was, but it went down so much deeper than she thought. She had to give him time, and she had to prove she understood.

She got up to change and noticed that House's door was half opened. She peeked into the room, feeling nosy but pushed the emotion aside. He was sleeping, his back facing her. Slowly, she closed the door completely and got ready for bed.

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He is cutting him again, starting from the crook of his elbow and working his way down – but the increments are shorter and the cuts even longer. House can't see Ethan this time but he knows it's him. There's no one else it could possibly be; no one else that would try so desperately to cause him this much pain.

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

He remembers this question. He remembers his last answer – it was a mistake. He doesn't remember it hurting this much and he wants it to end – forever.

"Do you want me to kill you? Tell me."

Yes…he whispers, in between grimaces. He's sure this time. It's not worth it, nothing is worth this. He's lived his entire life a prisoner to his pain. He doesn't want more – he doesn't need more.

"Do you want me to kill you?"

It doesn't matter. He's close to his wrist now – in a few moments it will be over.

"Tell me."

Yes! Yes! Let me go…

It's over now. He needs to make only one single incision now, and he'll leave, free from the disappointment, free from the pain. His breathing is shallow and it feels like someone has poured alcohol into his wounds. He's given up, and this is the only thing he's holding on to.

Ethan makes the cut. It's sharp, quicker than the others and hurts the least. He sighs, knowing that it's finally over. It's over…it's over…

But he's going nowhere. He's still the there. He feels the warm blood seeping from his veins, dripping onto the floor and swallowed by the dry earth below. Ethan makes another incision in the same place – he feels the pain but he's going nowhere.

House's mouth goes dry as he realizes he hasn't escaped.

The cuts are made again and again. Ethan is laughing as House absorbs each infliction of pain, realizing that he's been cheated of the one thing he believes he truly wants and deserves. He deserves escape, he's earned the right and yet here he is, still in Ethan's grasp.

He's been cheated by death.

House woke up with a hard jolt, taking in a deep breath. He turned quickly, ignoring the pain in his arm and leg, and checked his alarm clock. It's two o'clock in the morning and the third time he's woken up. Frustrated, he slowly pushed the covers off and half-swung, half-fumbled his legs over the side of the bed, grabbing his cane. There was no point in staying in bed if all he was going to do was stay up.

On his way to the bathroom, he detoured to the couch to sneak a peek at what Cuddy was wearing. He laughed quietly when he saw she had her blanket wrapped tightly around her up to her neck, as if she suspected he would come over to check. Well, at least she had no problem sleeping, he thought to himself as he opened the bathroom cabinets.

He shoved bottles and containers aside, looking for something that could get him to sleep. He found a bottle of sleeping pills and quickly opened the bottle only to find it empty.

Damn it, he muttered and tossed it in the trash nearby. He missed but ignored the bottle and hobbled back out of the bathroom toward the kitchen. He quickly poured himself a glass of scotch and checked the clock again, wondering how many glasses it would take for him to pass out completely. Sure, putting himself into an induced coma wasn't exactly the equivalent to sleep but it was better than no sleep at all. And this way, he'd probably end up too out of it to dream anything worth remembering.

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Cuddy's internal alarm clock woke her up at seven thirty and for a moment she completely forgot where she was. She took in a deep breath, completely relaxed. Almost instantly, her eyes shot open. This was definitely not her bed.

The events from the night before came rushing back to her and she buried her face back into her pillow and closed her eyes, realizing for the first time that it smelled like him and that, most importantly, she liked it. She smiled into the pillow.

She heard a cupboard close in the kitchen and instantly she sat up. House walked out of the kitchen with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich in his hand.

"Good morning, Cuddles!" he announced as he limped over and sat down on the piano stool.

"Do you usually get up this early?" she asked, tiredly crossing her legs and pulling up the blanket. He can get up at seven thirty but he won't get his ass into the hospital until lunch time. Go figure.

"I never got up to begin with," he said taking a huge bite from his sandwich.

Cuddy's eyes squinted trying to understand what his point was. Her eyes widened as she understood. "You were up all night?"

"Thinking of you and what you were wearing under all those warm, warm blankets," he hinted. He took a good look at what she was really wearing and pretended to be annoyed. "And all my pondering definitely was not worth it."

She was wearing an oversized t-shirt that had to be three sizes too big and sweatpants. In all honesty, House thought she looked hot, but he wasn't going to say that. Why won't I say that? he asked himself, a little confused. It was something he'd say and Cuddy definitely wouldn't read into it at all. What made him not say it? Did it mean something? Oh, great…even when Wilson wasn't around he was still stuck in his head.

"So…you were up all night?" Cuddy asked, ignoring the statement and snatching House from his internal argument.

House didn't answer. Instead, he stood up and made his way back to the kitchen, finishing the sandwich. Cuddy quickly scrambled from the couch and followed him.

"Were you having a sleeping problem before?" she asked, playing dumb. Back at the hospital, he had no problem sleeping…it was just sleeping well that was the issue. But she wouldn't tell House she knew that. At least, not yet.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a white bottle just outside the bathroom door. She picked it up and scowled. Sleeping pills. And it was empty, she realized when she shook the bottle. "How many of these did you take?" she demanded, her blood boiling. She wasn't angry; she was terrified. He emptied a bottle and he still couldn't sleep? Oh, God he hadn't done something stupid, had he?

"I didn't take any," he said without even looking at what she had in her hand.

"House…"

"Have I ever lied to you?" Cuddy's glare told him to cut the crap and House quickly answered. "Don't answer that. The bottle was empty when I got it. Cuddy's shoulders relaxed and she exhaled loudly, grateful.

What Cuddy found in the kitchen, however, was slightly more terrifying. Two empty glasses and a bottle of Scotch. What were the odds?

"How much did you have last night?" she asked.

"Not enough," he said smirking devilishly and reaching for one of the glasses and the bottle of Scotch. Cuddy quickly took the bottle before he could reach it.

"Well, that's hardly fair," House muttered, acting upset.

"House, if you can't sleep, you can tell me."

"You're right," House said dropping the glass and surprising Cuddy. "I can't sleep…I need a friend in bed with me to help me sleep. Looks like you're next in line."

"I can write you a script for some sleeping pills," she told him, not even cracking a smile. She was worried. House didn't answer but reached out towards the top drawers to get the jelly for another sandwich. Cuddy couldn't help but stare at the stitches along his arm and anger instantly welled up inside her. She wanted to kill the man who did this to him.

"Stop staring at it," House said when he found the jelly, not even looking at her.

"I…"

"What can I say? Blue stitches really make my eyes pop. It's very dramatic."

She smiled a little but put the bottle of Scotch down, for some reason sure he wasn't going to take anymore – at least for a while. "House, are you sure you're okay?"

"Fine," he answered looking around for the bread.

It was a simple answer. Too simple and straightforward; there was no mocking, no jest, no "Get your administrative-need-to-fix-everything head out of my kitchen". That one word told her everything – that he was not fine; far from it.

She went over to his refrigerator and bent down to see what he had. There was nothing in there that she would voluntarily choose to put into her mouth.

"Stop staring at it," she said without looking at House, stealing his words. She could practically feel House's eyes trying to see through her pants.

"What do you usually eat?" she asked, getting back up. She picked up a carton of orange juice and checked the expiration date before opening it up and looking around for a clean glass.

"Whatever Jimmy is eating, of course! Besides, haven't you ever heard of Chinese take-out…?"

Chinese-take out. It was that damn Chinese-take out that made him open the door in the first place. Maybe if he hadn't ordered he would've been too lazy to answer the door that night. None of this would have happened. Ethan wouldn't have had the chance to take him away from his home, into that basement. Ethan wouldn't have had the chance to put him through all the agony, all the pain. The gunshot, the cuts, the stabbing…

"Are you listening to me?"

He blinked once, Cuddy's voice bringing him back to the present. "Hmm?" he asked, still not really paying attention.

"I was asking if I could drink this…" she said, shaking the juice carton. "Not for permission…I just wanted to make sure something wasn't already living in it." The vacant stare filled his eyes again and Cuddy tried to snap him out of it. "House?"

"What are we talking about?" he asked. The vacant stare was still there, but with an added element: confusion.

"The juice…" she tried to explain. "You okay?"

House frowned a little, apparently not sure if he was fine. He opened his mouth to say something but no sound came forth. The confusion in his eyes gave him away and he took a step back, but faltered. Immediately, Cuddy dropped the juice and tried to help him stay on his feet. House tried to catch himself on the kitchen countertop but slipped and fell to the floor.

"House!" Cuddy said, lightly shaking his shoulders. "House, can you hear me?"

House mumbled something incoherently, his eyes half opened. Cuddy placed the ends of her fingers on his neck and tried to open his eyes a just a little more. His pulse was racing and he was showing no signs of awareness. His breathing had accelerated and his arms were moving in some jerked motion, sliding away from him on the wooden floor. His good leg was making the same motion and Cuddy realized he was trying to move. No, not that…he was trying to move away from something. He was somewhere else completely; his mind was entirely unaware of his surroundings, of what was really happening.

"House stay with me…House!" she said looking around for a telephone. She didn't want to leave him for too long, out of fear that he would end up hurting himself, but the longer she left him the more likely he'd end up hurting himself anyway. Oh, God…

Cuddy was about to get up and dash for a phone when she noticed the jerks decrease. She stayed where she was holding on to him. His breathing slowed as well as his pulse but he still wasn't completely there; she needed to get him to a bed or the couch – somewhere else.

"Okay…it's okay, you're okay," she quietly reassured him, trying to figure out the best way to get him out of the kitchen. "House, can you hear me?"

House showed no signs of awareness, his gaze was off into space and he wouldn't so much as blink. His mouth was still half open as if he were asleep. Cuddy continued to talk to him, as she hooked her arm under his, hoping he'd come to. "House, I'm just going to take you to the living room…stay with me, okay? Can you hear me? Do you know where you are?"

She had no idea how she was supposed to move him all by herself and she considered calling Wilson for help. All of a sudden, House grunted, gaining awareness and his eyelids twitched as his breathing completely stabilized.

"House, can you stand up?" she asked, not wanting to push him too hard.

He answered by moving his legs toward him and attempting to support himself. Cuddy held on to him as he slowly got to his feet and together, they stumbled toward the couch only a few meters away using the wall as their support. As soon as they reached the living room, she slowly lowered him down on the couch and bent down next to him, trying to get a response. "Do you know where you are? Can you hear me?" House's gaze remained undetermined but his mouth opened and closed, trying to tell her something.

"It's okay, just rest…"

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"Wilson, it's me," Cuddy spoke into the telephone as she cleaned up the spilled juice in the kitchen. House had come to but was still in a daze. The two of them had managed to make it into his bedroom and he was currently sleeping. Cuddy knew he needed it.

"Well, it's nice to know that at least one of you is still alive," Wilson joked.

"He had a panic attack," Cuddy quickly blurted, scared she would change her mind.

"House? What happened?"

"I was just looking through his fridge for something to eat and he just broke down…like he was trying to get away from something. He looked so desperate and he was completely unaware of what was happening," her heart raced as she explained what had happened, reliving the moment. "I think it was a flashback."

"Where is he now?" Wilson asked, also worried.

"He's sleeping. And that's another thing; he didn't sleep at all last night. I think…I think he had a nightmare."

"What makes you think--"

Cuddy sighed, knowing she'd have to tell the full story sooner or later. "He's been having nightmares since. I found out a couple days ago when I walked into his room to check his chart back at the hospital. The insomnia, the dreams, the panic attacks… Wilson, this is classic PTSD." She whispered the last part, not wanting to believe it herself.

Now it was Wilson's turn to sigh. "You need to talk to him."

"No, no, not yet. Not now, at least."

"Cuddy, either you talk to him or someone else does."

"I'll talk to him when he's ready--"

"You can't do this by yourself, you know that," Wilson insisted, trying to make her see reason. "Last night you didn't even want to have anything to do with him."

"That's not true, I was just frustrated! I would never abandon him if I knew--"

"You can't do this by yourself," he interrupted. "He needs to see someone else. Eventually."

"Do you honestly see him visiting a shrink?" she said as she mopped up the last of the juice.

"Eventually. For now he just needs to handle what's going on. And so do you." After a pause, he asked, "Are you sure you want to do this?"

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Did he think she wouldn't want to take care of House, make sure he was okay?

"Nothing, calm down. In case you've forgotten you're also in charge of an entire hospital. If this is too much you can leave him with me."

"Me being in charge of a hospital didn't stop you last night when you dumped him on my hands!" As soon as she said it, she silently cursed. Is that what she thought? He was a burden? "Crap…I didn't mean it like that. I want to make sure he gets better. I can do this, Wilson. If I ever need you, I'll call."

"Okay. Promise to call me if either of you need anything."

"A decent amount of groceries would be nice but I can go get that later," she said as she drew her hands over her face. She had only been up for less than an hour and she was already exhausted. "I'm going to be here today so make sure anything I had planned gets cancelled...including the meeting with the donor at noon."

"Alright, I'll talk to you later."

"Thanks, Wilson."

"Sure."

It's shorter than the last chapter but I don't think it's too bad. REVIEW PLEASE!