Part 10

"You forgive me?"

There were times that Gregory House looked much like a little boy lost. Right now was one of them, his eyes conveying both surprise and hopefulness. Clearly clemency was something he desired but had apparently been resigned to never getting.

Cuddy couldn't help but smile. "I can never stay mad at you, House. I've tried. God knows I've tried, for years. And I tried earlier today and I just couldn't find it."

Confusion and bewilderment moved to the fore.

"You should be furious," he stated plainly.

She knew she should and yet ... "Perhaps."

Now he looked skeptical, which didn't surprise her. He was a cynic and her response was cryptic at best. She could tell he was waiting for the other shoe to drop, like he always did. So she dropped it.

"What makes you think you don't deserve forgiveness?"

His frowned deepened. His gaze took on a keen edge.

"Because I could have killed you."

And there it was. The elephant in the room. The one thing she wasn't sure either of them was going to give voice to and the one thing that had disturbed her most about what'd happened.

Cuddy had been pissed off but time and distance had ultimately given her perspective on the dissolution of their relationship and what had led up to that day. She'd done a lot of soul-searching and eventually let herself look at it through what she knew about the man.

Not the arrogant, narcissistic prick he could be, but the one who'd loved her first. The one who'd helped her get over her fear of motorcycles, who'd taught the joys of sex, who'd retrieved her medical school desk out of storage to replace the one in her office. The one who'd challenged her to stand up to her mother when the woman's life hung in the balance. The one who'd kept the secret of her IVF treatments when he could have tossed it into the gossip mill. The one who did more good than he did any real harm. Couple all that with her compulsion to forgive him everything and there had been only one possible verdict: House would never have tried to kill her.

Looking at him now, though, she challenged him because it needed to be done. "You don't think I know that?" She paused a moment then continued, "You scared the hell out of me, and I was beyond angry for a long time. But ultimately I knew that it was never your intent to take my life, or any one else's. It's not in you."

He looked away from her but she forged on, her tone softening.

"House, you are not and never have been a violent man. I know that. I knew that then," she said. "But you are impulsive and self-destructive, and when you're hurting, every part of you hurts, and pain can take any of us to places we'd otherwise never go."

When he looked at her again, Cuddy confessed her own sins with a simple statement.

"I broke your heart."

"Cuddy-"

She shook her head and cut him off with a plea. "Let me just say this, please."

He offered no protest or further interruption, just looked at her gravely.

"I'm not making excuses for you over what happened, but I played a part in what led you to that point."

Seeing another protest rising, she again shook her head at him. She could practically see the negative, self-flagellating thoughts forming in mind. He was preparing to take all the responsibility for what'd gone wrong between them. Damn his father, she thought but held House's gaze when she continued, practically willing him to listen to her and not the poisonous legacy of his childhood.

"I wasn't fair to you and I have to own up to that," she stated unequivocally. "And I can't believe I'm saying this, but my mother was right. I do have a ridiculous set of standards, for myself and others. You came up against those with your relapse and I…"

Cuddy looked away from him, then laid out her shame before him.

"From the outset, you warned me of where we could end up," she began. "You reminded me of how you had, could, and would hurt me. I knew that. I've known you nearly half my life, so it wasn't news to me. But I believed we had to try because I didn't think either of us would ever be happy without giving it a chance." She took a deep breath, centering herself before continuing. "The problem is that I think I was just waiting for that moment to come and expected the worse so that when it did, I used it as an excuse to end it before we hurt each other worse."

She looked up at him again, told him, "We probably could have worked through it if we'd talked, but we didn't. We didn't try to fix it or make it better. I had wanted to know if we could work but the truth is that relationships require actual work. And I didn't put in that work when it was needed most."

"You weren't alone in that," House interjected.

"No," she replied, "but you made an effort."

He looked at her with absolute honesty. "I was an ass, Cuddy. I retaliated with the deliberate intention of hurting you."

"Yes," she acknowledged. "You wanted me to feel as bad as you did because I didn't let you see my own heartbreak. I knew you felt guilty enough without adding my devastation onto the heap, but that was a major miscalculation on my part because it made it seem as if we hadn't mattered. It didn't relay my desire to ease your pain but instead sent the message that we'd meant nothing to me when, in fact, we meant everything. We always have."

"It doesn't excuse what I did to you."

"No," Cuddy agreed, "But I know what part of you it came from." She paused just a moment before definitively declaring, "Your father was an absolute bastard."

House looked taken aback by the indictment. He responded with "You only met him once."

"Once was enough."

And it was true. Cuddy had only met the man once, during a dinner years ago, and she'd taken an immediate dislike to him. He'd belittled House at every turn — in public. Clearly nothing House had done had ever been good enough for the colonel. Cuddy had barely made it through the meal without jabbing her fork in the man's eye. She'd thought about that over the years and wondered what it must have been like for House as a child. She had and still suspected much of House's psychological pain stemmed from his upbringing, and his reaction to her mentioning the man only confirmed it. He looked away, shame filling his gaze.

Cuddy's heart broke for him. That shame had nothing to do with his general assery as an adult but everything to do with a boy who'd been denied his father's affection and approval because he wasn't who is father wanted him to be. Cuddy reached out to him with words, making the same offer she'd made years ago.

"I know you don't talk about it but if you ever want to..."

Cuddy let the rest go unspoken and glanced down at his hand, which lay near her hip. Gently she took it into her own and he let her entwine their fingers. She smiled at that and looked up to see him smiling, too. It was a somewhat shy expression - not something many people ever associated with House. But there it was.

"Thank you" was all he said.

Cuddy squeezed his hand gently then struck a contrite tone when she spoke again.

"I'm sorry, House," she began, her smile falling away. "I'm sorry for not giving you credit for your efforts with us, for not giving us a second chance." She squeezed his hand again. "I deeply regret that I didn't at least try to save us."

For a moment he just looked at her, quiet and considering, then he spoke softly but with a dash of levity that was desperately needed in that moment.

"Cuddy, you do guilt better than anyone I know."

Through tears threatening to spill, she found herself smiling again. It wasn't a new accusation. "I'm well trained, thanks to my mother."

House's eyes flashed with amusement. "You do realize you've mentioned her twice in one conversation? Is that a sign of an apocalypse of some sort?"

A soft laugh escaped Cuddy's lips. "Maybe," she responded then added, "Of course this could be, too."

With a tug on her hand, House coaxed her to come to him. She went, easing up to stretch out alongside him on the bed. She was mindful of his leg as she laid her head on his chest and draped her arm across his body. He helped her settle, his arms wrapping around her. He held her close and kissed the top of her head. His breaths warmed her scalp for several minutes before he spoke. His voice was infinitely soft when he did, but his body grew tense.

"Tell me," he whispered into her hair. "How does a man who believes actions are more important than words apologize to the woman he loves for disappointing her and driving a car into her house, just because his feelings were hurt?" He threaded his fingers into her hair and cradled her closer to his chest as he pleaded gently, "Please tell me because I don't know, and I need to know."

With a tearful smile, Cuddy tightened her half-embrace and let her eyes fall shut. She whispered then, telling him what he truly needed to know, "You just did."