Rachel blinked slower and slower, finally giving in to sleep by draping her long eyelashes over her large brown eyes. The blissful expression on her face as she drifted off reminded House of how tired he still was from all the events of the past 24 hours. House's eyes began to mimic Rachel's, blinking more slowly as he limped back into the bedroom.
He passed the bathroom and heard the shower still running. House imagined a very wet, very steamy and very sudsy Cuddy and he momentarily considered a repeat performance of early this morning. As he turned his attention toward the door to the master bath however, his right thigh suddenly locked up mid-stride. He was barely able to hobble over to the bed as he fell forward, grunting in pain.
His hands began to massage the knotted muscle while he blinked back the tears that had sprung unbidden to his eyes.
What on earth was he doing? He was a train wreck of a human being, both emotionally and physically. How was he going to take on all the responsibilities that came with a relationship with a single mother? Hell, he wasn't happy himself, how was he supposed to make Cuddy and Rachel happy?
He had asked Cuddy if she thought he could fix himself because he wasn't sure if he could fix himself. Lately it seemed that he was completely unfixable.
And he was completely serious when he told Cuddy that he was "the most screwed up person in the world." Her response had been to tell him that she knew all of that but that she loved him, even though she wished she didn't. Which would prove stronger in the end, her love or her wishes?
So far, until last night, she'd chosen her wish, her dream to live a normal life, have a child, get married. Now she had reversed gears and chosen him. House knew he could provide none of those things. So how long would it take Cuddy to come to that realization and return, once again to her dream, forsaking the love that she said she felt for him?
The tension in his leg began to abate somewhat as he continued to massage his thigh. His childhood memory of his first ice bath had shaken him to his very core. And this was only the first day of his new relationship with Cuddy and her daughter. What other horrors would he remember with continued, constant exposure to the two of them? Would he unconsciously take any of that out on Rachel?
Tears once again filled his eyes that had nothing to do with his aching right thigh. He'd already become too close to her. He felt Rachel's chubby little hands wrap round his heart as she looked up at him with such an innocent expression. She trusted him immediately and entirely as she kept saying his name over and over while he fed her, sang to her.
Had he at one time looked at his father the same way? Had his own father ever felt protective of him or had he only seen his son as a lump of clay, to be molded and forced into the shape that he desired thereby betraying his son's innocent confidence in him?
What the hell had he been thinking? Had he suddenly become a wuss like Wilson and gone all sappy for Cuddy's little rugrat? Was it really worth the effort of opening his heart to Cuddy and her child for just some good sex? Okay, great sex.
But it was so much more than that. House felt it, knew it. He could not simply write off his feelings, or Cuddy's for that matter, as simple lust needing to be released. Like two battle-weary warriors, they had fought, for years, until last night when their fighting and retreats ended in a standstill. There was no victor. Only two people that had risked everything, lost everything and then found everything . . . in each other.
And House knew that no matter what, he could not give her up. He had come too far, wanted and needed her for too long, loved her. Was that the word? More importantly, was that the feeling?
He searched his heart. He felt so old, so tired, so beaten down by life and logic. House was not sure if he was even capable of love any more. He was not sure if he wanted to be.
People did stupid things when they were in love or even when they thought they were in love. Cameron and Chase's brief marriage, Foreman and Thirteen's equally brief affair, Wilson and Sam . . . were all evidence of that.
House considered himself lucky not to have been sucked into the vortex of unreasonable decision-making that came with allowing your emotions to run away with your brain. Love was just an excuse. Like the alcoholic who blames whiskey for his misdeeds, lovers blamed love for the invisible free pass they felt it gave them to chain down another person and remake them into whom they thought the other should be.
There was no unconditional love, not to House. As a rational person, having never seen it, he simply could not believe it existed. But hadn't Cuddy come to him last night without reservations? Hadn't she given him the choice to take the pills or not, to accept her love or not?
The truth of the matter was that the choice had been his. Cuddy's love allowed him to make his own decisions, just as she had made her own. She broke things off with Lucas without knowing what his reaction to her would be, before they had even started a relationship.
And that's what frightened House. He knew his choices in the past left a lot to be desired. He pushed the envelope again and again, pushing relationships, friendships, until they broke. House simply didn't believe, deep within his very soul, that he deserved love, particularly by the people whom he loved. And that belief was the foundation that supported his actions to reject his own feelings and deny others the chance to get too close and injure him.
House half-closed his eyes. He felt so . . . lost. And afraid. He was afraid of losing himself and what made him special. He was afraid of remembering too much, feeling too much and the despair that would bring. He was afraid that he wasn't enough, would never be enough physically and emotionally for Cuddy and her daughter. And he was afraid that when that realization finally struck Cuddy, he would no longer be able to survive without her as she eventually walked away.
All of these thoughts clambered for his attention as he gradually began to drift off. Sleep did not come easily but came gratefully. Yet the dreams that came to him while he slept were as torturous as his waking reflections.
