A/N: I promised this would be up by Wednesday-technically Wednesday isn't over for another hour (for me at least). Just a heads up: this is the last major plot point I'll be developing. I'll be stopping around chapter 13.
This is probably my favorite chapter out of all of them. It's cute for all of 30 seconds (I lulled you into a false sense of security with that last chapter and I am completely unashamed of that)
Enjoy!
Cuddy's eyes zoned in on the television in front of her, her thumbs angrily pressing down on any button she could find on the ridiculous video game controller that House had left her with. She curled her legging-clad leg underneath her, readjusting herself so she could get a better view. Her oversized t-shirt was sliding off of her shoulder, and she sighed as her character was suddenly annihilated by a ninja—or maybe it was a zombie, she wasn't really sure.
She threw the controller across the bed, slightly pouting as she looked around the suddenly deserted room.
"House?" she called as she got out of the bed. She shivered as her bare feet hit the hardwood floors of his apartment. "Where are you? I just got killed by a ninja. Or a zombie. I'm not sure. Either way, I officially resign from my post of "sole video game player."
She furrowed her brow as he didn't respond. She prodded into the kitchen, thinking he might have gone in search for something to eat. It was almost nine and they'd planned on going out for dinner, but they'd both had a long day at work and neither one felt like doing much.
In fact, Cuddy had barely acknowledged him when she'd wandered into his apartment an hour earlier. She'd let herself in with the key that he'd wordlessly left for her on the end table by the door about a week after they'd returned from the shore. She'd found him sprawled out on the bed playing the unnecessarily violent—and yet incredibly irresistible—game, and she'd simply crawled in next to him, sighing contently as her face fell into the pillow.
He'd smiled at her, handed her the extra console, and switched to two-player.
But he'd disappeared over twenty minutes ago.
"House?" she called out again, her voice growing concerned. Her stomach started to growl and she sighed once more. "Do you want me to order something for dinner? How about pizza?"
She rolled her eyes as he remained silent. Usually he jumped at the prospect of seeing her eat anything that didn't feature lettuce as the main ingredient.
Cuddy left the kitchen and checked in the living room, only to find it completely deserted. She walked down the hall and towards the bathroom, finding the door slightly ajar. She spotted the smallest hint of his jeans through the crack at the bottom.
She softly knocked on the door. "House?" she asked, slightly irritated. Voices carried in his apartment, there was no way he hadn't heard her. "Are you even listening to me?"
Cuddy waited for him to respond, rolling her eyes as he continued to ignore her. She knocked on the door as she opened it, refusing to give him a choice in the matter.
She sucked in her breath as she took in the sight before her.
"Oh my god," she muttered, gasping as she brought her fingers to her slightly parted lips. "House…"
He was sitting on the edge of the bathtub, his leg stretched out in front of him and his face scrunched up in agony. He was clutching on to his leg with a force of concentration that she'd never seen him exert before. His eyes were closed and he refused to look up; she was sure he was avoiding the sympathetic look that was undoubtedly plastered across her face.
"Are you okay?" she asked, immediately regretting the question the second it left her lips. He clearly wasn't okay. She sighed as she rushed over to where he was sitting.
He was hunched over, one hand gripping his leg and the other clutching on to the edge of the tub. She crouched down next to him, lifting her hand to his forehead, the concern etched across her face as she wiped away small beads of sweat.
"I'm fine," he said, coiling away from her touch. "You should go."
"Be quiet, House," she ordered. She moved her other hand to his opposite arm, supporting his weight against her forearm as he shook from the pain. "Where are your pills?"
He shook his head.
"The pills aren't working," he said through gritted teeth. "They can't…"He cried out in agony once more. "They can't fix it."
Cuddy tightened her grip on him.
"Shhh," she comforted, her voice softening with every gentle touch. "What can I do?"
"Nothing," he bit back, wriggling out of her grasp. He moved both of his hands to his leg, rubbing it as she slightly moved away from him. She sat down on the ground, leering up at him. He could tell that wasn't the answer she was looking for. He sighed. "There's nothing you can do."
Cuddy brought a hand to her head, rubbing her temple in a defeated manner. She looked up at him earnestly.
"Let me help you, House."
He shook his head, lowering his eyes to the ground. He took a few deep breaths and released the grip he had on his leg.
"I don't need your help."
Cuddy scoffed.
"I think you do."
He started to rub his leg and Cuddy got up, walking over to where he was sitting. She sat down next to him and placed her hand on his shoulder, rubbing up and down his back in attempts to comfort him. He tensed up at her touch, and Cuddy swallowed hard, biting down on her lower lip as she gave him a concerned look—she'd never seen him react to the feeling of her hand on him like this.
"You're not my girlfriend, Cuddy," he growled, "You don't have to sit here and tend to my every need."
Cuddy immediately stood up. She choked back the tears that were threatening to spring from her eyes and took a deep breath, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing her crack. She squared her shoulders, her arms folded across her chest as she stared him down. He looked up at her and there was a faint hint of apology in his eyes; he opened his mouth but immediately closed it, refusing to speak. The pain seemed like it had started to subside, but another form was slowly seeping in.
She nodded.
"You're right. You know what, I should go. It's getting late."
He sighed and moved his arm as if he were attempting to get up, but decided against it at the last second.
"It's barely nine," he answered.
She shrugged.
"I know, but I have a board meeting in the morning and—"
"Cuddy," he interrupted, his voice firm but she could have sworn there was some warmness etched within his scorned look. She looked up at him expectantly, making sure not to hold his gaze too long; the tears that she had choked back earlier were threatening to escape with every pleading look he gave her. "I didn't mean—" his voice trailed off, and he looked back down at the floor, not knowing what to say.
"You never do," she mumbled, her shoulders dropping as she turned to walk out the door. She stopped at the edge of the doorway, her face falling as she looked at him. He'd stopped holding on to his leg, but he was still gripping the edge of the tub. He made no movement towards her. "What are we doing House?"
He didn't dare to look at her. His eyes averted to the ground.
"I don't know."
She nodded, and this time she didn't try to stop the tear from rolling down her cheek. She quickly wiped it away, taking a deep breath as she walked out the door and tried not to think about the implications of the three little words he'd just said. Because she'd never known a world where Gregory House didn't know the answer—and that terrified her more than she cared to admit.
Cuddy looked up as Wilson barged into her office the next morning. She sighed and closed her laptop, preparing herself for the unsolicited lecture she was sure she was about to get.
"What did you to him?" he demanded, closing the door behind him.
Cuddy rolled her eyes.
"Of course this is my fault," she muttered. She raised her eyebrows at Wilson. "Is he back to calling me the she-devil now? I guess it would be pretty hard for him to continue that rumor about me actually being a man, considering he's seen—"
"You know that's not what I meant," Wilson relented. He lifted a hand to his head, rubbing his cheek. "I thought things were going good between you two? He mentioned something about you showing up at his door in the middle of the night, and there was something about a beach…he seemed happy. What happened?"
Cuddy sighed.
"Reality happened," she muttered. "We had a fight, sort of. I'm not even sure you could call it that. Where is he? Is he even here?"
Wilson nodded.
"He's holed up in his office. I think he's already consumed his normal dose of vicodin and it's barely noon. His team finally gave up and went to try and find a case, but he throws out everything they bring him. Whatever it is that happened between the two of you, it's affecting him more than you think."
Cuddy rolled her eyes and pushed out her chair, the anger apparent on her face. "I'm tired of making excuses for him," she muttered. "If he wants to act like a petulant child who is incapable of accepting even the tiniest bit of help, then I'm going to treat him like one."
She grabbed a file from her desk and stormed out of her office, darting her eyes towards the door and signaling Wilson to follow her. They were silent as they walked towards the elevator, Cuddy's heels clicking against the floor louder than normal. Wilson had unknowingly struck a nerve, and Cuddy—who'd spent the better part of the night feeling guilty and upset—had moved on to sheer and utter anger.
Wilson shot her a perplexed look. "Do you want to explain to me what happened, or are you going to continue to internally fume to yourself until it consumes you entirely and you completely overreact to something that's actually minuscule and relatively unimportant?"
The elevator pinged, alerting its arrival, and for a moment Wilson considered not getting on at all. Cuddy shot him a glare and he quickly hurried in.
"You think I'm overreacting?" she asked, slamming her hand against the button. She looked over at him and scoffed. "You don't even know what happened."
"So enlighten me," he suggested.
Cuddy shrugged.
"Nothing happened," she said, clearing her throat as she ran a hand through her hair. "House was just…he was just being House. So I left. It's nothing that hasn't happened before."
"Maybe so," said Wilson, "but he's never felt guilty about it. You need to talk to him." Cuddy rolled her eyes and opened her mouth to respond, but Wilson quickly cut her off. "Talk, not yell. You're clearly upset, but I think if you just—"
"I'm not upset," she countered, blowing a stray piece of hair out of her way.
Wilson eyed her suspiciously.
"I'm convinced," he muttered. The elevator stopped and they got off, and Cuddy quickly sped away. Wilson jogged to catch up with her and gently tugged on her elbow, pulling her back towards him.
She narrowed her eyes at him, prompting him to quickly remove his hold on her.
"You're upset," he said simply. "I get that. I'm sure you have a laundry list of reasons to be upset. But he's upset too, and we both know that's unusual. So whatever you're going to say, whatever you're going to do to him, just try and keep that in mind."
Cuddy scoffed.
"I'm not going to do anything. I'm bringing him a case. And unlike his team, he can't say no to me." She paused, the words she was about to say holding more meaning than she was prepared to admit. "Not about this."
"I've got something for you," said Cuddy as she barged into House's office. Wilson followed behind her giving House a slightly terrified look.
House looked over at Wilson.
"Of course you went running to her," he muttered. He looked back over at Cuddy. "I don't need a case. I'm getting along fine without one. Nice try, though." He stretched his feet out on his lounge chair and leaned back. Cuddy slammed the file onto his lap. She shoved his feet off the ottoman and sat down, giving him a pointed look.
"I'm not letting you get away with this," she said. "I don't know what's going on with you. Clearly you're angry with me, though I can't for the life of me figure out why you think you've earned the right to be upset. But that's beside the point. This is your job, House. You're not obligated to do much. You've made that abundantly clear. But you are obligated to do this."
He looked at her and then back to Wilson.
"She's pulling the boss card," he mocked. He turned back towards Cuddy. "How predictable." Cuddy rolled her eyes and shoved the file towards him. "What have you got for me boss? Twenty-five year old gymnast? Twenty-two year old co-ed?"
House groaned as he looked over the file.
"This isn't even a case," he said, outraged by her request. Cuddy smirked at him. "This guy is waiting on a heart transplant. The surgery is scheduled for twelve hours from now. You're essentially asking me to babysit."
"Thirty-five year old male with congestive heart failure. The transplant team is on the way with the heart. He's been waiting months for this heart, House. It's his last chance. I just need you to make sure he doesn't die while he's waiting. Send your team home for all I care. Think you can handle that?"
House eyed her suspiciously.
"You want me to sit with a patient waiting for a heart? Is it because you think I'm heartless? Because if you're going to insult me, at least try not to be so obvious about it."
Cuddy let out an uncharacteristic laugh.
"Just sit with him House. Maybe you'll learn what it's like to actually be helpless. God knows you could use some humility."
She got up and sauntered off, giving Wilson a curt nod as she left House's office. House sighed and picked up the file, rolling his eyes as he skimmed over it. Wilson stood there, his mouth hanging half open as he glanced back and forth between House and Cuddy's disappearing form.
When she was completely out of sight, he turned towards House.
"What exactly happened between the two of you? She's acting…strange."
House shrugged.
"She's upset," he muttered. He lifted his leg off the chair and placed it on the ground as he stood up, picking up his cane. "Like most people, she gets irrational when she's upset."
"And yet you're the one who was brooding alone in the dark. What exactly happened?"
House shrugged.
"I said something insensitive, she reacted poorly. It's nothing that hasn't happened before."
"What did you say? Because from the way she was talking, it's clear she wasn't just talking about the case."
House groaned, not wanting to rehash the details of what happened the night before. He'd regretted what he'd said the minute he'd heard the door slam on her way out, and he'd lost track of the amount of times he'd picked up the phone to call her—he always hung up at the last minute, and each time, without fail, he hated himself even more.
He used drugs as a crutch; he relied on them, and they rarely let him down. But people—people were different. People could disappear, and he couldn't afford to get attached to her in that way.
"She wasn't," he muttered, replaying the conversation in his head. Cuddy wasn't exactly one for subtlety. "She'll get over it eventually, she always does."
Wilson rolled his eyes.
"You can't keep doing this to her, House. Cuddy is not some unbreakable being that bends to your every whim. There are only so many things one person can put up with. She's got a tough exterior, but on the inside…she's just like everyone else."
"Prone to meddling?" he asked, turning towards Wilson as he walked out of his office. Wilson begrudgingly followed him. "Why do you have this incessant need to fix everything? You're as bad as she is."
Wilson gave him a knowing smile.
"So that's what this is about," he said, impressed with himself for figuring it out. "What does she want you to do? Detox? Because I for one, would be all for—"
House groaned.
"Why does everyone think I need to be fixed? Why do you think I need help? I'm perfectly fine with the way things are," he muttered.
Wilson nodded.
"Yes," Wilson began mockingly. "The great and all-knowing Gregory House. Incapable of letting people help him but more than willing to accept help from a narcotic." House glared at him. "You're independent to a fault, House. Everybody needs help. That doesn't make you weak. Sometimes, it even makes you strong."
Hour rolled his eyes, doing his best to ignore him.
"Your independence is going to get in the way of your happiness. You're so intent on doing things on your own, so obsessed with proving the point that you don't need anyone that you're going to end up pushing away the one thing that you actually want."
House grumbled as he limped into the patient's room. He looked over to the bed, where the middle-aged man with a failing heart was making a horrid attempt to feign sleep. House sat down in the chair, slightly pleased with the lack of response he'd gotten from the patient—he wasn't in the mood to talk to anyone, let alone someone who was in his state.
House groaned as the patient began to stir.
"You're not nearly as pretty as my last doctor," he said, turning so he faced House. The patient gave House a charismatic smile, and House rolled his eyes.
He certainly wasn't in the mood to deal with a charmer.
"Yeah, but I've got a fully functioning heart. Unlike you, who's suffering from a—" House flipped through his chart, squinting his eyes as he read through the file, "very severe case of cardiomyopathy."
The patient—whose name House had already forgotten—shrugged and sat up in his bed. "Twelve hours I'll have you beat in that category. And the pretty one, too. I don't know if the other doctors have told you about me, but I'm a catch."
House smirked. This guy was certainly full of himself, but not in the way that was irritating. Even from where House was sitting, he could tell that the patient was tall. He had a broad chest and a full head of brown, slightly messy hair. And his green eyes stood out against his tanned skin.
The patient nodded at House.
"I'm Scott. You got a name or can I call you Dr. Gimp?"
House eyed him suspiciously before answering.
"House."
Scott nodded. "That's a good name. Distinguished with a hint of mystery, effortlessly rolls of your tongue. It's catchy, I like it."
House leaned forward in his chair. "Are you always this chatty?" he asked rather icily, raising his eyebrows at the patient.
Scott smiled at him again. "Only on days I'm getting a new heart. They tell you how long I've been waiting to get rid of this useless thing?" House remained silent. "They call me in every couple months or so, promising me a new heart. But they never deliver, something to do with being unable to harvest them. I don't know man, they make it sound like they're trying to put a pumpkin in me or something." Scott chuckled, not caring that House was rolling his eyes. "Anyway, I don't understand half the medical nonsense they throw at me."
House continued his pre-determined silent approach. He wasn't interested in listening to the patient drone on about his lack of ability to comprehend simple medical terminology—he probably hadn't even been paying attention to what his previous doctors were saying when he was last called in.
"But I keep on showing up. I mean what choice do I have really?" Scott turned over in the uncomfortable patient bed; even from where House was sitting, he could tell the sheets were stiff. "It's like that Woody Allen quote."
House paused and eyed him suspiciously. He smirked.
"You're right, eggs and hearts are totally the same thing. I would run to the store and pick one up for you myself, but cripple and all…you know how it is," he said mockingly.
Scott chuckled.
"What exactly do you think life is? You're kidding yourself if you think it's about your job, even a job like yours. Yeah you save lives, but at the end of the day, what is that you have?"
House leaned back in his chair, inwardly cursing Cuddy as he readjusted—she had to know that she was essentially sending him into the lion's den. There was nothing she loved more than forcing someone else on him in order to evoke some sort of divine realization.
"Life is about relationships, and it's better you realize that now before…" Scott paused, his voice trailing off. He took a deep breath. "It's like Woody said, "they're totally irrational and crazy and absurd, but I guess we keep going through it because most of us need the eggs."
House didn't respond; he remembered a brunette from a different time giving him this exact speech, and at the time, he never thought it might apply to someone else. His relationship with Cuddy was flawed—it had been flawed from the very beginning—but a flawed beginning didn't necessarily guarantee an imperfect ending.
They were interrupted by the sound of a door sliding open, followed by the unmistakable clicking of Cuddy's heels. Cuddy walked in, shooting Scott a smile and House a slightly condescending look.
He shook his head and scoffed.
"You see, this is the pretty doctor I was talking about earlier," Scott said, beaming up at Cuddy. "It's hard to be mad when she's the one who's telling you bad news."
Cuddy glanced towards House, who had averted his eyes to the ground. She smirked at the irony.
"How are you feeling?" Cuddy asked, smiling as she made her way over to him. She picked up his chart and flipped through it absentmindedly, giving the patient a slightly reassuring smile.
House's eyes followed her every move; she usually wasn't this involved with cases.
"Fine, but I'll feel a whole lot better once that heart is tightly secured into my chest," he answered, grinning up at Cuddy. He leaned closer to her, his voice falling to a hushed whisper. "You know, gimpy over here isn't exactly the talkative type," he joked.
House rolled his eyes.
"That's because you've been babbling about eggs for the last ten minutes," he muttered. "And you know, eggs just aren't my favorite breakfast food. Bacon maybe. Though I do love a good stack of pancakes."
Scott chuckled and looked over at Cuddy. "He's funny. You didn't send him in here to soften some sort of blow, did you?"
Cuddy's eyes darted to the ground and she cleared her throat. She smiled reassuringly at him once more.
"Dr. House is one of our best doctors," she said diplomatically. She turned her head towards House, who was giving her a quizzical look. "I actually need to speak with him outside. You should get some rest."
She looked at House expectantly and began to walk out of the patient room. House remained glued to his seat, taking to much pleasure out of defying her simple request. She paused at the door and cleared her throat once more, lifting her eyebrows at him. She beckoned her hand towards him.
House groaned as he got up, grabbing his cane from where it was propped up against the wall. "Sorry," he said, shrugging at Scott. "My mistress is calling."
Scott chuckled, not knowing how much truth was laced underneath House's words.
"I thought we agreed to keep our personal life separate from our professional one," House muttered, leering down at Cuddy.
She rolled her eyes.
"Who said this was personal? You're my employee. That means when we're inside these four walls, you do what I say. If you have a problem with that, feel free to take it up with some higher power, because I don't have the time to even feign interest."
House smirked.
"I can see down your shirt. There, I just made it personal," he said, pressing his cane into the ground and leaning closer towards her. She quickly recoiled.
"We have a problem," she began.
"I know," said House, pointing his finger at her. "You are completely overreacting to something I said when I was experiencing excruciating pain."
Cuddy glared at him.
"What part of this isn't personal did you not understand?" she demanded, folding her arms over her chest. He shrugged, feigning innocence. "It's about Scott, the patient." She ran a hand through her hair, a defeated look on her face.
House sighed and looked into the patient's room. He directed his gaze back towards Cuddy.
"He's not getting the heart, is he?"
She shook her head.
"He was first on the list when I checked this morning," she said quietly. "But I just got a call from UNOS, and they're dropping him down to number two. Someone else must be in worse shape than he is. It happens sometimes—"
"There must be something you can do," House interjected. Cuddy shook her head. "I looked at his chart. He's going to die if this transplant doesn't happen."
Cuddy nodded. "I know," she answered. "But my hands are tied. There's nothing I can do."
House shook his head.
"You're bureaucratic hands are tied," he argued. "That doesn't mean that you're completely out of options."
Cuddy gave him a suspicious look.
"What are you talking about?" she asked tentatively, slightly afraid of what he was possibly suggesting.
"We're doctors," House stated. "We can make people better." He leaned closer towards her, and Cuddy's breath hitched, because she knew exactly where his train of thought was going. "But we can also make people worse," he added quietly. "We do that, he moves up to number one. Problem solved."
She held out her hand.
"I'm going to pretend that you didn't just say that," she said, narrowing her eyes at him. "You can't be serious, House. Do you ever consider the ramifications of your actions?" she hissed.
"What's wrong with it?" he asked, exasperated. "He needs a heart. We can get him one. We just have to…manipulate the facts in order to get what we want. Don't sit there and pretend that you've never lied to get something done."
"You're not manipulating the facts!" she argued. "You're—you're putting this man's life at risk for the chance that he might get the heart. What are you going to do? Send him into v-tach? What if you can't revive him, House? What then?"
"I'm trying to come up with a solution, that's what I'm doing," he fumed. Cuddy shook her head in disbelief. "You're the one who is hiding behind paperwork and some naïve outlook on life where you think everything is black and white. I've got news for you, life doesn't always work out the way you want it to."
Cuddy scoffed.
"I think you've made that pretty clear," she hissed, narrowing her eyes even further. She took a deep breath, trying not to think about the prying eyes that were surrounding them in the hallway. She lowered her voice. "You're just so goddamn reckless," she said icily. "It's like you care about absolutely nothing in your life. The review board at UNOS isn't full of idiots, House. They're going to figure out what happened! You're not the only one good at solving puzzles."
"If this is about my patient, make it about my patient!" he persisted. "Don't patronize me with subtext and hidden meaning. Say what you mean or don't say anything at all."
"Your reputation precedes you, House," she lectured, her voice growing colder with every spoken word. "What do you think is going to happen when I get UNOS on the phone and tell them our patient is suddenly having a heart attack? What do you think they're going to do?"
House rolled his eyes.
"I don't think anything," he said, shrugging his shoulders. "I know they're going to give us the heart, because they have to. They won't have a choice," he added condescendingly.
"You're so arrogant," she hissed. "You think you can do everything on your own. You can fix other people's problems, but you can't be bothered to fix your own. What does that say about you House? Because from where I'm sitting, it doesn't look so good."
"It says that I care about my patient," he snapped back.
Cuddy scoffed.
"Ten minutes ago you were complaining about him, now you're talking about breaking about a thousand ethical codes—not to mention the law," she said firmly. "Everything you do is rooted in self-service, self-preservation. Breaking rules excites you because it confirms the notion that you can get away with whatever you want."
House rolled his eyes and let out a huff.
She moved closer to him, lifting her eyes towards his. Her voice fell to a whisper. "Well guess what? You can't. Do you remember when I said that everything wasn't a test? Well this is. Let your patient know that he's not getting the heart. If he ends up on that operating table later this afternoon, I'll know it was because of you. And I'll have your license."
She stepped back, not daring to look at him as she turned and walked away.
House slammed his bottle of vicodin on the tray attached to Scott's bed. He popped a few into his mouth, sighing dramatically as he swallowed them.
Scott furrowed his brow.
"What did you just take?" he asked, curious. House shrugged and gave him a defeated look. Their eyes met for a few seconds, and Scott sighed, knowing what House was about to tell him. "I'm not getting the heart, am I?"
House shook his head.
"Nope," he answered, a little too triumphantly. He shrugged. "You're not sick enough for it. Not yet, at least."
Scott shrugged him off.
"Nah," he said, sighing. "This was my third shot. I'm not going to last much longer as it is." He glanced over to the machine that was essentially pumping the blood through his heart. "Machines can only do so much."
House smirked.
He dumped out the rest of his vicodin, the pills spilling out onto the small table. He divided them into small groups, silently making a show of counting out a specified amount. Scott opened his mouth to inquire, but House mockingly lifted up his hand, hushing him.
"This is vicodin," he said, pushing a few of the pills towards the patient. "Now, I'm not really one for sharing, but I'm going to explain to you what could happen if I—or anyone in this room—were to suddenly swallow all of these pills at once."
Scott shifted uncomfortably in his seat. House ignored him and continued.
"I take vicodin because I'm in pain, every day. Sometimes it relieves that pain, sometimes—sometimes it creates a different kind." He paused, his voice lowering and his head bowing slightly. He quickly perked up. "It can also cause seizures, certain organ failure, nausea, stomach pain, and whole bunch of other symptoms that aren't relevant to my point."
"You seem perfectly healthy to me," Scott muttered, the disappointment clear in his tone. There was something unsettling about knowing that there was a ticking clock on your life. House rolled his eyes. "Minus the leg, of course," he added half-heartedly.
"Did I say I was finished?" House looked around the room, making his point in the most dramatic way possible. "I don't think I said I was finished," he said to no on in particular.
Scott let out a slight chuckle.
"As I was saying, it can also slow your heart rate down. Now I myself am a medical anomaly, so the chances of that happening to me are relatively nonexistent," he boasted. "But you on the other hand, you're a ticking time bomb. Your heart rate is already dangerously low, and swallowing all of these pills would probably send it into overdrive. Which would damage your heart even more…." House pressed his hands against the edge of the table, clutching it as he leaned closer. His face grew serious; Scott averted his gaze. "Do you understand what I'm telling you?"
Scott cleared his throat, his eyes not moving from the frayed threads of his sheets. He gathered the sheet in his hand, holding on to it for dear life as he lifted his eyes up; House could make out the discomfort in his eyes.
Scott nodded.
"I'm going to step outside for a minute," House said. He picked up the remote that would page the assigned nurse and wordlessly handed it to the patient. He pushed the tray towards him as well, the vicodin rattling against the plastic. "If anything were to…happen while I'm gone, you know what to do."
Scott nodded, watching as House walked out of the room. When he heard the sliding door close, he gathered up the pills into his hand. He stared at them, contemplating on what he should do; he even went as far to place them back on the tray.
But at the last second, he cradled the pills into his hand and popped them into his mouth. He closed his eyes as he swallowed them. And as he felt his heart quicken to an alarming rate, he fell back into his pillows, his hand pressed firmly against the page button.
The last thing he heard was the sound of the sliding door opening once more.
Cuddy stood by the door to her house for fifteen minutes before she finally decided to let him in. She opened the door to find his cane pressed up against the wood; he must have been mid-knock.
"Oh thank god," he said, giving her a glare. "It wasn't like my arm was getting tired or anything."
She shook her head and ignored him.
"If you've come here to apologize, you're about five hours too late."
Scott had been put on bypass once he had been revived. The nurse made the call to UNOS, who checked with the Head of Cardio at Princeton Plainsboro; they both agreed that Scott should reclaim his number one position, due to the damage that the sudden heart attack had caused. The heart was flown in from New York, and a team of surgeons was currently performing the surgery.
House had disappeared from the hospital as soon as the surgery had been scheduled.
"I'm not here to apologize for that," he said. "I would do it again, we both know it."
Cuddy nodded.
"You're a bastard," she said accusingly, her voice breaking as she spoke. "Do you have any idea what will happen if someone finds out what you did?"
"There's no paper trail!" argued House, shaking his head. "You're not it any danger. And neither am I, for that matter. You can't prove anything, and that's why you're upset. It has nothing to do with you."
Cuddy face reddened with anger.
"Nothing to do with me?" she hissed. "Nothing to do with me? I am your boss, House. I am responsible for you. Your actions are my actions; do you understand that? They're going to figure out that you orchestrated the whole thing, and they're going to assume I let you do it. And we both know why. It doesn't help that the entire hospital knows that we're sleeping together."
He shook his head.
"This is a mistake," she muttered, "this whole thing was a mistake."
"How is this any different from before? I've pulled crap like this countless times and you've never reacted like this! You're blowing this out of proportion. They're not going to pin this on you. Hell, they're not even going to pin this on me. The only people that know what happened are me and Scott, and considering he got a fully functioning heart because of me, I'm pretty sure he's not going to say a word. You and your precious hospital aren't going to go down in flames. So why don't we have the real argument you want to have."
"You still don't get it," she said, shaking her head. She bit down on her bottom lip, her shoulder squared as she faced him. She sighed, dropping them as she leaned back against the wall. "It's different, House. I sent you back into that patient room knowing you were going to do something irresponsible and unethical. What did you do? Leave your vicodin on the table? I checked the pharmacy; you didn't sign any pills out, and nothing is missing. Which means you had to already have it."
House sighed, bringing a hand to his face. He rubbed his forehead.
"So what if I did? I saved his life! He is getting that heart because of me. Isn't that worth something? Doesn't that make up for the fact that I said you weren't my girlfriend? Which, by the way, was your idea from the start if you really want to get into it."
"Dammit House it's not about that!" she exclaimed, choking back tears. She closed her eyes for a brief moment. "Were my feelings hurt by what you said? Of course they were. But this is bigger than that. Everything…everything has changed. I handle you differently now. I actively worry about you when you pull stunts like this."
He stepped towards her and she darted her eyes towards the ground. He sighed.
"How is that different from before? You've always looked out for me; you've always…protected me when bad things happen. Vogler, Tritter—you're not going to lose your job over this."
She shook her head.
"Dammit House I wasn't in love with you then!"
He paused, and their eyes met for what seemed like an eternity. Neither one of them dared to make a move; Cuddy remained leaned up against the wall, her head bowed and her hair falling in front of her face. She quickly tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear and wiped a tear from her cheek.
She looked up at him, the both of them wide-eyed and silent.
Cuddy's phone rang and she sighed, shaking her head as she went to answer her phone. She barely acknowledged the person speaking on the other end of the phone, and the call seemed to end as soon as it had begun.
She snapped her phone shut and gave him a defeated look.
"Scott Matthison rejected the heart. He died on the table."
"It reminds me of that whole joke-you know, a guy walks into a psychiatrist's office and says, "hey doc, my brother's crazy!He thinks he's a chicken." Then the doc says, "Why don't you turn him in?" Then the guys says, "I would, but I need the eggs." I guess that's how I feel about relationships. They're totally crazy, irrational, and absurd, but we uh...I guess we keep going through it because we need the eggs."
-Annie Hall.
p.s: I think spur of the moment "I love you"s (especially ones that are a result of some form of argument) are much more romantic than average admissions.
-Alison
