Hi everyone!
Here's the new chapter. It may be a bit cheesy and some of you might even find it a bit out of character. I don't know… I did the best I could to take the story where I wanted it to be so I hope you'll still like it as it is… :P
** I Will Always Choose You **
- Chapter 11 -
He's standing right by the door of her hotel room.
It's been exceptionally easy to get the number and the floor from that girl at the reception counter. More than House expected it would be but then, the young receptionist was obviously not the smartest cookie in the jar. He only had to hold his wallet for her to see and pretend with an appropriately faked, sad look on his face that he was at the funeral of a much respected doctor earlier that day where Mrs. Cuddy, one of their clients, had lost something valuable she would certainly need very soon, if anything to pay before leaving, and that poor, naïve girl had instantly volunteered all the information he needed to go and give her the precious object back himself. Not that he was in any mood to complain about such blatant stupidity but, as he'd taken the elevator to the fifth floor, he'd thought that supposedly high-standard hotels weren't what they used to be anymore.
But now that he's there and there's only one door standing between the two of them, House suddenly feels a little short of breath, as a mix of sizzling excitement and apprehension is taking hold of him. What's he going to say to her? That is surely something he hasn't rehearsed, even though his mind has been boiling from anticipation throughout the entire ride that he took on his bike to get to the Double Tree hotel where she's staying. He's got no specific plan. All he knows is that he needs to let those bottled-up feelings that her letter triggered in him out, an exhausting combination of anger, relief, hope and despair, tied up in a knot in the pit of his stomach. He won't be able to find sleep, or even less any semblance of peace of mind if he doesn't give himself a chance to tell her what a gigantic fuckery he thinks this is. It's both indescribable and unconceivable but, deep within him he can feel that they still have one card to play. It's a poker game, and it's probably the boldest move he'll ever make in his life but now is the right time to get all in because if he doesn't do it and the game is over while he'd have just passively stood there watching it unfold, that's something he knows he'll regret for the rest of his miserable life. There is nothing else to do, when you've fallen at your lowest, than to give one strong kick to push yourself back up towards the surface and she is the surface, where there is air to breathe, and sunlight instead of that cold, suffocating feeling of drowning he's been feeling for too long.
He's fumbling in his jacket's pocket where he's put the letter she sent him and takes it out, holding it in his hand tightly, like he would hold on to the last remaining proof that what he's here for means something. Then he knocks, in a very conventional way, uncharacteristic of him enough so that she'll open without suspecting he's the one standing behind her door. When she does open and they come face to face, they both gasp, though imperceptibly; he because seeing her in the flesh again, so close to him, simply takes his breath away, like it always does, and she because she very obviously didn't expect to find him here.
"House!" She exclaims, bringing her free hand to her chest while the other one is clutching the door's handle. "What are you-"
"Can I come in?" He asks, although the way he says it makes it sound like he's not really asking a question.
She squares her shoulders, still conspicuously blocking the way and lifts her chin up.
"I don't think you-"
"What? Don't tell me I'm interrupting something. It's not like there's a half-naked Mark in there whom I'd risk bumping into, or is there?" He puffs and half glares at her.
She takes a deep breath and hangs her head in shame, instantly understanding with his implied comment that he knows about her lie.
"So can I come in now?" He repeats, his voice dripping with sarcasm. Then he brandishes the letter, her letter, right under her nose and takes a small step closer. "Or maybe you'd rather I ask you what the fuck is THIS, here, while I'm standing in the hallway where everybody can hear me?"
His voice has gotten significantly and threateningly louder and knowing he is absolutely capable of doing what he says because he's not one to care for the consequences, Cuddy caves and opens the door to her room. House walks past her and enters the impeccably refined space as she closes the door behind her.
As she stands with her back to him, he takes the opportunity to look at her and instantly feels overwhelmed by her beauty. She's wearing casual clothes and her hair is gathered in a messy bun of raven curls, some of which, untamed, fall in the nape of her neck. She turns around and joins him inside, in a small lounge area that further leads to another, bigger space where a king size bed adorns the place devoted to sleep.
"I give you five minutes," she says, with as much assertiveness as she can muster.
"I'm gonna need a little bit more than that."
"You're high," she spits disdainfully.
It feels like she's just punched him in the guts, even though he kind of expected her to say that, but he still finds it in him to stomach her barb with enough stoicism to appear unfazed.
"Wow. That's one fucking convenient line you've found here for whenever you wanna get rid of me, isn't it?" He replies, tit for tat.
"You're the drug addict, not me," she says angrily, yet with an unmistakable hint of regret in her voice.
"Except, you're wrong! I told you I was clean and I'm clean, Cuddy."
"Don't lie to me!" She accuses. "Wilson told me-"
"Ah yeah, Wilson! You're so willing to believe his version over mine. That's how much faith you have in me," he barks resentfully.
"Heroin, House! That's not something you just make up. I should have known-"
"What? That I'd fall off the wagon? That I'd end up shooting up heroin because you broke my heart again and you think I'm incapable of dealing with that without using again? So that was a test?"
She stares at him, mouth agape.
"Was it?"
"There is no test. What you choose to inject inside your body is your decision, not mine. I'm not responsible-"
"I didn't take the goddamn heroin!" He shouts. "Did Wilson also say that to you or did he conveniently forget to mention it?"
His confession gives her pause, almost in spite of herself, and confusion starts spreading across her features. She's obviously struggling to decide whether or not he's lying to her. Her gaze is scrutinizing as she's searching in his eyes for proof that he's telling the truth. House heaves a deep, exasperated sigh and, out of the blue, rolls the sleeve of his shirt up. In one stride, he comes only inches away from her and stretches his arm in front of her, exposing the bend of his arm to her sight.
"You wanna check for needle stick marks?"
She freezes and tries to sustain his challenging gaze, refusing to look down, in spite of her imperious need to do so.
"Go ahead!" He urges. "You're dying to anyway."
She puffs and abashedly shots a quick glance at the bend of his arm. The veins there are prominent and blue underneath his pale, thin skin but they're indeed intact. She hates herself for giving it a look, but she can't ignore the relief she also undeniably feels in that instant.
"How about I also pee in a cup while we're at it?" House carries on spitefully, taking advantage of her embarrassment, as he starts undoing the button of his jeans next.
"Stop!" she demands when his hand moves to his fly next. "So you didn't take the heroin. Good for you! Why would I care anyway?"
"Why would you care? I thought that was all that you cared about: whether I took the drug or not," he bites, his comment deliberately acerbic.
"We are not going to discuss that again," she warns. "There was more to it than that, and you know it. It was not just about the pill-"
"Really? Then what was it about Cuddy? I was there, for you. I took care of you. I freaked out, yes, but only because I was fucking scared of losing you! But you? You didn't even flinch when you dumped me. It's like I never even mattered to you. It was like you were just throwing away garbage."
She puffs, aggravated, and rolls her eyes skyward.
"Don't you dare! You think I wanted that? I never… wanted that!" she hiccups. "It was you who couldn't be with me. You couldn't-"
"And, here we are: the part about how I never was the docile, little puppy you wished I were."
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"It means, all those years, I was the one who always had to prove myself worthy of you; because everything I did was never good enough for you. When we were together you made me feel like shit most of the time. You always made sure I would never live up to your impossibly high standards. I tried, so fucking hard to meet your demands but you were never satisfied. Not even when I was only doing my job! You'd always set boundaries when it came to that but you'd also always understood my ways. You knew they were unconventional but when we got together, all of a sudden, you changed the rules overnight. Suddenly you took offense that I had to lie to you to save patients' lives, which is something I'd always done!"
"It was not about the lies, it was about respect and-"
"Respect?! You think I didn't know what was at stakes in a professional context for us? Every decision I made, I made it to save lives and protect your ass from being held accountable in case things went south. I racked my brain over every case I had, trying to figure out the best way to do what was right without pissing you off in the process. I always thought about you! Always. But you, you only focused on the lies, as if it were some personal crusade against you."
"I was-"
"Selfish, demanding, and whimsical! You claimed you wanted uncommon, that you loved me for my screwed-upness, but you used sex to blackmail me so I'd do exactly what you wanted. And when it wasn't enough anymore you decided that toilet seats and toothpaste stains on your basin were more important than us!" He exclaims, hurt registering on his face.
She stares at him, visibly emotionally shaken by the unexpected, but mostly anachronistic intensity of his outburst. Unable to say a word, she gulps, uneasy, her eyes still locked with his.
"I didn't stand a chance, did I?" He whispers despondently.
"You locked yourself with a dying patient on a stupid, impulsive move just to prove a point and risked your life without a care about my feelings," she whispers back, regretfully. "You chose getting drunk over spending an evening with me to celebrate an award I'd won... You chose Vicodin over me. You chose comfortable numbness over empathy for my pain."
"No. I chose you. Cuddy, I chose you over my sobriety. And had you found out, I knew perfectly well what the risks were but… I did it all the same because…" He sighs heavily and averts his gaze briefly, gathering up some courage to carry on.
"You remember what you told me the day you broke up with me?" He asks, looking her in the eyes again. "You said that pain happens when you care. And, you can say anything you want to me but the hell if I let you say that I didn't care for you! I know what pain feels like. Better than anyone-"
"Because your life is pain, House."
"I don't mean the pain I feel in my leg." He clenches his fist and brings it to his chest, resting it atop his heart. "I mean, here… You made me feel pain here! How was I supposed to show you how I felt here, if you didn't even have faith that I could?"
Upon hearing his words, and his sudden resigned tone, she inhales a sharp intake of breath and briefly looks away.
"Why are you here if I'm that horrible bitch you describe?" She says wearily.
"Because… you sent me that letter," he replies recovering his poise. "Because you came to my place the other day and we made love. Because you lied to me about getting married and that lie means something!"
"It means I don't want to see you again."
"A lie."
"A truth!"
"No. You gave up the first time. One day, you unilaterally declared that I couldn't live up to your expectations and you gave up on us. You didn't even give me one single chance to prove to you that you were wrong. But, this is my fault, too, because I let you. I didn't fight and I let you broke my heart, Cuddy. You shattered it to pieces and it hurt like hell but, I won't let that happen a second time. I don't want to be the one standing on a sidewalk and watching you move on, ever again."
"Watching me move on? How dare you say that when you made me stand in front of a dozen guests in your living room, while you were getting married?... Oh, and how is your wife by the way?" she spits bitterly.
"Gone. I filed for divorce."
"You what?"
"I'm getting a divorce. Yes, I'm clean and in less than a month, I'll be no longer married. I don't care about Dominika. I never cared about her…" He takes one tentative step towards her, and inhales deeply. "Cuddy… I love you. I will always love you."
"No!" As he comes closer, she takes a step back and points an accusing finger at him. "Don't come near me. Don't do that again…"
"Or else what? What are you afraid is gonna happen if I do?"
"Nothing. Nothing's gonna happen. It's over, House. I tried. I thought… But, you screwed up. You escalated things to epic proportions…"
They're standing so close to each other in that instant, he can almost feel the warmth of her puffy breaths brushing past his neck.
"Then tell me you don't love me and I'll go." He stares into her eyes, boring a hole into her skull with the intensity of his gaze until her bottom lip starts trembling slightly and she averts her gaze, looking down at her feet.
He doesn't see her face but he hears her wobbling breath, as endless seconds of total silence fly by.
"I don't love you," she finally whispers, her voice low.
"No!" He protests. "Look at me and say it to my face! Say it like you really mean it."
She shots her head up and stares back at him, her eyes glistening with unshed tears that are threatening to fall. But she refuses to comply and keeps staring silently at him instead, with such maddening stubbornness it makes her look incredibly desirable, beautiful, and fragile and he wants to yank her in his arms so badly then, it aches more than words can say.
"Say it," he repeats meekly, his eyes pleading.
"I…" She closes her eyes as a single tear rolls down her cheek and she bites her lower lip, breathing deeply through her nose.
"Why did you come the other day? Why, Cuddy?"
"It was a mistake!" She exclaims, looking at him again. "I said I was sorry. I shouldn't have come. It was a mistake!"
"It wasn't. Because you wanted to come. Everything that happened between us that night, you wanted it to happen, just like I did."
"No."
"I know you still love me, Cuddy. At least, I know you still want me."
"I don't."
"I won't… I won't let you give up on me, like you already gave up on me once."
She clenches her jaw and shakes her head in dismay.
"You're scared," he goes on. "You're scared because you have feelings for the monster that crashed his car into your home and this doesn't feel right. Because this is definitely not what's supposed to happen in your circles, am I right? But you're a coward, Cuddy. You let your sister and your mother decide what's right for you when you know this is not what you want! What you want is to be with me. That's what your heart tells you. But you've stopped listening to yourself-"
"You're wrong," she denies with the energy of despair.
"No. Goddammit, you wrote it to me-"
"I said I wanted you to let me go!"
"Then why aren't you with Mark anymore?"
Her eyes widen in surprise.
"Mark has nothing to do with any of this."
"Mark is nice and thoughtful and handsome and exactly what I should wish for but he's not you." he recites.
"Then what?"
"I tried to convince myself it would take time before I would feel good in another man's arms. But then, I never felt it…" he carries on, unimpressed by her obvious reluctance to listen to him.
"It's not just the sex!" She shouts, fuming with anger.
"I know," he says softly. "You don't want to get hurt anymore."
"I don't want to get hurt, by you, anymore. There's a difference. I don't want you in my life."
"And that's a lie. You can't have me in your life because of what I did. There is the difference. You're just afraid of what people will think. You're afraid of their judgmental-"
"I'm not afraid! It's not about what my sister or my mom, or people think. It's about you, House. You've ruined everything. You and no one else. And there's no going back from that."
"Why?" he insists, like a stubborn child who needs all the answers.
"Why? Don't you see why?"
"What I see is that we both screwed up. We had a chance and we screwed it up. But it was doomed, right from the start. You showed up that night and I was a mess-"
"So what? You're saying this is my fault?" She blurts out angrily.
"No, I'm saying you were right. You should have listened to me," he says, quoting her words. "I told you it would fail. And you should have left me then. You shouldn't have let me have hope."
She bites her lips and sustains his gaze with a look of hurt on her face.
"Then why are you here, now?"
"For the same reason why you were at my place the other day... Because I can't get you out of my head, Cuddy. Because you're the whole book, too," he says, referring to her letter, once more. "I miss you. So much. And I know you miss me, too."
She shakes her head no, but doesn't say a word. Instead, she pleads him to stop, with a beseeching gaze, unable to fight the tears from gathering in her eyes again.
"You crashed your car into my home," she says after a while, as if that invalidated everything else he would say.
"I know," he replies sheepishly. "What I did that day… I know what damages it did to you. You have to believe me when I say that I really do know that. And not just because I read it in your letter. I knew, long before you wrote it how I'd made you feel. And I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry because… there's no rational explanation for what I did. I don't know why it happened. But I know that the man who did that was not me."
"Yet, I'm pretty sure I remember vividly that it was," she snaps bitterly.
"I was broken. I was a fucking mess and I was in pain, so much pain."
"You're always gonna be in pain."
"Not that kind of pain. You have no idea how it felt to lose you. You only saw what it did to me on the outside: the drugs, the marriage, all the childish shenanigans, and the reckless self-surgery…" He puffs and gently raises his hand to her face, close enough to touch the side of her cheek with his fingertips but he immediately moves it away and lets it fall along his thigh again. "But, even that is nothing compared to how I felt, inside…"
"That's not the point. The point is: you turned your feelings of hurt into a fit of destructive violence. What kind of man does that, House?"
He closes his eyes and tilts his head back for a second, trying to hold back the tears he feels welling up in his eyes.
"I don't know," he says abashedly. "I lost it. What I did was reckless, but I was not myself. You know it. Tell me you know it."
He can see the doubt in her eyes, the confusion and the pain and, in that instant it eats him alive to see her so resolutely distant and cold when he's felt her so close and warm just a few days ago only.
"Cuddy, I could never hurt you. Ever. If that's what you think then I'd rather be dead… I went to jail. I was locked in a cell for a year after what I did. You want me to tell you how it feels to be locked in a cell, every day, with nothing else to do but think, over and over again about what I did to you? You think I don't know? There's not one second that's passed ever since that day without me thinking about it. All the fucking time! I know what I did."
"You just need me to forgive you so it'll make you feel good about yourself," she says reproachfully. "You don't need me. You don't-"
"You're right," he interrupts her, his steady voice indicating he's more determined to tell her how he feels than ever before. "It took me a long time to understand that but, fact is, I don't need you."
His words, definite and strong-willed, hit her like a slap. Her mouth falls agape and she stares at him, stunned. He registers her surprise instantly, and takes a step towards her, coming ever so slightly closer and looking her in the eyes with a reassuring gaze.
"When we first got together, I was broken. You came to me and I didn't even realize I had you. Instead I kept thinking about how it'd feel if I lost you. I was… just needy… And I screwed up. I screwed up everything by fear of losing you… That's what kills us the first time. But, now I know. I know I don't need you. What I need, I can take care of it myself. But what I want, only you can give it to me. And I want you. There's a difference. I know you like no one else does, Cuddy. I know all your bullshits and your flaws and your fears and I don't care. I don't need you to fix me. You told me I was afraid to be happy once, but I'm not. I'm not afraid to be happy with you…"
"House…"
She's wanted to make it sound like a warning, but the only thing he's heard in her gentle plea, is the intensity of the struggle she's fighting against herself. It makes her look so vulnerable it reinforces his desire to be with her and to take care of her, even more. Somehow, it also comforts him in the absolute certainty that he will not give up this time. And if saying it a million times is what it takes to make her understand that, then he's willing to stand there, in front of her, until she will.
"I'm not going anywhere," he says softly.
"I have a daughter, I-"
"Yes, you do. And so what? Rachel liked me," he says reminding her of her own words. "And I liked her, too. I know I never said I wanted to take care of her. Truth is, most of the time, you forced me to babysit her. But, in the end, I got to spend time with her all the same. A lot of time. All those evenings when you couldn't be home because you had a meeting or paperwork to do and I was alone with her, we just… bonded… I was just too much of a coward to admit the truth… And, I thought you'd use it as another one of my weaknesses to rule me over so I acted like I didn't care but that's not true…"
Her wide eyes are so incredulous it somehow hurts him to realize that all this time she, indeed, never truly believed he could genuinely care for her daughter.
"What?" he snaps, his voice taking on a slightly angrier edge. "Yes, I miss her! You think it didn't affect me, too, to be denied the right to see her again, overnight? What kind of a heartless monster do you think I am?"
She tilts her head down and covers her face with her hands, rubbing her forehead just above the line of her eyebrows with her fingertips.
"God, this is so fucking… unbelievable," she says after a while, looking at him again. "You are so fucking unbelievable!" Her tone is accusing and her eyes throw daggers at him. "Do you have any idea how much I'd have given then to hear you say that, just once?"
"I'm telling you now."
"NO! It doesn't work like that, House. You can't just reappear and claim you want a second chance because you've suddenly had an epiphany and-"
Her voice breaks and she stops in the middle of her sentence, staring at him with lost eyes.
"Yes, I can. I am," he says, his voice resolute. "This is not a whim, Cuddy. I know what I want. And I know you want it, too."
"I don't."
"Goddammit, why are you fighting this so hard?" he suddenly shouts, anger and frustration making his voice tremble within each word. "You can deny the truth all you want, I don't care. And you know why? Even if you chase after all the Lucas and Marks in the world, you'll never find what you want because they're not me! And I'm not gonna let you pretend that this means nothing. It's just another fucking lie you tell yourself because you're scared to admit how you feel."
She looks away, avoiding his gaze and he suddenly can't take it anymore. On impulse, he grabs her by the shoulders and backs her against the wall, pressing his body against hers as he stares down at her with demanding eyes.
"Look at me!" he compels.
He doesn't even realize he has her pinned against the concrete until she lifts her face and their eyes meet, equally burning and challenging.
"So now what?" She says fiercely. "You're going to beat me?"
The second she says it, he lets go of her and takes a few steps back, staring at her in shock.
"You really don't understand anything, do you?" he says, horrified. "Jesus fuck, Cuddy, don't you hear what I say? I love you. You can't rip that feeling off of me like it is just a tumor. And you can't keep lying to yourself and pretend I mean nothing to you either."
She takes a deep, wobbling breath and turns her head to the side, conspicuously avoiding his gaze. Sighing, he comes close to her again, and with a feather touch, delicately brushes her cheekbone with the pad of his thumb. She doesn't flinch, nor does she look at him, but she doesn't push him away either. She just keeps her head tilted to the side and closes her eyes, ever so slightly leaning back against the wall.
"After you told me you didn't want to see me again, you still came back," he tells her in a much softer voice, almost like a quiet murmur. "Because you knew you had to. You and I, we're the same. We're just stubborn, clueless, fucked-up people that don't know what they want half of the time but we never stop trying. The riskier, the better. That's what we do…"
Slowly, she turns her head to face him again and locks eyes with him.
"I did that horrible thing to you that you're not supposed to forgive. I know that. How do you think I feel, right now?" He asks, taking a small step towards her.
She doesn't move. She just watches him come closer without saying a word.
"I caused you pain, and you caused me pain, too, Cuddy. Eventually, we both hurt each other. But we still can't let each other go. You're the flame and I'm the moth. I will never not be drawn to you. Even if it means being hurt again, I don't care…" Slowly, carefully, he takes another step towards her, the last one, and gently rests his forehead against her forehead. "You told me once that you needed to see if you and I could work," he whispers with a raspy voice. "But the thing is, we never tried..."
"Yes, we did. We did and it didn't work," she whispers back regretfully.
"No. You know it's not true. We never really tried… But we could try now. Don't tell me you didn't think about it. I know you did, and it terrified you to even consider it. I understand. You're terrified and you're angry and you have every right to," he carries on. "I hurt you, then I disappeared and you never had a chance to let that anger out, but I'm here now. You can let it out, Cuddy."
He straightens up to look at her and she sends him a quizzical glance, unsure of what he's really asking of her in that instant. But as soon as her eyes meet his, she sees it in his imploring gaze.
"Go ahead. Do it."
"No," she says, her eyes widening as realization hits her. "I'm not gonna-"
"Come on…" he urges.
Her lips start trembling and she shakes her head 'no' forcefully. Once again, but gentler this time, he backs her against the wall and presses his hips against her hips. She tries to set herself free but he presses harder so she clenches her fist and hits him once, weakly, on the top of his torso, just below his collarbone. She stares at her hand and he stares down at her, without budging. She hits him another time, harder and he sticks his chest out, pinning her against the wall again. The third time she punches him, she really hits him with all her might, but he still doesn't move and stomachs the blow. Their eyes meet and he sets his lips, determinedly showing her that he's bracing himself for what's to come. She whimpers hesitantly but, after a few seconds, she starts hitting him, again, with both fists this time, punching his chest as hard as she can until tears begin streaming down her cheeks while she keeps punching, again and again, until her rage subsides and her the rhythm of her punches gradually slows down, as her fists finally stop moving and rest on his chest, inert. He grabs her by the shoulders then and effortlessly pulls her away from him and he searches for her gaze, lifting her face up with his finger tucked under her chin. They lock eyes and when he sees the pain in her eyes, mixed with relief, he smiles at her, a shy, reassuring smile that says it's ok and he's not mad at her and somehow he wanted her to do it. Sobs start shaking her, and she sags into his arms, where he welcomes her, enveloping her petite frame in his large embrace. For a short while, she presses her damp face against his chest and he caresses her back soothingly but soon, she wiggles in his embrace and, demandingly, she cups his face inside her hands to pull him down to her, claiming his mouth as soon as his lips come in contact with her lips. Her need is raw and violent, almost as violent as the anger she's just expressed only seconds before.
She presses her hands on his face more urgently and pushes her tongue between his teeth, kissing him with voracious fervor as soon as he grants her access. Her hands clutch at his shirt, tugging at the fabric with impatient, disorganized movements until she can finally reach underneath to touch his skin. She puts her hands on his belly, sliding her palms towards his waist and pulling him closer to her. He knows without a doubt just then that the wildness of her passionate outburst is somehow an indicator of how long she's been trying to repress it, and he finds himself incapable of resisting her call. He wraps his arms around her and squeezes her tight against him, one of his hands roaming her back while the other combs her hair and cups the back of her skull inside his palm. She moans through his lips, and scratches his abdomen mercilessly and he suddenly feels the need to break away from their kiss to gasp for air. They stare at each other in awe for some endless, silent seconds where the only sounds he can register are the thudding beats of his heart echoing in his ears.
He doesn't move. She does. She takes his hand inside her hand and, unhesitant, she leads him towards the bed. She only lets go of his hand to take her clothes off, which she does in a flash, as he watches her, fascinated by her eagerness. When she stands naked in front of him, she undresses him, with equal impatience and then she takes his hand in hers again, falling backward onto the mattress, and yanking him down with her.
"Fuck me, House," she says, throwing her arms around his neck and wrapping her legs around his thighs.
He knows the significance of that demand. He's satisfied it so many times before, back when they were so hungry for each other they sometimes couldn't even wait to be entirely naked, or in bed to quench their yearning. It means messy, sweaty and rough. It means no tender touch, no sweet talking except for the dirty words he knows she wants him to coax her with, while he will grind his hips against hers and thrust into her mercilessly until she will cry out his name and beg for mercy. So he fucks her, hard, just like she wants him to. He says the words she wants to hear. In her ear, he whispers how much her tight little cunt feels good around his cock. She gasps and she moans 'yes' with a throaty voice and he bites the round shape of her shoulder when she arches her back, in that way only she knows, to find the perfect angle that will allow him to pound deeper and harder into her. Just before they find their release, he cups her face inside his hands and he stares intensely at her, searching for the answers behind her gaze, but she just bites her lip and gasps, and then her body starts quaking underneath him and she tilts her head to the side, moaning his name as he buries his face into the crook of her neck and lets the wave swallow him as well.
"This is insane," she says shortly after, a little out of breath, as she snuggles up against him and rests her head on his chest.
He welcomes her in his arms and gently strokes up and down the length of her forearm, without saying a word.
"Shh," he finally tells her softly. "Don't talk."
"But-" she says, lifting her ever so slightly to look at him.
"Please…"
She falls silent again and he takes a deep breath, only relishing the warmth of her body along his. When her breathing becomes even and he knows she's asleep, he stares at the ceiling for long, silent minutes without moving. Then he tilts his head down, heedful not to wake her up, and he looks at her beautiful face, so peaceful and relaxed in her slumber it's hard to imagine she was so passionate and fierce in his arms only moments before. He closes his eyes and, for a second, he tightens his grasp to bring her as close to him as possible and feel her silky skin caress his skin. He takes her hand that rests limply on his torso in his and gently moves it away. She moans in her sleep and rolls on her back away from him.
He gets up, next, slowly. In the dimly lit room, he searches for his clothes and gets dressed. Then, in the lounge area, he finds a note pad, and a pen and he sits down on the chair in front of the desk to write.
Cuddy,
I wrote you a letter, too. But there were no lies in it. Just the truth about me feeling so miserable without you. I wrote you that letter to tell you how sorry I am. But sorry is only a word and it means nothing compared to the way I really feel. Compared to the way I tried to tell you how I feel.
You're right, this is insane. We can't keep doing this. There is no prince charming out there. It is either me, or guys named Mark, and it's up to you to decide which one of them you want. I am not perfect. Yes, I'm flawed and screwed-up. But I love you. I have nothing other than that to offer you. I will never be the nice guy your family approves of but, I promise you I will drug your mother whenever she's a pain in the ass if you need me to. I will never be the ideal father figure, but I will watch pirate cartoons with Rachel and give her cheese doodles when we play, if you agree to let me play with her. I will not always be a tender lover, but I will whisper all the dirty words you love me to whisper in your ear when we have sex if you want to. And maybe I won't come to every gala and charity dinner with you, but I will play music for you and cook for you instead every other day if you like me to. I will probably never live in a mansion, but I still love the idea... It doesn't matter anyway because I would live under a bridge as long as it means being with you. But, Cuddy, I can't be with you if you don't want to be with me, too.
I could wait another hundreds years and keep telling you, every day, that I do love you; that I will be there for you, that I won't let you down, that I will stay clean but those are just words… and what value do words have if you never put them into action? I could wait, but I could also prove to you that I mean what I say, by being with you and do all those things for you every day, for real. Life is about taking risks, Cuddy, and there is no risk if you stop trying…
I'm a reckless choice, I know that. I'm mad about you and it's certainly scary, for you and for the people who cares about you. I've even been quite literally mad about you once, when I went to Mayfield because even in my drug-induced hallucinations you were always the one... And, I was mad about you the day I ran my car into your home…
We will never have a clean slate. You were right: I did that to you and it will always be there between us. But it will only be there as long as you'll let it be the last memory you want to keep of me. We can have other memories, together, happier ones. I will never want to hurt you, intentionally. I just believe we deserve to try again, for real, this time. And I know you believe it, too.
I'm a reckless choice. But I can't make that choice for you…
H.
He glances behind him, in the space where the bed is and he makes out the curvaceous outlines of her naked body under the sheets. Her back is turned to him and he only sees her bare shoulder blades, and the round shape of her ass, as she lies on her side, curled up in a ball. He puts his hand inside the back pocket of his jeans and fishes the picture of her as Sleeping Beauty he's brought with him before coming to her hotel. He stares at the photograph one last time and delicately puts it atop the letter that he lays in the center of the desk, to make sure she will see it when she wakes up.
And then, he leaves.
Several hours later, in the middle of the night, Cuddy is woken by a sensation of cold as a shiver runs down her spine. She rolls to the side and, still numb from sleep, she feels around, patting the mattress beside her with her hand, only to realize that she's alone in the bed. She sits up straight and looks around her apprehensively, even though she already knows there's nobody in the room anymore.
"House?" she still calls, as she feels her heart racing up in her chest.
She gets up and walks to the bathroom, in the hope that he'll maybe be there, but he's not. She goes to the lounge area and there, on the desk, she sees the letter he's written. Before she even starts reading it, she feels tears gathering in her eyes. She sits down on the chair and takes the sheet of paper in her hands. When she's read the last line, a single tear rolls down her cheek and she closes her eyes, as his letter slips from her fingers and falls, flitting, on the floor.
A/N
A warm, heartfelt thank you to IHeartHouseCuddy, oc7ober, Asia, OldSFfan, vicpei1, lenasti16, JLCH, Abby, freeasabird14, HuddyGirl, Boo's House, Alex, linda12344, Paulac45, Lize, Huddy4ever, MystryGAB, precioussoulandsweetcheeksiin1, bere, Faby for reading and commenting the previous chapter. (And, OMG, Noémie where were you?! :0)
Also, a huge thank you to every one of you who stopped by and read this story so far, even adding it to your list of favorites.
I'm leaving tomorrow on a nine-day mission for work. I'll be away until May, 6 and completely unable to write as I'll be busy almost 24/7 from Monday to Monday, week-end and holiday included… meh :(
In short, that means I'll only be able to update this story when I'm back, or more precisely a few days after I'm back… sorry.
Meanwhile, keep your faith. Only one chapter to go and then the epilogue… :)
Have a nice day ~ maya