Disclaimer – We do not own House M.D. It all belongs to David Shore and Fox.
~Chapter 18~
Tuesday evening
After three days of miserable solitude and deliberate avoiding of each other:
Cuddy was convinced he folded; House decided to never underestimate the power of denial; in his case, the power of bluff.
For a long time after they arrived home from work Cuddy sat in the kitchen sipping her tea. It was lightly raining outside and she absentmindedly listened as the steady drip from the roof plopped musically onto the windowsills. She was aware how hasty her words to House had been, yet she felt better having said them out loud. If only he wasn't so stubborn.
No, she wasn't as blindly confident as she appeared. Inside, she was terrified by the knowledge that she loved so irrationally. She was trusting, yes, but not naïve. She understood there was a price to pay for trust, and that often it was a dear one. Could she trust him? She asked herself knowing that her choice had already been made. Looking back at their history, perhaps, she'd never had one.
Rising from her chair, Cuddy switched off the lights and began walking towards the living room. She knew she would find him vegetating in front of the TV, sulking more than paying attention and that thought painted a smile on her face. She silently giggled as she dragged her feet through the hallways, bringing him a cup of tea. She couldn't avoid him forever. Was it her innate guilt or a sense of gratitude for being there for her, she couldn't differentiate.
She approached him cautiously, almost tiptoeing, as her long, charcoal lounge pants covered her bare feet. He slowly looked up and observed her carefully. His gaze lazily trailed down from her chin and lips to her bare feet, taking time to remember every inch of her as she stood there, glowing naturally and at ease with herself.
House tried, with all his mental power, to avert his gaze, but his blue eyes remained glued to her abdomen and the gentle swell of her belly beneath the thin, cotton t-shirt. A small pinch of paternal pride awoke in him as he imagined pressing his palm against it.
Only when she extended her left hand and gave him a cup of hot, steaming tea he finally broke away from the spell she had cast when she appeared in front of him and looked at her beautiful eyes. Without too much drama, she shyly said lacking a better excuse,
"Thank you for bringing the TPN bags home. It totally slipped my mind today."
He locked his eyes on hers and for one metaphysical second lost himself in them. That was the power she had over him; to reduce him to a dreaming boy with one single glittery look.
"You're welcome," House replied, still surprised by her presence. Then, after giving it some thought he cynically asked, "You came here just to tell me that?"
She waited for what seemed an eternity for him and finally said, "No. But I will leave you with it." She impatiently tucked a disobedient curl behind her ear and disappeared in her room.
House remained sitting on his couch, amazed and shocked at the same time, his lips partly opened. A split-second déjà vu appeared in front of his eyes bringing a sour smile to his face; he visibly remembered the very second she failed to ask him to father her child a couple years back, during her first IVF treatment. Without mentally revisiting his old ghosts, he grabbed his cane and limped after her.
Cuddy was bending over to reach a new TPN bag out of the refrigerator when House pushed his way in. He eyed her perfect bottom wrapped in the comfy cotton of her pants and quickly remarked as if he had no regrets,
"Second trimester ass looks good on you."
She slowly closed the refrigerator door and turned to face him, holding the milky bag with both of her hands. She didn't say a word although her faint smile gave away that she registered what he said; if he wanted to talk, she would let him.
"Can I help you with that?" House asked politely referring to her TPN treatment.
"Sure," Cuddy replied plainly, as she sat on her bed, stretching her feet forward and clasping her left hand over her belly.
House walked around the bed and sat next to her, gently removing the bag from her shaky hands and attaching it to its stand. When she straightened her right arm, giving House a better access to her PICC lumen, his brows came together in a frown.
"How long has this been red?" He asked as he palpated the area around the place where the catheter went under her skin.
She slightly squirmed under his touch and replied timidly with a shadow of concern in her voice, "I don't know. I haven't really noticed anything."
He quickly got up, his cane magically appearing in his hand again, and said as he walked out, "Let me get some ice for it. You must have irritated it during sleep or something. I'll be right back."
A couple of minutes later House was back, carrying a bucket of ice, two washcloths and a small towel. Without speaking, he began tracing the irritated spot with a few cubes of ice. He worked in very slow, very deliberate circles, his eyes fixed on hers. Though his palm was rough, his touch was gentle. Cuddy's lips trembled apart. With something like curiosity or invisible magnetism, House took a damp finger to trace the shape of her lips. He felt her quick, convulsive shudder. Still slow, still inquisitive, he ran his fingertip along the inside of her bottom lip. Under his thumb, the pulse in her wrist began to hammer. A lightning broke briefly through the blinds, so that the light shifter and brightened before it dimmed again. He watched it play over her face.
"You won't run away this time, Cuddy," he murmured, as to himself.
She said nothing, afraid to speak while his finger lingered on her lips. Slowly, he traced it down, over her chin, over the throbbing pulse in her throat. He paused there for a moment, as if gauging and enjoying her response to him. Then he allowed his fingertip to sweep up over the swell of her breasts and lie lightly on the erect peek covered only by the thin cotton shirt.
Heat and cold shot through her; her skin was chilled from the ice, her blood flamed at his touch. House watched the color drain from her face while her eyes grew impossibly large and dark. Yet she didn't draw away or protest the intimacy. He heard the sharp intake of her breath, then the slow, ragged expulsion.
"Are you afraid of me, Lisa?" He asked whispering her name gently, echoing his own fears in the silence of the room. She closed her eyes as he brought his hand up to cup her left cheek.
When she didn't say anything, he moved closer to her and pinned his fingers under her chin, gently forcing her to lift her head and open her eyes. At the contact a current of electricity shot down her spine and spread through her body, and her eyes opened with a shiver of her long, black lashes. Her blue irises reminded of a turbulent storm as she raised her face to his.
There were no words as their eyes met, and she realized the inevitability of the moment. She knew that had been drifting steadily toward this since the first night she moved in, but his behavior of the last three days almost convinced her that she was just another game for him, another mystery to be solved; and since mysteries were not necessarily miracles he was bound to walk away from her life, sooner or later. Yet, a flicker of hope kept lingering somewhere around her heart and as long as it existed, she wasn't going to let it expire.
His lips were warm and gentle on hers as he kissed her slowly. Then, with increasing pressure, his tongue parted her lips and his arms tightened around her, crushing her breasts against the hardness of his chest. Her arms twined around his neck. She responded as she had never responded before, putting all her hopes and dreams in. The thought ran through her clouded brain that no one had ever kissed her like this, no one had ever held her like this; all these years she had been fooling herself. Then, in the same fashion as their appeared, her thoughts were drowned in a tidal wave of passion.
She made no resistance when he lowered her onto the bed, her arms above her head and the swollen lips still possessively captured by his. The weight of his body only partially pressed against her sides as he consciously avoided putting pressure on her abdomen; however, his desire was no secret to her as she felt it burn on her thigh. His mouth began to roam, exploring the smooth skin of her neck. The fire of a new and ageless need raged though her veins. She felt the thudding of a heart – hers or his, she couldn't tell – as his lips caressed her throat and face before meeting hers with possessive hunger. His hand moved under the thin fabric of her t-shirt to cup her breasts that swelled under his touch. She sighed and moved under him, positioning herself on the side to better meet his demanding strokes.
Cuddy was lost in a blaze of longing such as she never known, responding with a passion she had kept buried all these years, as his lips and hands moved with expertise over her warm and willing body.
When his hands moved to the gentle swell of her stomach, and when she felt his fingers moving under the waistband of her lounge pants, a sudden realization dawned on her and she began to struggle against him.
"House, please don't. You have to stop." Cuddy let out a muffled cry.
He lifted his head from the curve of her neck to look into the deep pools of her eyes, now filled with both fear and desire. His own breathing was ragged.
"Lisa," House murmured, and bent to claim her lips again, but she turned her head and pushed against him.
"No, House, I can't do this."
A long breath escaped from his lips as he removed his body from hers, absentmindedly scratching his stubble and, seconds later, pushing both of his hands through his hair, in confusion. Cuddy sat up, clutching her hands in her lap, keeping her head lowered to avoid his questioning gaze.
"I always knew you were a tease, Cuddy, but I never knew you were cruel," House said in disappointment, deliberately stabbing her with verbal daggers.
"I am not!" she protested, her head snapping up at the harshness of his tone. "That's unfair."
"Life is unfair, deal with it!" House childishly blew air into his cheeks only to let it out with a bubbly sound. He kept his gaze on Cuddy.
"I…" Her voice shattered into a void of spasms but she decided to continue anyway, shying away from her original thought.
"Things have changed, House," she locked her eyes with his, making sure that he was fully aware of her reasoning. "This is not about sex anymore and I am not sure you understand it," she said in unbelievably sad voice.
And that was the truth and the human condition. For Cuddy, sex with House was the highest level of desire to touch and be touched, to love and to be loved, and once she had done so, it would be impossible to keep it casual. It was about belonging and she wanted to belong to him, body and soul.
"What are you saying?" he asked perfectly knowing what she had meant.
"I am saying I need more than sex. Four months ago a "one night stand" would have worked, for you, for me, no strings attached …" she barely managed the words across her lips knowing that she was lying. A one night stand with House was never an option; at least not for her.
"Who says this would be a one night stand, Cuddy?" House asked, strongly believing in his words.
"You don't want a relationship and you surely don't look like somebody who would raise a kid, let alone someone else's kid. You are not a fatherly type," she said in one breath and then continued when he remained silent. "You would end up hating me for dragging you into this or hating my child for standing in your way. I can't let that happen."
"Ouch, that was harsh!" House made a silly face and attempted to say something humorous in his defense but her words hurt him so much, rendering him speechless. He looked at her in shock, pain radiating out of his body like poison. Cuddy failed to recognize it.
"See, you can't even be serious. You can't have a mature conversation without turning everything to a joke." She said with a strong criticism then purposefully added, "It's all or nothing House, and since you are incapable of giving it all or being at least a father figure to this child," Cuddy patted her stomach and lowered her voice as she spoke, almost to her belly "…then I am afraid this between us is not going to work."
And there it was, a sudden realization that she could never view him, or even consider him, fit to be the father of her child. Hell, he didn't consider himself either but he was, at least, willing to try. What he was incapable or unwilling to try was telling her the truth since he was convinced she would hate him; and that would destroy him completely, beyond repair.
Then he tried a different approach; cashing in on her guilt. Seduction had obviously failed.
"Cuddy, hold on!" he demanded raising both of his hands in defense "Was this all a game to you? Were all those kisses and shudders just a nice little performance so you could give me all this crap about not being in a relationship with you?" House ended his little speech a scale higher than intended.
"No, House, I don't play games, you do. This ishow I feel, unglued by your touch, scarred by your lips but I am not sorry for kissing you."
She gulped for air as she admitted and uneasily added, "And if I have to choose between sleeping with you and my child, I choose my child. You taught me that I can't have it all!" Cuddy raised both of her eyebrows and looked at him, asking, "Isn't that ironic?"
When she uttered the last word House realized that he came totally unprepared for a lioness that was protecting her cub. Cuddy was ready to do anything in her power to protect their child. Even from him. He quickly consolidated his thoughts and drew his last card, hoping to win. Truth.
"What if I told you I wanted it all, too?" He extended his hand to touch her again, seeking shelter in her embrace.
"I wouldn't believe you," She said harshly, shivering under his touch. Her heart refused what her lips were saying but there was no going back so she added in the same tone.
"Because for you, House, the end justifies the means and you are not getting into my pants." She hated appearing weak in his eyes and her blatant refusal just proved that House had turned her into a stubborn woman; sometimes too stubborn for her own good. Cuddy pierced him with her blue eyes that were already filling with water and added, in an uncharacteristically shaky voice,
"You can't go on touching me like that. I am not made of stone!"
Gregory House was never a violent man but her liquid blue eyes in combination with her pleading refusal made him shriek in rage.
"Damn it, Cuddy!" he said, getting up and almost throwing his cane to the floor. He furiously limped away from her, emotionally empty and broken. Finally gathering composure he said in a voice that chilled blood in Cuddy's veins; intentionally cruel. "I will never touch you again. You have my word, even if it doesn't mean much to you. Next time, if there is ever one…" he emphasized his words, pouring sarcasm and bitterness out of every syllable "…you will have to ask me to touch you and you will have to be absolutely sure. I don't negotiate."
Cuddy's tears, sticking to her long eyelashes, were framing her face faster now, her sobs no longer silent as she pulled her legs tighter against her body in a useless attempt to comfort herself and shut out the pain that his words caused.
Sorrow veiled her eyes. Tears clouded her vision. But her tears were not oars dipping into the sea. In that moment she understood what she had done; she understood that her tears were a handful of pebbles in the pocket of a sailor whose ship was about to founder in a savage wave. Irreversibly.
"I can't fight your tears, Lisa," House brokenly said and turned to leave, gripping tightly on his cane. He gave her one last look before he closed the door behind him; a look that contained all the sadness and remorse of this world.
"Greg…" she whispered into the silence oh her room, hot tears now galloping down her beautiful face. She cried herself to sleep as if the entire world, and all of its beauty, had come to an end. The full TPN bag remained untouched on the nightstand.
House smirked, feeling a salty sting in his eyes as he walked across the living room, tapping his way in the darkness, over to the window.
The night was very stormy, the wind shook the trees like a limp doll and the wild, summer rain pounded on the windows like a drum; it wasn't a lullaby and it perfectly reflected what was going on in his soul. House stared at the empty street with a glass of scotch in his hand, thinking of what had just happened. She rejected him.
For the next six hours the subtle exchange of scotch and soft, melancholic piano tunes filled the gloomy air around him. He wasn't sure if he was still alive; everything suddenly lost meaning. Several times that night he competed against rain playing Cuddy's Serenade and every time he felt he had lost for she had never heard the piece he composed for her. Will she ever? He asked himself as he washed two Vicodin down his throat with a hefty gulp of alcohol, hoping it would wash away his pain. However, there were not enough drugs or alcohol in this world to cure what was ailing him.
At 4:00 am Cuddy woke up for her PICC feeding session. Remembering that she missed her previous one at 8:00 pm she grabbed both bags and attached them simultaneously, barely opening her eyes. Her head was pounding from the extensive crying and all she wanted was to get it over with as soon as possible, blocking all other information from her brain. She refused to think. Her physical exhaustion was stronger than the power of her will and she fell asleep minutes later.
House heard the rustling noise coming from her room and wondered if he should have helped her. Only when the silence completely enveloped the apartment he gathered courage to enter and watch her sleep.
He found something soothing in watching her sleep, bearing witness to the stillness of her beating heart tapping into peaceful echoes of rest because he knew her days are restless and consumed by a world gone relentless in the pursuit of perfect appearances and fake masks.
He had been there, he had strained his eyes searching the bottoms of empty shot-glasses for reasons behind the unreasonable, searching his past for excuses to keep his distance from
those who'd ever tried to love him. He had been there, he had cut his fingers on the shards of shattered hearts he had broken, desperately attempting to steal the parts to replace the pieces missing from his life only to learn that despite how many shattered pieces he found he would never find a piece that fits. Until now.
So he continued to watch her sleep closely, resting his chin on the cane handle, because as imperfect as he was, he would rather stay close all night then to wake up trembling; afraid, alone and lonely.
The storm outside was giving up slowly but before dawn the last lightning crashed his hypnotic state as the light traveled across her body. He noticed two empty bags attached to her PICC line and a massive swelling extending from her neck down her right arm. He jumped in terror and approached her slowly, cautious not to scare her beyond expected. He shook her shoulders gently and called her,
"Cuddy, wake up!"
Cuddy stretched lazily and murmured something unintelligible only to slightly roll over and continue sleeping. This time House gave her a stronger tug.
"Cuddy, listen. You have to wake up." When she barely opened her eyes still cloudy from her sleep and red-framed from her tears, he continued, "Listen to me, damn it! Your PICC line has clotted and you have massive swelling on your right side. I need to get you to the PPTH. Now!" His voice was intentionally acute, as her eyes grew bigger with each second, "Can you sit up?"
Cuddy nodded and with some effort straightened herself in bed. House grabbed his cell and quickly dialed the PPTH ambulance ordering them to get their asses to his apartment as soon as possible or someone would be fired.
"We need to take the PICC line out. The swelling is spreading fast." He explained as he pulled the ice chips from the small refrigerator and then quickly applied them to her neck. He wasn't sure which was trembling more, his voice or his hands.