A/N: Hi all. Second-last chapter! Just one more to go plus a brief epilogue, and I'll probably post both of them the same time. Thanks again to you all for your support and for staying with this angsty ride that House and Sarah have endured!
"Get off me." His voice was a low growl, Sarah thought, a threat that would have most people quaking to do his bidding.
Charlie just lifted her lips from his then cocked her head on the side and gave a fake frown. "Really? You don't want this?" She gestured to herself.
"No, I don't."
"Come on, everyone wants me." Charlie gave him a calculated smile. "Kiss me. Then I can tell Sarah what an asshole you are and she can move on."
"Is that what this is about?"
"It's how I protect Sarah from bastards like you."
"By stealing them from her?"
"Just for a while. Then I dump them and Sarah and I move on."
"You really are a bitch."
Charlie's eyes widened and she shifted herself off him. "Excuse me?"
"I thought I was pretty much the most selfish and self-involved person I'd ever met, but you—"
Having sat back on the sofa, Charlie was facing the hallway and Sarah saw her eyes light up with triumph as she saw Sarah standing there. It must have been clear from the expression on her face that she'd seen what had happened.
Greg broke off, twisting around, his face thunderous. "Sarah don't even begin to tell me you believed that little scene you just witnessed."
Sarah didn't believe there was anything to the kiss she'd just witnessed but a lifetime's experience with her sister was hard to overcome and, against all logic, the feelings of betrayal still welled inside her.
Greg stood up, his body bristling with anger. "Right, I've had it with manipulative, selfish women and altruistic selfless ones. Charlie, get out." He pointed at the door.
Charlie smiled, a sinister, snakelike expression. "No. You get out. You think Sarah's going to choose you after everything you've done?"
"Not if she has an ounce of self-preservation, no. But I think you've beaten that out of her, Charlie, so maybe I do stand a chance."
"You asshole." Charlie stood up, hands on hips, clearly ready to take him on. "My sister is too good for you. Why aren't you back with your little cancer-cry-wolf girlfriend? You dumped Sarah as soon as something better came along."
"Yeah, just like you do," he shot back. "And just like everyone else in her life has done. But unlike you, I've learned my lesson."
"Stop it!" Sarah stepped into the living room with her hands raised. She only just stopped herself from putting them over her ears to block out the argument like a child.
Charlie and Greg fell silent, both of them looking at her. Charlie seemed a little shocked, but her cheeks were pink and her eyes glowed with more than just the chemical high they'd had before. She was enjoying this.
Greg's face was flushed too, but the look in his eyes was desperate and wild. Sarah didn't understand why Charlie wasn't terrified.
"Get out," Sarah said. She couldn't cope with either of them.
"Yeah, Greg, get out," Charlie added.
"You too," Sarah said through gritted teeth.
Charlie's eyes widened, almost comically. "Me? You want me to leave?"
"Both of you – get out."
Greg gave a short nod. "Fair enough. Come on Charlie, get out of here." He grabbed his cane and began using it to herd Charlie toward the door like she was a stray sheep.
"But Sez, I came all this way and I wanted to . . ."
Sarah screwed up her eyes as if it would block out her sister's pleading. Because of that she didn't see what happened next, but there was the sound of shuffling, a hastily slammed door and then muffled shouts and furious banging.
When she opened her eyes, Greg was leaning against the door with a triumphant grin and Charlie's muffled shouts of indignation were coming from the hallway.
"Got her," he said gleefully.
Sarah sighed and shook her head. "Greg, I meant it. I want you to go too."
"I will," he said, the grin dropping from his face. "But you have to hear me out first."
The muffled shouts and thumps on the door continued, but House blocked them out. Charlie would get tired of it soon enough, or she'd break a nail, and she'd give up. Sarah could explain it away later.
"I don't think there's anything left to say," Sarah said. She looked so tired, pale, with purple smudges under her eyes. House itched to order her to bed, to tuck her next to him and make her rest until that pink glow he loved came back to her face. The thought that he might not see her like that again intensified the hollowed-out feeling he'd been living with these past few days. A feeling that had led him here – doing something he'd never thought he'd do: plead for a second chance.
"Sarah!" Charlie screamed from the hallway. Maybe he'd underestimated her determination.
"She's not going to go away," Sarah sighed.
"Make her," House said.
Sarah shook her head slowly in a way that wasn't quite denial. At least that's what House chose to believe.
"Make her go away," he insisted. "Then sit and listen to me. After that I'll leave you alone too."
She hesitated and for a moment House felt a sense of dread creep over him. What if it was too late? What if he couldn't convince her to try again?
A little ray of hope: Sarah took a step. And then another step. She walked over to him, waved at him to move his bulk from where he rested against the door, and she opened it, just as far as the chain he'd slid into place would allow.
"Sarah! What's going on? Are you okay?"
"I'm fine Charlie. I think Greg and I need to talk, okay? Can I call you later?"
"Don't fall for it, Sarah! He's a liar. He's an addict and an asshole and he's in love with another woman."
"She's right on two out of three anyway," House muttered.
Sarah gave him a confused frown at that, but then turned her attention back to the hallway. "I'll be careful Charlie. I'll call you later, okay?"
"Isn't it about time you 'powdered your nose' again anyway, Charlie?" House called out. It wasn't hard to pick Charlie's chemical of choice – today, anyway.
Sarah's frown this time wasn't confused, it was angry. House shrugged.
"Asshole!" Charlie yelled.
"Takes one to know one," House yelled back.
"Children!" Sarah's sharp tone was a contrast to her slumped shoulders. House felt momentarily chastised, but more because of how defeated Sarah looked, not because of anything he'd said to Charlie. He didn't regret any of that.
"I'll call you later, Charlie," Sarah said before closing the door.
House was sure he could hear the huff from the hallway, but neither of them missed the stomping footsteps that led away from the door and slowly disappeared down the stairs.
"Greg, I'm really tired," Sarah began.
"I know. I can see. You should be in bed."
A couple of pink spots appeared on her cheeks and House had to stop himself from smiling. Just hearing him talk about "bed", even in the invalid sense, made her blush. Maybe he had a chance after all.
"What did you want to talk about?" she asked.
Sarah lowered herself into a chair, as he made himself comfortable on the sofa – without Charlie beside him this time. The sofa was far more comfortable as a result. It could only have been better if Sarah was there, cuddled next to him.
He sucked in a deep breath, readying himself for the most important conversation of his life. He needed her to listen, to understand, to forgive. He didn't know how it could live with himself if she didn't.
"I want to talk to you about a patient," he said.
Sarah wondered if her disappointment showed on her face. "You want to talk to me about a patient?"
"Yeah." Greg was starting to look a little less confident now that his triumph over Charlie was fading.
"Okay," Sarah said uncertainly, wondering what this was really about.
"I diagnosed someone with APS2." There was no mistaking the pride in his voice.
"Good for you." Sarah's heart sank. Had he really come here just to boast about his latest medical conquest?
"No, no, you don't understand. She's been sick for years and she was about to see her last Christmas. Dozens of doctors, specialists, no one picked it. I talked to her, I realized she had diabetes – no one else had picked it up. And then I noticed her alopecia. It was a really unusual presentation – only mild Addison's symptoms and she didn't have . . ."
And off he went. Reeling off the medical jargon, talking at her as if she were at a medical conference and he was presenting a case. If nothing else it underlined just how talented, how special and unique his talents were. Sarah wished there was some way to get inside his brain and see how he organized his thoughts – if more people had his capacity to retain information and see patterns in the interconnectedness of things, the world would surely be a better place. That or a much, much worse one.
He finished his story, eyes sparkling, almost a kind of glow about him. She'd never seen it before. It was like a cat she and Charlie had had for a while when they been kids. It would kill a bird or a mouse and then bring it before them to show what it had done, sitting back and licking its paws, so immensely pleased with itself, while they squealed in revulsion.
He rubbed his shoulder absently, staring at her, waiting for her to respond.
And then it clicked.
This was Greg House as he should be. The thrill of a diagnostic puzzle, solved thanks to hard work and ingenuity. This was what he lived for. This was what had been missing from his life these past few months.
She watched his fingers move, unconsciously rubbing at the scar he'd given himself.
"What's going on with your shoulder?" Sarah asked.
He looked at his hand and frowned, as if noticing for the first time what he was doing. "I dunno. But it itches like crazy."
"It's healing," Sarah said.
"It's already healed," he said dismissively.
"No, I mean it's really healing." She felt tears threaten again. "Hanna went away," Sarah whispered.
A small smile curved his mouth. "I knew you'd get it."
A lump formed in her throat. He didn't love her, but she loved him, and she was so happy to see him like this, it almost overwhelmed her.
His smile faded and he leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. He looked into her fireplace, not at her. "Sarah. I know I fucked up."
Sarah blinked slowly. This was what she had been dreading. If he apologized, begged for another chance, she didn't know how she'd resist. But she had to remember: as soon as Lisa had thrown a crumb his way, he'd dumped her and ran. Now that his first choice was no longer available, good old Sarah was back in his sights. Living with that knowledge would eat away at her. She would never be good enough.
"I'm broken. I'm an addict and more than occasionally I'm an asshole too. I can't promise that what happened last week will never happen again. But I can promise that I want to try. I want . . ." His voice broke, and he took in a breath and blew it out before he spoke again. "I want to be the man you deserve." He reached into a bag Sarah belatedly noticed sitting at his feet and pulled out a beribboned box. "Here."
Sarah frowned as she reached out and took the gift. She undid the pink satin ribbon with one pull and lifted the lid. Inside, nestled in white tissue paper was an orange vial of Vicodin.
"It's the same one. You can count the pills," he offered.
Sarah shook her head, staring at the bizarre gift. Eventually she lifted her eyes to his, knowing she looked as confused as she felt. "Sorry Greg, but . . . what on earth does this mean?"
"What do you mean, what does it mean?" House spluttered. He thought he'd done it perfectly. He was giving her his trust – in the hope she might give him hers. "I'm asking you to try again. To . . . hold on to this for me."
"You want me to keep your Vicodin?"
"Yes, like we agreed. You keep it, and if I need one, I come and ask you for it."
Sarah took in a deep but shaky breath. She still seemed genuinely confused. "I don't see how that can work, Greg. Why don't you ask one of your friends?"
"Because you live in the building," he said. It was obvious, wasn't it?
"Then maybe you should try Sergei."
"But . . ." Then realization sunk in. She was turning him down. Warring instincts battled inside him. His first and overwhelming response was to get up and walk out. But he knew he couldn't. He couldn't go back to the emptiness that waited. He needed to make her understand.
"Sarah, I'm telling you that I want to work on this. I don't want to be defined by my addiction to Vicodin anymore." He struggled to find the words, irritated that she was making him explain himself and hadn't just understood what he meant from the metaphor of the gift. When he'd plotted this out in his mind, they'd been kissing by now.
"That's great, Greg."
She gave him a smile that came off as false and condescending to House's eyes. He struggled to keep his temper. He was trying to apologize. Yelling at her, even if it was only out of frustration with himself, wouldn't be a great way to proceed.
"I'll go back to Mayfield if you want me to. I'll go back to therapy." He had a sudden realization that giving her the pills was a really, really stupid idea. "You're right, I shouldn't give you the pills. That's only making you have to deal with it. I'm trying to say . . . Hell."
He stood up and paced the room, tunneling his fingers through his hair. He turned to face her. She sat patiently, winding the ribbon from the box absently around one hand. She looked so frail, dwarfed by the oversized chair. And so tired and ill. He thought she was the most beautiful woman in the world.
He'd spent the past five days talking himself into this. Diagnosing Meredith Cantrell had brought his mojo back and it had had nothing to do with anyone else. He'd done it, he'd worked hard, got involved with a patient, and worked out what was wrong. There was no cure for her condition, but there were treatments – and at least she and her daughter could rest now that they had answers.
The satisfaction had lasted all of a day before emptiness had clawed its way back. The emptiness was a Sarah-shaped hole in his life. He missed her presence, her gentle influence, the lightness she brought into his otherwise miserable existence.
He realized then he was prepared to do whatever it took to take her back. If it meant never having Vicodin again in his life, he'd do it. He wasn't sure if he could succeed, but he'd die trying.
How could explain?
"I'm trying to tell you . . ." he began. "I know what I did that night was unforgiveable. But I'm asking you to forgive me."
He was sure he could see tears welling in her eyes and he hoped like hell she wasn't going to cry. He'd lose it if he made her cry – again.
"I forgive you," she said simply.
He opened his mouth to argue before her words sunk in. "You forgive me?"
"Of course."
He shook his head. "So then . . . why?"
"Why what?"
"Why aren't we kissing right now? Why am I not removing your bra at this very second?"
"I forgive you, Greg. I know you will always have to work hard to battle your addiction. I know most of the time you'll succeed and sometimes – hopefully rarely – you might fail. What's important is that you know that, and now I know you do."
"So again, why aren't we playing with each other's genitals right now?"
She winced, and shook her head, biting her bottom lip with her front teeth.
"I don't understand what's going on here. I'm admitting to you that I'm going to try harder to keep the Vicodin under control. You've said you're okay with that. What more do you need me to say?"
Sarah closed her eyes and one fat teardrop slid down her face. It broke House's heart to see it.
"I can't do it," she whispered. It was so quiet for a moment he wondered if he'd really heard it or just imagined it.
His stomach twisted. Yet again, his addiction had fucked up his life.
"I'm sorry Greg." Her eyes opened and they were shiny with unshed tears. "I just can't be second-best. I love you, so very much, but knowing I wasn't your first choice would eat away at me. It would destroy what we have. I know how it works . . . I've been there before. I can't do it again."
"Second best?" House echoed. His breath caught as a wave of realization swept over him.
It wasn't about the Vicodin.
Her decision had nothing to do with his addiction.
If anything, it was worse.