Part 26
Stacy moved. House moved.
House returned to work on a limited basis. He was, for the most part, keeping his physical therapy appointments. Wilson was a veritable nursemaid to him as he continued to recuperate. He drove him back and forth to work most days. Sometimes House caught a cab.
Every now and then Stacy would pick him up. Those days, Cuddy had come to dread. The fallout in the days following were rough, for everyone.
Benders had become the norm and Cuddy worried about his Vicodin intake in conjunction with the booze. But the pain, without it, was unbearable.
Honestly, Cuddy didn't know why he and Stacy didn't just call it quits completely. Maybe it was the familiarity that had them going back to each other. Maybe they both felt they had to give each other one more chance. Only one more chance had turned into a half-dozen over.
Wilson fretted over it constantly. Cuddy continued to tell him to distance himself over the relationship, to concentrate on his own marriage, and be a friend to House or Stacy, but that right now, he couldn't be one to both.
He sometimes listened. He sometimes didn't.
Cuddy steered clear of the relationship aspect altogether.
She remained House's doctor and monitored his health, as much as he'd let her, but he'd been gradually distancing himself from her. Not far, but enough that she felt his absence at times. And yet she saw him most every day at work.
He was largely subdued on that front, much to the staff's delight but not to hers. Those were the days the pain was unbearable and occupied his mind almost completely. He kept his head down and did his job on those days, no more, no less. The days he lashed out were when it was bearable but still impeded his functioning. Tolerable-pain days were rare but easily recognizable — he invariably found something to bug her about. He would call her constantly, page her, limp his way down to her office and enter without knocking.
The latter drove her nuts but she put up with it because by the time he reached her, he looked completely exhausted from the effort. She let him get away with a lot because she knew he was dealing with a lot.
Sometimes she went home and cried because she'd seen him leaving the hospital with his shoulders hunched and head bowed as he all but dragged his right-leg behind him to catch his ride home.
Tonight was one of those nights and it was worse than usual because his ride today had been Stacy.
Cuddy was sick at the thought of what he would do to himself when the woman invariably left him. And she would. And then Wilson would have to put him back together. And Cuddy would help however House would let her.
Since that night in the office at the townhouse he and Stacy had shared, he had been careful to not talk about some things around Cuddy. She had expected it after he directly acknowledged the pain it caused her.
House was prone to cruel outbursts — to which many people could attest — but he was not a cruel man by nature. He didn't want her to hurt any more than she did him. Which is what made it so hard to sit alone in her home and wait for the inevitable.
To occupy herself, Cuddy had brought home more paperwork than normal but it was actually sitting untouched in her satchel while she sat in the corner of her couch. The only thing she'd done since coming home was eat a cup of soup and start a fire.
It wasn't snowing yet, but the precipitation was in the forecast for tomorrow. It was cold out, though, had been for the last couple of months as the holiday season neared. The fire had become a nightly thing, for warmth, but tonight she wanted it for a different kind of comfort.
The warm glow and lazy flicker leant a dreamy quality to her living room, making her feel like she was in a cocoon, safe from the rest of the world.
She had felt that feeling before, many times in Michigan. But the comfort and security there had come from the man who currently occupied her thoughts, not a hearth.
Their lives had changed in so many ways from those days of largely carefree youth. It amused her to think that she was only a few years older than he'd been when they'd first met. They had changed as people over the years, each in their own way, but the connection they shared hadn't. He was still her friend and she was his, their more still intact. That amazed her, and she was grateful for it.
Looking at the clock on the mantle, Cuddy noted the lateness of the hour and sighed. If she had any hopes of being awake for the budget meeting in the morning, she needed to head to bed now. She used to fall asleep quickly, but not in recent months.
Rising, Cuddy tended the fire, dampening it for the night then headed toward her bedroom. She nearly jumped out of her skin when there was a sudden knock at the door. She cautiously made her way over and peered out the peephole.
House.
Alarm gripping her, Cuddy quickly unlocked the door and pulled it open. He nearly toppled in on top of her. He didn't say a word, but the grimace he wore and the pained way he was breathing and looking at her told her all she needed to know.
"Come on," she said softly then helped him inside.