Part 34

Cuddy sat in the chair next to House's bed and watched him sleep.

He was in the ICU now. They'd briefly brought him around after the surgery to make sure he was responsive then she'd requested they put him back under a while longer to give his body a chance to rest.

The procedure went well.

Using the fluoroscope, Chase had been able to get under the tumor without nicking it and extracted the clot. Not knowing if the tumor was benign or malignant, it had been imperative that the mass not be ruptured in the slightest for fear of sending cancer cells throughout House's system.

It had been an incredibly delicate procedure, requiring a deft hand, patience, and time, and Chase had handled it well. As for herself…

Cuddy had held her breath through much of it, standing back out of the way and observing, ready to step up if needed. Thankfully, she hadn't been, but it hadn't made it any easier to watch.

Cuddy had experienced many instances of deja vu throughout the procedure. She'd seen House like this too many times, for too many reasons. From his original infarction to his trying to do that damned surgery on himself.

Sighing in exhaustion and exasperation, Cuddy leaned forward and bowed her back to stretch the stiff muscles. She stood then and checked House's vitals. There was no reason to do so other than her innate-bordering-on-obsessive need to watch over him. The monitors were working just fine, his heart rate, respiration, and blood pressure were markedly improved. If there'd been any change since the last time she'd checked, the machines would have alerted her. But she looked anyway, pressed her fingers to the pulse point in his neck then let her hand come to rest on his shoulder.

He needs to shave, she noted.

"Hey."

Looking up, Cuddy saw Stacy Warner slipping into the room with two cups of coffee.

Cuddy slowly eased away from the bed and dropped back into the chair. She drew her feet up into the seat with her and wrapped an arm around her knees. Stacy came over and handed Cuddy a cup of the coffee before dragging another chair up to sit beside her.

Cuddy thanked her and they sat quietly for a while before Stacy finally broke the silence, addressing the elephant that had been in the proverbial room since she'd agreed to go see House at the jail.

"You know, you're really putting yourself out there for a man who drove a car into your home."

There was no accusation in the words, just curiosity.

Cuddy took a moment before responding, casting a brief glance at the brunette beside her before resettling her attention on House. "What is there to say really?" she said softly. "He did an awful thing … but I love him." She paused then said, softer still, "I've loved him since I was 18 years old."

She heard Stacy shift beside her. "That long?"

Cuddy nodded slowly.

"I would have never guessed. He was alway so patronizing to you, and you gave as good as you got. I used to give him hell about it."

Cuddy suppressed her automatic response, which was to confess that it had been her and House's version of foreplay. She didn't think Stacy was ready to hear that the bickering had a sexual undercurrent, even back then. It would have been unkind and Stacy was a friend. So she deflected.

"Twenty-five years... and I screwed it up in less than a year," she said, her gaze flickering to Stacy and then back to House.

"You don't blame yourself for…"

"No," Cuddy interrupted, hearing the disbelief in Stacy's voice. Cuddy absolutely did not blame herself for his actions but she could take the blame for her own. "But I wasn't fair to him," she said, confessing the same to Stacy that she had to House just weeks ago.

Cuddy could feel Stacy looking at her, knew the woman was processing what she'd told her in the last few minutes. There was wonder in her words when she finally spoke.

"You've forgiven him."

Cuddy felt the sting of tears. It had been one thing to tell him, to admit to herself even, but to hear someone else say it… For some reason it made it feel even more real.

"Yes," she whispered, a tear slipping free.

Out of the corner of her eye, Cuddy saw Stacy sit back in the chair and cross her legs. A wisp of wistful amusement colored the attorney's next words.

"He gets under the skin, doesn't he?"

Oh yes, he gets under the skin … into the heart and brain and blood and marrow and …

"He gets in," Cuddy replied, stressing the last word in a way that left no doubt as to her feelings for the man in the bed in front of them. Another tear slipped free when she added, a tremor in her voice, "And I need him there."

It was a truth Cuddy had barely admitted to herself since leaving Scranton, since Michigan even, too afraid to think on it for longer than a moment or two for fear he might not feel quite the same. She certainly hadn't expect to say it aloud to anyone else. But it was out there and the reality of it hit her like a sledgehammer. Her breath hitched with it.

Stacy touched Cuddy's arm, squeezed gently. "I'll do everything I can to help him. I promise you."

"I know," Cuddy whispered and looked over at her friend. She saw no jealousy in House's former lover, just concern and an understanding that could only come from the experience of loving him. Cuddy was grateful for it because she'd just lost the only other person who knew what it was to love House, despite everything he did, didn't do, had done, and would do.

Thinking of Wilson only sparked more tears from Cuddy. She hated to cry, but she couldn't seem to stop them. It had been a long, stressful day and she was worn out, unable to muster her usual reserve.

But then she found it. A movement at the room's entrance caught her eye and she looked and saw her daughter.

Cuddy smiled and felt her heart lift a little.