A/N: Well folks, I feel this story is reaching its conclusion, so I'll be winding things down over the next few chapters. Thanks to all my readers. I can't say enough good things about you guys!
In the weeks before the shooting, back when she could call things 'normal' and say it with a straight face, Cuddy had entertained the idea of having House move in with her.
They practically lived together anyway. She cooked meal after meal for him while he chatted away at the table. He played her requests at the piano. She was there for him when the pain got to be too much. They worked at the same hospital. They had their ups and downs, but didn't everyone? Nights apart were few and far between and always ended with an apology when time apart meant taking the time to cool off. It made perfect sense that they should just live under the same roof.
Of course it never got past the idea stage and she didn't think it ever would, but she still found herself thinking about it at odd moments, weighing the pros and cons, dreaming up ways to bring up the subject without sending him screaming into the streets.
Then some maniac decided to settle a mysterious grudge with a couple of bullets. The idea got shoved into the back of the closet as helping House through some of his darkest days and seeing that he got back on his feet was a tad more important. She briefly considered having him recover at her place, but decided that he would rest easier and more comfortably in his own apartment and all its familiar surroundings. She had all but moved in with him during those long weeks. He had his complaints, but it wasn't necessarily about all the time she spent nursing him back to health. He needed someone there for him whether he actually wanted it or not. Even the notoriously stubborn Gregory House had to admit that and accepted her help without too much groaning.
He was stretched out next to her, draped in the pink sheets and flowery comforter, his long legs hanging over the side of the bed. His head rested on half her pillow, leaving her very little room to move. She couldn't move him without waking him up and stayed put. Though he had complained several times that he didn't like her bed, that never once stopped him from sleeping in it. His warm breath puffed against her neck, rough stubble scratched on her shoulder. Berating her about being awake didn't have the desired effect, Cuddy was still far from dreamland. House had tossed and turned and grumbled for a good half hour before he finally relaxed and gathered her up in his arms like a stuffed animal.
There were times when he needed something she couldn't provide. Sometimes he needed to be alone, needed to be cut off from the rest of the world for a while. Take refuge in his apartment, his own space. That was a freedom he needed. Closing himself off in a room of her home wasn't the same thing. His apartment was his sanctuary. That was one thing she couldn't deny him, even if she didn't always agree with the reasons he closed himself off.
House wouldn't move in with her. She knew better than to bring it up.
He was perfectly content with their arrangement, and just as with the pain management, he would see no reason to change it.
Maybe someday he would change his mind. If that day ever came she would buy a bigger bed.
House pretended to be sleeping and tried to just let himself enjoy the feeling of being close to her, the smell of the lavender fabric softener on the freshly washed linens, and the wonderful scent that was Lisa Cuddy. There was no need to spoil the silence with words at the moment. There had been too many angry and bitter words between them over the last few days. The early morning silence was a welcome relief. He wanted nothing more than to get some rest and put the last few days behind him, but his still wide awake mind insisted on wandering all over the place without proper supervision.
Cuddy said she didn't have any regrets when it came to him. House was sure she wasn't telling the whole truth, that she had to have one or two. Everybody did. Regrets were a part of life. Anyone who claimed to have no regrets was a liar or completely insane. He was also sure that he was better off not knowing what her regrets were.
He had his fair share of regrets. Too many to count. He regretted calling her a stupid bitch. He regretted that his pain and anger had got the better of him. He regretted losing his temper and taking it all out on her. Thinking about it made him cringe inwardly as a bolt of guilt stabbed through his heart. The slap had almost been a good thing. It had stopped him cold, made him take a step back and look at what he was doing to himself and to her. It was a slap that he whole-heartedly deserved, but a slap nonetheless and it stung just the same. Thankfully the palm-shaped bruise had faded quickly. The stares from patients and strangers on the street were nerve-wracking.
No matter what, she could never truly understand his pain and what it did to him, and the terrible person it could turn him into. That sure as hell didn't stop her from trying. Unless she was willing to have an infarction in her leg and have a muscle removed, she should just focus on something else. But she wouldn't. She would never give up. Typical tenacious Dr. Cuddy. Nothing would make her give up. Like a dog that grabs hold of a pant leg and won't let go she was bound and determined to understand, or at least convince him that she did. It was a lost cause, but if she was going to lose she going to make sure that nobody could say she didn't try.
She still wasn't asleep. He could tell by her shallow breathing. He chose to keep the silence, grumbling at her wasn't going to instantly change anything. If she wanted to stay up all night then let her. Let her see what she was missing, which was absolutely nothing. Fingernails began to lightly trace along his scalp. His favorite thing in the world. Well, make that his second favorite. His favorite thing was having Lisa Cuddy by his side.
That was his favorite thing in the whole world.