Disclaimer - We do not own House M.D. It all belongs to David Shore and Fox.
~Chapter 35~
His couch was comfortable. It was very similar to the chocolate brown one he bought when she was staying at his place; the one she preferred to sleep on, sneaking out of the big and empty king-size bed he had offered her, in the middle of the night, and snuggling close to him seeking his body, his warmth, and his protection.
She had been staring at the ceiling for the last three and a half hours, her brain working more frantically than ever, alert like a coiled spring, dozens of thoughts clouding her mind, keeping her from resting. Feeding on anxiety, her body reacted as it was expected – her muscles tensed, her heart was slightly tachycardic and her stomach churned in nausea. At first she thought she needed a couple of Valiums and a shot of bourbon to calm her nerves, knowing that after a quick search of his place she would have probably found both somewhere. Somehow that didn't seem like the right solution. The opiates would only serve to knock her down for the night, and the next morning would bring it all back; the indecision, the apprehension, and the cowardly fear, pulling hope farther and farther away from her.
That was it, the threshold she was dreading, the mysterious gate she had no key for, staring at her in premonition, yet she was resolved to stop torturing herself. Wiggling under her blanket, almost trying to escape her own thoughts, Cuddy had no idea where the memory came from but she suddenly remembered an excerpt from the Kurt Cobain's suicidal note - it's better to burn out than to fade away. That made her realize that she was done watching her life pass by her passively, like a wick on a candle exhaling its final breath; she was done living on the autopilot like she had been since the moment her baby boy had been ripped away from her. Listening to the song he had left on his iPod brought her back from the trance that had been swallowing her all this time, maliciously sucking out her strength and zest of life, leaving her body numb and defeated, and her soul as lethargic and lifeless as her empty womb.
Cuddy felt as if she was stuck in a small oasis amidst a vast desert, where she felt safe, protected, and where she knew she could keep on living, no questions asked. At any other time that would have been perfectly fine for her, but now she felt an overwhelmingly huge void in her soul. She was all alone in her hiding place, terrified to go out in the desert to try to get everything back; scared of the scorching sun, of the blinding sand storms, of the deadly thirst. Was safety worth all the lack of meaning in her life? Was she ready to give up the rest of the world in the name of the illogical fear of dying alone and helpless in the sand? Was she willing to renounce the last chance of having her old-self back just because she was intimidated by the idea of him breaking her heart again?
Not in this life.
Instantly she felt her hand lifting the flannel blanket from her legs, her head leaving the pillow, her back losing the contact with the soft navy blue fabric, and her bare feet touching the wooden floor. She was up. She was doing it. Lisa Cuddy could be accused of everything except for being a coward. All the suffering she had endured in the last four months just made her tougher. She could deal with the pain of his rejection but the doubt and regret could easily become the death of her.
She dragged her feet towards his bedroom in silence, almost tiptoeing. Stopping in front of his door she looked under it, raising her palms to her mouth to steady her breathing and prevent any involuntary sounds from slipping her lips. The lights are off, he is probably asleep, she thought to herself and closed her eyes, drawing the ultimate particles of courage from her inner being. In two small steps she approached the door, leaning in and listening carefully. There was no imminent sound of snoring. Taking a deep breath she brought her left hand to the doorknob and gently twisted it; the lock clicked and the door soundlessly opened. Cuddy exhaled, entering his room.
His quarters were awfully dark and quiet, except for a very distant noise. Earphones. He was definitely awake; she would have recognized his heavy REM breathing anywhere, anytime and, moreover he had already noticed her presence there, so there was no backing out this time. With an undeniable determination, the ever so cool and icy hospital administrator approached his nightstand, switching the small lamp on, and sat by him on his bed, noticing his perplexed light blue gaze and his slightly parted, surprised lips.
The truth was he had not been able to sleep either as the beehive of his thoughts worked frantically around a delicately framed woman with much guts and spunk, just 20 feet away from him. When he had finally finished packing earlier that day, after an epic struggle to fit all his sneakers inside the designated suitcases, he remembered thinking that he would be spending this night in an uncomfortable, legroom void airplane seat, washing down one Vicodin after the other with hefty gulps of bourbon and running away from his ghosts at six hundred miles per hour. Yet, there he was, sprawled on his cozy and unmade bed, sober and wide awake.
The renowned diagnostician was listening to Sway by The Perishers when he noticed the door opening slowly. That song reminded him so much of her, of them; but then again, everything reminded him of her and the fact that he had ruined her life, crushing her heart by making her biggest dream come true and causing its death afterwards. Are we back now where it all began, have you finally forgiven me?, he heard the incredibly familiar verse and wondered what this all meant. Lisa Cuddy, the fierce negotiator and infuriatingly annoying boss, madly drove herself from Princeton to New York, risking her life, only to stop him from leaving the country, and was then sleeping peacefully on his couch, wearing his favorite Rolling Stones t-shirt. Was it possible that the God he had never believed in heard all the prayers that had never left his mouth, and she, in fact, had finally forgiven him? With that thought he felt his heart involuntarily inflate with hope, only to start intensely racing again once he heard her stepping into his room.
Without saying a word Cuddy removed the earphones from his ears and grabbed his iPod touch which was resting on his chest. Without meeting his inquisitive and impatient gaze she eyed the screen attentively, touching it a few times before getting what she needed. Placing one earphone in her ear, she offered him the other one, and pressed play. The painfully familiar tune of Goodbye My Lover filled their ears and invaded their senses, and they listened to the beautiful and moving lyrics all the way through, in silence and almost without breathing. He had no idea what was on her mind but he was not stopping her. Having her there by his side, gracing him with her presence and her beauty, was wonderful enough.
Cuddy had her head bent down, hiding her eyes from him, for the entire duration of the song. Her heart was beating so fast it felt like it was going to abandon her chest and jump out of her mouth any moment. Her fingers were chillingly cold and trembling, at the point of crackling like shattered glass. When the music finally stopped, she closed her eyes and tried to ease her breathing, revisiting her imaginary scenery again. She could feel her bare feet leaving the green oasis and touching the hot sand of the desert. The sweet melody echoed in her ears, but she was not really revisiting it because she could never run away from the drumming sound it left in her heart ever since she had first heard it. However, she wanted him to revisit it; line by line. There was a question she needed to ask; the one her life depended on.
Controlling her shaky fingers, Cuddy pressed pause. Then slowly she pulled the earphone out of her ear and placed the iPod back on his chest, leaving her hand there. She could feel his heartbeat, accelerated and irregular, exactly like her own. Pursing her lips together and finally looking up to meet his eyes, she simply asked, "Is it true? Have I been the one for you?"
Her question caught him by surprise, as did the feeling of her hand resting on his chest, causing his heart to skip a beat. Before he realized it, he had his own hand over hers, caressing it delicately. His infinitely brilliant mind started working anxiously, trying its hardest to find a comeback both convincing and deflective enough to her unexpected question. However, absolutely nothing came up; it seemed as if his neurological synapses got on strike and his shrewdness suddenly abandoned him. He could feel her piercing stare on him, full of scrutiny, analyzing his every reaction, anxiously awaiting the answer.
After a couple of minutes of dead silence, which certainly felt like an eternity to both of them, he realized that he had no choice but tell her the truth. There was only one lucid thought in his excessively clouded mind, and yet it came out with such simplicity and eerie perfection. "Yeah, for the last twenty or so years…" House simply stated in a tranquil tone as if he had just chosen between an ice cream and pudding for dessert.
This time she was the one shocked by the directness of his answer. Sensing his feather-light touches trailing over the skin of her hand, she looked into his eyes and saw a mix of honesty and anticipation, painted on the light blue canvas. For a moment, she could not recognize that handsome man comfortably sprawled in front of her on the king-size bed, now gently massaging her tremulous hand under his, in an unbelievably soothing manner. That was definitely not the crass and vulgar diagnostician she knew, gracelessly known as Mr. Deflection.
This Gregory House had nothing to hide. There was something about the modulation on his voice when he dropped that verbal bomb in her lap, the characteristic naturalness of the long known, yet unspoken truths. He had been aware of his feelings for a long time and the idea that his stubborn inertia had been responsible for her loneliness and infinite longing all these years, made her feel instantly betrayed. "Then why haven't you done anything about it, all these years?"
The glimpse of indignation in her eyes made him travel back in time, rolling the worn-out tape of his life in front of his own eyes. Now, he felt exactly the same way he had on the day he finally got the balls to tell his father he had no intention of following his military career path. "Because it makes no sense. It's illogical." Gregory House, the greatest chicken on earth, said, swallowing dry an inopportune lump growing in his throat. Then, with great difficulty, he took a deep breath, gathering courage.
"I have never been the one for you," he continued, making a mental note to get back to his old and safe deflecting-self as soon as possible.
The astonishment disappeared quickly and Cuddy noticed him gradually withdrawing to his bulletproof cocoon, as self-loathing exacerbated quickly from his pores. Scooting closer to him, like a purring kitten, and gathering all the audacity left in her tiny frame, she finally stepped into her imaginary desert by asking him in a soft tone, pausing in the middle of her sentence. "Have you ever wanted … to be the one for me?"
Averting his gaze he reflexively let go of her hand, as the poisonous repent filled every cell in his body. What the hell is wrong with me? How could I expose myself like that? When did I turn into Wilson? House felt like the newest member of that revolting and useless sharing your feelings crap club. Pressing both hands against the mattress and arching his back, he sat up, deliberately biting his lower lip. Then he looked up, locking his eyes with hers. Blue on blue, truth on truth.
"Cuddy," he started with crude frankness, honestly believing the rest of his sentence would be enough to put the end to that overwhelming dawn of confessions. "If there is one thing I have learned from what happened is that what I want hardly matters," he slowly delivered. House was proud to have finished the phrase without stuttering or mumbling but he was unable to hide the pain that layered his shaky voice.
A gallbladder attack would have hurt less then the ache she sensed in his voice. For the first time, in their long history, she realized that his well-hidden soul had a wound that matched her own; she had not bled alone all this time. She was aware of the fact that she was pushing him to the limits and that he, probably, could not bear that much exposure and vulnerability but she had invested herself way too much to just give up now.
"House, that's not…" she started in vain.
He could sense her shrewd mind working in a frenzy to beat his argument but he knew he could not let her succeed. "Come on, Cuddy, you know I'm right. It's not just a stupid song, it's the fundamental truth. You can't always get what you want!" he stated with conviction, hoping it would keep her from disagreeing with him.
The ominous tone of his voice frightened her a little; he was on the verge of snapping. She had to weight her words carefully because that was the crucial moment. She had left the oasis behind and was now in the middle of the desert, with his figure standing before her, towering her. Is it a mirage? She had to find out.
"You are right House, it's not just a stupid song," she said, pretending to give in, only to unexpectedly raise her right hand and touch his temple, adding seductively, "But you are forgetting the rest of the lyrics…" Her thumb rubbed the wrinkles of his frown, causing his expression to relax instantaneously, and then, without prior warning, her fingers descended all the way to his nose and moving right, stroked his cheek, lovingly. "You can't always get what you want, but if you try sometimes, you might…"
"Get what you need…" He completed, almost whispering, uneasiness suddenly gone, and a feverish anticipation taking its place.
Maybe this conversation is not such a bad idea, if it is allowing me to be close to her, he thought to himself, as the electricity of her strokes crawled down his spine. Raising his right hand, which had been resting on the mattress, House delicately encircled hers that was still stroking his cheek and moved it to his lips, brushing soft and lazy kisses over it before asking, "Is that what you are doing now…" he started, leaving a small army of kisses on her palm, before finally exhaling and posing a life-defining question. "…trying to get what you need?"
"Yes." Cuddy admitted without hesitation, lost in the tenderness of his lips on her skin.
"And what do you think I can possibly give you?" he asked in a sweet and honest way, while his body, with a will of its own, moved deliberately towards her until his forehead was resting on hers; emotions were finally kicking reason's butt and taking over control.
He was not the product of her eager and longing mind; he was real; he was there with her, in the middle of nowhere, confused, scared, submitted. His inebriating musky scent invaded her sensitive nostrils; he smelled sinfully good.
"You can make me feel again," Cuddy murmured, as a sincere smile adorned her face once more and his hot breath left his mouth and brushed her lips, with their faces now only inches apart.
"Feel what?" he managed to ask before his emotion-filled eyes involuntarily closed and his lips met hers, caressing them gently and sensually. He wished he could inhale her entirely.
"Alive," she whispered into his lips, lifting her heavy eyelids just to drop them again seconds later in ecstasy. Then she felt his long lean fingers abandoning hers and reaching for her neck, pulling her mouth into his hungrily.
Their lips met again and the rest of the world automatically vanished in a poof of white smoke. If an alien ship had broken in through the window, landed on the floor by the side of the bed and sucked them into the light vortex, abducting them to another planet, they wouldn't have even noticed - as long as they were kept together, in a timeless embrace.
Their kiss started slow, soothing, and tender; the sensation was too overwhelming for both of them as their hearts were about to explode into a million pieces. Yet it felt so right, so familiar, like finally getting to sleep in your own bed after a week spent in hotel rooms. His lips captured hers, pressing softly her bottom lip with his, sensing its rose petal delicateness, and then tracing it deliberately with his tongue, in sensual teasing. House tangled his fingers in the bouncy curls of her hair, feeling her body shift towards him in response, placing both hands around his neck. He tilted his head to the right and she did the same, in perfect coordination, until they were kissing openly, mouth corners and tongues intertwined, passion flickering around them like firecrackers.
She moaned inside his mouth when she felt his warm tongue against hers, massaging it, savoring it, causing the heat to build between her legs. He tasted unbelievably delicious, a mix of honey and mustard, bittersweet, intoxicating. When she leaned closer in and started to suck on his tongue, it was his turn to cry out. Cuddy gently scratched her nails on his scalp, her fingers messing up his grayish fuses as she savored his low moan. She had risen from her seated position and, now her breast were inches from touching his chest.
Her Black Magic by Valentino scent was driving him insane and his hands were already unconsciously moving towards her hips when the memory of the night she rejected him in his apartment invaded his brain cells, leading him to break off the kiss while he was still capable of controlling himself. He had truly given her his word back then. He did not negotiate.
His gesture was like a bucket of cold water momentarily extinguishing the fire and passion his kiss imprinted on her insatiable senses. Still panting from the previous air deprivation she widely opened her eyes and stared at him in disbelief, asking silent questions with her blue-green orbs. In all truth, she really did not have to ask. She knew exactly what that was about; she knew it from the very moment she left the couch and headed towards his room. It was about that night when she had slashed her heart into poetic words written in her diary, confessing the inconfessable and crying herself to sleep in his bed afterwards, until the pillow case could not absorb any more of her tears.
The last time they had been this intimate, kissing and giving in, about to belong to each other completely, she had denied him her body and her soul, pushing him away from her. When she felt his hands resting on the swell of her belly her maternal instinct overruled her emotions in a desperate attempt to protect her child, and herself, from the menace he represented.
He had attempted to convince that her he was willing to try, and she had taken his words for granted, comparing his vain and empty speech with the equally vain purpose of getting inside of her pants. She had discredited him loud and clear as the potential father for her child when all he needed was a chance to prove he could have been one; that in fact he was one. If only she had known, better yet, if only he had let her know that it was him growing inside her, that there was nothing wrong about the place he had put his hand on, that it had actually belonged there the whole time, guarding that little piece of him he had given her.
It took Gregory House all the valor he had left in his miserable being to articulate that phrase and to suppress that little voice that came from inside his heart telling him to do the right thing - what he desperately needed and wanted – to grab the open hand she was extending in front of him and abandon himself in her loving arms. Yet, his mind was his master, and his pride was his foreman. He never really had any choice for that matter.
"I am not doing this unless you…" he said slowly, cursing himself for ruining that amazing moment, for throwing away what could be his last chance of survival.
"Unless I ask you to. I know," Cuddy said interrupting him and knowingly completing his sentence. "You don't negotiate," she added, making it clear she remembered every single word constituting his bitter remark from that night.
Then she lowered her head, inhaling deeply. It was not easy playing the submissive role; asking House to touch her was against all of her principles. But then again so was showing up at his doorstep, talking him out of leaving the country and coming into his bedroom in the middle of the night, talking him into giving into his feelings. But Gregory House was not an ordinary man, he was the one. General rules had never applied to him.
There was a price to be paid for loving him, and fortunately at that moment, she was able to afford it.
A/N
*Brought to you by Andie