53 – "We've given each other some hard lessons lately, but we ain't learnin'. We're the same sad story, that's a fact. One step up and two steps back." – "One Step Up" – Bruce Springsteen

Wilson abandoned the idea of running back upstairs to grab his coat. House was moving fast and Wilson followed the urge of sticking to him as closely as possible.

Of course House did not make it easy on him. Once on his motorcycle, he rode as if he were Steve McQueen fleeing the Nazis in "The Great Escape." He ignored road signs and stoplights and weaved precariously through the narrowest of pockets between cars and trucks. Wilson wasn't sure if House would make it to Cuddy's in one piece or if he would have to accompany his friend back to the hospital in an ambulance.

His heart leapt into his throat for the fourth time as yet another horn blared at the dangerously careening bike. He saw the motorcycle nearly get clipped as House cut off yet another car. There was just no way for Wilson to keep pace. He decided that the best course of action would be to drive as quickly and safely as he could and hope that he wouldn't have to pick up House's wrecked bike or broken body along the way.

Cuddy had just finished putting her daughter down for a late morning nap. The locksmiths left after changing the dead bolts on her front and rear doors. She called them first thing in the morning and got them over to the house right away with the promise of additional money. No matter the cost, she was not going to spend another night like she had just experienced, terrified by every creak and sound that Lucas had returned to finish what he began.

After getting a late start to her day and finally alone once more, Cuddy decided to forego her usual morning yoga routine for an extra long shower instead. Her tears started as soon as the hot water hit her and she stood under the searing spray for at least 40 minutes before she even began to shampoo her hair.

She kept playing everything over in her mind to see if she could have somehow done things differently. Cuddy realized that House's mental collapse had sent her own life spinning out of control. Unfortunately for them both, she had chosen to draw strength from Lucas to steady her because she was afraid of House's fragility.

They had missed so many things, were both guilty of ignoring all the red flags and danger signals. Like a circus trapeze act, Cuddy had released the bar just as House was in total freefall. And she let Lucas catch her.

It wasn't entirely her fault. Lucas had been charming and helpful at first. The fact that she would forever associate him with House, as House's friend, was another, very positive element in his favor.

But she had ignored the continuing breakdown in their relationship along with the growing favoritism and affection she felt toward House. And that reality, in the end, was completely her responsibility. How she didn't realize Lucas' true hidden nature, and even more importantly, how House, who saw nearly everything, missed it as well, was beyond her comprehension.

She eventually turned the water off and padded barefoot into her bedroom, her wet hair and her body wrapped in large, fluffy towels. Cuddy chose a cotton sports bra and soft, velour track suit to wear as anything more constrictive would aggravate her bruised, sensitive breasts.

The doorbell's ring made her nearly jump out of her skin but she calmed herself with the realization that it was broad daylight and a heavy, locked front door stood between her and whoever was on the other side. She went to the living room and retrieved the iron poker however, just for some additional muster to her confidence level.

She couldn't remember ever being more thankful to see House than when she peered through the door's peephole. She rushed to unlock the new bolt and chain and swung the door wide.

House stood there, a curious expression on his face. They both gazed at each other for what seemed like an eternity, House, just relieved to see her standing there and Cuddy, more grateful to see him than she could put into words.

"You're taking a personal day?" House said.

"House . . . ," Cuddy began, the strange gruff quality of her voice surprised them both. She was still somewhat hoarse from her night of screaming and crying.

"Are you . . . all right?" His gaze swept her body from head to toe, and his assessment seemed to add to his distress.

She derived a deep, abiding comfort from the all too familiar sight of him. Clad in his jeans and leather jacket and leaning heavily on his cane, his tall, lanky frame filled her doorway. His unforgettable blue, blue eyes, the comforting sound of his voice, his hand moving forward to gently touch her on the arm suddenly filled Cuddy with an overwhelming sense of easiness.

"I am now," she said as she could no longer hold herself back. Just as House stepped inside, she threw her arms around him and began to sob without inhibition.

House reached behind him and closed the door. Then he began stroking her hair as he tenderly kissed the top of her head.

"What is it? What happened? Cuddy?"

"Don't . . . want . . . to talk . . . now. Just . . . hold me," she sobbed and sputtered.

House knew that his leg would make him pay later but he scooped her up into his arms and painfully limped to the nearby sofa in the living room. He gently placed her there and then took the crocheted throw from the back of the couch and covered her with it.

"Don't . . . go . . . please," she said.

House sat down next to her shaking body. "I'm not going anywhere. You can't get rid of me that easily."

She peeked up to see him looking at her, his eyes full of emotion, a slight, reassuring smile on his lips.

She reached up to stroke his cherished face. But just as her hand neared his cheek, he turned and gently took hold of her arm.

"What's this?"

Cuddy quickly removed her hand, bringing her arm close to her body and covering it with the throw.

"What's what?" she replied, no longer able to meet his unremitting stare.

"You know what," he said. "Your wrist is bruised. Did he . . . what did he do to you?" House's voice had dropped. He was barely audible.

Cuddy began to breathe faster. Why couldn't House understand that she just needed him to be here? To stay with her? She didn't want him leaving and she particularly didn't want him going after Lucas. They had obviously both misjudged him and what he was capable of and she didn't want House to get hurt in some sort of stupid, male quest for revenge.

"I'm okay. I don't want to talk about it. He's gone. He's not coming back."

House narrowed his eyes. "That didn't answer my question."

Gently, he began to remove the throw he'd placed over her. She knew that she could not keep him from the truth any longer so she did not resist.

Slowly, he began unzipping the light top she was wearing. When he had lowered it to just under her cleavage, she heard him intake a large gasp of air and then slowly breathe out in a long, angry hiss.

"He did this? Last night?"

Tears welled up in her eyes again. She couldn't speak. She didn't know what to say to him.

"Ppplease House. Just . . ." her words were cut off by a series of gut-wrenching sobs.

"Okay. Okay," House whispered. He leaned forward and gently took her shaking body in his arms. He kept stroking her hair and gently kissing her as she continued weeping.

"I'm here. I won't let anything happen to you, ever again."

Cuddy clung to him, inhaling the smells of leather, bourbon, cigars, motorcycles and his own, unique masculinity. And she found great comfort in them.

Just as her tears and trembling began to wind down, the doorbell rang.

Cuddy jumped her heart racing. She tried to get up off the couch.

"It's okay," House said. "I'm sure it's just Wilson. He drives like my grandmother, much slower than me."

Not completely reassured, Cuddy nodded, the knuckles of her hand turning white as she clasped the throw, raising it to her neck. When House went to stand up, she grabbed his arm.

"No," she said.

He took his hand and gently touched her face. "It's okay. I'll just let Wilson in. That's all. I'll be right back." And then he leaned forward to kiss her on the forehead.

Cuddy pressed herself into his lips, into his warmth. She lay back down against the arm of the sofa. She suddenly felt very tired.

House limped to the door and made sure it was Wilson on the other side before letting him in.

"How is she?" Wilson asked.

"I was just trying to ascertain that," House said, sounding slightly miffed. Sometimes his best friend's timing was dubious.

"House?" Cuddy's hoarse voice called from the living room. Wilson's eyes opened wide in alarm and concern as House silently mimed for him to stay calm.

House reentered the living room, Wilson at his side. When Wilson saw Cuddy on the couch with a blanket over her, he nervously pulled his hand through his thick hair.

"Cuddy, we were so worried. How are you? Are you alright?"

"I'm doing better Wilson," she said as she turned to look affectionately at House. "I'm doing better now."

"What happened to you?"

"I don't want to . . . "

"Cuddy," House interjected gently. "Wilson and I are here now. We're not going to let anything happen to you. You can tell us." He paused for a moment. "You have to tell us. You know how Wilson is. He's like a damn bulldog. He can never let anything go."

Cuddy smiled at House's attempt at brevity. She could always rely on him to make her smile in any situation. He'd somehow been able to do that the day she lost her first adoption, when she had lost Joy.

And now, after one of the most wonderful, terrible nights she could ever remember, he was doing it again. House would always be the same, she could rely on that and somehow that thought brought her peace.

"Lucas had been drinking. He was drunk by the time I got home. He was holding Rachel who was asleep but I was able to take her into her bedroom." Cuddy sighed, her slim shoulders rising and falling dramatically with the effort. It felt right to tell her two best friends what had happened, it was cathartic.

"His bags were already packed. He knew, somehow he knew what had happened between you and me, House. Exactly what happened, what was said." The color rose to her cheeks as she dropped her gaze. "He admitted he bugged your condo Wilson."

It was a good thing that Cuddy was studying the floor. She missed the uncomfortable looks House and Wilson exchanged with each other.

"It was like I didn't know him anymore. I guess I really never knew him. I told him to leave and he . . . he . . ." Cuddy's lower lip began to tremble as she fought to control herself.

House stepped closer and Wilson followed. House's voice was gentle and quiet as he asked, "Did he force you to . . .?"

"No."

Both House and Wilson sighed with relief.

"He tried to and I was able to fight him off. It was like he snapped. He was . . ." Cuddy began to cry in earnest once more.

House quickly closed the distance between himself and the couch. He sat down on the edge and enveloped her in his arms.

"And Rachel?" Wilson asked.

"She's fine. I just put her down for a nap a little while ago."

Wilson placed both hands on his hips. "Well thank God! I was so worried. We were both so worried after last night. And then when you didn't come in this morning . . ."

Cuddy drew away from House and looked uncertainly at Wilson. "Why did you worry last night? Did you come home while House and I, while we . . ."

Wilson glanced sideways at House who looked away but before he did, Cuddy saw something else behind his eyes. Not just anger or fear, it looked like . . .

"House? Why do you feel guilty? You didn't know Lucas was going to do this. You didn't know . . ."

Cuddy's eyes grew rounder as her mouth opened in horror. "Did you know? Did you know that he bugged the condo?"

House bestowed on Wilson a sidelong glare that told Cuddy everything she needed to know.

"Cuddy . . . believe me. I didn't know that he'd do anything to hurt you. I would never have allowed him to hurt you. You've gotta believe me. Please."

Cuddy pushed him away, nearly shoving him off the couch. She brought her knees up to her chest, cradling herself under the blanket as she began to rock back and forth, vainly attempting to comfort herself as she suddenly felt chilled to the marrow of her bones.

"Get out. Get outta my house," she whispered.

House closed his eyes. "Cuddy . . . please . . ."

"Get away from me! You thoughtless, selfish child! Get out!"

House bowed his head but raised his eyes to her face. They were edged with silver tears as he saw Cuddy's flushed features and the thick tears streaming down her cheeks once more. Slowly he turned, and without another word, hobbled painfully out of the door, closing it to behind him.