55 – "'Cause I am the mess you chose. The closet you cannot close. The devil in you I suppose, 'cause the wounds never heal. But everything changes, if I could turn back the years, if you could learn to forgive me, then I could learn to feel." – "Everything Changes" – Staind
House staggered into the PPTH lobby, where Nurse Brenda's questioning gaze followed him past the desk to the elevators, and up to his own office. The unbearable pain in both his leg and his heart had a mind numbing effect upon him. House moved as if he were on autopilot and therefore completely incapable of changing his course or destination.
As he limped into his office and threw himself into his chair, he was thankful that his department was still without a case. His fellows were elsewhere, probably downstairs in the clinic, and he was left alone to mull over the grief that had taken a stranglehold of his heart.
Bereft of hope and in complete agony of body and soul, House reached for both his ibuprofen and the bottle of bourbon he kept in his bottom desk drawer. It was still early in the day to begin swilling down the burning liquid in earnest. But he didn't care.
He wanted nothing and no one, only the feeling of complete numbness to blanket him, blocking out and shielding him from all else.
He knew Cuddy was right. Of course she was right. He was responsible for Lucas' act of violence upon her exactly in the same way that he was to blame for Amber's death in the bus crash. While House knew he couldn't be held directly accountable, the fact that his actions caused Wilson's crushing loss and now Cuddy's horrifying attack ate at his very soul.
He couldn't possibly be expected to plan for every eventuality but some modicum of forethought or even remorse did seem to be in order. And yet House just couldn't bring himself to do either. Time and again, he ignored the possible ramifications of his actions and when the sh** actually hit the fan, he did not trouble himself to dwell on regret.
For House had done this his entire life, as far back as he could remember. And he obviously wasn't about to stop the behavior now. He knew that his thoughtless words and actions were a preemptive strike on his heart's behalf; better to rebuke those he loved quickly than to wait for them to discover his true self and suffer the pain that must come from another's ultimate rejection.
And what was that true self that would eventually be cast off by everyone he loved the most? House no longer knew, was not sure if he'd ever known. It was someone so twisted and terrible that even as a child, his father had tried to beat it out of him while his mother passively stood by and failed to intervene.
People intentionally hurt, abandoned and left you. Unconditional love? It was a fairytale invented by those select few who enjoyed idyllic childhoods and were too beautiful and good NOT to be loved. Not for him, an old, broken down drug addict with only one good leg and a cynical outlook. Never for him.
No, Cuddy was right to push him away from herself, from her daughter. People ended up getting hurt around him, particularly those he loved.
Because once again, only when it was too late, did he realize that he was in love with her, that he had perhaps, always been in love with her. Smart, funny with a bod too zesty for any mortal administrator, Lisa Cuddy was, in many ways, a major driving force in his life. And he was not only grateful to her for that, he loved her for it as well.
House looked forward to seeing her every day at work and mocking her for whatever low cut blouse and overly tight skirt she'd chosen to wear that morning. He enjoyed their confrontations when her voice would become overly shrill with vehemence and excitement. And during their frequent battles, he often only had eyes for her heaving chest that seemed to rise and fall in time with his beating heart.
He was entranced by her, the way she spoke, the way she moved, the way she smelled, the way the light struck her hair, the way her skin glowed. The closer her proximity, the more intoxicated he became by her mere presence.
Yes, House loved her for the strange, seemingly irreconcilable physical and emotional qualities that made up who Lisa Cuddy was as a person. She was not nearly as messed up as he was, no one possibly could be. But she was fascinating in a way that he inherently knew could keep his probing mind occupied, probably for the rest of his life. And she had already captured his heart.
She was tenacious, proud, capable, smart and even funny. She was strong yet fragile. He'd seen how easily she'd broken when the IVF hadn't worked for her and then later when she lost her first chance at adopting a baby. Like himself, Cuddy's heart was her most vulnerable point. But unlike House, she couldn't hide her fragility quite so well.
A lifetime of abuse and pain had taught House that particular trick. He guarded his emotions with a well-armed militia standing along the walls surrounding his heart. But Cuddy had breached those walls and created an inroad.
When he was with her, he had blinded himself to everything but her. He'd told Wilson how he'd planned and manipulated everything to get her. But he had forsaken all control, all thought, as soon as she showed up on his doorstep. House had been drawn to the very sight of her, moving toward her in his need to touch her, taste her, hold her.
Last night, he had loved her, truly, deeply loved her with everything that he had, everything that he was. In the morning, however, it had been proven that once again, he was not enough.
He'd let Cuddy in too far last night. He'd seen it in the way she looked at him, without pity or regret. She saw him as a man, a terribly flawed but mortal man. House had seen it in her eyes. She loved him.
Had she seen it in his eyes too? Did she know that he loved her?
What did it matter? He had twisted his feelings into a knot so tight that he was bound by an iron chain in which each link of emotion touched another, with overriding pain tainting everything else.
Perhaps he'd wallowed in misery for so long that he was incapable of feeling anything else. Cuddy was simply the latest, most powerful temporary respite for him. Cuddy, Stacey, Lydia, Cameron and Cuddy again, in the end, he simply didn't deserve anyone nor their love.
When he made love to her the night before, Cuddy reminded him of how well they meshed on every single physical level. Yet their physical connection served as an analogy for something greater than their combined sum. For, if it were true that each person had a spiritual twin, then Cuddy was linked to him from time immemorial.
He'd felt her significance since Michigan. And like a large magnitude earthquake, that night they shared together had sent shockwaves through his life for all time. With rolling import, they had somehow both been drawn together at dire events in each of their lives only to crumble, falling apart in the end.
Better to finish it now, let her find out that he truly was a "selfish, thoughtless child" and allow her to end things with him. He knew he would be unable to see the disappointment in her eyes, the slow suffocation of the love that once was there.
For how could he doom Cuddy to the torture and agony that only a relationship with him could bring? He wouldn't do that to her, couldn't do that to her.
One good thing had come about from all of this however. House's face broke into a melancholy smile, his eyes brimming with tears. His thoughtless actions had rescued Cuddy from a relationship with a man with a tendency to violence.
And perhaps even more importantly, his thoughts continued as a single tear marred his right cheek, he had spared Rachel from that same man's presence in her life as well. Cuddy's daughter would not have to endure the kind of cruelty in childhood that he'd experienced.
Perhaps in the end, that was enough. Even if it wasn't, House realized that now, it would have to be.
Wilson stayed at Cuddy's for several hours after House's departure, most of which were spent simply holding her hand and sitting silently near her as she cried. God, he felt so useless!
And so guilty. He had inadvertently let slip House's knowledge of the listening devices planted around the condo. Cuddy had gone overboard when she'd found out. She blamed House for Lucas' attack upon her.
It was all just a horrible accident. Like Amber's death, House was a peripheral factor in bringing about the circumstances. He was simply one element in a veritable "perfect storm" of causes that brought about Amber's death and now Cuddy's assault.
Wilson realized however, that the morning after a violent attack such as Cuddy had suffered was definitely not the time to argue that particular point. Better to let both House and Cuddy calm down before making any attempts at communication or apology.
But Wilson could not get the look that crossed House's face that morning out of his mind. How different it was compared with the way House's eyes had shown so vividly last night, as if they were lit from within with their own, pure, blue fire. House was in love with Cuddy, Wilson had no doubt about that.
And this morning . . . the look that passed between them as House limped out of Cuddy's home was so diametrically opposed it was almost not to be believed. House looked shattered, defeated, deadened and completely without hope.
And yet, strangely familiar. That was the irksome quality of House's expression. Wilson racked his brain to remember where he had seen that exact look before.
And then he knew. He had run into House's fellow, Lawrence Kutner the week before he'd committed suicide. Kutner had the same look in his eyes for a moment, for only a moment, that House had after Cuddy dismissed him.
A light sweat broke out on Wilson's forehead. He made his excuses to Cuddy and left as soon as was humanly possible. He needed to check on House.
When he arrived at the hospital, Wilson thanked Brenda for her assistance that morning and informed her that Dr. Cuddy would return to work the next day. Brenda nodded. But as Wilson started to walk away, she grabbed his arm.
"Please . . . Dr. House. He didn't say anything when he came back. He looked . . ." Brenda's mouth set into a slight frown. "Please . . ."
Wilson nodded and said, "I'm going to check on him now."
Brenda let go of his arm, smiling faintly. "Your superhero cape should be clean by Tuesday Dr. Wilson."
He looked away, blushing slightly. "I'll bear that in mind," he said as patted her hand before he hastened toward the elevators.
Wilson bumped into Chase as he was stepping into the cab.
"Where've you been all day?" Chase asked.
"Running errands. Have you been in the clinic?"
"Yeah, all day. And Foreman, Taub and 13 too. Where's House?"
"Just going to see if he's in his office," Wilson said.
The two men exited the elevator and rounded the corner to see that the lights were off in House's office. Wilson sped up with Chase following. The younger man picked up on the rising anxiety level that Wilson was throwing off.
Both of them stopped in their tracks as they rounded the corner to see House sound asleep in his chair. Wilson breathed a heavy sigh of relief as he ran his hand through his hair.
"Wilson, what's going on?"
"Nothing . . . everything. House is in . . . trouble, big trouble. And on top of everything else that you know I can't tell you about, his mother's coming in early tomorrow morning to let me run some tests. The day before she's due to fly home."
Chase stood looking at Wilson in a state of shock. Wilson never talked about difficulties House was having and for him to do so suggested that not only was House possibly once again, circling the drain, but that also Wilson was overwhelmed.
He was in serious doubts about the best course of action to help his friend. Add to that the fact that House's mother had obviously been diagnosed with cancer and Chase saw that the oncologist was struggling to bridge the yawning chasm between House and the possibility of another breakdown.
Chase closed the gap.
"What do you need me to do?" he said.
The relief that washed over Wilson's face was immediate and tangible. "Well judging from the empty bottle lying near him, I'd say the first order of business would be for him NOT to go anywhere tonight."
"I can keep an eye on him. And I'll hide his jacket. It's too cold for him to leave the hospital without it. And he always keeps the keys to his bike in the left pocket. Anything else?"
Wilson shook his head. "No. That's a lot right there, especially if he wakes up. He already knows about his mother's appointment so I'll talk to him about it in the morning."
"Okay. Then I'll see you tomorrow morning."
"Yeah. And Chase . . . thanks." He walked into his office, leaving Chase standing in the hallway.
Wilson wanted to wrap up a few things and leave early, taking the rest of his work home with him. After everything he'd been through since last night, he felt that he deserved to leave a few hours early.
Chase turned toward the office just as Thirteen stepped out of the elevator.
"What's up?" she said as she came level with Chase. The two stood together looking in at the sleeping House in his chair.
"House sitting," Chase said. "And possibly . . . a House DDX. Interested?"
Thirteen gave him a broad smile. "I've got nothing better to do."
