It was a joke, Cali, story's not over yet. What I did was actually kind of a prelude to this chapter. You'll know when you read it.

Enjoy!

Chapter 35: House's Childhood

He is not sure what brings it on—whether it is self-fulfilling prophecy, or the fact that he feels safe enough with them to drop all his guards and emotionally unwind—but come January, House starts having nightmares. Buried memories from his childhood arise in his dreams, and he wakes up several times at night, soaking in anxious sweat. He is either drowning or falling or freezing, surrounded by darkness and abandoned by the rest of the world. His restless nights leave him tired and wiped out during the day, drawing at his energy. He stops staying over at the house because on some nights he wakes up yelling.

Cuddy, of course, notices his change in behavior, but he brushes her off every time she calls him on it. He feels uncomfortable talking about his past, and hopes for his nightmares to be temporary. The first week he pretends to be busy with a case and hardly sees her or the kids. The second week he simulates a minor gastro-intestinal infection.

When he comes over on the Saturday two weeks after the nightmares started, he dozes off on the couch in the afternoon, his sleep deprivation taking its toll on him. He dreams of faceless creatures slithering towards him in the darkness, and when he wakes up, one of these shadows is right in front of him, descending upon him. He flinches away before his eyes adapt to the light, and he catches sight of Cuddy holding a navy blue blanket in her hands, in the process of covering him up with it.

She seems disconcerted by his intense reaction. "It's just me," she whispers, and spreads the soft fabric over his legs. "House, please tell me what's going on," she asks, concern ringing in her voice. "Why are you hardly here anymore?"

"Something has to be wrong?" he deflects. "Couldn't be that I have a hot chick half your age waiting for me at home and I'm just being sensitive of your feelings?"

Not the least bit fazed by his comment, she carefully sits down next to him, her expression serious. "Please talk to me."

Part of him wants to, but a bigger part of him is scared of the questions that are bound to follow. He has not even shared many details from his childhood with Wilson, because he wants neither pity nor commiseration. He rubs his leg absentmindedly, not knowing what to say.

"Is it your leg?" she asks gently. "Is it getting worse?"

He shakes his head, remaining silent.

"Obviously I can't force you to tell me, but can you at least give me a hint?" she pleads with him. "I'm worried."

He gives up warding her off. "It's not a big deal. I just haven't been sleeping well."

"In what way?"

"Bad dreams."

"Okay," she nods, looking slightly relieved. She has probably been expecting worse. "But you don't want to share what they're about?!"

House's dreams have increased in intensity over the last week, and his lack of sleep has been affecting his work. What worries him most is the impact they have on his mojo. As much as he wants to keep the past buried, he is scared of slipping into a depression, so he reached out to his former therapist. "I will. I rang Dr. Nolan yesterday. Turns out he has an unexpected opening in his schedule next week."

"That's good. I'm glad." She searches his face with worry. She must think matters are more serious than he admits, given that he already called his therapist, but she refrains from pressuring him. "Are they worse here? Your nightmares?"

"No. I don't know." His first one hit him at his apartment on Sunday night two weeks ago, and he has stayed at his place since. "I just get loud sometimes."

"House, you shouldn't be alone now. The kids' rooms are far enough down the hall, and I don't mind. I can close my door, if you'd be more comfortable with that. It's just a remnant from when the kids were little."

He ponders her offer, scratching his forehead. He gives her a brief nod.

"Okay." She brushes her hair out of her face. "And I'm here, too, if you need me."

"Thank you."

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House starts seeing Dr. Nolan once a week, and they dig deep into his childhood. From then on, things only seem to be getting worse instead of better. House's world becomes greyer and greyer, and he feels completely powerless to fight it.

He is spending more and more nights at the house—not because his dreams are any less cruel there, but because of the comfort it gives him to wake up and be aware of the three living and breathing warm bodies lying not too far from him. It also calms him to know that if he were to knock on Cuddy's door and ask if he could sleep beside her, she would let him. Sometimes, when he wakes up from a nightmare, he finds her sitting at his bedside holding his hand or running her hands through his hair the way he has seen her do with John a thousand times. He tries to recall the last time she was this gentle with him. Maybe right after he had returned from Mayfield, or when he was in the hospital after Amber's death.

He cannot help but feel like a liability. He spends long periods of time in his room, staring at the ceiling. Occasionally, he picks up his guitar and plays songs he remembers from his childhood. Most of the rare positive moments from his past are connected to music; it was his way to escape. Sometimes, John knocks on his door, enters wordlessly carrying his guitar, and joins him.

As much as House wants to be happy and appreciate what he has, an invisible wall has wedged itself between him and the world, dulling every emotion, color, and sense. He lost his appetite, his humor, and his grip on everything that once gave him stability. Everything is shifting. He feels vulnerable and raw, and wants to hide away all the time. He takes a week off from work, but soon realizes it makes him feel even more useless and like a failure.

This has been going on for three months when he walks into the living room one night to find Cuddy still on the couch, reading through a report. She looks up when she hears him approaching. "Hey, what are you still doing up?"

"Couldn't sleep," he says, stopping in front of the coffee table.

"You want me to make you some tea? Or milk 'n' honey?" she offers, taking off her reading glasses and setting down her work.

He shakes his head. She is doing enough for him already. "I'm a burden. And I feel like crap because of that."

"What?" She furrows her eyebrows at him, looking startled. "No! What are you talking about?"

"I am really trying to get past this," he says, feeling the need to apologize.

"I know that! House, don't be ridiculous. If there is anything I can do to help…" She looks at him with empathy.

He lowers himself onto the couch a couple of feet away from her, exhaling deeply. "Just don't let it affect the kids. Kick me out before it does."

"It's not affecting them," she says firmly. "They know this has nothing to do with them."

He stomps his cane on the carpet, holding it between his legs. He feels so utterly helpless.

She settles a pillow in her lap and holds out her arm. "Here," she pats the pillow with her other hand. "Lie down."

He hesitates for a second before he leans his cane against the coffee table and tilts his body sideways on the couch, his head coming to rest on the pillow.

She pulls a blanket from the backrest and drapes it over him. "I'm actually quite proud of you," she says gently, and starts stroking his upper arm. "I understand this is difficult and you're struggling, but you decided to get help and go the long way instead of opting for the quick fix."

"You didn't have to pour your entire alcohol collection down the drain."

She pauses briefly. "You noticed that, huh?"

"No pain releasing substances besides Advil and cough syrup in the house anymore, either." He actually appreciates her concern, and enjoys mocking her a little. "You do realize I work at a hospital?!"

"Well, I know how hard it can be to resist the temptation of short term relief." Her voice is dry and low.

"Heroin would definitely do the trick." He scratches his nose. "Or just a syringe and an air bubble. Which would actually turn it into a long term fix, though."

The movement of her hand stops abruptly and she takes in a shaky breath before he realizes what he just said and how it might have come across. "House!" she gasps.

He turns onto his back so he can see her face. It is filled with shock and fear, bordering on panic. "I didn't mean that," he says swiftly.

"Are you suicidal?" she breathes, completely unconvinced by his words.

"No. You don't have to worry about coming home and finding me in a bloody bathtub," he tries to calm her.

His attempt fails. She seems to be barely breathing. "But that I'll receive a phone call from Foreman, informing me that you jumped off a bridge somewhere?"

"No." He did not think she would react this strongly. He had not been thinking at all, actually. "Cuddy, shit just flew from my mouth. I was kidding."

"That's not funny right now." She stares at him intently, still concerned he meant even part of what he said.

"I know. It's not even an option at the moment."

She raises her eyebrows. "Well, would you even tell if it were to become an option?" There are tears forming in her eyes.

He takes in a deep breath and tries to give her an honest answer. "I wouldn't be here at all anymore," he whispers. "I wouldn't do this. Not when I'm this close to you and the kids."

She swallows hard as the tears start rolling down her cheeks.

He tends to forget how much he means to her. He reaches up and cups her beautiful face in his hand, his thumb catching a tear. "I'm sorry," he mumbles. He had not meant to upset her like this.

She covers his hand with hers and presses it more tightly against her face, holding onto his touch. "No more jokes about this, okay?" she mutters through her tears and briefly turns her head to plant a kiss on his palm. She searches his face carefully, blinking several times.

He nods earnestly and turns back onto his side when she lets go of his hand.

They remain quiet for a while, each of them lost to their own thoughts. Eventually, she picks her report back up and continues with her work while she gently runs her free hand through his hair.

He closes his eyes and dwells in her caress. At this point, he is relieved she is his best friend and not his girlfriend. It would increase the pressure on him to get better, and he would feel even worse about letting her down. Moreover, he would constantly question her motives and suspect she was holding onto him purely out of guilt. As of now, he is certain that she is acting out of friendship. She is free to send him home anytime, in case he became too much of a downer. This is his greatest fear: That he will keep deteriorating to the point where they cannot stand to be around him anymore.

He opens his eyes and swallows hard. "What if I don't get better?" he mutters.

"You will, honey," she responds promptly, sounding absolutely certain.

"You're just saying that because you want it to be true."

"I'm saying it because I believe it to be true. I'm sure Dr. Nolan hasn't reached the end of his rope, yet. And once he does, we'll think of something. Try something different."

He wishes he could share her faith.

"Nobody is abandoning you, House," she reassures him. He wonders how she keeps guessing his fears. "I'm here. We're all on your side."

Her words and the warmth in her voice bring a lump to his throat. "Thank you," he says hoarsely. He wedges one hand under her leg near the hollow of her knee; his other hand comes around on top so he can hold on, her thigh serving as his anchor. He closes his eyes again and tries to let go, hoping that she will catch him if he falls.