A/N- As usual, I can't thank you enough for your support of this story! Seriously, your comments and support mean the world. After the last chapter, I had my first major case of writer's anxiety hit. It was a loaded chapter, and I was so nervous that it would track right to a reader. I understand my thought process and rationale, but that means little if it doesn't come across right to the reader. Adding to that wanting to keep them relatively true to character but also respecting that their combined experiences would influence them AND helping them move forward—yeah, anxiety took over. Don't worry. I'm not giving up on this story and plan to try to keep to a 2-3 update per week schedule if I can.

I'm likely going to be going back to previous chapters and editing soon. Nothing major should change- just fleshing out parts and cleaning up others. So if you've read to here, you shouldn't need to go back once edits are done. And I noticed some mistakes I've realized I've made. In "After Hours," Rachel was three years old. I originally had her as five in this story then changed it to four so she'll be changing back and will be in kindergarten. And I forgot in Season 6, Julia lived 2 hours from Princeton, but that didn't really jive with Season 7 for me. She was there too quickly and easily when Arlene and Cuddy had their health issues. Not to mention the whole knowing Jerry from the bank and set up for a dinner. So we're assuming Julia moved closer to Princeton sometime in there.

Disclaimers- Just borrowing the characters to try to ease my grief over how Huddy played out. They aren't and never will be mine.

I believe forgiveness is
the best form of love in any relationship.
It takes a strong person to say they're sorry
and an even stronger person to forgive.

-Yolanda Hadid

House laid on the bed, bouncing a rubber handball off the wall. The ghost of Cuddy's lips still lingered on his. The sting of her nails digging into his skin still burned across his shoulders. The taste of her mouth remained on his tongue. He kissed Cuddy, or perhaps she kissed him. He wasn't sure—the details were lost in a lusty haze. Evidence of his arousal was slowly diminishing in his cotton sleep pants.

He kissed Cuddy and ran away. Again.

This didn't make sense. None of it made sense. There was no way Cuddy would even agree to be in the same room as him, nevertheless kiss him. She shouldn't be taking care of him. Shouldn't be trying to save him. More than anything else, she shouldn't want to help him get his life back. She shouldn't want him to get it back at all. He ruined her life. Drove her from it. House grimaced at the bad pun but couldn't think of a better way to put it. It should seem like some sort of poetic justice that he lost everything while she rebuilt.

The bouncing of the ball abruptly stopped as fear took over again. Surely, this was all a hallucination. Soon, he would wake up in some shoddy motel room with Wilson's cold body beside him. The morphine meant to kill him must have just rendered him unconscious and living out some strange dream in his head. That's all reconciliation with Cuddy could ever be—a dream. He did too many terrible, unforgivable things for it to be anything but. He didn't deserve that from her.

That wasn't Cuddy though. He'd done terrible things to her for years, and she always forgave him. She loved him in spite of it all. She never sought vengeance, just happiness for him. The crash though. She could never forgive that. She should never forgive that. He hadn't forgiven himself for it.

House closed his eyes and visualized a white board, moving clues to the "Hallucination" and "Not Hallucination" sides. Cuddy's hand in his as she assured him this was real felt so life-like. Then, so had his detox and passionate morning with her. But his hallucinations had never denied being hallucinations. They seemed to relish in it. His subconscious enjoyed torturing with the fact that his reality wasn't so real. Conjuring an image of Cuddy to save him seemed just as unlikely as her actually being here trying to do so. Even in the warehouse, she didn't come to him. His mind wouldn't let her be his savior when he knew he didn't deserve it. Not from her. Messing up the dose of morphine seemed impossible. He knew what would be needed to achieve his goal and was going to double it just to be safe. He'd worked the plan over and over in his head for months.

Not Hallucination

Which only made it all more confusing in the end.

He needed Wilson.

The echo of the slamming door resounded in Cuddy's head. The sting of stubble burned her chin. The tight feeling of her hair being gripped tugged at her scalp. The heat of his lips on hers remained.

This was a mistake. She knew it. She'd analyzed it since she decided to bring House with her. The kiss just added a new layer of confusion. She shouldn't want him. She should be repulsed, not aroused. She shouldn't care what he did now. She should have left him in Hershey.

She shouldn't love him.

She was a strong woman. Independent. Assertive. She ran a hospital with a sense of poise and grace so few could accomplish. She stood up to major insurance companies without letting them see her sweat. She was not weak.

Except for House. It was always House who could break her down. Who could step up to her icy glare when everyone else backed down. Who could frustrate, infuriate, and challenge her. Who could crack her grace and poise.

Who could make her forgive the unforgivable. A moth to a flame.

Because she loved him. Because she needed him in her life in some way. Because she couldn't handle saying goodbye to him for a fourth time.

Cuddy shook her head to clear the thoughts. She couldn't love him. She could take care of him though. Could help him get his life back. Could keep her promise to Wilson. She just needed to convince him to let her.

Daylight crept up the walls as the sun continued to rise. The sleep she desperately needed wouldn't come now. A heavy groan rattled in her throat as she stood and shuffled toward the stairs. Thankfully, medical school and residency had trained her to run on little sleep. Running a hospital and supervising House had honed the skill.

Her eyes fluttered at she made it to the bathroom and turned on the shower. Sleep gnawed at the edges of her consciousness as steam started to fill the room. This was what she needed to clear her mind and get ready for the day. Dealing with House, she needed a clear mind.

The smell of coffee met Cuddy as soon as she stepped out of the shower, and a throaty moan escaped her lips. The aroma was divine and instantly helped her shake off the lingering fatigue. She could already taste the rich brew, feel the caffeine pouring life back into her blood. Her resolve was strengthened and fortified.

It was crazy. The whole situation was crazy. But then, when wasn't a situation crazy when House was involved? Crazy was normal with him—expected even. There was a reason she wrote legal fees into his budget when she hired him. And that was the same reason why she was the only administrator who managed to keep him employed. She knew his crazy. Understood it. Was able to manage it. Until she couldn't, that is, but she refused to entertain those thoughts. Because she would manage this crazy.

She pulled the plush towel around her body and walked over to the mirror, wiping a circle of fog from the bathroom mirror. The healing power of a hot shower and promise of caffeine aside, the physical effects of her exhaustion were showing. Red rimmed eyes sat over dark circles and puffy skin. Her complexion was dull. It was a familiar reflection—one she saw for months after the crash and months after House's "death."

"You can do this."

She gave her mirror a slight smile at her pep talk and grabbed her moisturizer. It was time to get dressed and start doing this. Time to start managing the crazy again. It should have filled her with dread, but suddenly, she felt more alive than she had in years. The challenge felt exhilarating. Like the missing piece of her life.

Cuddy chuckled to herself. She was as much an addict as House. He had puzzles and Vicodin. She had order and challenges.

Gipping the mug with both hands, Cuddy closed her eyes and leaned back against the counter. The kitchen was in disarray from House's search for coffee and breakfast. Somehow, the mess in her normally ordered and tidy kitchen felt comforting. Familiar. The chaos was a mark of House in her space, a mark she took for granted.

House.

It was too quiet. No music, no tap of a cane, no ball bouncing anywhere, no snores in the bedroom upstairs. Her chest tightened as panic set in. The evidence of his presence surrounded her, but she hadn't seen him since he ran away after their kiss. She heard the bounce of a ball against her wall when she went up to shower and had reminded herself to scold him later for scuffing the paint. Now, she wondered if she would have the chance. Did he leave? Her breaths drew shallow as the next thought came. Did he have more morphine with him? Did he follow through with his plan?

Bile bit at the back of her throat as she ran up the stairs and threw open the guest room door. Her sigh of relief echoed in the room as she looked around. There was only his bag, not a lifeless body lying on top of the almost undisturbed bedding. She frowned at the bedding—House hadn't slept at all. It wasn't a complete surprise. Insomnia was one of House's closest companions.

With her fears eased, Cuddy left the room and went looking for him. His curiosity was limitless so it would be no surprise if she found him snooping through something private. He wasn't in her room, at least not when she left the bathroom. She had to check though—her most private space would beckon him. The room was still empty. Remembering the morning before everything fell apart, she lifted the ruffle and checked under the bed, frowning at the dust bunnies she found.

She eased down the stairs again, alert to any sounds that would give away his location. Silence filled the house. In the kitchen, she grabbed her coffee and caught a glimpse of something out the window. There on the patio steps sat House. Grabbing a throw blanket from the back of her couch, she went outside to meet him.

It was a chilly October morning, and a shiver ran up her spine as she sat beside him. He was staring at his shoes, scuffing his left toe on the ground. The envelope with his name on it sat empty beside him, the letter in his hands. He continued folding and unfolding the paper, not acknowledging her presence beside him.

Cuddy was the first who dared to speak, "You read it?"

His nod was so slight she almost missed it. His breath was hitched as he fought back his grief. Unshed tears filled his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. House rarely cried, and he certainly wouldn't allow himself to do it with an audience. He didn't look up as he spoke.

"You should hate me."

Cuddy bit the inside of her cheek and looked down, searching out the obscure point on the patio that held his attention. "I know." She paused to take a deep breath. "I do… I did…" With a slight shake of the head, "I don't know."

"I've done terrible things to you… unforgivable things."

"I know."

"But you're here. Trying to save me. I don't deserve your help."

She leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder and noticed the goosebumps covering his arms. Shrugging the blanket off her shoulder, she scooted closer to him and wrapped one side around him while she clutched the other. "I know. But I'm here."

House lifted his arm and wrapped it around her waist, pulling her closer to him. "You really are an idiot." There was no malice in his tone, no bite. If anything, it was full of resignation.

Wrapped up in his arms, she felt safe and chuckled as she answered, "I know."

"I'm sorry. For everything. And… you should… call Stacy." House shifted his foot again, grinding his toe into the patio.

Cuddy shifted her head and looked up, her eyes wide as they met his. Her mouth opened slightly, though she wasn't sure if it was in shock or from unspoken words. They sat in silence for seconds that seemed to stretch into hours before he spoke again, "You're right. She might be able to help."

She nodded again against his chest. "She will. I… I heard she said some nice things at your funeral. She never stopped loving you."

He pulled her tighter and spoke into the crown of her head, "You didn't come."

He was met with an icy glare, "Did you really expect me to? After everything?" Cuddy wiped her cheek with her palm, considering her words and controlling her tone before she continued. "House, I couldn't be there. After everything, I couldn't. For years, even before we got together, it was the House and Cuddy show. If I was there, that's all your funeral would have been. I didn't deserve that. You didn't deserve that… not at your funeral. It needed to be about you, not us and everything that came with that. I just… I couldn't be there. It doesn't mean I wasn't grieving. I just had to do it here. Alone."

She fought back tears as she felt him press a kiss to the top of her head.

"You should call her today."

Reaching down to the hand wrapped around her waist, Cuddy interlaced her fingers with his and looked up. Every emotion he felt was clear in his eyes. Loss. Regret. Grief. Pain. She tilted her chin up and reached her other hand around his head, drawing him down for a soft, chaste kiss. It wasn't like the passionate, angry meeting of lips and desire earlier in the morning. Their lips lightly pressed together, feathering over each other before they buried their faces in each other's shoulder.

"I'll call her today."