A/N- I've spent the last few days fighting with myself over this story, particularly Chapter 10. It didn't quite go as I had planned, and there's a large part of me that wants to scrap the whole chapter and start it over. However, the other part of me re-read it and just… it wasn't the plan, but it worked for that part of me. (Well, after the smut part… I didn't re-read that and will just have to let go of my insecurities over my first attempt at smut.) So please don't hate me for the chapter as I was equally conflicted by it. But seriously, if the smut turned you off of the story or was awful or anything like that, please let me know. I don't want to alienate readers and can figure out a way to work around it.

Just stick with me… I promise we'll get somewhere good. If it's not clear by the fact that we're 10 chapters down and not even 48 hours have passed, it's a long road ahead. As long as you all want to see it through with me, I want to travel that road to the end. Don't give up on me… we'll get there. And if you want to see something different- faster pace, slower pace (not sure that's possible!), longer chapters, shorter chapters, anything, let me know. Reviews (signed and anonymous) are always welcomed and appreciated!

Disclaimer- I love the characters and am trying to keep them as close to in-character as I can, but I'll never own them. Unfortunately. Things would have played out so differently if I did… but then I guess I never would have had the opportunity to write this fic.

Hope…
which is whispered from
Pandora's box only after all the other
plagues and sorrows had escaped
is the best and last of all things.

-Ian Caldwell

An unbearable chill seeped into her skin as she watched him retreat from the room. She felt his absence as deeply within her as she did physically when she ran her hand over the tangled bedsheets. She'd already said the words… already confessed it to him, but now she truly understood. She wanted him. She needed him. She loved him. For as much as she tried to deny it for years, she still loved him. She still needed him with her. And she was already messing it up.

The string of expletives never left her mouth, only resounded in her head, but they filled the room. Cuddy rubbed her face with her palms, trying to understand her own actions. Trying to work through a way to fix everything.

Everything.

There was still so much they needed to fix. The moment had been perfect, coming together with him, but so much still hung over them. She chastised herself for ruining that perfect moment. It wasn't a choice she had made—the words spilled out before she could catch them. She was stripped naked, physically and mentally, and overtaken by the surge of emotion that accompanied her orgasm. It was unanticipated, unplanned, and raw. And horribly timed.

She shivered against the chill in the room and wished she was still pressed against him. Wished the moment hadn't been shattered.

No amount of wishing could make it true though, and she knew she needed to find him and try to repair the delicate balance they'd found. She couldn't take back the question, but they couldn't avoid the topic anymore. Pandora's Box was opened, and they needed to come together to deal with it.

Hope would only hurt more.

House's words echoed in her head, and she finally understood why, when the lid of Pandora's Box was replaced, only hope remained. Hope wouldn't have to hurt more if it wasn't buried under all of their pain. She just had to catch him before he could run away, following the pain that had escaped. She knew he couldn't go far, not without his cane. Mentally though, she worried he may already be gone.

With both hope and apprehension, she climbed off the bed and wrapped herself in her robe to go find him. She took his cane from where it rested against the wall and made her way down the hall to the guest room. She hadn't heard his heavy footsteps on the stairs and knew he was too unsteady to navigate them without the support of his cane. The closed door to the room confirmed that he'd retreated there.

At the door, she hesitated and bit the inside of her cheek. She could knock and face likely rejection. She could take a play from his own book and barge in, speaking before he had the opportunity to stop her. There were still times she would find herself glancing up from paperwork, waiting for someone to come storming through her doors in dramatic fashion and breaking up the monotony of her day. No one could make an entrance like him.

She chose to stick with the familiar and pulled her shoulders back before softly turning the knob and pushing the door open, sliding into the doorway. He was sitting on the bed, reclined back against the headboard and tossing a ball from hand to hand. Cuddy suddenly felt exposed wearing nothing but her robe when she realized he'd put on his sleep pants and a t-shirt. She held his gaze after he looked up, trying to pour apologies into the look before he could throw her out.

Leaning against the frame, she hooked his cane on the doorknob and broke the silence. "I'm sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry for, Cuddy. We finally had breakup sex—amazing breakup sex—you cried. You asked for answers I can't give you. I ran away. End of story."

She nodded toward his cane with a wry grin, "You weren't getting very far without that." Pulling her robe tighter, she crossed the room to stand beside the bed and tapped his feet. He shifted them over, giving her space to sit beside him. She kept her tone soft and asked, "Is that all you think that was though? Breakup sex?"

House didn't speak at first, only offering a surprised look in reply. She rested a hand on his shin and raised an eyebrow. Anxiety welled up inside her, but she was determined to maintain her calm façade for this conversation. He was the one who said he couldn't have her and lose her again. He was the one who told her she could never be a distraction. That he was reducing it to "breakup sex" hurt, but she wouldn't let it show. She understood him—understood he was building his defenses—and was willing to wait him out.

"Well, we were a couple years late on it, but—"

"It wasn't, House. It meant more than that. That wasn't a goodbye. It… it felt like coming home."

He gave a playful snicker. "I think you mean House coming. Because I did."

She laughed in spite of herself at the juvenile humor and lightly slapped his chest. "You're still an ass."

"And you still have a great ass." He rolled the ball on his lap, averting his eyes. "But you didn't come in here just to hear that."

Cuddy bit her lip and gave his leg a gentle squeeze. "No, I didn't. I want—"

With a sigh, he cut her off, "You want answers I can't give you. You want an explanation. Something to make this—" he motioned a finger between them, "okay."

She pulled her hand from his leg and cupped his cheek. "This—" Cuddy waved her finger between them, copying his gesture, "will be okay as long as I can understand. I want this to be okay, but I can't go through that again. I can't put Rachel through that again. I just—I need to know how we got there. How you could do that to me."

"Wilson said you told the cop you were always waiting for something to happen. So there's your answer, Cuddy."

She wiped her face with her palm and looked up to the ceiling. "I was angry and upset, House. But I was always waiting for something… you were always so self-destructive. Electrocuting yourself. Jumping off balconies. Performing surgery on yourself. I just… I never thought you would try to hurt me."

"I never wanted to hurt you."

She wanted to reassure him, tell him that she knew. She did know that he would never hurt her, but the whole situation still seemed so surreal to her. She still couldn't rationalize the House who did that against the House she knew, the House she loved… this House. "You could have killed me."

His face fell. She didn't sound angry. She didn't even sound upset as she said it. It was just a stoic, point-blank statement of truth. House dropped his head. "That's all I thought about for months. On that beach. In prison. Everywhere. I could have killed you. I wanted it to be a hallucination. I wanted to wake up at home or in the hospital or even Mayfield as long as it meant it wasn't real. That's why it took me so long to come back. It took me that long to accept that it wasn't a hallucination."

His guilt was palpable. Cuddy could feel it in every word. He never tried to claim innocence, never tried to defend himself at all. Even to her, he wasn't trying to justify it. He'd broken that day just as much as she had. "I don't need an explanation, House. Just tell me about it. Tell me what you were thinking. What happened. Help me understand. Because one second I was in my living room and the next second there was a horrific crash and you were handing me my brush." She squeezed his leg again, offering quiet reassurance. This wasn't about blame. Wasn't about anger. Wasn't about judgment. This was a need for understand. A need to move on.

"I wasn't thinking, Cuddy. I… I was going to return your brush. That's all. Then I saw you and your dinner party and your date. It hurt to see you moving on when I felt so stuck. When I told Wilson to get out of the car, I was just going to drive away. I was just going to pack my stuff and leave. I couldn't be there and watch you move on. Seeing you with Lucas was bad enough. Seeing you with someone else after having you would have killed me. So I was going to leave. I don't know why I turned around. I don't remember anything from Wilson getting out of the car until I was walking away. I can't help you understand. I still don't understand."

"God, House. I'm so sorr—"

He sat up straighter and hooked a finger under her chin. "No, Cuddy. Don't apologize. Not for that. You don't get to feel guilty for that."

"House, you were flailing for months, and I refused to see it. I refused to help. I pushed you to talk that day, and you said you were hurt. And I still didn't try to help you."

"You couldn't. Like you said, you had the hospital, and Rachel, and—"

"And you. But I didn't try to help you. I—"

"You came when I called. When I needed you. I didn't let you in."

"You never did when you needed help the most, House. And those were the times I failed you most. Before Mayfield. After the breakup. I—"

"Cuddy, stop. It's not your fault. None of it is your fault. You had a life. Other things to worry about. You couldn't save me every time."

"I didn't save you at all."

"You're here now. You're trying to now."

House slid over on the bed and reached out an arm, silently asking her to join him. She curled up beside him and rested her head on his chest. "I wasn't moving on, House. Julia said I was stuck and tried to set me up with Jerry, but I wasn't moving on. I couldn't. I've never been able to move on from you." She tilted her head up to look at him. "I've loved you since Michigan. I'll never be able to move on without you."

He nuzzled his face into her hair. "I'm here, Cuddy. I'm here."

Still looking at him, she reached up and grabbed his chin. "But if you ever do something like that to me again, I'll kill you myself."

He chuckled at her threat, but his tone was somber as he replied, "Not if I do it myself."

As the adrenaline waned, exhaustion threatened to overwhelm both of them. House sunk down on the bed, pulling Cuddy with him. She curled further around him, scissoring her legs around his, and traced lazy circles on his chest with her finger. He rubbed his hand up and down her side before he stopped and gave a puzzled look. "You're naked under this robe."

She reached over and stilled his hand, lacing her fingers in his. "Yeah, but we're both too tired to do anything about it now."

His eyes fluttered with a tired "Hmmmmmm."

Sleepily, she remembered her musings about hope and wanted to share before they drifted off. "Hey House, you were talking about hope earlier. Remember Pandora's box?"

He opened one eye, fighting the sleep that was trying to claim him. "You mean the story where hope was the greatest evil of all?"

Cuddy swatted at his chest, "No, the one that said that once all the evils were released into the world, only hope remained."

Pulling her tighter, he mumbled, "We'll debate that philosophy later. Sleep."

They fell into a comfortable slumber, interrupted only by the sound of her phone ringing in her bedroom hours later.