- disclaimer: see part i
- a/n: greenghost: ooh, i'm so glad you picked up on that. house is definitely the hardest character to write for; i'm glad he's coming out all right. Teenwitch: cameron is definitely not my favourite character, but i truly don't believe she's the sniveling character some portray her to be, and i'm very relieved she's not coming out as such in this. chinadoll02411: it's a thin line between giving away too much and too little; i'm sorry it didn't connect with you. any specific reasons why? lijep: this is my first real attempt at writing for house, so I'm basically crossing my fingers and hoping it comes out alright. I'd hate to kill such a wonderful character. (Thanks to everyone for the reviews! It means a lot, as I'm sure you know. )

I Know You Are But What Am I?
Mask

It isn't long before his third visitor bursts through the door, hands on hips and eyes tight in the creases.

'What the hell did you say to Cameron?'

'Ooh,' he shudders dramatically. 'the big scary gang member's going to give me a talkin' too. I have a cane, you know.' He waves the stick with a slightly trembling arm.

Foreman gestures angrily toward the hall. 'She's been in the bathroom for the last fifteen minutes trying to stop the tears! I finally had to call Cuddy!'

House's look softens, but it isn't genuine. 'Aw, I'm sure she'll be just fine. Cuddy's very good at comforting distraught employees—gives great back rubs.' His eyes glint. 'Maybe there'll be some gentle touches, a hug or two, one thing leads to another—you think they'll be any tongue-on-tongue action?'

Foreman takes a step back, repulsed. 'You're disgusting.'

'I prefer to think of myself as—Dr. Cuddy!' He smiles as she enters the room, her face long and blank but her eyes dangerously cold. 'How nice of you to join us. Forman was just wondering how things were going with Cameron—'

'Dr. Forman would you excuse us for a few moments.' Her voice is low and smooth, and Foreman has no doubt in his mind just how angry she is.

'Yeah,' he murmurs, and quickly vacates the room.

'Thanks.'

House smiles arrogantly, tempted to let her breech the silence. But her pause is too long, too detached and so unlike her, that the words tumble from his mouth without his consent.

'So. Have I been a bad, bad boy? Do I need a spanking—?'

'I want you to go home.'

'Aw, but I love it here. It's so homey.'

Her tone doesn't change, staying level and smooth, and he finds himself more unnerved by that than by her usual screaming. 'You aren't doing anything useful and you're antagonizing my staff.'

He scoffs. 'You mean Cameron?'

'People are getting hurt.'

'Person. And she had it coming.'

'Why?' She folds her arms across her chest and stares him down. 'Because she brought you coffee? Because she said she was sorry?' He says nothing, and she gives a little laugh—harsh and bitter and incredulous. 'You're pathetic. Your best friend – the only friend you've got – was just in a car accident, he's in critical condition, he's almost died twice and you can't even make it down a flight of stairs to—'

'Stairs are out.'

'This isn't about you.' The intensity of the air skyrockets. 'This is about Wilson. He needs you and you can't even be there for him—'

'You don't know anything about what he needs.'

Her eyes narrow. 'I know he needs a better friend than you.'

'What don't you ask Cameron? I'm sure she'd offer herself to the job.'

Her spine stiffens and her fingers try to curl together. He smiles again, because she interprets the insult exactly as he means.

'You take some kind of perverse pleasure in hurting other people?' she asks, instead of what she really wants to say.

'It's like a warm, fuzzy feeling in my stomach—'

'Do not think, for a second that you are the only one affected by this,' she snaps, and lets that be the last word as she turns and strides from the office.

Not quite balanced, House rises and follows, calling down the hall louder than necessary,

'What's that supposed to mean?'

'You know exactly what it means.'

He catches up to her at the elevator just in time to see her jab the button with a force he knows has to hurt her finger.

He knows what she wants to say, what she feels, and he knows she's terrified he'll shoot her down; he's terrified she will, and he'll confirm her fears. Shuffling precariously along the line, she lifts her chin and glares.

'Wilson's a popular guy—there are people other than yourself who are worried about him—'

'Like who, his wife? Have you seen her at all? Or have you even managed to get a hold of her?' The elevator doors open and House blocks the entrance with his arm. 'Wilson's got about as many friends as you do.'

'And whose fault is that? People are terrified to talk to him because they might run into you!'

He shrugs. 'No pain, no gain. Their loss anyways.'

'No, his loss! He's given you everything he has and you can't even give him a few hours of your time in return.'

'You don't know anything about our relationship, Dr. Cuddy, so don't presume just because you're head of this hospital that you're all knowing in every matter of all of 'your doctor's' lives, because you aren't; I know James a hell of a lot better than you do and I'll decide what he needs. He's my friend, not yours!'

A sharp beeping interrupts his speech and Cuddy looks at the message on her pager. Her face pales, and without a word she pushes past him to the stairs, almost at a run.

The night nurse sees her coming and rushes to meet her. 'What's going on?'

'He's hypotensive,' she says, as another one calls, 'He's seizing!'

She doesn't remember putting on gloves, or entering the room, but she knows by the slight panic in the voice that yells directions that it's her own and it's everything she can do to keep from screaming.

A glance up finds House in the doorway, gripping his cane till the skin splits, his eyes wide.

'House,' she warns, still holding the shaking figure on his side.

'James…' he murmurs, and Cuddy swallows her sympathy.

'Someone get him out of here!'

She isn't sure if her order is ever carried out or not, but she knows he doesn't get in their way and she's thankful.

Once stabilized, the nurses filter out of the room, oblivious to the way she lingers until shouting from the hallway catches her attention.

'…handle your patient!'

The other doctor protests, 'His condition was monitored closely; there's no way we could have predicted—'

'He was in a car accident, you idiot, you didn't think he lost any blood!'

'Hey!' All eyes shift at the sound of her voice. 'What the hell is going on here?'

The doctor gestures angrily. 'Dr. Cuddy, will you please tell Dr. House—'

'Your doctors are incompetent!'

'Excuse me—' he cuts in, and House turns back.

'You could have killed him!'

'He was stable! I don't know if you understand the meaning of that word, House, as your patients are constantly—'

'Okay, enough!' she yells, stepping between them.

'Constantly what, doc?'

'I said enough!'

'Stay out of it, Cuddy!'

She turns, her back completely to the other doctor. 'What are you going to do? Beat him over the head with your cane?' She's shorter, and her neck cranes slightly to make eye contact, but she's no less intimidating and no less powerful. 'Knock it off.'

'This shouldn't have happened!'

'Of course it shouldn't have happened, but—'

'And if you assigned your doctors to cases a little bit better it wouldn't have!'

'This is not about you!' she yells, and gestures toward the room where Wilson lies, unconscious. 'This is about him!'

'Cuddy—'

'It's about him! So knock it off!'

House waves his arm at the doctor. 'He wasn't even in the room!'

'No, that's your job!'

The silence that falls is deafening, and even those who don't know, or don't care to know the story hold in their sighs, afraid that any heavy breathing will disturb the delicate air, and that everything will break. The nurses try to divert their eyes, but pairs sneak looks from one to the other and back to them.

House looks down and notices her fingers dancing against her leg. 'Why are you shaking?'

'I'm not,' she says stubbornly, and flattens her hand. 'Go wait in my office.'

'Cuddy—'

'Go.'

He hesitates, testing her patience a moment more before limping heavily away. No one speaks until the doctor steps forward.

'Dr. Cuddy—'

'Give me that,' she snaps, grabbing the chart that hangs loosely in his hand. 'Patient suffered massive internal bleeding and contusion, and you didn't think it would be a good idea to watch his BP level?'

He rolls his eyes. 'Look, Dr. Cuddy, just because House came in here and—'

'House was right,' she scoffs, shaking her head. 'Did you even graduate from medical school? I expect to see you in my office first thing in the morning.'

She pushes past him, and the eyes follow her to the elevator, and look away only when the bell dings and she disappears.

xxx

House is standing in the middle of her office when she arrives, both hands on his cane. He opens his mouth, but she's faster.

'I want you to apologize to Cameron. And Foreman.'

'Why?'

She circles behind her desk. 'Because it's an order.'

'Do I have to grovel in front of the other guy too?'

'Then I want you to go home. I'll have someone call you if his condition changes.'

'Aren't you afraid I'll stop to knock back a few?'

She sits and pulls a stack of papers in front of her. 'I don't really care. So long as you don't do it here.'

'Brrr,' he shudders, but she cuts him off before he can say much else.

'Go home, House.'

'Don't really feel like it.'

She looks up and glowers. 'Get out of my hospital.'

'Possessive, much?'

'I'll call security,' she threatens. 'Get. Out.'

'Cuddy—'

'Get out,' she says sharply, then, quieter but no less resigned, 'Just get out.'

xxx

She's standing over the bed when Stacy walks in, binder in hand as usual and a soft, sympathetic smile on her face.

'Hey.'

'Hey.'

'How're you holding up?'

She laughs softly. 'Barely.'

'Expected,' Stacy concedes, and tilts her head. 'Greg?' Cuddy looks away and Stacy frowns; her voice is slightly edgy and Cuddy sighs. 'Lisa?'

'I kicked him out.'

'What? Why?'

'He was antagonizing several doctors, and upsetting the patients. I told him to go home.'

Stacy pauses for a moment, watching her expressions carefully. 'You know he didn't go home.'

'Yeah,' she whispers, and pretends to check the monitors.

'And now you're feeling guilty.'

'Yeah.'

'Don't. He deserves whatever's coming to him.'

Cuddy looks back at her in surprise. 'No, he doesn't.' She looks back at Wilson, and subconsciously knots her fingers together at her side.

'Lisa?'

'He's terrified. He doesn't know how to handle it, so he…'

Stacy groans inwardly. 'What did he say?'

'Nothing.'

'Lisa. What did he say?'

Her lack of an answer is answer enough.

'Well of course. Of course he's going to deflect the attention to himself, that's what he does. As much as he hates it, he can't stand it when nobody's hanging on to his every word. He needs that. He doesn't have it right now.'

'Yeah,' she says, although not convinced she's right.

Stacy places a reassuring hand on her shoulder. 'I'll see if I can find him.'

'He could be anywhere.'

'No,' she smiles. 'not really. I'll be back soon. Keep me posted?'

'Yeah.'