- disclaimer: see part i
- a/n: paigefan: re: cuddy kicking house out- yes, it was partially a plot point, but more so that she's kind of at her wits end, and house is the last thing she can deal with at the moment. i'm so glad characters are staying in character. it's the biggest downer to hear that you're messing everybody up. lijep: yes, chapter three arriveth (finally). and teh cuddy! she's my favourite out of the whole cast, i've decided; i hope i'm doing her character at least partial justice. :) morgan: i love how you pick up on all the little subtleties… it makes my life. more fic from you too- and soon poke little lunar wolf: i love the housewilsoncuddy dynamic more than anything, and 'throwing them in a beaker and applying heat' is just the best way to go. i'm glad you're enjoying it.

I Know You Are But What Am I?
Selfish

'Hey, you okay?'

'Why did you call Cuddy?' Her anger is barely restrained.

Foreman looks confused. 'What?'

'Why did you tell House, for that matter?'

He's a little shocked, and clears his throat to cover it. 'He should know what he put you through.'

'You're the one who's been insisting that he doesn't really care about anything; why did you think he would care about this?'

'I don't know, I thought—why are you angry with me? It's him you should be angry with—'

'I am. Trust me. But you had no right to go wailing to him, or to Cuddy. I can take care of myself.'

He nods his head and shoots her an apologetic look. 'I'm sorry. I didn't know keeping your feelings secret meant that much to you.' There's a twinge of sarcasm to his voice, but it's not unprecedented. She sighs and sits opposite him, the frustration slowly draining from her body, replaced swiftly by exhaustion.

'He's angry, and hurt, and he's going to lash out. It's not a good idea to give him material to use.'

'He's a bastard. He made you cry—'

'No, what he said made me cry.'

Foreman scoffs, and doesn't bother to try to understand. 'How can you let him off the hook like that?'

'I'm not.' She pauses, then explains slowly, 'What he said was unforgivable, but not inexcusable. He's in pain.' She smiles slightly, reassuringly. 'We all know what that's like.'

xxx

'I didn't finish counting,' he slurs, and takes another drink.

'Tough luck.' She slides onto the barstool next to him, watching him for a moment. She waves away the bartender who asks her what she'd like. 'What are you doing, Greg? You really think getting wasted is going to help?'

He shrugs sloppily. 'Seems to be working so far.'

'Damn it, Greg.'

'You really like my name, don't you?'

Stacy glares. 'I'm substituting it for something else.'

'Ooh, I love it when you talk nasty,' he murmurs around the lip of his glass.

'Let's go.'

'I'm comfy,' he protests, but she drags him off the stool and thrusts his cane in his face. 'Ow.'

'There, now you're up. Let's go.'

'Bartender, I'm being sexually harassed by a skinny white woman—'

'I can still take you.'

'Oh, really?'

'One blow to the thigh and you're out.'

'Whose fault is that?' he sneers.

'Mine,' she says fiercely. 'Not Lisa's.'

He lolls his head. 'Oh, God, does she have to show up in every conversation we have—'

'Until you stop, yeah, she will.' Stacy pushes him through the crowd toward the exit. 'Lisa's a good friend of mine, and I won't let you keep hurting her.'

'I'm not hurting her. The woman's made of stone and ice and barbed, electrical wire. You could drop an atom bomb on her psyche and she'd be fine—'

Outside, she grabs his arm and turns him to face her sharply, causing him to stumble and lean heavily on the cane. 'That's not true and you know it. Where the hell have you been, Greg?'

'Whoops, there's that word again.'

'I'm serious! For the last few months… do you have any idea what's going on in her life?'

'Don't care,' he shrugs, and sways again.

'In James'? You have no idea, do you? Do you know that he's getting divorced—'

'Yes.'

'—and that Julie's taking him for everything he's got—'

'Yes.'

Stacy straightens and clamps her lips tightly together. House smirks.

'Do you know why he was drunk?'

His expression falls. 'What?'

'Do you know why he w—'

'I heard you,' he sighs, and rolls his neck back, closing his eyes.

'Julie's resolved not to stay quiet about the affair. What that means for them—'

House sighs, and looks away. 'Yeah.'

xxx

'This seat taken?'

'No,' she says coldly and shifts, putting distance between them. He ambles forward and drops into the chair next to her.

'Wow. That was polite. Don't you really mean—'

'It's clearly empty, House.'

He gives half a nod and looks away, up at the television in the corner of the room. He taps the cane on the floor, the sound breaking the stillness of the waiting room.

Minutes pass before the silence itches at his ears and he squirms.

'So. Who's winning?'

'Don't know.' She doesn't look at him, settling for eyeing the elevator doors, watching the numbers light up and die above them.

'Eh, doesn't matter. General Hospital starts in eight. Much better television.'

She stands suddenly. 'I'll leave you to it then.'

'Cameron—' he calls, and though she doesn't want to, she stops and turns; he looks at her shoes. 'You're right. I get… stupid.' Raising his head, he catches her eyes and holds them, trying to convey sincerity in more ways than one. 'I'm sorry.'

'Really?' More accusation than suspicion.

'Yes.'

She debates, and decides that forgiveness is a step too far. 'Thank you.'

House nods, and watches over her shoulder as Foreman approaches, and almost smiles at his protective demeanor.

'Hey.' He touches her arm lightly. 'Chase's looking for you. He's in the clinic.' She nods and looks back at House once more before leaving.

House calls his name and Foreman stops, turning back to eye him, still angry but subdued.

'I get it, House, I really do. But…' He trails off, and House looks past him into the clinic where Chase and Cameron converse quietly at the desk. After a pause Foreman shrugs and joins them; House taps his cane against the ground again and leans back in the chair, staring blankly at the opening credits of General Hospital.

xxx

'You didn't tell me he was drunk.'

She's been standing there forever, wanting more than anything to hold his hand and terrified beyond belief that someone will notice. House recognizes the inner struggle easily, and after several minutes of watching her unnoticed, ambles into the room; her oblivion tells him everything.

'It was in the file.' She takes a step back and tries to look away; House shifts and focuses on anything but the bed, anything but his friend who has never been so still.

'I never looked at it.'

'Yeah.'

There's a pause, then she turns abruptly and slips past him out the door. He follows.

'Cuddy.'

'Not right now.' She increases her pace, but House matches her gait, staying just behind her.

'Cuddy, wait.'

'No, seriously, House. I can't—' she cuts herself off. 'I don't want to listen to this.'

'You have no idea what I'm going to say.'

Stopping at the desk, she picks up a few papers, needing something to hold in her hands. 'I don't really care.'

'If you don't care then you can stop for a few—'

She taps the papers on the desk before moving away again. 'It's a waste of my time.'

'What the hell else are you going to be doing?' he calls, and despite her better judgment, and everything inside her that tells her to run, she stops and turns.

'What do you want, House?' She shakes her head. 'I can't be your verbal punching bag every time things to wrong.'

'You think that's what I'm after? A sparing partner?'

'Isn't it?'

'No. Why didn't you tell me about the alcohol?'

She scoffs and walks quickly away. 'I was right.'

Undeterred, he presses after her. 'You knew I wouldn't open that folder so the only way would have been for you to tell me and you didn't.'

'You figured it out.'

She doesn't know where she's going, only that it's away from him.

'Why didn't you tell me, Cuddy?'

'I didn't want to. I'm not having his conversation—'

'Yeah, we are.'

'No, we aren't. You're going back to your friend and I'm going into my office—'

'To what, hide?'

'No!'

He's close enough to grab her arm, and pulling her back nearly throws him off balance. She yanks away, but his voice won't let her leave.

'Why didn't you tell me?'

'Stop it,' she orders, but the pleading in her voice is barley disguised. 'Just stop it.'

'Why?' He's suddenly angry. Not at her, at circumstance—but enough at her to justify his tone, his words. 'You think he stopped? One drink turned into two, turned into eight, turned into—'

She closes her eyes. 'I know.'

'Wilson only drinks at parties—'festive drinking' he calls it. He hates alcohol.'

'I know.'

'The only way he would ever, ever, put himself in a situation like that is if he were really, really hurting. Pray tell, Cuddy, do you have any idea why—'

'I know!'

'No, you don't know!'

'Damn it, House, you think this is easy for me!' He stops and she trembles; her voice is quiet and shaky when she speaks, and her eyes shine but there's no overflow. 'I can't touch him,' she whispers fiercely. 'I can't hold his hand like I'm supposed to; I can't sit with him. That's his wife's job. But his wife's not coming, and everyone knows it.'

She shakes her head and looks at the floor. She can feel his eyes on the top of her head, trying to read whatever she's got written on her brain.

(It's not her brain that needs reading, though, it's her heart.)

She turns slowly and walks away, and House knows he should let her go.

'This is your fault.'

She freezes, and for a rational second, he knows he's gone too far. But there are too many conflicting emotions at work, and logic is at the bottom of a heavy pile. She turns slowly, and for all the expressions he considered she might have, he's not prepared for the empty, hollow stare that meets his gaze.

'Say it again,' she dares, and he swallows stiffly, keeping silent. There's a long pause, broken only by the shuffle of his feet as he shifts his weight, before she says quietly, 'Leave me alone, House,' and disappears around the corner before he can say anything else.

'What happened to the two of you?' Stacy's voice breaks the silence, and she moves closer to him, confusion written plainly on her face. 'You were so close before, how could…'

House nods in the direction Cuddy left. 'Ask her,' he mutters, and moves away as fast as possible. Stacy stays right on his heels.

'I'm not asking her, I'm asking you.'

He looks over his shoulder at her. 'I'm pretty sure that's a breach of doctor/patient confidentiality.'

'You're an ass,' she hisses.

'How am I an ass?'

'Where do you want me to start?' she scoffs. 'You're baiting her!'

'I am not baiting her, she's baiting herself because she feels guilty.'

'Of course she feels guilty! That doesn't necessarily mean it's her fault—'

House rolls his eyes. 'Of course it means it's her fault; you can't feel guilty about something that isn't—'

'Yes, you can. Greg.' She grabs his arm.

'Is this going to become a habit with you?'

'I realize that you're afraid and you're angry but you know what? So is she.'

'Because she cares,' he mimics, and pulls away.

'Because she loves him.' He stops and looks back over his shoulder.

'And when love is threatened… people say and do… stupid things.'

He pauses, the dead air stifling, then asks quietly, 'Like leave?'

'Yeah,' she murmurs. 'Like leave. Greg—' She closes the gap between them and places a hand on his face. 'This is not about you. Get that through your head.'