Chapter 2.
House began to stir. He groaned, attempting to stretch his upper body, blinking rapidly as he sought to take in his surroundings. There was a lot of wood, dark wood, expensive wood. The couch was a chesterfield, expensive and impractical. He braced his left foot against the far armrest and began to rub his back against the couch beneath him, the friction of t-shirt material against his skin a deeply satisfying sensation given his current state. House sighed, rubbing the skin on his forearms.
"Greg?" Lisa Cuddy. She was here, seated behind an expensive looking desk. House sat up, wincing. He figured he was in her office. "Greg. How's your vision?"
"You want me to do an eye test?" House looked at her quizzically. He poked his tongue out, face contorted as he struggled to come to terms with the inside of his mouth.
"Catch." Cuddy threw a plastic bottle of water at him, watching his eyes as they tracked the bottle through the air and into his hands. He unscrewed the cap slowly, before tilting his head back and taking a long swallow of water. Cuddy found her eyes straying down the length of his throat once more.
"Thanks." House wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
"How're you feeling?" Cuddy watched him carefully as he stretched his neck.
"Pretty fucked up." House ran his fingers across his chin, the stubble momentarily abating the itch in his fingertips. It was good. He rubbed his forearm against his cheek. "Oh that's nice."
"Keep drinking." Cuddy prompted. She picked up an orange pill bottle that sat to her left and shook it. House's eyes locked onto her. "Catch." She threw it, a little harder this time and off to the left. House's hand shot out snatching it from the air. He popped the lid off, shook out a pill and chased it with another long mouthful of water. House's eyes closed momentarily, he nodded to himself, left foot tapping against the floor then resumed rubbing his chin against his forearms.
"Nice…" A peculiar smile spread across House's face. "Will you scratch my back?"
"You're not serious." Cuddy raised an eyebrow at him. She glanced at the clock on the wall. 5.30. Good enough. "Get up. I'm taking you home."
"You don't have to, I can drive." House looked around, spying his crutches leaning against the armrest of the chesterfield; he scowled at the elaborate pattern of studs that embellished the leather. He stood uneasily, weight braced on his left leg as he fumbled for the crutches. Cuddy had thrown her things into her bag and was waiting, passing them to him one at a time. House wedged the crutches under his arms, swinging his weight forward unsteadily, right leg still dragging.
"Where did you park?" Cuddy asked, walking beside him slowly, eyes never shifting from his figure as he slowly dragged himself forward.
"Handicapped bay." House laughed ruefully.
"Give me your keys." Cuddy held out her hand.
"My hands are kinda full right now." House snapped, the morphine was well and truly fading.
"Stop." Cuddy barked at him. House glared at her, leaning heavily on his crutches. She patted down he sides of his hips, finding the bulge of his keys in his right front pocket. Cuddy reached in and fished them out; inwardly glad he had lost enough weight to ensure his jeans were a loose fit. House lurched forward again and the pair slowly made their way through the clinic and out into the car park.
"Which one's yours?" Cuddy scanned the three vehicles parked in the handicapped area.
"Guess." House leant on his crutches.
Cuddy looked down at the car keys in her hand, turning them over in contemplation. She pressed the button on the fat black plastic end of the key. Lights flashed and locks rose on a shiny black pickup.
"Geez." House sighed. "You're no fun."
"I should have guessed." Cuddy sighed, walking over to the passenger door to open it for him. "It practically screams 'fuck you.'"
"Well it practically screams impractical to me." House handed her his crutches, struggling to hoist himself up into the cabin. "I'm going to have to sell it."
Cuddy passed his crutches in to him and closed the door. She wandered around to the drivers' side, swinging herself bodily into the cabin. Feeling around beneath her, she dragged the seat forward, sliding the key into the ignition.
"Where am I going?" Cuddy dropped the pickup into gear.
"I'll tell you when we get there."
Cuddy pulled the pickup to a stop in front of a modest looking townhouse. She flicked the keys from the ignition.
"Stay here." She turned to House.
"What, you're not letting me inside my own house?" House looked at her incredulously.
"You're staying with me until I can trust you not to do anything stupid." Cuddy replied sternly as if speaking to a small child.
"Are you insane?" House glared at her, the morphine fully out of his system. "You're my doctor for crying out loud! We hardly know each other."
"You're a walking train wreck." Cuddy snapped at him. "I let you go back in there, your neighbours find you dead in three weeks time when the smell starts to bug them."
"I don't need your help." House snarled. "I've had a few bad days, but I'm fine now."
"You ran out of pills, you've hardly eaten in a week," Cuddy began to compile a list. "I'm pretty certain you haven't showered in at least a week…"
"I don't need your pity." House spat the words at her.
"So you go back inside, and I'll send the M.E. round in say two weeks to collect your body." Cuddy glared at him. "Or, how about this, you've got two weeks worth of Vicodin there, how about we both go inside and you chase the whole lot with a few whiskeys. End things right now."
House stared ahead in silence.
"So?" Cuddy spun the keys on her finger. "What's it going to be?"
"What's for dinner?" House muttered in resignation.
"I'll go and get your things." Cuddy swung the door open, dropping from the cab to the sidewalk. She slammed the door shut and traversed the few steps to House's door. Cuddy looked at the keys, there were two on the ring along with the car key. She chose one and slid it into the lock. It turned easily. Cuddy pushed through the door into House's lounge room, instantly noticing the empty space permeated the landscape where Stacy had extricated herself from his life. A lighter square on one wall where a picture once hung, gaps on the bookshelves that lined the room, squares and other shapes on ledges and coffee tables ringed with dust leaving nothing in place of something. The emptiness amidst the academic clutter of House's life tore at her as she wandered slowly though. The bedroom was easy enough to find, Cuddy simply followed the scent of sweat and whiskey. Again, not dirty so much as cluttered, a few articles of dirty clothing peppered the floor, empty bourbon bottle on the nightstand along with an assortment of empty pill bottles. The closet was open and half empty, continuing the post-Stacy decorating theme of the lounge room. Empty draws, more dust rings, bedclothes balled up in the centre of the bed, sheets bearing suspicious stains… Cuddy wondered how long he had been sleeping in them before shaking her head in dismissal. Catching sight of a backpack in the closet she grabbed it, hunting through the closet and selecting two pair of jeans, a few t-shirts and an old sweater. She hunted through the chest of draws finding two pairs of clean underwear a few pair of socks and a pair of sweatpants. She moved on to the bathroom, adding a razor and a can of shaving foam. There were two toothbrushes, one green, one blue. Cuddy closed her eyes momentarily before selecting the green one and adding it to the backpack. Cuddy exited at speed, turning off lights as she went eager to leave the emptiness.
House sat in the car staring ahead blankly. He resisted the urge to take another Vicodin as he heard his front door slam. The door to his left swung open and a backpack hit him in the chest.
"Hey!" House protested, looking down at the bag.
"You're the idiot who bought the car without a back seat." Cuddy swung into the cab, jamming the keys into the ignition.
House stared ahead in silence as Cuddy drove, neither party looking to break the silence with either words or the radio.
Cuddy had a comfortable place a little further out in the suburbs, the pickup looked ridiculous in her driveway; the neighbours would talk. She grabbed House's backpack and her own bag from the car before going around to the passenger side to help him from the car. Three months ago he would have complained vociferously and fallen out of the truck in defiance, now he offered no resistance as she helped him down, waiting for him to balance on his crutches before walking him to her front door. House dragged himself in.
"Nice place." He looked around, silently appraising her taste in furniture, shuffling toward the couch.
"Oh no." Cuddy grabbed him by the shirtsleeve and began towing him down the hall. "You're not touching anything until you've had a bath."
"Christ, I'm not a dog." House whinged as she guided him toward the bathroom.
"You smell like one." Cuddy snapped back dragging House into the bathroom. He leant heavily against the vanity as Cuddy dropped the bathplug into place and switched the water on.
"How am I going to get in there…" House looked at the raised, built in tub, shaking his head.
"We'll figure it out." Cuddy offered in a reassuring tone, squirting something purple and lavender-scented into the bath. House stood quietly watching bubbles forming on the surface as the water level slowly rose. He leant his crutches against the wall next to the vanity then slowly pulled his jello-stained t-shirt off over his head, dropping it to the floor at his feet.
"Could you… " House began. Cuddy watched him; he gripped the vanity behind him tightly, muscles leaping out of his chest and arms as he stared at the floor. "Help me with my shoes?" He concluded, barely above a whisper. Cuddy kneeled down at his feet, untying his laces.
"Okay." Cuddy snaked a hand around one lean calf. "Lift up." He lifted himself off the ground, gripping the basin behind him; Cuddy slid off his shoe and sock, repeating the procedure on his other foot. She stood up shutting the water off, before quickly dipping a hand in to test the water temperature.
"You like it hot?" She asked. House unbuttoned his jeans, letting them fall to the floor. He stood in front of her in his underwear right hand partially obscuring the scar on his leg.
"Yeah." House refused to meet her gaze. "You wanna give me a moment here."
"You've figured out how you're going to get in?" Cuddy asked.
"I'm going to sit on the ledge there," House pointed to the edge of the bath nearest the wall, "Lift my leg in then slide in down the slope."
"Okay." Cuddy offered a reassuring smile. Never insult a man standing in his underwear. "Give me a yell when you're in."
"You're going to wash me?" House looked at her stunned.
"Yes." Cuddy glared at him. "Problem?"
"No." House shrugged. Cuddy exited. House waited until he was certain she was out of view then slid his underwear down, stepping out of them and lowering himself down onto the raised edge of the bath, porcelain cold against his skin. He inhaled sharply, knowing there was logic in having sent Cuddy out. He lifted his right leg painfully over the ledge and into the bath followed by the left. House took a deep breath then gripped the sides of the bath, lowering himself into the water.
"Ooooo." He hissed. "That is sooo good." Cuddy appeared in the doorway clad in loose sweatpants and a singlet towing a chair behind her. She dragged it until she reached the edge of the bath, placing shampoo, soap and a washcloth on the ledge at the side of the bath before dropping down onto the chair.
"Okay." Cuddy watched him reclining in the bath with a hint of satisfaction. "Head under."
"Yes Mom." House mocked her, lying back down in the water order to briefly submerge himself. He sat up, shaking his head immediately, sending a spray of water across the room and over Cuddy.
"Hey." Cuddy squealed, shielding her face.
"Sorry." House blinked the water from his eyes. "Force of habit." Cuddy squeezed a dollop of shampoo onto her palm.
"Come here." He didn't need to be asked twice, shifting to the near edge of the bathtub. Cuddy began to gently work the shampoo into his hair fingers tracing firm circles across the topography of his skull. House offered a contented sigh; she had great hands, surprisingly strong fingers for a woman. The fingers in question slid down his neck, he shifted slightly so his back faced toward her. She gently kneaded the sinewy strips of muscle that ran from the back of his neck to his shoulders. House groaned, blood beginning to rush to his groin. He didn't care; the fact that he couldn't take his own shoes off was far more embarrassing than getting hard while this gorgeous woman washed his hair.
"Okay, head back under Greg." Cuddy let her finger trail along his shoulder. House ducked back under the water, running a hand through his hair to remove the last of the soap. She handed House the soap and washcloth.
"What, you're not going to keep going?" House asked, watching her rummaging though his backpack.
"You wash the rest of yourself." She produced the shaving foam and razor. "It'll be easier if we do this in here."
"You're going to shave me?" House looked at her quizzically. "I didn't know that was your thing… Can I do you next?"
"Your face." Cuddy took the washcloth from him, using it to soften the thick stubble that hid his cheeks. She squirted a small pile of shaving foam into her palm and began to work it into a lather across his face. She tilted his chin up, holding his face in position with her index finger Cuddy dipped the razor into the water then ran slid it up along his neck to the edge of his jaw in one smooth stroke. She cleaned the razor in the bathwater before repeating the stroke just to the left of the first.
"Why did you stop shaving?" She asked, running her fingertips along the smooth skin she had exposed along the right side of his throat.
"My hand hasn't been steady enough." House replied quietly as she finished the left side of his throat, thankful she was taking her time as his erection began to subside. Cuddy tilted his head back down and began again from right to left. House sighed. It was equally erotic and demoralising. He felt like a child. He had no idea why she was doing it but assumed it was out of guilt, or perhaps loneliness. Cuddy slowly cleared the stubble from his cheek, working down along the sharp line of his jaw. Cleaning the razor she carefully shaved his chin, then above his top lip before shifting over to the other cheek, tilting his head for better access. Cuddy placed the razor on the ledge, then dipped her hands into the bath water, smoothing them over his face in a measured tactile inspection of her work. House smiled at her, rubbing a smooth cheek against her hand.
"Okay, time to get out." Cuddy stood up, grabbing a towel from the rack. House gripped the edges of the bath and pushed himself back up to the ledge, he gingerly swung his legs back over the edge of the bath, feet finding the bath mat. House slowly stood, shifting his weight until he was convinced that the bath mat was providing adequate traction. He looked down, unsure as to whether he should cover his manhood or his thigh. A towel landed on his head, the question was no longer relevant. He wrapped it around his waist. Cuddy pulled the plug, draining the bath.
"Feel like something to eat?" She asked, gathering up his dirty clothes and heading for the door.
"Maybe just some toast." House smoothed his hand across his chin thoughtfully; she'd done a good job.
Sprawled across Cuddy's couch wearing loose sweatpants and a t-shirt House felt like a kid. For the first time in a long while he felt relaxed, the pain was bearable. Cuddy wandered in with two slices of buttered toast and a glass of orange juice, placing them on the coffee table within his reach then arranging herself in the chair opposite him. House snagged a piece of toast and crunched on it thoughtfully.
"So where's Mr Cuddy?" He asked, voice muffled by bread.
"There is no Mr Cuddy." She replied.
"May I ask why?" House inquired, tone painfully polite. "I mean I don't really know you too well, but I can't see any reason why you'd want me here when you could practically have any guy you wanted."
"Thanks." Cuddy fought the flush that spread across her cheeks. "But I have a hospital, I don't exactly have the time for a boyfriend."
"Fair enough." House nodded to himself. "A hospital won't give you a cuddle when you come home though."
"Greg, why were you fired from your last job?" Cuddy changed the subject.
"You don't know?" He raised his eyebrows, leaning forward to take a mouthful of orange juice. He swallowed, reconstituted oranges, no pulp; excellent.
"No." Cuddy shrugged. "But I can ask around if that's more self-gratifying for you."
"A Neurologist where I was working was going to knock out a guy with drug-induced Parkinson's to do an MRI." House began. "I told him that I had a special combination of tranquillisers and an anti-convulsant that would be more effective, he didn't believe me."
"So you drugged his patient?" Cuddy filled the blanks, House was a renegade, she knew as much from college and the stories that circulated about him.
"No," House paused, a vague smile crossing his face. "I took enough anti-psychotics to induce Parkinson's like symptoms, then took the combo myself to prove it was safe. He dobbed me in, the Dean was sick of me, and now I am certifiably unemployed." He took another bite of his toast.
"So that's what the drugs thing was?" Cuddy asked.
"The same guy accused me of having a coke habit three months earlier." House shrugged. "I guess it stuck."
They chatted for a few hours, Cuddy monitored him carefully throughout. He seemed more relaxed, probably a combination of the bath, drugs some food and a change of environment. Without the beard he looked younger, but his cheekbones protruded in a starkly angular fashion, and the shadows that ringed his piercing eyes served as a reminder that the narcotics he had suddenly become dependent on had stolen his appetite.
As the hands on her watch swept past 10.30 Cuddy decided to call it a night.
"Look, I'll sleep on the couch, okay?" Cuddy called out to House as he brushed his teeth.
"Don't be stupid, Lisa." He shouted through a mouthful of toothpaste. "It's your bed. I'll sleep on the couch."
"Take the bed, Greg." She lent on the doorframe, watching him as he rinsed his mouth.
"How about we share it?" He suggested. "Half and half."
"You sure?" Cuddy asked.
"Yeah, why not." House shrugged, grabbing his pill bottle from the vanity and limping slowly through into Cuddy's bedroom. "Which side do you want?"
"Uh, whatever," Cuddy grabbed her nightgown and vanished into the bathroom to change. "You choose."
House dropped onto the near side of the bed, flinging off his t-shirt and physically lifting his leg up onto the bed, the action punctuated with a pained grunt. He lay down, lifting his hips to shrug off his sweatpants before easing under the covers. A hot bath, fluffy towels and clean sheets; House figured things couldn't really get too much better than this. He uncapped his pill bottle and swallowed a single Vicodin. Cuddy strode from the bathroom clad in a short blue nightgown, instantly noticing his bare chest.
"You're not naked under there, are you?" She regarded him suspiciously.
"Wanna find out?" House shot her a smutty look, making no secret of the fact he was enjoying her change of attire as his eyes travelled the length of her legs.
"You haven't changed a bit." Cuddy pulled back the covers and slid into bed, keeping a safe distance from him. "You right?"
"Yep." House nodded, staring at the ceiling. Cuddy killed the lamp, plunging them into relative darkness. They both lay in silence, checking the paintwork for cracks.
"Well, this is awkward." Cuddy broke the impasse.
"Hey, I've just come out of a long term relationship." House looked over at her. "I thought this constituted foreplay." Cuddy laughed a little too loudly. House shifted toward her. "Come here." He patted the mattress beside him. Cuddy inched her way over. He met her eyes in the dim light that trickled through the window.
"Look…" House began. "Things are kind of shitty for me right now. But, thanks…" He paused, looking down at the sheets. "For not dropping me home."
"Greg, I just…"
"Shhh." He clapped a hand over her mouth. "Don't say it, Lisa. Please."
Cuddy nodded silently.
"Come here." House patted his chest. Cuddy looked at him sceptically. He rolled his eyes in the dark, grabbing her and physically dragging her across toward him. House wrapped his arms around her, one hand slipping into the hollow of her back.
"This generally isn't my thing." He whispered. "But I'm still a little blissed out from the bath." Cuddy draped an arm across his chest, letting her fingers trail up his throat and back down again.
"How did you know which one was my toothbrush?"
"Geniuses always choose green." Cuddy murmured, enjoying the heat of his body as she dozed off.