…right after where the last chapter left off…

House and his mother definitely have some unresolved issues that I think brought on Blythe's anger and annoyance with her son. So it makes sense that the prior conversation changed drastically. I'm not sure if I'm going to address the issues yet.

It also makes sense that Cuddy would be repressing what happened to her in November. House understands that. This chapter focuses on that…with a surprise at the end. Enjoy!

Chapter 52:

"I can't believe you," Cuddy spat out angrily at House, when his mother had left, after having a heated discussion with her son, who of course, verbally attacked her views. "Why do you always have to be the one to start an argument?" she huffed.

Sitting down in the chair beside the bed, she pulled out her BlackBerry to check a days' worth of unread emails.

"Your mother was clearly trying to sympathize and you had to go wallow in your goddamn misery and make her look like the bad one…I just cannot believe you sometimes, Greg," she continued to scold him.

She turned back to her phone and continued to scroll through her emails. After about thirty seconds of silence, she glanced up from replying to an email.

"What, no counter argument against me?" she remarked, "That's so unlike you….."

"She's right," House said, quietly, still gazing at his arm encased in the black sling.

"What?"

"My mom," House told her, "she's right. I do internalize. She's just…worried one day when I won't be able to handle everything…"

Beginning to open her mouth to interrupt him, Cuddy closed it a second later when she couldn't think of the words she was going to say, and allowed him to continue on.

"And you were right," he continued, looking over at her, "I was pissing her off, and she was only trying to help me. But she's been doing that since I was a kid, and look where that got me. I piss her off, she tries to help me, I push her away….that's what happens."

"Justifying the situation doesn't make it any better," Cuddy whispered quietly, as she locked eyes with him. "You could go on and on to me about how you think your mom is right, but you have to want to change," she stressed, firmly but quietly. "I can't do it for you…And I do think your mom is right. You do tend to internalize."

House was about to open his mouth to begin a counter argument against her, but she cut across him.

"Listen to me," she continued, pleading for him to pay attention to her, "It's not healthy. I know the only person you open up to is me. And even so, that's like pulling teeth. And it shouldn't be like that."

"Please Greg," she said, as he opened his mouth to interrupt her. "Please, let me finish."
"I don't know if your verbal attack was you lashing out about what happened to us last year or about Chase or whatever, but I know you and you tend to keep everything in. You can't do that."

Laying her phone on the bedside table, Cuddy leaned forward, and reached across the bed railing as she laid her palm against his cheek.

"I just don't want you doing anything stupid," she whispered, stroking the side of his face with her thumb. "Don't keep it in. At least with me."

House stayed silent. He could see the hurt in her eyes. He felt her grab his hand with her own.
"I won't," he promised, quietly, as he squeezed her hand back. "I just…sometimes it gets to me and I –".

Pausing, he took a breath and stared directly into Cuddy's eyes as he willed himself to get the words out. "I…don't like mentally revisiting that night, and what happened," he finished out softly.

Staring at him, Cuddy forced herself to take a deep, calming breath. "I know," she whispered, on the verge of tears, as she squeezed his hand. "I know," she repeated.

"…so, I guess I was lashing out without meaning to," House reasoned, "…all because of that shithole!" he finished out, bitterly.

"Greg…,"

"—do you know how long I have wanted to go and punch that asshole's face out?" House exclaimed to her, "Ever since I saw him get forced out of his car that night. But I didn't. Because I knew you wouldn't have approved."

"You're right," Cuddy interrupted, "I wouldn't have." She paused for a second. "Because punching Chase, although it would have made you feel better for a little while, isn't going to change what he did or what it caused."

"You were never one for violence and grudges," House pointed out, after a moment of silence.

Cuddy smirked. "You on the other hand…"

"Lisa, I have a reason to go punch the living daylights out of him," House told her angrily. "He caused you to miscarry, for Christ's sake. And now our son won't have a brother or a sister…" He stopped, closing his eyes and took a deep breath, which he regretted and then winced, due to his bruised ribs.

"And when you go punch him, not only will you get arrested," she began, then paused a second before finishing out quietly, "but it also won't bring your other son or daughter back."

Opening his eyes, he didn't say anything and stared at her, willing himself to swallow. He gripped her hand tightly. "You know, I'm never going to forgive him. You might and that's your choice…but I can't. I won't. Not after what he made you go though."

Staying silent, Cuddy stood up and bent over near him. With her lips inches from his, she whispered, 'We're going to continue getting through this…Together. What Chase did was a mistake." Her voice started to strain while a wave of emotions threatened to intervene. "I'm in no means justifying what he did. At all." The tears started to fall. Letting go of her hand, House brought his hand up and touched her face.

"But Greg," she continued, fighting against the rush of emotions that just surfaced for her, "…we have to get through this. We need to."

Wiping her tears away with his right hand, House stared into her eyes as he brought his hand around her neck. Pulling her close to him, he kissed her with as much passion as he could give to her right then.

Pulling back, he wiped her fresh batch of tears away that fell from her eyes.

"I love you, Lisa," he whispered. "We're going to continue to get through this," he told her quietly, "I think we both have been trying to repress what you went through…and we can't do that."

"This whole ordeal is wearing you out, so when I get home tomorrow and everything settles down, we can talk about it," he continued, staring into her eyes, "Okay?"

Cuddy swallowed, knowing he was right. "Sure," she whispered.

"Now, I want you to go back to the house and rest. A night on the cot sure didn't do anything for you."

As Cuddy opened her mouth to protest, House stopped her.

"Lisa, you know I'm right. I can see it. You're stressed and overly exhausted," he told her quietly but firmly. "Go rest," he ordered.

He grabbed her hand, caressing it gently. "Don't worry about me. I'll be fine."

Cuddy looked at him as she placed her other hand on top of her abdomen, her heart swelling at his concern for her physical and mental wellbeing as the past few days were stressful to deal with, as she balanced both her work and personal lives, trying exceedingly hard to keep them separate.

"Okay." Bending down, she kissed him. "Be good to my staff. See you tomorrow."

House watched her as she picked up the duffel bag and her purse, and slid the door open, walking out. He continued to watch her as she progressed down the corridor, as his deep concern for her mental and emotional health tore at his insides like a knife.

As she drove the convertible along the straight open highway, using the GPS, Cuddy suddenly turned around, venturing in a direction not towards her house, but in the totally opposite direction.

As she was let through a wrought-iron gate not even fifteen minutes later as she ventured to her destination, Cuddy took a much needed breath as she steered the car past the duty house and underneath a sign that read 'New Jersey State Prison, 1799', gripping the steering wheel so fiercely that her knuckles were turning white.

Five minutes later, after she parked her car and checked in, Cuddy was led down a gray-walled empty corridor by a black female prison guard with short cropped brown hair. They walked into a small white-walled room, which was completely bare except for one wide rectangular window for observation from the opposite room, and a long wooden table with two chairs situated opposite one another.

Slipping her jacket off and hanging it on the back of one of the two wooden straight-backed chairs, Cuddy sat down and waited quietly for the officer to come back, and tried not to let her nerves overwhelm her.

Not even ten minutes later, the female prison guard returned, but this time she wasn't alone.

Cuddy saw her unlock the handcuffs of a man with untidy locks of wavy blonde hair. After taking the handcuffs off and clipping them on her belt loop, the guard motioned for the prisoner to step into the room where Cuddy was seated.

The prisoner's eyes widened in astonishment when he saw who was staring at him from the table. As he wordlessly progressed toward the other chair opposite her, Chase never took his eyes off her face as he went to sit down.

Cuddy's calm expression spoke infinite thoughts to him as he sat down, rubbing his wrists where the cold metal cuffs had embedded red marks in his skin just moments before.

Chase looked at her closely. She looked tired and stressed, but otherwise in good health. His eyes darted down to her small pregnant belly, and he guessed that she couldn't be more than 23 weeks, her small pooch of a belly protruding out underneath the black sweater she was wearing.

Cuddy also took in the appearance of the inmate who was sitting before her, in his faded light blue jumpsuit and dirty sneakers. His usual short, somewhat tidy looking wavy blonde hair was now almost down to his shoulders, the blonde curls falling in his face as he brushed them away with a flick of his hand.

The scruff on his face seemed too dense from its usual neatly trimmed appearance. She remembered what Cameron had told her about Chase having to perform manual labor, and, as she took in his physical appearance, she could see that it was unmistakable how much stronger he had gotten over the past month and a half or so since his arrival. His muscular, bulky arms and shoulders were stretching at the flimsy jumpsuit material, threatening to rip.

Her eyes finally came to find their way back to look into his face.

"So," she started calmly, "are you going to break the ice or should I?"

Weren't expecting that now, were ya?

TBC...