Denial is Half the Battle

A/N- For those of you following my other story, A Torch in the Night, don't take the appearance of this story as a sign I'm abandoning that one. Torch is my favorite pet project, continuing canon and reuniting Huddy. The next chapter is mostly complete and should be up soon. It was never my intention to work on two long fics at the same time, but this story has kept me up a few nights already as I find myself writing it in my head while I try to sleep. I think the themes are so drastically different it shouldn't present a problem. So I'll be writing both for a while, enjoying having another outlet when writer's block strikes on one or the other.

While Torch picks up where canon left off, this one will diverge from canon after Let Them Eat Cake. I'll warn you ahead of time- angst will be heavy here. The subject matter will be heavy. I don't want to offer too many spoilers, but as a trigger warning for those sensitive, it will deal with rape and the recovery from it. It will hurt, it will be uncomfortable, but in the end, there will be healing. And ultimately, Huddy as the endgame. Thanks for reading. Any and all reviews are greatly appreciated!

Disclaimer- From here onward in this story, just know that I'm borrowing characters owned by Shore & company. I have no ownership but lots of love for the show and the characters.


Frustration mounted as the pile of papers and files grew on her desk. Lisa Cuddy was a doer. A driven professional. A go-getter. Capable of keeping a teaching hospital like PPTH running smoothly. Professionally, she had it all—all together, all that she ever wanted, all organized and accomplished. It was her personal life where she so often came up short—in her late-30s, single, and childless. While her professional life was a lush harvest of accomplishment, her personal life felt like a barren waste field of failures. Barren, much like her uterus. Much like her romantic life. No, all that lay there were failed attempts at IVF, a miscarriage, and a string of first dates that went nowhere.

Her eyes flicked from the pile in front of her and surveyed her office. Signs of her accomplishments, awards and framed diplomas, filled the walls and shelves. She was proud of them all… knew she should be. She fought hard to get where she was, proved everyone wrong who said she was too young, too inexperienced, or just couldn't do it (as a female, that part always left unspoken but understood). She'd been relentless in pursuit of her goals—second in her class at med school (and yes, that still chafed, but she knew it was an accomplishment nevertheless), second youngest Dean of Medicine and Chief Administrator ever, first female in the position.

With a mirthless chuckle, she could only think, Pride goeth before destruction, Lisa.

Cuddy sighed as she looked around, noting the "destruction" to be her personal life as no pictures of a family, of friends, of a life outside the walls of PPTH joined the mementos of her accomplishments. Raking a hand through her curls, she groaned and turned back to the pile in front of her, determined to make some progress on the paperwork that threatened to bury her. As she reached for the next file to review, she caught her reflection in the glass doors to her office. Her curls were wild, fluffed from the numerous times she'd run her hand through them in frustration.

Great, now my hair's going to be as untamed as my thoughts today. So much for professional appearances.

All it took was that thought, the mere mention of "professional appearances" for her mind to drift to the one person she'd been trying to not think about all day. Her troublesome, yet brilliant, employee. Her friend, in their own weird way. Her one-time lover, even if only for a night. The man who she recently shared a searing kiss with, one that kept her up at night remembering. The man who was more comfortable grabbing her breast than expressing any sort of feelings. The man who represented the intersection of her personal and professional lives. Gregory House.

Once again distracted from her work, Cuddy ran her fingers over the surface of her desk—the desk that House arranged to be delivered to her office during the recent renovations. The desk that held intimate memories for her—for them. She had thought the gesture was his way of making amends for that horrible "next logical step," as he put it, but her hopes were dashed when she went to thank him for it and saw him there with another one of his hookers, flirty and close. The desk though… the surface was shined and smooth, and she found herself wondering if he'd had it refinished. Thousands of pages of homework and research papers had been written on this desk while she was in school, but none seemed to score the surface. The moments that were etched in her memory didn't mar the smooth desktop at all. Shaking her head to clear the thoughts, Cuddy decided that it was just as well that they hadn't. She didn't need any more distraction. She didn't need her personal life encroaching on her professional life any more than it already was. She picked up her pen and scrawled her signature on the file in front of her. There was work to be done.


On the fourth floor, House was in his office practicing the art of avoidance. Avoiding work. Avoiding clinic duty. Avoiding Cuddy. He knew it wouldn't last. He could only avoid cases and clinic duty for so long before Cuddy would seek him out. That she hadn't already come storming down the hall, heels clicking on the tile floor and voice screeching his name, puzzled him. That she hadn't met his eyes in days or come to him shyly, biting her lip with affection and uncertainty, to thank him or even acknowledge her desk troubled him.

Slouching in his chair, House lifted his damaged thigh to prop his feet on his desk and sighed heavily. His fellows were casting surreptitious glances his way from the conference room, no doubt speculating amongst themselves what was troubling their boss. He knew they were bored, and unfortunately, he'd trained them well enough to look for the puzzle in everything. Without a case, they would focus all of their attention and curiosity on him. With a case, though, he'd be forced to talk to Cuddy at some point, and he wasn't sure he was ready. Sure, he could send one of the fellows to update her on progress or fight for tests, but it wouldn't be nearly as effective, and they'd grow even more suspicious.

House rubbed a hand down his face, weighing his options. It felt like he couldn't win in either scenario. He knew he let Cuddy down and hurt her with the poorly considering groping. She wore them differently, shrouded her walls in professional drive and boundaries rather than misanthropy like he did, but he knew she had just as many as he did. She handled herself with grace and class but didn't let people get too close. Her ambitions were her spouse, and PPTH was her baby. He knew it was safer for her that way, easier. She was confident in herself there, not plagued by guilt or insecurities. He wasn't ignorant to that and understood what it must have taken of her to let her guard down and open up to him in his office. It wasn't a calculated decision to ruin the moment. Everybody knows this is going somewhere. At that, his own fears boiled over, coating his walls in steel. Yes, he understood what it took of her to make that declaration, but he also understood that Cuddy deserved better than him. He liked her, maybe even loved her if he would allow himself to admit it, but he wanted more for her than he could offer. It was easier to fall back on old habits, to negate the moment with sex rather than emotion, than to let her know that.

But in the end, he did like her. He knew it was going somewhere. She knew it. Wilson knew it and wouldn't stop harping about it like some old Jewish yenta. Apparently, everybody knew it. And House did want to show her. Words? They were meaningless. Sure, he could tell her, but everybody lies. Actions would always mean more. He'd sabotaged her office renovations to allow more time for her desk to arrive for just that reason. House wondered if his actions came too late… if the damage done by the ill advised boob grab was the last straw in a long history of hurts he'd inflicted upon Cuddy. Maybe that was for the best. Maybe it was time he get out of the way and quit standing in the way of her happiness. He could never make her happy, not in the long term, but Cuddy deserved to be happy. Maybe it was time to let her go like he'd let Stacy go.

He was alone and miserable, and that was fine, but she deserved better.

Just then, House saw Wilson coming down the hall and knew the avoidance couldn't last forever. Even if Cuddy wouldn't seek him out to yell at him, Wilson would come with his lectures and meddling. Hoping to avoid the lecture for a while longer, House swung his chair around, feet hitting the floor with a thud, and snatched his cane from the side of his desk as he popped up from the chair, ignoring the sharp pain that ripped through his thigh with the movement. Quick actions weren't easy for a cripple, but he needed to move quickly if he wanted to avoid Wilson's scolding. He limped to the door to the outer office and threw it open.

"Go find me a case, and make sure it's interesting. Page me when you find something. And don't let Kutner near a set of paddles."

Kutner looked like he wanted to protest the last instruction, but House shot him a withering look before he could. Foreman stayed in his seat and quirked an eyebrow at House as Thirteen, Taub, and Kutner scurried from the room looking relieved to have been given something to do.

House rolled his eyes at Foreman's expression and quipped, "What? The idiot's already set one patient on fire and shocked himself another time. Do you really trust him with paddles?"

Foreman chuckled and shook his head before he leaned back in his chair and lifted the newspaper he'd rested on his lap, covering his face. From behind the paper, he warned, "Yeah, and this sudden need for a case has nothing to do with Wilson glaring at you from your office."

With a quick glance over his shoulder to confirm that Wilson was indeed standing his office, hands poised on his hips in some sort of superhero pose, House groaned and announced loudly, "Gotta go! Clinic duty!"

Lowering the newspaper only enough to look over the top of it as House limped quickly to the outer office door, Foreman asked, "Clinic duty? Or somewhere else where you can keep avoiding Cuddy and Wilson?"

House stopped for just a second to pat his pocket, checking to make sure the portable television was still in it, and grinned back at Foreman. "General Hospital is on in ten. Page me if you need me. Or don't. Preferably don't."

The paper raised again, a low chuckle coming from behind it. Limping out the door, House waved to Wilson who was staring at him from his office and shouted over his shoulder, "Gotta go, Wilson. Doctoring to do."

Wilson watched as House disappeared down the hall and shook his head before walking to the outer office. At the sound of the door opening, Foreman lowered the newspaper again and looked at Wilson. The men stared at each other in silence, appraising the other, until Foreman finally spoke, "Don't know where he's going and don't care. Whatever's going on with him or you and him or him and Cuddy or whatever it is this week, it's not my problem."

Wilson propped one hand on his hip and raked the other through his hair. "He's been weird ever since Cuddy took over his office. I'm sure you and the team have theories."

Foreman rolled his eyes and folded the paper, placing it on his lap. "They have theories. I don't care. What's more interesting is that you don't know what's going on." With that, he cocked an eyebrow and gave Wilson a smirk.

Exasperated, Wilson threw his hands in the air and grumbled, "I'm going to go talk to Cuddy."

The wry chuckle Foreman offered in response followed Wilson into the hall as he made his way toward the elevator.


Just when she was finally finding a rhythm and the mountain of paperwork was slowly shrinking, a polite knock at the door drew Cuddy's attention from her work. The door creaked lightly as it opened and Wilson slid inside. She held in the groan that threatened to escape and grabbed a pen to write a reminder to herself to have maintenance look at the door.

The look in Wilson's eyes told her that he wasn't here for business, not hospital business. Looking for a way to head off the conversation before he could get started, Cuddy reached for the folder of budget reports that sat beside her and held it up with a soft smile.

"Thanks for getting your budget report to me. I haven't had the chance to look it over yet, but I'll let you know if I have any follow up questions."

Wilson's head dropped as he rubbed his neck, contemplating. He knew what she was doing, recognized the redirect for what it was. With a deep breath, he gathered his nerve and looked up at her. Cuddy could barely suppress a laugh as his stance widened and his fists came to rest on his hips. House was right. It really did look like a superhero pose. Rationalization Man, coming to save the day with his superhuman meddling. The thought boomed through her head in House's voice, full of playful drama. She caught Wilson's stare, his attempt to be stern that fell flat with those sympathetic brown eyes. It's no wonder he's such a good oncologist. It's in the eyes.

"That's not why I'm here."

With a heavy sigh, Cuddy set the folder aside and folded her hands on the desk in front of her. "I know, but as you can see," she gestured to the paperwork still piled in front of her, "I'm busy. So unless you have something business related, I need to get back to work." Wilson's troubled look won her over, and her gaze softened. She wanted to be annoyed at his intrusion into her personal life… or lack thereof… but she couldn't. Wilson meant well. Somehow, in spite of three failed marriages and a string of affairs if hospital gossip was to be believed, Wilson was still a hopeless romantic. He believed in love. He believed in it overcoming obstacles, even the Mt. Everest sized ones that stood in the way of anything happening between House and her. He wanted them both to be happy… or at least less miserable in House's case, and he somehow believed that they could have that together. Cuddy was sure that he didn't know she'd already tried. That House had ruined a perfectly good moment between them. She was sure he didn't know how House had negated his own gesture by calling on a hooker that same day. No, some things just weren't meant to be, and Wilson wouldn't accept that.

Truly, it was funny, she thought. They each had their own vices, their own drugs. House had his Vicodin. Cuddy had her professional drive. And Wilson, Wilson had love. And none of them could let go of their respective vices, even when it was the most logical thing to do. Even when they had each paid steep costs for them.

Cuddy shook her head to clear the thoughts before offering Wilson a small smile. "I really do have to get back to work, but I'm sure if you check with my assistant, we can do lunch soon. Maybe tomorrow? You can meddle all you want then."

Wilson quirked an eyebrow and folded his arms over his chest. "You do know your assistant quit two days ago, right?"

A startled gasp was followed by narrowed eyes as Cuddy slid her chair to the side of the desk to look out the window to her assistant's workspace. Damnit, not another one. How did I miss that? No wonder I can't seem to catch up. This time she didn't suppress the groan that built in her throat and slid her chair back over, writing another note to call HR and find a new assistant ASAP. Yesterday if they could.

When Wilson turned to walk out the door and let her make the calls she was obviously anxious to make, Cuddy stopped him. "Wilson?" He stopped and looked back over his shoulder before she continued, "House hasn't turned in a budget report yet. Do you think… well… could you just see if you could help get one? Since Cameron left his team, they're not getting done."

Gripping his neck again in frustration, Wilson shook his head. "And normally, you'd have no problem marching up to his office to yell at him about it, but now you're avoiding him and he's avoiding you. See? This is what happens. Something happens. You both try to avoid it. Then things get weird."

She wanted to deny it, wanted to claim she was just delegating like an efficient administrator, but that would be a lie. She was avoiding House, and House was avoiding her. "It's not weird. It's just…" weird, her mind completed. "It's just how it has to be right now. I told you, everyone's better off if House and I don't date."

The exasperated sigh Wilson offered in response told her he didn't believe that. Needing to end the conversation there, Cuddy reached for the phone and offered a nod as a goodbye. As the door creaked open again, Right, maintenance. I've got to call maintenance about that, Wilson paused one last time. Before she could dial the first number, he glanced over her desk and inquired, "You never did say who sent you your desk."

A small, sad smile crept over Cuddy's face as she contemplated how to answer. Her fingers left the keypad of her phone to skim over the surface of her desk, and she pulled the side of her bottom lip between her teeth. "Oh… it was just an old friend who knew I was renovating and knew this desk had a lot of meaning for me." That worked. It was an easy, safe answer. She could even argue it was true. House was an old friend. There was a lot of history and meaning in the desk. Wilson just wasn't privy to that history. No one at PPTH was. It was better than way.

It surprised her, but Wilson didn't pry any further. He gave his own smile and offered, "It's nice. And it's a nice symbol of how far you've come." With that, he slipped out the door and closed it behind him.

Yeah, it is a nice symbol of how far I've come… and of how far we never did.

Pushing that thought aside, Cuddy reached for the phone to call maintenance.