"House, this means nothing, I swear – "
" – You bet it doesn't."
"Yeah. Nothing needs to carry on…" Her tone was pleading now; her eyes imploring him to contradict her. And yeah, like hell he would. This was the only aspect of the last 24 hours that they'd got right – in any sense of the word. Sure, neither of them had felt like that last night (of this, he was certain) but in the harsh light of day, and sans the influence of the good ol' Dutch courage, it was so incredibly wrong it didn't bear thinking about.
He had hastily dragged himself out of bed that morning, the minute he'd woken up and seen her, knocking his cane to the floor and jolting her awake (also in a state of panic, peculiarly. She hadn't been so reticent last night…)
So he'd wrenched his clothes onto body parts that he hoped were appropriate, and averted his gaze as she'd dressed, no more serenely. That – those – were the last things he needed reminding of now.
It was second nature to him now to reach into the pocket of his jacket, abandoned in a crumpled heap by the window, for a chequebook, but he repressed the urge to do so now: he doubted it would go down very well.
Cuddy seemed to have given up all hope of gleaning a declaration of undying love from him, and resigned herself to the fact that she was going to have to see herself out, and but breakfast on the way to work. Such was the way of the world. House made for the bathroom, the soft slapping of his feet on the laminate jarring awkwardly with the echoing rubber tip of that infernal cane, and she took the opportunity to slip away whilst he could pretend he hadn't heard her leave.
Even to him, hidden away in the bathroom, cowering in the farthest corner of the flat, the soft click of the front door, softly closed by Cuddy screamed at him, bringing back a stark reminder of the raging battles that other people should have seen. He hated Cuddy; hated her with a passion…
As he located his toothbrush, he mulled over this thought. How could you hate someone with a passion. Surely, the two were mutually exclusive. Wasn't it? Or maybe there were superior forces at work; who could tell?
Ah, well. He shrugged, then scowled at himself in the mirror for bothering to shrug to an empty room.