Cuddy sat alone in House's apartment for two hours before she came to the conclusion that neither of them were planning on coming home, that night. She grabbed her coat and keys and headed for her car.
Traffic was light. She couldn't concentrate on anything for more than a few seconds at a time. Tapping her fingers against the steering wheel. Turning the radio on, then off, then on again. News. Checking her reflection in the mirror. Fresh, clean face. Had to pull herself together for meetings, for simply walking down the hall of her hospital and God damn House. Why couldn't she just hate him?
Why couldn't she believe him when he said this hadn't been about revenge? What the hell else could it have been?
Sex. Release. Distraction.
Maybe. Maybe, but he'd had to have known that it would hurt her. But then, she doubted that he'd thought of her at all. If he'd been out to hurt anyone, it would have to be Wilson. House was always punishing him for his (their) failures. She's sure she never even crossed his mind. Bastard.
But God, he'd confessed, thrown himself at her mercy, told her he loved her, and what was she supposed to do with that? She had a lifetime of promising herself she'd never put up with infidelity. She had years of experience in the You hurt me, I hurt you tug of war of failing relationships, and she'd had enough. She was too old and too tired and…she'd had enough. They, the three of them, were supposed to be different. (But why? Why would you even think that? she asked herself.)
She stared at her house. She'd been parked in the drive for who knows how long, and she hadn't even noticed she'd stopped moving.
Why had she even kept this place? Was it really in hopes that the three of them would move in here, leave the cramped quarters of House's apartment and make a home for the three of them to have a space of their own? Or did she want an escape route, like always? What the hell was she doing here?
God damn House. His stark confession had broken the dam and now she couldn't stop the thoughts that she's sure were circling long before House's lost weekend. Wilson should've been the one who cheated. I'd have expected that. Wilson should have strayed, and then House would have pushed him out, and then it would have just been the two of us and we'd have been okay.
But that's not what had happened, and wasn't even close to the truth anymore. Despite the hurt and anger she'd felt when it had become clear that he'd used her in a game only he was knowingly playing, she loved Wilson, now. It was different than what she felt for House. Smaller. But it was there, and she'd miss it if it left her. If he left her.
And now she didn't know if she could stay with them both, after having admitted to herself that, while she loved Wilson, she'd always love House more. Always choose him. Maybe, maybe always forgive him. Maybe.
She got out of her car, and walked inside. Nothing had to be decided right that second, even though it had always been her instinct to rip the Band-Aid off in one swift tear.
Turning on the hall light, she didn't need the soft sound of House's snores to let her know they were in the bedroom; the trail of sneakers, shirts and tie was an obvious roadmap. She slipped out of her heels, hoping to catch them both asleep before deciding on whether she needed to wake them up and figure out just what the hell they were supposed to do now.
House woke up the minute she walked in the room. She couldn't look him in the eye, and instead haltingly approached the side of the bed where Wilson was sleeping.
"He looks happy," she whispered, finally meeting House's gaze.
"The universe always settles the score," he shrugged, but he was acting nervous as he inched away from Wilson, patted the space he'd just made for her, and then lifted up the duvet in invitation.
The Golden Rule, she thought, and she couldn't help but smile as Wilson's eyes scrunched up against the light, blinked open and then widened at the sight of her.
"Well?" House asked, hanging his head as if he actually thought she's say no. How could she say no?
She joined them in her bed, pressed herself between them, and took one more second for a final God damn House before she wrapped her arms around him. Not in forgiveness, but certainly in need.
In the morning, she awoke to House gently nipping at her mouth, his tongue slipping between her sleep-relaxed lips. Normally, this is when she'd pull away, moaning about morning breath and for God's sake, can't we brush our teeth first, but something was different. His eyes were open. She met his stare, then looked away, taking in the sight of House gently stroking Wilson into hardness with one hand, the feel of him smoothing back her hair with the other, and she closed her eyes to let herself focus on that. On him. His long fingers ran through her hair, massaging her scalp, getting tangled in curls and setting themselves free as painlessly as possible. His lips felt chapped, his whiskers sharp, tongue perfect. Then he pulled back to babble against her searching mouth: "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."
Her hands were pinned between his chest and hers, so all she could do was try to pull him closer, but he was already retreating. She opened her eyes.
There was a moment of complete silence, as she and Wilson stared at House, waiting for him to make his move. She finally recognized that that was what she'd been waiting for, for months.
And then House was pulling Wilson towards Cuddy, and pushing himself away from them, and it was as if he was giving each of them to the other, as if that was the best, or all, he could do. As if he actually thought that's what they wanted.
"Idiot," she growled, and even as she wrapped her legs around Wilson to anchor him to her, she tugged hard on House's wrist, pulling him off balance. He collapsed on top of them and there was a brief tangle of limbs and a few hisses of pain and shock, and it reminded her of the first time, only she knew she loved them, now, instead of simply hoping that she would in time. Legs still holding Wilson against her, she yanked on House's hair until he grudgingly shimmied his way up to greet her, and finally, finally, gave her back his kiss.
Wilson was rubbing against her, and she loosened her grip so he had just enough room to slip off her panties and slip in to her, and she sighed at the feeling, and House moaned at the sight, and then there was silence again as Wilson and House stared at each other.
"Do you want -?" Wilson murmured, stopping mid-question but nodding towards the nightstand, where she assumed they'd found the lube the night before.
She could tell that House was just as shocked by the offer as she was, and maybe more than a little terrified by what it could mean.
"No," he finally answered. "Thanks," he added a beat later, a small smile turning his face into the version of him she loved best. "I'm happy where I am. Just…let me watch you, together."
Wilson nodded, and moved against her, and House pulled his face away from hers so he could study the way they moved together, but Cuddy kept her hand on him, reaching for whatever part of him he'd generously left in reach. Smooth skin just below the eye. Soft curls at the nape of his neck. Long throat, hard shoulders, wiry line of hair snaking down the center of his chest. She'd have kept going, but he caught her dancing fingers in his own, brought them to his lips, and slowly inched his body closer to theirs. Once he was nestled against her side, she could finally focus on Wilson, how he'd held himself still as he waited for House to settle against them. How he'd braced himself to take the brunt of his own weight, where House had always happily crushed her breathless. How he looked like he was holding in a laugh, and how he wasn't so stingy with the smiles he was throwing in House's direction, in between the kisses he was throwing in hers.
It wasn't perfect. But it felt perfect. It felt real, and complicated, and like an accident waiting to happen. It felt safe. It felt like them. All she could do was hope that they'd all remember what it was they each found in this (their) moment that was so worth fighting for.