A/N: I wrote this one a bit differently. It might be hard to follow. It's in a more stream of consciousness style. Let me know if it's just too hard to read and I'll try to fix it.

I wrote this while listening to 'Breathe Me' by Sia and 'Run' by Snow Patrol. If you want some mood music, there are your songs. They're both wonderful and they both fit House (and this chapter) perfectly.

Disclaimer: I own Nurse Elizabeth. She likes long walks on the beach and dark chocolate. You can borrow her if you want. Please bring her back in relative good quality though. I hate trying to refurbish used nurses. You know?

Guilt has a funny way of gnawing at a person. Forcing you to relive the same event over and over again. In dreams, in reality – even in the tiny moments you used to relish as 'relaxing'. You take a deep breath and there you are again. Nine years younger, longer hair, paler skin, less sunken. There you are, taking away a quarter of a person. You open your eyes, breathe again, then blink. Suddenly you're picking that person up off the floor. Lights flash behind your eyes but all you can think about is the blood around your feet and the man leaning on you and losing consciousness. Blink again, Lisa. This time, it isn't a memory. This time, it's happening. There he is, back in the bed, and there you are, guilty as charged.

"He's doing a lot better, Dr. Cuddy."

Of course he's doing a lot better. He'll always be doing a lot better. Or, at least, he'll always look like he's doing a lot better. What about the scars you can't see? How do you treat those?

"Thanks, Elizabeth."

Nurses had an uncanny way of making me nervous. How could they possibly be so happy when the highlight of their job was cleaning up vomit – or other, more unsavory, fluids?

She left and there I was again. Alone and rotting. Maybe rotting is the wrong word. My insides certainly felt rotted. Maybe that was the guilt. It wasn't gnawing, it was rotting.

"…any brain damage?"

I couldn't stop staring at him. He was sleeping. He'd woken up already once and spoken to me. Hell, he'd eaten in front of me. Why was I feeling this way?

I shook my head and water flew in both directions. Great, I was crying again.

"Dr. Cuddy?" Dr. Chase put his hand on my arm and I shook it off. Why was I acting this way?

"I'm fine, sorry." I turned to him, ripping my eyes from the sleeping House, and forced a teary smile at my head of surgery.

"I just wanted to check in." He took a step back. The look in his eyes was panicky. He was worried about me but he didn't want to push it. I didn't blame him. I was afraid of me too.

Time is not a fixed thing when trauma is involved. I guess I hadn't really realized that until I found myself sitting in the chair in House's ICU room and I couldn't remember how I'd gotten there.

"You look like shit, Cuddy."

I wasn't even looking at him. I was staring at his heart monitor, watching the blips pass on the screen and listening to the quiet beeps. Listening for signs of life.

"Cuddy?"

I was reminded of that song, the one that House had quoted to me years ago. You can't always get what you want. This definitely wasn't what I wanted. I wondered if it was actually possible for me to get what I needed this time.

"Cuddy!"

I finally looked at him, blank and cold, and he was shocked. Concern crossed his face and lingered there for a long time. I didn't really notice. It was out of character for him. I should have noticed.

"Cuddy, what is wrong with you? You're acting like the living dead."

House was right. I felt like the living dead. What was wrong with me? Why couldn't I pull it together and mend all of the cracks? That was my job, after all.

"I'm fine." My voice was loud. Too loud for the room we were in.

"You're not fine." He was serious. Too serious for the person he was.

I stared at him, through him. I glared at him. I didn't want him to tell me how I felt. I didn't feel bad. I felt fine. I was fine.

"I'm fine!" My voice hitched, "I'm not –" My whole body hitched in a sob that felt as though it tore my whole soul out. I couldn't breathe for all the panicking and all I could see was everything I'd ever done wrong to him. I'd destroyed his quality of life and taken his leg. I'd helped place a wedge between him and the love of his life. And now, I'd allowed him to destroy his relationship with his best friend.

Before I could gather myself and become the Cuddy I always was at work, I felt him grab my arm and pull me, hard. I opened my eyes and saw him, through the thick fog of tears, sitting on the side of the bed. He'd ripped off most of the wires holding him down and I could hear the alarms in the back of my mind. Mostly, all I could hear were my own, gut wrenching, sobs.

He yanked me out of the chair with surprising force and into his arms before I could resist. I sobbed there, for a lifetime, sitting on his hospital bed, my face buried in his chest. He didn't say anything, didn't try to comfort me with words. He just tightened his grip on me and rested his chin on my head. The alarms got louder, or maybe that was my brain playing tricks on me, and my sobs calmed down.

Once I'd quieted down to the soft rain of silent tears, he held me away from him for a minute. He stared at me, and I felt uncomfortable. He always had the most amazing ability to shake me, no matter how numb I felt on the outside.

"You can't do this to yourself, Lisa." He wiped my cheek with the palm of his hand and I looked down at the bed. I couldn't take his eyes studying me anymore. I didn't want to be the puzzle this time.

He took a hold of my chin with the still damp hand he'd used to brush my cheek and forced me to look up again, "I'm okay, Wilson will be okay," That honest concern crossed his face and this time, I did notice, "when are you going to worry about Cuddy?"

I shook my head and tried to look away but he wasn't letting go. I wondered if he was trying to prove something. He stared me down for a second and then he did let go, allowing me to look away. I couldn't keep looking at him, though I tried.

House was still studying me, but I'd gained control of my emotions and was now trying to gain control of my surroundings. The alarms were still going off and I wondered why no one had come yet. I looked out the door and my question was answered.

Wilson was there, a stony look on his face. Everything in me sunk to my shoes. Everything that had been somewhat uplifted by House's comfort and pep talk was now completely destroyed. Wilson was watching with a look of sad determination on his face.

I pushed away from House, his hands falling from my shoulders to rest in his lap. I stood and made for the door. I ran like a scared rabbit. I pushed past Wilson and he watched me go. I could feel his hard gaze follow me to the stairs and I could still feel it on my back even after I had rounded the corner.