Remember December

Chapter 11

Cuddy stood outside of House's hospital room for several minutes before going inside. It had been a week since the surgery and every instance he looked at her or she spoke to him permeated with treachery. House apologized to Stacy the next day for the things he had said to her. He was still angry though he allowed her to believe that it was only Cuddy whom he was angry with. And Cuddy, feeling guilty anyways, allowed them the lie.

House had been sleeping when Stacy left an hour ago, but was awake and sitting up in bed now. Cuddy stepped up to his bedside and handed him a glass of water. He took it and the pills that followed, greedily tossing them to the back of his throat.

"Where's Stacy?"

"We're sending some equipment home with you and Stacy had to go meet the medical suppliers at your house this morning. She'll be back this afternoon and then you'll be released." Cuddy moved around his bed and pulled up a stool then pulled back the bed sheet. She moved her hand down to the bandage on his thigh, but House grabbed her wrist before she could reach it.

"Don't," he told her.

"I have to check for infection, House." She didn't look at him. Couldn't look at him.

He released her arm and clinched his fist around the covers. "It's not infected," he said but let her remove the bandages anyway. Cuddy plied the tissue around his stitches and moved to the outer edge of the wound. Satisfied that it was healing normally, Cuddy replaced his bandages and pulled the sheet back over him.

"Happy?" He asked her. Cuddy shook her head, but ignored him.

"When you go home, you'll be put on a pain management regimen; we'll reevaluate your pain in a couple of weeks and make adjustments if we need to. You'll also begin physical therapy as soon as you—"

"Not interested," he said.

"House, the muscle tissue left in your leg is still strong. If you keep exercising…it is possible that your daily pain can be kept to a minimum."

House had been staring up at the wall, but now turned to face her. "I don't need a pep-talk," he said.

"You need to not be so damn stubborn," Cuddy cut in. "Stacy is going to have enough to deal with—"

"I don't think I like the idea of you and Stacy running around here like best buddies."

Cuddle smiled slightly and shrugged. "She's a good person," she said softly. "I can see why you like her. I wish I was more like her sometimes. She's very…open. She cares for you a lot."

House frowned. "I used to think she reminded me of you, but you're actually not all that much alike." House winced and rubbed his hand over his leg. "She makes excuses for me when you…don't."

Cuddy stared at his hand pressing down on the mangled thigh. "Maybe that's what you need right now. Someone who isn't constantly pushing you for more than you can give. Especially when all you can give right now is…not good enough."

House closed his eyes and rested his head back against the pillow. "Maybe," he whispered.

Cuddy reached out and put a hand over his. He opened his eyes to look at her and for a split second she thought he was going to yell at her, but instead he tightened his fingers around hers. "If there's away to fix this," Cuddy said nodding to his leg and their hands entwined and resting there. "I will find it." Cuddy stood up and House let go of her hand, closing his eyes again.

Six weeks later Cuddy walked into her nearly barren office to find Stacy sitting in a chair across from her desk.

"Hi," Cuddy said, taken a little off guard. Ever since House had left the hospital, a doctor closer to their home had been handling all of his follow-up care, and Cuddy had not seen or spoken to either of them since.

Stacy smiled a little, but her eyes were worried and worn, like she hadn't slept in some time. Cuddy moved around to her side of the desk, and sat down. "What's going on?"

Stacy nodded and didn't say anything for a few seconds. "House's…his pain is getting worse. The oxycodone isn't helping. He's taking way too much and still…"

"Have you talked with his doctor's out there, they could—"

"He won't see any doctor's out there, and he gave up on the physical therapy. He thinks things have to just be this way. And…" Stacy shook her head. "He insisted on going back to work a couple of weeks ago, but he couldn't concentrate, he started making bad judgment calls, and got himself thrown off a case." Cuddy shook her head, understanding that may have had nothing to do with the pain, that is was just a part of how he operated. "And then last week, he went back, took on a case, but the pain was so bad that he walked away from the patient," Stacy pressed her lips together. "They fired him."

Cuddy closed her eyes. That was not part of the process. She shook her head. "I don't know what you want me to do Stacy, I'm not his doctor anymore; he doesn't want to see me—"

"I'm leaving him," Stacy blurted out, and closed her eyes, nearly ashamed of herself for the confession.

Cuddy drew in a breath to try and calm her heart slamming around in her chest. "Wha-why?"

"I know it seems like I'm being unreasonable, but he's pushing me away. This isn't the type of thing he'll get over, it's like I'm a different person to him now. He won't be able to move on from this and get his life back together if he is constantly reminded of what I did and how things could've been."

"He will get over it; you just have to give it some time. He—" Cuddy stumbled over her next words, "He loves you."

Stacy shook her head. "I love him too. But I've found a way to move on. Besides, he wouldn't want me to stay with him just because of his leg. Or in spite of it."

Cuddy leaned back in her seat. She hated the woman in that moment and wanted her gone. "Why are you telling me this?"

Stacy shrugged. "I think you could help him." She stood up, and pulled on her jacket. "I've already found another place to live. I'm telling him tonight." She walked over to the door, but stopped before turning the handle. "Whatever you decide, thank you. He could be dead right now, if you hadn't…"

Cuddy nodded. "He could've been fine too."

Stacy shook her head and walked out of the office.

The next morning Cuddy called House's home phone and his cell. No answer. She got into her car that afternoon and drove out to Long Island and banged on his door for nearly ten minutes before he heard him shuffling around inside. A couple more minutes and he opened the door. His hair was messed, his eyes red and he scowled at her as he clutched his cane tight at his side.

"Making house calls now?" he asked her before walking away, leaving her standing in the open door. Cuddy followed him inside, and closed the door behind her. From the look of things, House had had a pretty rough night. But it also looked as if someone had tried cleaning up after him. Cuddy followed him into the living room where he had fallen into a chair and was leaning heavily on his leg. "What are you doing here, Cuddy?"

She sat down in a nearby chair, and pulled a syringe from her bag. "Morphine," she said. "It will relieve the pain for now, and then I'm gonna wanna take you off the oxycodone; put you on something a little stronger, so you won't feel the need to take so much."

House nodded slowly, and Cuddy took a tourniquet out of her bag. She came over and kneeled beside him, tied off his arm and gave him the shot. House leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes for a few seconds, and when he opened them again Cuddy was still at his side.

"She left," he said his voice dry and dissonant. Cuddy nodded. "You knew?"

She nodded again. "Yes." If he was ever going to trust her again, Cuddy decided that honesty was the best policy.

"Did she ask you to come here?"

"She asked me to help you," Cuddy said. "Since apparently you have no interest in helping yourself."

"Thanks, but I don't need your help."

"If you want my drugs, then you're going to have to accept my help too." She crossed her arms in front of her.

"Berating a pathetic cripple?"

"You're not pathetic."

"No, but the cripple part is true." He shot back.

"I don't feel sorry for you, House, so you can stop acting like a victim."

Both of them turned when they heard a key in the door. Wilson pushed the door open and was surprised to see Cuddy standing there.

"Wilson," House waved his hand at Cuddy. "You remember Dr. Frankenstein."

Wilson closed the door and came into the living room. "Dr. Cuddy," he said. "I didn't know you'd be—"

"Apparently you weren't the only one Stacy recruited to take care of me when she decided to bail on me."

A few hours later Wilson had cooked dinner for the tree of them. He and Cuddy ate together while House stared at the meal for a moment and then stood up and limped to his bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

"It's good that you're here," Wilson said to her once they were alone.

"You too," she said. "It's good that he has someone like you in his life." Wilson nodded.

"I'm afraid he's never gonna be the same after this."

"He's going to be fine. Once we help him find a way to cope with the pain—"

"I'm not talking about the pain, I'm talking about him," Wilson wiped his hands on his napkin and, rubbed his temples. "He was happy for a while. He was in a good relationship, and had a job that looked like it might actually stick. Now, between the infarction and losing his job and losing Stacy…" Wilson shook his head. "I tried to talk her into staying, but she had good reasons for wanting to leave." Wilson looked up at Cuddy. "He's not an easy person to love."

Cuddy's breath caught in her throat. She knew something about that. She wouldn't be here if she didn't, though she couldn't admit it to Wilson.

Cuddy stood up and started to clear the table. Wilson looked at his watch and then back at House's closed bedroom door. "If I stay over here again, my wife is going to think I'm having an affair." Cuddy thought he was kidding, but he wasn't smiling. "Would it be imposing too much for me to ask you to stay here? Just on the couch, until I can get back in the morning? I doubt he'll wake up, but if he does, I don't think it's a good idea for him to be left alone for too long right now."

"Oh. Yeah, of course." As she walked Wilson to the front door she grabbed her prescription pad and scribbled a note, then ripped it off and handed it to him. "I want to try him on a low dose of Vicodin. If it can take enough of the pain away, then maybe he will start exercising again. Do you mind picking this up on your back tomorrow?"

Wilson nodded. "I wouldn't count on it, but I'll pick them up."

Cuddy had fallen asleep on House's couch a few hours later. A few hours after that she woke up, startled to find House standing over the couch leering at her.

"Jesus, you scared me," she said pulling herself into a sitting position.

"You're in my house," he said.

"Are you okay?" she asked him.

"It hurts again," he told her. "And you swiped my pills."

"I told you I wanted to change your prescription. Wilson will bring it in the morning." Cuddy glanced at her watch and then stood up, walked over to her bag, and pulled out another shot of morphine.

House swiped it away from her. "I'll do it," he said. "I don't need you to play nurse, as sexy as that sounds…" He tied off his arm and injected the drug. He pulled off the tourniquet, and leaned his head back in the chair, closing his eyes. Cuddy sat back down on the couch across from him, and House opened his eyes.

"You don't have to be here," he said.

"I know," she whispered. "But we were worried about you."

"I'm fine," he said.

"Clearly," she said. House frowned at her.

"You said that you came here to help me, right?" Cuddy nodded. "But you could've called one of the doctors out here and asked them to switch my meds and come to my house and give me morphine. You didn't have to drive all the way from Jersey for that."

"That's true," she said. "There is another reason."

"I thought so," House stood up and took a shaky step toward her, leaning on the edge of the couch for support. His arms came down on each side of her.

"What are you doing?"

"Letting you help," he said before dropping down, pressing an awkward kiss to the corner of her mouth. Cuddy was caught off her guard momentarily but then pushed him away and stood up.

"That's not what I meant House."

"The hell it's not," he said, standing up again and limping over to her. "Now that Stacy's gone, there's nothing stopping you. "

He reached toward her waist, but Cuddy stopped him from pulling her close by planting her hand on his chest. "House, I came here because I wanted to offer you a job."

House dropped his hands to his side. "What?"

"I've been appointed Dean of Medicine at Princeton Plainsboro. I start next week and I want to hire you, once you feel like you're ready to come back to work."

House shook his head slowly. "I would rather you just sleep with me." Cuddy crossed her arms in front of her. "I'm not working for you Cuddy."

"You can turn me down, but you just got fired from your forth hospital. What administrator is going to have anything to do with you now?"

"I don't know that it matters anymore," he cast his eyes down and dropped his voice. "I can't stop being in pain long enough to think about treating patients."

Cuddy shook her head. "You can't say that yet, House. You tried to go back to work way too soon, you haven't gotten your pain under control but you will, and I'll help you."

House clinched his fists and grit his teeth together. "Don't talk about my pain like you know what I'm going through."

Cuddy stood her ground when he menacingly invaded her space once again. "I may not know what you leg feels like but I do know that when you're hurting you think you can take the pain away by hurting yourself more." House looked away from her as she put a hand on his arm. "Remember a long time ago when you showed up at my door and asked me to trust you?"

"I remember you told me to go to hell."

"At first. But then I did, and even though we couldn't make it work with us, it got me here, because I give a crap about you. Because I know you're a good person and I think we could help each other."

House shook his head. "I'm not the same person I was back then."

"Of course you are. Things are different but who you are doesn't change."

"You are so fucking blind," he told her, but his voice was softer now, even a little sleepy and apologetic. "I don't think you could handle me."

Cuddy smiled a little. "I think you underestimate me," she said. She took hold of his elbow. "You should get back to bed."

House gripped her arm that she had been using to hold onto him. He grabbed her with his eyes and kept her planted where she stood when he leaned down to kiss her again. "House…" she gave a weak protest,

"Shhh," he breathed against her, feeling his tongue over her lips. He moved his hands up her arms and around to her back. Cuddy's already shoddy defenses, where shaken, and she forgot where she was and what she was doing long enough for House to move her against the wall and slide his hands over her ass. She opened her mouth and breathed into him. Her hands tangled into his hair and as his kisses moved over her ear and down her neck, he pushed his erection against her hip. Cuddy let her own mouth start to roam and House released a helpless groan as she pushed a hot kiss against his throat.

Methodically, House moved one hand away from her ass and over one breast, squeezing slightly then moving under her shirt and to her back seeking out the clasp on her bra. Cuddy leaned her head back against the wall and noted that his eyes were squeezed shut and his hands were moving almost mechanically. She closed her eyes. He wasn't thinking of her, he wasn't making love to her. He was trying to hurt Stacy.

Cuddy shook herself from her reverie and planted her hands on his shoulders pushing him back. "House, don't. Don't do this," she said.

House opened his eyes for the first time since he kissed her. "What?"

"This isn't right. I'm your friend, but that's it. This isn't going to happen."

House blinked at her, and lowered his hand over the deep scarring on his leg. He shook his head and walked away from her, back into his bedroom and slammed the door.

A week later, on a Saturday afternoon, Cuddy was unpacking boxes of books and placing them on the shelves in her new office. She had the radio on and the door shut, and she was enjoying the view from her new place at the top.

There was a hesitant tapping on her glass door and Cuddy spun around to see House standing outside. She waved him in and turned the music off. "Hey," she greeted him. She noticed that he had combed his hair and pressed his shirt, for the trip to Plainsboro.

"Dr. Lisa Cuddy. Dean of Medicine," House let out a low whistle. "Nice."

Cuddy smiled, and waved him into one of the chairs in front of her desk. "What are you doing here?"

House sat, and then looked around the office, seeming a little nervous. "I owe you an apology for the other night," he said. "I was out of mind, and I, um…I shouldn't have—"

"It's okay, House I understand," Cuddy crossed her arms over her lap.

"You're not upset?" Cuddy shook her head no, she wasn't angry with him. "But you left before I woke up."

Cuddy shrugged. "Wilson was there and I did what I came up there to do, made you my offer, there was no reason for me to stay."

"Right." He swallowed hard and licked his lips. "About that…"

Cuddy laughed now, failing though she tried to hold it back. "Change your mind?"

House rolled his eyes. He would be damned if he was going to come in her and beg or be mocked. "I want to be head of my own department," he said, "with a team of at least six doctor's working under me. I want an office with a conference room, full access to imaging equipment and laboratory tests, and cable in my office. With all the premium channels."

Cuddy's smile widened and she uncrossed her legs. "You can have a team of two, all risky procedures come through me first, and no premium channels."

"A team of three, and just HBO and Showtime."

"Fine," Cuddy said. House smiled and tapped his cane on the ground. "But I have a few demands of my own, and some things I need you to understand." House stopped drumming his cane and looked up at her. He dropped a pill from the bottle he had been fingering and swallowed it.

Cuddy raised her eyebrows. "Number one, I want you to keep the Vicodin under control. And start going to physical therapy." House rolled his eyes, but Cuddy cut him off before he could argue. "Number two, You have to understand that by coming to work her it does not mean that you have an all access pass to do whatever you want. Sometimes I am going to have to say no, and when I do, you respect that or you won't have a job."

"Part of what I do means taking chances, Cuddy. It's how I operate—"

"House when you had the infarction, you came to me because you thought I would do whatever you asked me to do. I didn't. And now you're in pain, but your also alive…which do you think is more important to me?"

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm saying that if you come to work for me, you're not always going to get your way. My job is to look out for your best interests as well as the best interests of the hospital and of the patient…if those things don't always agree the patient comes first, the hospital comes second and then you and your wants come third. Got it?"

House crossed his arms. "Fine. But if we are trying to take lessons from what happened to my leg, I'd also like to point out that when I came to you, asking for your help because I thought you would trust my judgment and do what I want, the first thing I asked for was an MRI. If you had ordered one when I asked instead of trying twenty other things first, we would've seen the blockage three days earlier and this, waving at his leg, might not have been necessary."

House stared Cuddy down, and after a second she nodded. "I will trust your judgment, if you will trust mine."

House gave her a sidelong glance and smirked. "That's not a logical agreement, what if our judgments are different?"

"In that case we will defer to my judgment, because I'm the boss." House chucked, but nodded in acceptance more than agreement. "When do you want to start?" She asked him.

He took a deep breath. "I'm gonna start looking for a new place to live today. Once I get settled, I'll start." He glanced around the office once again and the settled his eyes on the floor. "I just can't stay there anymore."

Two days later Cuddy got a call from House telling her that he found a new place.

"Do you want to come see it?" He had asked her.

"Sure, when?"

"Come this morning," he said, "just don't hit on the moving guys, I wouldn't want you to distract them."

But when Cuddy arrived at the stylish brownstone five minutes from the hospital, there were no movers. There was just a truck full of House's belongings, House, his cane, and Wilson. "Hope you brought comfortable shoes," House said, he and Wilson nearly trickling over with laughter.

Cuddy went to her car and pulled her tennis shoes and sweatpants out of her gym bag, and changed in House's bathroom.

Seven hours, twenty-six boxes, five large pieces of furniture, one piano, two pizzas, and six beers later, House had downed another couple of Vicodin and passed out in his newly put together bed, while Cuddy sat on his front stoop staring at the empty moving truck. Wilson stepped out into the cool evening air and handed her another beer before plopping down beside her. "Thanks for your help today," he said. "You are freakishly strong for a girl." He smiled at her and she laughed.

"Thanks, I think." They sat in silence for a few minutes, before Wilson turned to her.

"Can I ask you something?" Cuddy nodded, "Why did you offer him a job?"

Cuddy pressed her lips together. "He's a good doctor—"

"Yes he is. But he's also a liability. Why would you take responsibility for someone who you know to be completely insane? Guilt?"

"No."

"You're not responsible for his leg Lisa."

"I know that."

"But you still blame yourself."

"You don't blame me for what happened to him?"

Wilson looked away from her and shrugged. "If there was any ethical wrongdoing, technically it was Stacy's. But in truth, you're the doctor, you are responsible." Cuddy nodded slowly, a little stung by his words, but knowing he was right. Wilson smiled again and put his hand over hers. "And if it were the other way around and House was treating a patient in the same situation he would've done exactly the same thing you did." Wilson let go of her hand and took another sip of his beer, "I think it's good that you understand what that's like… sometimes having to put the well being of your patient above an ethical code of conduct. Especially if he is going to be working for you."

Cuddy smiled at him, understanding that he was trying to protect his friend and deeply admiring him for it. She took another sip of her own beer and looked back out at the empty truck. "Do you want a job?" She asked him.

Wilson chuckeled. "Yeah right. If I went home and told my wife that we had to move to New Jersey so that I could babysit House, she would divorce me for sure." Cuddy laughed. "I hope you know what you're getting yourself into," he said.

Cuddy nodded, "Me too." She tipped her beer toward Wilson who touched the top of his to hers. "Cheers," she said.

A/N: Thanks so much for the bitch'n reviews, I'm glad you guys are enjoying this...I am digging writing it so...yeah...I actually have a lot of this story written now, I have just been writing it out of order that is why I haven't updated in a while...but I pretty much know now where I am going and how I'm gonna get there. Give me a review and I'll give you a cookie ;-)