Same Here
Story Title: Same Here
Story Summary: Cuddy asks House a question one day. He doesn't quite know how to answer it. Later, he reflects on two words that never solve anything. And, then three that do the trick.
Genre: Angst/General/Reflection
Chapter Focus: #213 of 1000 Theme Challenge, "Don't Runaway"
Chapter Rating: K+, maybe T.
Word Count: 2815+
Spoilers: no more than the last
Author's Starting Notes: This next installment, Don't Runaway, was first written right after the last one. I didn't like it at first, but after I re-wrote it, it grew on me. So, tell me your thoughts, especially because this one marks the end of the story, and I have no valentine, so, I need something to make this day bright.
Time Stamp: Posted Valentine's Day, 2009
(#213)
Of all the things Lisa Cuddy feels grateful for, she finds her need to organize at the very top of the list. Most days it can be a little tedious, but on days like this one - those days when she can no longer take the solidity of her home - it is that simple trait that leads to her finding the box where it sits.
She knows well where it is and what is inside it. She knows the story of every single item, and remembers the texture of them all even now. Still, she cannot resist taking it out every now and again and flipping through it.
Today is one of those days.
Lisa sits atop her bed, box in her lap, hands barely grazing the sides as she tries to talk herself out of looking inside. As always, she fails, and her hands then grab hold of the first thing in the box. She smiles, affectionately; his band T-shirt. Only one was ever made, and she still remembers the day she got a hold of it.
Her feet felt like anchors, weighing down every single step she took up the towering staircase. Her hands were like the chains tied to it, for every time her feet dragged, her hands dropped just a bit lower down her body. And, her head would just have to be the water swimming around the damn anchor, just to complete the metaphor, and to acquaint the spinning sensation with something a bit more familiar She was certain, in that moment, that she just could not do this anymore.
"Come on, Lise!" roared the booming voice of her boyfriend, Greg. She paused in her steps, and looked up uneasily. He was at least three flights above her, yet they had started right next to each other. She just didn't understand how he could move so fast.
"Greg, I need a break," she yelled back. His groan that followed echoed through the empty space much longer than necessary.
"Lisa, you don't have time for a break. It's either you move on your own, or I carry you. And, you don't want me to carry you in your skirt, now do you?" he threatened. Her gaze wandered to the skirt on her legs. It hadn't seemed like too bad of an idea for her to wear it. Until, of course, she met up with the terror that was Greg House, and found out that she would be climbing the stairs of one of the highest buildings on campus.
"It'll only be a little one," she tried.
"A small break to you, and a small break to me are two very different things. Both of which would cause us to be late. Come on, the roof at dawn, don't you want to be there? What could be more romantic than that?" he asked.
"Somewhere that doesn't involve seventeen flights of stairs and a ridiculously long drop?" she suggested.
"Okay, let's make a deal, then. If you keep going, I'll give you any one thing of mine that you want. Anything," he offered.
"Does that include your closet?" she wondered. He looked at his watch before nodding hurriedly.
"Yes, yes, it does. Come on, the sun is due to peek out any minute," he urged. She rolled her eyes at him, placing the heels she had long since removed in her other palm.
"I want the shirt you wore during your first on-campus concert," she told him. His eyes bulged.
"Lisa, that's a one-of-a-kind shirt of my band," he said.
She shrugged, informing him, "It's the shirt, or I turn around."
He paused in consideration, but she didn't sweat it. She knew he would chose the former sooner or later.
He sighed, clapping his hands together loudly.
"Alright, alright," he agreed, she smiled, "Now, come on, we're only a few more away."
She then rushed up to the landing where he was, and took the remaining stairs as quickly as she could. They made it outside and sat down. Together, they watched the sunrise over Michigan.
Lisa carefully places the shirt down next to the box. She reaches inside, pulling out the next item. She nearly laughs when she sees the small brown paper bag. She doesn't need to flip it over to understand why it's there, nor does she need to close her eyes to see the lights of the Ferris wheel dancing before her.
His hand was in hers again. She couldn't exactly say she had a problem with it. She never could say she had a problem with anything he did. And, she supposed, that was the problem.
He was always a gentleman that Greg House. Maybe not with everyone (okay, definitely not with everyone), but he always was around her. He pulled out her chair at restaurants, settled for small pecks in front of the public, and never once eluded to sex once they started dating. He was definitely the perfect boyfriend. And, she also supposed, that was why she felt so nervous.
Now, when Lisa Cuddy got nervous, she began to take in every detail around her, over analyzing everything. What was normally just a simple gesture became a warning sign for something that was likely never to come. Take holding hands for example. She didn't so much care about holding it, but she could not stop thinking about why she was holding it. Was his hand cold? Was he trying to be sweet? Or, was he just staking a claim to her like she was his possession? She could not decide.
"Let's ride the Ferris Wheel," he said. Then, that hand in hers was pulling her away, far away towards the biggest thing at the fair. She decided then that it was just a way to trick her into injuring herself. Yes, that had to be it. He wanted to hurt her. The damn doctor in him needed something to fix. It all made sense to her. Really, it did. So much sense that she pulled her wrist away from his quickly.
He quirked an eyebrow at her, but said nothing. He kept marching forward. She followed behind him twitchily. They got to the Ferris Wheel, and sat down in their cart. The second it lifted from the ground, he reached for her hand again. She pulled it away. He frowned then.
"What'd I do wrong?" he asked. She couldn't answer him without sounding like an idiot.
"No, seriously, what did I do? Did I piss you off, or something?" he inquired. She sighed.
"No, I just…. You're different than I thought you would be," she confessed, "I expected you to be kind of rugged and tough. You're actually a really good date, a perfect gentleman."
"Don't let it get out, or my rep is ruined," he interrupted.
"Greg," she chided for butting in, "Look, I kind of started worrying for a second, okay? I thought maybe you were just being nice to cover up something."
"Oh, but I am," he informed her.
"You are?"
"Yup. It's a dark secret that I've been working really hard to hide from you," he said, "You see, Lise, I… I… I think you're a babe, and I am dying to have sex with you."
She laughed.
"That's a secret?" she checked.
"I thought it was. I just can't help but wanting to bring you back to my dorm tonight and have my wicked way with you. But, I heard you were into the gentleman type and figured I'd give you what you wanted, in hopes of getting what I wanted fairly soon," he admitted.
"So, the nice guy routine was to get in my pants," she repeated slowly.
"Yeah," he agreed. She nodded.
"Okay, then," she commented.
"Wait, did you just say 'okay'?"
"Yeah, we can do it tonight if you want. It's the tenth date, and, truthfully, I'm kind of surprised you lasted this long," she said.
"You're not the only one," he said. She smiled, "Lise, close your eyes."
She did as he asked, and leaned forward, expecting one of the kisses she loved so much. Instead, she felt a slight weight in her lap, as if something was there. She looked down, quickly, spotting a brown paper bag designated for vomit sitting there. She turned to him, confused.
"Next time you freak out, use the bag," he declared.
She scoffed, slapping his arm for the jest.
She chuckles at the memory. She places the bag on top of the shirt. She is in the process of getting the next thing when she notices something sticking out on the side of her box. She picks up the foreign item curiously. From the look of it, she can tell it is about as old as the rest of the things. Her name is scrawled across the front of the letter. She opens it slowly, and peels the slightly crumpled paper from the envelope. There are a lot of lines through words, spots where it seems like the writer grew too pissed to even attempt to make sure the normal stuff was even legible anymore. But, she can make it out, having had tons of practice reading things written by this specific person.
She clears her throat, reading, "'Dear Lisa,
"'I don't know why I'm exactly writing to you. And, I'm not sure when you'll get this, if ever. But, I'm still going to write it down because Jimmy won't shut up until I do. I don't really know how you exactly format a letter like this, so, I'm just gonna write stuff down, and you're gonna read it. I'm mostly going to be writing about feelings. Yeah, that's right, the F-word.
"'Feelings aren't just one thing, as I'm sure your hormone research has told you. There's a bunch of emotions there, like hatred, anger, resentment, misery, melancholy, sadness, heartache, and those are just the ones I've been feeling since you disappeared. You left me, Lise. And, I don't like that. Not one bit. I can't. I mean, I don't. Damn. This seemed like a better idea before I actually put the pen to the paper. But, I guess you're into this sappy shit, anyway. This probably has you all teary-eyed and shit. Uh, sorry, that word probably killed it, didn't it? Okay, well, basically, this was to say that I miss you. I really miss you. It's been too long since I saw you last, and I feel like an addict going through withdrawal. I need you to know that I wasn't joking around for seven months, Lisa. Not even the great Greg House could keep something funny for that long. I wanted to be in that thing we had, and I figure you did too. We're Greg and Lisa, House and Cuddy. One day, we'll rule the world, babe. That if, you'll ever talk to me again. I'm guessing you never looked at the desk again. Because, if you did, you would have figured it out, and had you figured it out, you would have known that I… love… you.'"
A gasp escapes her, and she stops reading abruptly. Could he actually? Or is it a 'did he'?
"Why'd you stop?" asks a voice from behind her. She swivels around just to make sure she is not imagining it.
She isn't.
"How did you get in here?" she shrieks.
"I used the key under the flower pot. I've been telling you to move it for years," he says as if that fact would excuse him practically breaking in.
"And, I've been telling you to stop using it for years. You can't just barge into my place, House. No matter what stupid things you're putting inside my room," she reprimands.
"That letter isn't stupid," he defends.
"It's barely legible," she says.
"You know good and well you can read it anyway," he rebuts, "Besides, I didn't want you to read that side. I wanted you to read the other side."
"Why should I read it?" she asks.
"It answers some questions," he says.
"Why don't you just answer the questions yourself?" she inquires.
"That would entail saying some things out loud, so, I'm going to go with the Wilson-method," he informs.
"Then I don't want to hear it," she stubbornly decides, putting the letter down on her bed.
"You know you want to hear it, just flip the paper over and read it," he orders.
"I won't do it. Why can't you just say it?" she questions.
"Because I don't want to damnit! I'm a grown man and if I don't want to do something, I won't do it."
"Well, I'm a grown woman, and the same thing goes for me."
"You're a stubborn bitch, you know that?" he checks.
"Yeah, that's the way to get people to do what you want," she sarcastically comments, "Call them a bitch."
"Just flip it over," he commands.
"What's so important?" she demands back.
The two stay quiet for a moment, each waiting to see who will break. Lisa has long since stoned herself, and isn't planning on letting that falter any time soon.
"It's another note," he finally says, defeated, "It was written last night. You were supposed to read it, and then I'd swoop in and play the charming knight card and you'd be putty in my hands instead of the little brat's."
"Rachel isn't a brat," Lisa injects.
"I know, Lise. I know. I just…. Didn't you notice the desk?" he deflects, "I put it in your office, and you never mentioned it."
"I figured you didn't really want me to," she confesses.
"Well, I did. You were supposed to come rushing to meet me and realize that I had basically said it in my own words once again," he says.
"Said what?" she asks.
"Eight letters that when put together make a dangerous combination," he replies.
"Like 'I love you'?" she presses.
"Really? Well, same here, Cuddles," he announces with a smile. She frowns, having fallen into a trap.
"Wait, I didn't say it though," she denies.
"I believe you did, just like last time, you said 'em first!" he gleefully shares.
"But, I was merely filling in the blanks," she declares.
"Too bad, I win. And, I said it, basically. Now, call up Mister Mover and tell him you aren't going anywhere."
"But, I am," she says, and his entire face falls, "I'm not going to change my plans just because you said two words. Now, if you said three words, accompanied with the actual meaning behind it, maybe I'd stay."
"Please don't go," he carelessly supplies, she shakes her head, "We need you," she again disapproves, "I'm not going to say it, Cuddy. It took over an hour for me to write it on that piece of paper."
"You've got a while. My flight doesn't leave until tomorrow morning," she says. He sighs. And, then, very softly, she hears it.
"Don't leave me," he whispers, he looks up into her blue irises and says it again, louder, "Don't leave me. Don't run away. Don't back down. Don't give up. Don't do this. Don't leave me."
And, to all that, she can only think of two words to say, two words that'll probably haunt her just as much as 'same here' haunts him.
"I won't."
Dear Cuddy, you asked me if I would miss you a week ago. You asked me if I wanted you two years ago. You asked me if I loved you over twenty years ago. Well, the answer to all of these is yes. I mean, if I wouldn't miss you, I wouldn't have tried to talk you out of leaving with that bad shoe metaphor. If I didn't want you, I wouldn't make as many comments about the way you look to get you all riled up and tense. And, if I didn't love you, I wouldn't have written those stupid eight letters on that damn desk in your office. Cuddy -- Lisa -- I know I've never really been the best guy to be around, and I do drugs, and I turn patient care into a game, and I will never, ever surrender to the evils of clinic duty, but I do know that I won't be able to do half those things the same way if you're in Florida, or New York, or even at Princeton General. Probably because I'd have to follow you, and with my bad leg it'd be a bad idea for me to be running after taxi cabs, don't you think? So, why don't we skip that part and just get to the part where I say the magic three words and have you leap into my arms, sappily, and giddily, okay? Don't run away.
Okay, that was kind of your cue. I'm hoping you know what to do by now.
- Greg
© Everything written above belongs to me (FF user, Paint Me a Symphony). If somebody is out there pushing this as their own, they are lying. I may not own House M.D, or its characters, but I do own this.
~ Please, review, last chance to do it. And, I'd also like to thank all those who reviewed before, and thanks for reading.
