A/N: Thanks for all your reviews!
"Don't think about answering it," he tells you slowly. He deliberately stretches the words out, making you feel 4 instead of 40.
It's not helping, and you tense.
You're always tense.
His arms give you a light, encouraging squeeze, and you try to relax once more. You know it's okay to let your guard down. Your heart keeps ignoring the comfort his embrace offers you though, screaming at you with all its might.
RUN!
Run before it's too late to get away.
You tip your head up to glance at his face. Your breath nearly catches once more in the back of your throat when you see the emotions, the uncertainty written all over him.
He wants to help you.
You have to let him.
The phones continues ringing dutifully through your inner battle.
"I'm not."
Your short, clipped answer tells him the one thing he had hoped wouldn't occur tonight:
Down-to-business Cuddy is back.
He releases you with a heavy, audible sigh, and you step out of his arms gracefully, determination in your eyes.
He sees it.
And flinches.
"You are not a victim, Lisa."
It's a soft, desperate and yet knowing whisper, and his tone somehow chills you because it reminds you of another time someone whispered to you like that.
I still wants answers, Lisa. Don't make me wait.
"I'm not."
His eyes narrow.
It's not just a repetition of his words, it's.. a confession.
"Remember the guy you wanted me to interview a while back?"
Upon his nod, you keep going.
"He came back after work, asked me if there was no chance for him to get the job. I felt sorry for him, you know.
"I still don't have his name. God.. I was so damn stupid. Why didn't I just ask for his name? I could.. I could've –"
Then, the tears come.
In an instant, House is next to you again, taking your cold hands and leading you over to the couch. You collapse on it, glad to feel the support of his hands still curled around yours. You can feel your numb fingers shake violently, but the rest of your body shivers also and you don't believe it would make a difference. He hands you a few tissues.
You are glad he's there for you now, too.
"I let him handle most of the paperwork, just signing it afterwards. He did well. Better than I expected," you clarify when House looks at you pointedly.
"Then I locked up everything and told him to go home. I.. I didn't think he'd take that as an invitation."
You laugh bitterly.
"Should've known better. Especially after dealing with you for so long.
"I think he followed me. I remember the way he smiled, all cold and detached, like he was somewhere else when I opened the door for him. I let him in, House. I thought he had forgotten to tell me something.
"When he said he was there to make me regret my choice, I freaked for the first time.
"I.. wasn't exactly scared of him. But he – he had a gun. Pointed it at me, and told me he – he wasn't sure where to shoot me to make it hurt the most.
"I didn't think he'd actually do it."
"Who was he?"
You've been so focused on your story that his input nearly startles you.
"W-what? What do you mean?"
"I said: 'Who was he?'"
"Already told you.. I didn't know his name."
"Didn't, Cuddy?"
"Yeah, I.. House?"
"Tell me the truth."
"Tell me the truth, Dr. Cuddy.. do you want to die?"
"No," you spat out, pointing the gun at his head with steady fingers,
".. but you obviously do."
With these words you pull the trigger. You don't watch as his body hits the cold tile floor. You stand up and collect your torn and battered clothes from all over the kitchen, stuffing them into a plastic bag and shoving it into the trash can. Then, you dial 911.
"So he's dead."
You stumble back to the present once again, taking deep, slow breaths to keep the panic that's threatening to take you over at bay, but it's not working.
You can feel your control slip.
"He's dead," you echo, not meeting his eyes. Not daring to. You don't want to see the question forming there, the disbelieve. The disgust that follows the realization.
But when you feel his fingers gently tugging at your wrist, you look up.
His eyes are still filled with the same unfamiliar warmth as before.
"He raped you, Lisa. That bastard deserved anything he got and probably more."
"But I let him."
"No, you didn't. You didn't let yourself be a victim. You are a survivor."
With that, he takes your hands again, pulling you to him like you're an over-sized rag doll, letting you curl up against him, your head resting on his shoulder. But you don't mind. You like just being with him now.
The phone has finally stopped ringing.
FIN