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Disclaimer: Still not connected the the TV show or the characters.
Chapter 2: Land Mines
"This 72 hour watch isn't about the relapse at all," she said. "This is a suicide watch."
The words echoed between them, heavy and reverberating in the air. They bounced off the walls of his mind; they pierced the walls of her heart.
"Why, House?" Her voice trembled.
His lips were parted, needing the extra air as his heartbeat increased and the emotions he'd been hiding fisted through his protective walls. He felt a frantic need to run or fight, to rage against the injustice of life, against her. She was everything right in his world, and everything that could destroy him.
"Why?" She asked again.
He closed his eyes, holding the lids tightly closed as he willed himself to calm down, to not do anything stupid. She was here. She wanted to be with him in spite of the relapse, in spite of walking out on her. There was still a chance.
For once in your life, don't blow it.
"House?"
She was close, too close. While he was fighting demons and seeking escape, she had quietly come to stand with him. Her presence was a comfort, and a pressure. He couldn't take the pressure.
"It's not a suicide watch," he forced out, glaring at her with red-rimmed, desperate eyes as he grabbed hold of a safe and familiar defense. "It's more like a 'don't drain your bank account on booze and whores in an attempt to forget your pathetic existence' watch."
The slant of her head told him she recognized his sarcasm as the defensive maneuver he'd intended. The veil that dropped over her worried eyes told him she wasn't backing down, but was preparing her own defenses as well.
"Oh that's good," she said dryly. "No crisis at all, just an invitation to an imagined orgy. What a relief."
"Not quite imagined," he said.
She shook her head and crossed her arms, unconsciously protecting herself from the impending hurts.
"What are you doing, House?" She asked, sadly. "You'd rather belittle me, and make me feel cheap? You'd rather make a mockery of our relationship than actually give us a chance to work through this?"
He didn't want to hurt her. He never wanted to hurt her, and yet…
"I'm not stupid," she said. Her words were strong, but a tear escaped the pool in her eye and traveled slowly down her cheek. He felt something rip in his chest. "Your sarcasm holds a bit of truth. That's probably how you would kill yourself - in a fit of ugly debauchery and drunkenness, trying to numb yourself to all the good things you're so afraid to feel and accept in your life. You'd drown yourself in whatever would make you feel anything except what you actually need to feel, until the self-loathing took over and you did something careless and stupid and life-threatening."
He thought he might be bleeding internally for the amount of pain and weakness that exploded in his chest and down through his abdomen. He felt sick at the image she painted, the very real image of who he'd be if he lost her, of who he tried not to be when he was with her.
Cuddy's hand came to grip her abdomen as she stared at him. "Don't you see?" she asked. "You're only going to get past that by going through it. I know its cliché and it's the type of jargon you hate, but it's true. You can't keep running from the pain, or the shame, and whatever else is tormenting you. You have to feel it or you're never going to really experience the love, or the happiness you want."
"I'm trying," his voice pleaded with her to believe him. "I came to be with you. I didn't do anything. I called Nolan…"
"You left me."
"I didn't…" he fumbled for words to explain, to justify, to make sense of what he'd done. "I just thought…I…"
"You thought because you'd relapsed, you didn't deserve me," she said.
House gulped. She did understand.
"I'm here now," he said weakly.
"No, you're not," she said. "You're fighting very hard not to be here with me. All this self-loathing and sarcasm and deflecting proves that! Otherwise you'd tell me what happened and cut the bullshit."
House heard the breathy tension in her voice and saw the shift in her stance as she struggled for balance.
"What do you want me to say?"
"The truth," she sighed. "Tell me what happened. Talk to me."
"I relapsed."
"So you keep saying, but that's not the point."
She ran her hand along her forehead, trying to push through the headache that was forming, and the exhaustion that was creeping over her. She tried to ignore the increasing pain in side and abdomen, but didn't know how much longer she could stand.
His arm slipped around her, pulling her against his side for support, and she looked at him, startled by the sudden move and the gentleness of his touch.
"You need to lie down," he said.
"No," she shook her head.
"Cuddy, you have to rest."
"No," she continued to resist. "We need to talk. We need to work through…"
"I couldn't save you."
Cuddy froze.
"I was sure it was nothing," he continued, his sudden declaration becoming a confession. "I was worried and afraid, but I thought they'd run the tests, and I'd run a DDX like I always do. We'd be able to fix it. Everything would be fine."
Cuddy had turned in his arms as he spoke, and now gripped his biceps as he held her up.
"But the masses on your lungs meant…" he shook his head firmly, resisting the thought and memories.
Metastasized kidney cancer. He'd thought she was dead.
"I couldn't save you," he said. "I'm a selfish, useless cripple, who has no business being in a relationship with a woman like you. All I have is my mind…My skill…"
He looked down at the space between them, bowing his head in shame as he fought the tears that were threatening, tears he'd denied throughout the whole ordeal.
Cuddy's hand touched his jaw, urging him to look at her.
"I couldn't save you," he said.
But then her knees buckled and House caught her.
"I'm going to be sick," she whispered.
House scooped her into his arms, ignoring the pain in his leg and the tears that managed to escape down his cheek, as he hobbled down the hallway he determined to take care of her. This time he wouldn't fail.
#######
"Take this."
Cuddy sat up in the bed, looking down at the pills he handed her.
"It's the medicine from your car," he explained when her eyes widened in recognition. "It may not have been in your purse, but no way would you have left home without having access to it."
She sighed.
"Be frustrated later," he said. "Take."
She took the water he offered and downed the pills. He'd taken her to the bathroom and placed a cold compress to her head and neck until the nausea passed, then helped her change into one of his t-shirts before tucking her in bed. When he'd said 'I'll be right back,' she hadn't even bothered to think about what he was doing. She'd been too busy trying to will the pain and sickness to pass.
"Thank you," she smiled weakly as she handed him the empty water glass.
He turned away.
"Don't leave," she called.
House turned back to her, a shy, tender smile on his face. "I'm not," he said.
She watched as he slipped into the bathroom (it sounded like he placed the glass on the sink) then turned the lights off as he returned.
He stood at the side of the bed, looking down at her. "Can I join you?"
Cuddy was surprised by the question. Did he really think she wouldn't want him with her?
"I hope you will."
The room was only slightly illuminated by the glow of the moon and distant streetlights creeping through the slit in the curtains, so she could still see him in the shadows. She watched him change into his pajama bottoms and swap out his t-shirt for an older one before crawling into bed beside her.
She was lying on her side to take some of the pressure off the wound. House curled up behind her, spooning her, surrounding her with his warmth and strength. She'd missed this. It had only been a few days since they'd been together, but she felt it had been a lifetime.
I couldn't save you.
She thought of his anguished words and what they meant. What could she say? It wasn't cancer. He hadn't needed to save her. She was going to be okay. But that didn't change what he'd experienced at the time, it didn't remove the blow he'd taken emotionally, any more than it changed what she'd gone through and how it had altered her.
She took the hand that was caressing her arm and pulled it to her chest. "I love you," she said as their fingers entwined above her breasts.
He grazed his chin along the curve of her shoulder before kissing it lightly.
"I know."
She glanced over her shoulder. "Do you?"
His eyes searched hers. She looked scared, and confused…but hopeful.
You don't appreciate how good you've got it.
He heard his father taunting him. But maybe he was right. Maybe he did spend too much time dwelling on the pain and the loss, anticipating the worst and denying the present, to the point of creating his own failed destiny.
She just wanted him to talk to her, to be with her. Why was it so damn hard?
"I was having these dreams," she said. "Weird dreams. Like TV sitcoms and musicals."
Cuddy remembered the dream that had House and Wilson raising Rachel. It may have been a parody, mocking the train wreck of parenting that may ensue if House were in charge, but it made her consider the decision to have Julia assigned as her daughter's guardian. Was it really what she wanted, to fall back on the "right" choice, the one that would provide the most normal childhood? House was an extraordinary man, with extraordinary views and approaches to life. Was that really so terrible? Rachel would have an uncommon life, with ups and downs for sure, but with passion and truth.
House also knew her and loved her more than anyone in the world. Why wouldn't she want Rachel to be with a man who would keep her memory alive?
She didn't know if House would want the responsibility. He hadn't wanted children in the past, and they hadn't talked about it since they'd started dating, but maybe it was something to consider. Who knows, maybe Rachel would give him a purpose, something to hold on to if the worst were to happen.
It was something she wanted to talk with him about. Later. After they worked through this crisis.
For now, there was something else he needed to know.
"I think my subconscious was telling me I've been an idiot."
Her random declaration pulled him from his dark thoughts.
"It picked a hell of a time to point that out."
Cuddy smiled. "Shame knows no bounds."
He blinked, picking up on the subtle jab.
"I realize I've been approaching our relationship with just a continuation on the delusions that kept me with Lucas for so long."
"You'll understand if I don't want to hear about Lucas when we're in bed together."
She chuckled.
"It's like there's this vision of how things are supposed to be that keeps pushing its way into my mind," she said. "But it's not even what I want. It's like I'm brainwashed. I keep working to create what fits in those guidelines as if that's the only way to be happy. But what's normal and 'acceptable' isn't what makes me happy."
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
Cuddy twisted in his arms, lying on her back so she could look at him.
"I've been a controlling bitch," she said.
"Oh, that!"
She nudged him with her elbow. "I'm serious," she wanted him to understand. "I've been going about this as if we each have our roles and we have to follow the script. You have to do one thing and I have to do another, and then we'll have a happy-ever-after. Meanwhile I've managed to suck all the fun out of our relationship."
His hand had slipped beneath the hem of the t-shirt, and now his fingers traced a circle around her nipple.
"I don't know," he said. "I think we have fun."
She rolled her eyes. "Sex is never our problem."
"You can say that again."
She laughed, but then stared at him pointedly.
"I told you I wanted uncommon, but I keep doing things to make our relationship common," she said.
"Maybe you deserve better."
"Can you please take 'deserve' out of your vocabulary?"
"I'm just saying there's nothing wrong with wanting to get your needs met," he said.
"As long as they're my needs and not what someone else thinks my needs should be."
"That doesn't sound like you." For once he wasn't teasing when he said it.
She smiled and stared up at the ceiling.
"I hated Leave-It-To-Beaver," she said. "And Father Knows Best. Oh, and The Donna Reed Show. Give me a break."
House stared at her as if she'd lost her mind.
"Even worse," she continued. "Ozzie & Harriet."
"I'm not sure how we segued into 1950s pop-culture," House said. "But I'll take Double Jeopardy, Alex."
"Very funny," she sighed. "I'm talking about my dreams."
"Cuddy," House said in a patient tone. "You're a light weight. You'll never become a drug addict. You could never pull it off."
"It's not the drugs," she insisted. "I'm making a point."
House made an exaggerated effort to focus and Cuddy pretended to pout before trying again.
"I had these dreams where we were this perfect 1950s couple, except there was a bit of a feminist twist since I was still a successful working mom…"
"Of course."
"And then there was one where you were like Fred Astaire with a cane and limp, but with all the charm of the song and dance…"
"Of course."
"These are visions of what people commonly think is romantic, and perfect in relationships."
She looked at him expectantly.
"Okaaay." This time he was less taunting. She knew he was starting to follow her train of thought.
"These visions have no appeal to me at all," she said. "But you know what made them palatable?"
He quirked his brow, clearly curious.
"You. You made the dreams meaningful," she said. "You were always a mocking presence, the dark and irreverent character that put a spotlight on how ridiculous and boring these ideas of romance can be."
His hand had stopped moving and now cupped her breast as he studied her. Cuddy ran her fingers along his forearm as she thought about it.
I'm the most screwed up person in the world.
House had his faults. He was definitely screwed up in many ways. But he was real. He came into the relationship with a truth and authenticity she'd avoided from the beginning.
"I'm sorry I made you feel like you were never doing enough," she said. "You're not the problem. I'm the one who needs to do better."
House moved his hand from beneath the shirt and shifted so he was partially on top of her, his leg wedged between hers and his hip pressed into her side. He pushed the hair off her forehead and traced a line along her temple, down her cheek and to her jaw. He looked at her with a reverence that took her breath away.
"I love you."
She felt the warmth surround her and smiled. Words may not matter, but they were really good to hear sometimes.
"I know," she said, kissing his fingers as they slid along her lips.
He leaned into her and kissed her cheek, her eyelids, her nose, and finally her lips in a feather soft kiss. Cuddy sighed, and pulled closer into his embrace.
"I knew I'd let you down," his voice was soft and uncertain. "I tried to convince myself I'd made a noble gesture and sacrificed my sobriety in the name of love."
His face was burrowed into her neck. "If it had been that noble, I would have gone through the proper channels and asked for the right prescription."
His voice was muffled, but she heard him. She understood.
House seemed to relax when Cuddy's hands ran through his hair and over his shoulder, undeterred by his admission.
"I waited in the OR galley, but I didn't really watch," he continued. "I knew what they were going to find."
"You were alone?"
Surely Wilson waited with him.
"Yeah."
Damn.
Cuddy hugged him to her, instinctively reassuring him that he wasn't alone any longer. The air was charged, and she sensed he was searching for the right path through the emotional land mine. This wasn't easy for him. She knew that. So she waited, silently assuring him with the comfort of her touch.
"You were going to die," he finally said. "And your last days would be with a guy who was too selfish to be there for you…a guy who was too weak to…"
He tried to pull away when he felt the self-contempt churning in his gut again. Cuddy held him tight.
"Stay with me," she encouraged him.
Stay with me.
It had been his mantra throughout the procedure.
"I couldn't deal with the thought of losing you," he said. "We'd only just … We..."
He took a deep breath. "I didn't want to be miserable again."
"Oh, House."
"You were facing death, and I was worried about how to be happy."
He did pull away then, but stayed by her side, his arm draped over her waist as he faced her on the bed.
"You're being too hard on yourself."
"Am I?" he asked. "I'd missed the signs you were sick, I couldn't save you, and I couldn't think of anyone but myself when you were dying. I couldn't get much lower than that."
"But I wasn't dying," she said. "I'm okay."
He stared at her, relieved.
Cuddy watched him in the silence that followed. Thinking about what he'd been feeling, how she'd feel if the roles had been reversed; she saw no logical reason for his shame. But it wasn't about logic or reason. It was about raw fear and blinding emotional pain. It was about ghosts from the past and the demons of addiction that appear when you're too weak to fight them. It was about loneliness and the chain of solitude that can hold you captive in the dungeons of despair.
"Did you think I'd leave you because you'd taken a pill?"
Had she made him feel so uncertain of her commitment?
It's up to you if you want to go back on drugs.
House remembered her words and the awe he'd felt when he realized she wanted to be with him no matter what. He hadn't thought about it at the time. He hadn't thought about much of anything except his failure and the need to get as far away from her as he could for her own good.
"I don't know," he said, a frown marring his face.
His mind was racing, sorting through memories and data, while hers was drifting, being lulled into sleep in spite of her desire to stay awake.
"I realized when I left you, I was in trouble," he admitted. "I was punishing myself…kicking myself when I was already down."
What have you screwed up?
He'd remembered his last session with Nolan, when he'd uncovered House's tendency to provoke a fight when he believed he'd done something wrong.
"I didn't need to pick a bar fight this time," House said. "I'd just dealt myself the most lethal blow of all. That's when I called Nolan."
"And he came." She liked Nolan.
"I can't wait to see the bill."
She was too tired to chuckle. She couldn't keep her eyes open any longer.
"Go to sleep," House whispered, pulling her into his harms again.
"I'm sorry," she mumbled. "I want to talk. I want to be here for you."
"You are."
She felt him kiss her head just before she lost all consciousness.
#######
"You're awake."
Cuddy smiled as House placed the tray on the bed beside her and leaned down for a kiss.
"I heard you humming."
He only hummed after sex.
"I made breakfast," he pointed to the tray. "Cinnamon Oatmeal pancakes."
"And what'd I do to deserve this?"
She'd fallen asleep last night after he'd talked about calling Nolan, too exhausted to keep her eyes open, much less continue talking…or anything else.
"Doctor says the more rest you get; the faster you'll be back to your normal sex-starved self."
"Yeah?" She chuckled. "What doctor said that?"
"The one who wants to have sex with you as soon as you're better."
"Dr. Shultz is a pediatrician," she sassed. "What does he know about my condition?"
"I was talking about Pearson," he quickly replied. "She's been eyeing your cleavage for months."
Cuddy laughed out loud.
"You're sick."
"I'm happy."
Cuddy gasped. It wasn't just that he felt it, but that he was so willing to admit it that left her breathless.
House joined her on the bed, careful to keep the tray steady as he settled in beside her.
"You didn't sleep," she said, noticing the dark circles beneath his eyes.
"I watched you sleep."
He placed a napkin over her chest and turned to pour syrup on the pancakes.
"House…"
"I'm okay," he interrupted.
"What's going on?"
"Nothing."
And nothing was wrong. During the night, he'd found something he thought was unattainable: Peace. It wasn't that everything was perfect. He knew he had a lot of work to do. He had to deal with what had happened, and why it had happened. He needed to break the patterns and not just talk about doing better. He needed to BE better.
He also needed to help Cuddy through this recovery process, not just the physical, but the emotional. She'd faced the fear of death. That changed a person. It changed perspectives and priorities. For her, it had reinforced her commitment to him, a gift for which he couldn't be more grateful. Even if he didn't deserve it.
He turned to face her, bringing the fork to her lips to feed her.
She wouldn't open her mouth. She just stared at him, searching his expression for clues and answers.
House sighed, slumping slightly as he gazed at her in dramatic tolerance.
"I'm okay," he assured.
"Okay never means okay."
He rolled his eyes.
"Fine," he said. "It's raining, which means my leg is hurting more than usual. I'm recovering from a relapse and I'm a total screw up that's doomed to endure psychotherapy for the rest of my miserable existence, which by the way, you're now required to attend occasionally as well. I'm pretty sure you're going to make us have regular heart-to-hearts about guilt and shame and the daddy issues that have left bigger scars than the one on my leg, this is worse than Chinese water torture. But I've got the hottest woman alive in my bed and I'm hoping to drop some syrup down her cleavage and at least get a little oral action in until she's up for the full Monty, so really…I'm okay. I'm good."
There was something different about him. It was as if the battle within him had subsided and he'd come to some kind of temporary ceasefire during the night.
She stared at him, considering all he'd just said.
Brutally honest. Open. Irreverent. Vulnerable. Horny.
He was better than okay. He was just better.
We're going to make it.
Cuddy grinned and pulled the t-shirt over her head, turning slightly to toss it on the floor.
"Skip the pancakes," she quipped and picked up the syrup.
His eyes widened as he watched the liquid drizzle down her chest.
"We're having the breakfast of champions."
THE END