Yaaaay, thank you so much for reading and reviewing guys. I really really appreciate it! Thanks Alex, I think I'm going to keep on posting everything 3/4 days... I say that now, but when I run out of pre-written stuff, it may take a little bit longer! And JessicaClackum, yeah, it is just his imagination! The only time they've actually slept together is in college, so it's just like the show, yeah! :)
As for this chapter, this is when the story really begins to start, so I really hope you like it! Please, leave me a review, they never fail to make me smile! xxxx
III
"It's not sarcoidosis. The tests were negative and she now has chest pain. Taub listened to her chest. She's got pericarditis." House's team filed in to his office where he was watching his favourite soap on his wall mounted TV. Thirteen stepped forward to hand him the file.
House, who hadn't turned away from the TV, didn't even notice. "How do you know?"
"He heard friction rub."
Only then did House finally turn to look at his team. "Let the man speak for himself, Foreman! Just because he's short, doesn't mean he needs help defending himself! How do we know he didn't screw up? This girl was apparently healthy – just a few problems seeing straight and she was a little bit itchy, now he's saying she has a heart problem?"
Taub chipped in, audibly annoyed. "I didn't screw up, it was there. Pericarditis puts lupus back on the table."
"And you cleverly dismissed that earlier because she hadn't had any seizures, has that changed? No, I didn't think so. So think up a new idea of your own instead of reusing his old one that you already dumped on, genius."
"Drugs." Thirteen, having been deep in thought and not listened to a work of House's jibes, spoke suddenly. "Some prescription drugs have side effects of blurred vision, rash and pericarditis. Methotrexate does…"
"You think the parents forgot to tell us she has cancer?" He ridiculed such an idea as if it were completely absurd. "She's not on methotrexate. What else could have caused this?"
Foreman's chest swelled in that characteristic way it always did when he had something to say. "It has to be some sort of auto immune disease – it's not just hitting the heart."
"It has to be some sort of auto immune disease? Great, thanks for that invaluable piece of insight Foreman. Now, go and find out which one – I'm going home." House pushed himself precariously up from his chair grabbed his leather motorbike jacket and slipped it on as he limped for the door.
"Find out which one? Testing for every auto immune disease will take all night!" Foreman turned and crossed his arms on his chest, looking defiantly at his boss.
Reaching the door, and finally getting his jacket on properly, House nodded. "That's what I said. Take it in shifts. Goodnight!" There was an outbreak of angry muttering from Taub as House left the room which he chose to pretend he just didn't hear.
It was hard enough for him to sleep as it was these days, without the added distractions of his inconsiderate and seemingly nocturnal neighbours slamming doors and screaming at one another at every unnatural hour. So when he heard a systematic and relentless knocking again that night, he made a grunt of annoyance in his state of semi consciousness, stuck a pillow over his head and tried to fall back into a slumber. Besides, his leg always pained him more at night, and without the vicodin, the only solace he'd found was the only way he could cope – sleeping through the worst hours. However, it took him a while to realise that this time, the noise wasn't actually Mr and Mrs Downstairs, but someone knocking on his own apartment door, getting steadily louder and more irate the longer he ignored it. Cursing whoever was coming calling and disturbing his beauty sleep, he dragged himself out of bed, clinging hard onto his right leg to offer himself as much support as he could without the help of his cane. It took him a while to reach the door, and by the time he got there, the person on the other side was almost battering it down. He flicked the lock, grabbed the door handle and wrenched it open. "Can't a guy get some sleep around here?"
Ignoring his more than unwelcoming manner, Cuddy pushed past him into his apartment, flicking the light on and turning to look at him. "Get dressed; you're coming back to work. Your patient has aortic insufficiency, with a dramatically decreased ejection fraction. She could die."
House blinked rapidly and held one hand up to his eyes in order to shield them from the light that he was shrinking away from, almost like a vampire. He squinted in the direction of his boss and frowned. "If she has an acute aortic insufficiency – I assume it's acute or you wouldn't be desperate enough to be here – then she needs surgery, as soon as possible. Or she will die. But I am not a surgeon; therefore this is not my concern. It will only be my concern in the morning when I come to explain why it happened, after the surgeon's have fixed it. So if you would be kind enough to go and stress in your own house, or your office, or anywhere that isn't here, that would be much appreciated, thank you. Shut the door on your way out." He gestured to the front door and began to limp painfully back to his bedroom.
"House! Stop, this girl needs you. She's in a huge amount of pain and is very close to death. Could you actually show some compassion and not only care about yourself for once in your miserable life?" She was as surprised as he was to here herself close to tears, and the depth of the desperation in her voice.
At that, he turned around and limped back towards her, with each step the evident pain flashing across his dark, handsome features. "What I want to know, is why you care about her so much. I mean, I know you can't help yourself, especially when it's a young girl that you can mother and care for and compare to yourself when you were that age. But I've never seen you this attached since, well, Rachel's mother… So why this one?"
His words stung a little, but she didn't know why because she knew what he said was biologically true. But to her, she was Rachel's mother, always had been and always will be, because she was the only mother the little girl had ever and would ever know. Besides, that was an argument for another day. "House, don't play mind games, this isn't some intriguing, unfathomable mystery for you to solve. This is a dying teenage girl, and surprisingly, I don't want her to die, I want you to help her. Because it looks like, right now, you're the only person who can."
But it was almost like she hadn't spoken at all. "That takes us back to the theory that you sympathise with her because of her battle with sexuality, but you weren't that much older than her when we met, and you certainly weren't confused then… So that must mean you had a defining moment in your sexuality between sixteen and eighteen…"
"Get dressed and get back to work or you're fired." She didn't raise her voice, shout, or scream. But her look could have sliced steel and her tone would have sent most men and women running scared. She wasn't quite sure why she was so angry with him, but part of her knew this wasn't just about the patient anymore. "I mean it." All the anger and frustration and confusion she felt, the emotions that had been exacerbated by her conversation with Wilson that afternoon, were coursing through her body. She wanted to be angry at him, she wanted to hate him, because he was giving her a million reasons to do so and it would make everything so much easier. But what infuriated her even more was even when he was being a self absorbed selfish bastard, she couldn't hate him.
House could see the cogs working in her brain, and he had to know what was going on inside her head. She was nothing if not enthralling, and he saw the perfect opportunity to goad her. "I'm sure you do mean it. What is it Cuddy, why are you being so cold with me? Why are you so angry?" As he spoke he moved closer to her, studying her intently, watching and examining her every move whilst taking in her scent.
Panic was starting to bubble inside her, but again she was uncertain why. Cuddy was desperately trying to keep her voice calm and steady but she wasn't quite sure she managed to pull it off. "This isn't about me, or you. This is about someone who has put their life in our hands and trusted in us because we are doctors and that's what people do. They trust us to do whatever it takes to save their lives. And if you aren't prepared to do that, if you won't save somebody's life because it encroaches on your beauty sleep, then maybe you shouldn't be a doctor anymore." And with that, she turned to leave, but felt him grab on to her forearm in an attempt to stop her.
"Wilson spoke to you, didn't he?" And suddenly, it all made sense. He didn't realise how he hadn't seen it earlier. Using the slightly firm grip he had on her wrist, he turned her round to face him and took another step towards her. "He told you we should talk, didn't he? He said there was things that needed to be said, things that needed to be tried… And the only reason you would freak out like this instead of telling him to toss off was if you thought there was a possibility that he might be right…" He again moved closer to her, their faces so close now that he could count the freckles on hers. Also, his voice was softer. Less taunting, and much less aggressive. This was almost uncharted territory for him – sensitivity wasn't a trait he possessed in abundance, if he possessed it at all. "I'm right, aren't I…?"
The last time they had been this close, he had shattered every illusion she may have ever had of any sort of relationship between them other than a professional one being a success, by thinking the appropriate and gentlemanly progression from a kiss was to grab her breast. She almost too scared to breathe, and most definitely too scared to open her mouth to answer him – but regardless, she was sure the question had been rhetorical because he knew the answer anyway. All she could do was look at him, and as she inhaled the scent of him lingered in her nose, mixed with something else. Danger. But before she had a chance to think any further, he was so close that she could count his individual eyelashes.
And then he kissed her. He didn't know what made him do it but it was a compulsion that he couldn't control. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and the excitement and lust of the moment was mingled with a comforting familiarity that made his heart race even more. It was just as good as he remembered, from his imagination – even better now the drugs weren't clouding his senses.
She was taken by surprise, but his arms almost felt like home. It was an action that had always felt so natural between them both, which perhaps explained why even after twenty years, it still happened. Her heart was pumping so fast she was scared it might explode, and as she moved her hands up and down his back she could feel a warmth that spread to the ends of her fingers and the tips of her toes. She felt the pent up emotion flow out of her as she forgot everything else in the world.
It was seconds, minutes even before they broke apart. And even when they did, there was electricity flying around the room with every look, every breath, every glance.
It took her a moment to realise exactly what she'd done. She thought of her daughter, at home, asleep, completely innocent. She thought of Lucas, probably dozing on top of his own covers, fully dressed and exhausted, completely oblivious. And the power of what she had just felt scared her. She looked into House's eyes with fear and tried to condemn the urge to be sick. "I'm sorry, I have to go." And with that, she rushed to the door, and left without a word.
Had the roads not been as deserted as they generally were at 3am, Cuddy probably would have never made it home. Her sight was blurred for the whole journey by the streams of salty, burning tears that wouldn't seem to stop. She didn't go back to the hospital – she couldn't. Instead, she let herself back in the house as quietly as she could so as not to wake Rachel, or the nanny, slipped out of her clothes and into her silk night dress. But when she climbed under the covers, she didn't sleep – she couldn't even contemplate it. She felt a weight of guilt and disgust in herself beyond anything she had ever felt before. Infidelity was something she'd always regarded with the utmost contempt, but as she lay in the blanket of darkness, silently crying into her pillow, she asked herself if she'd just committed it. It was just a kiss, nothing but a kiss, it didn't mean anything. But that was what scared her. It did mean something, as everything between them always did, from the moment they laid eyes on one another in the campus bookstore. Her whole body shook as she sobbed harder, stifling her cries as best she could. Even though less than an hour ago she'd felt closer to a man than she had done in longer than she cared to remember; now she felt more alone than she ever had done. She rolled over on to her back and attempted to dry her eyes, before sitting up and reaching to her bedside cabinet for her mobile phone. Flicking through her contacts, she called Lucas.
His voice was drowsy and his words almost indistinguishable. "Lisa, it's almost 4 o'clock in the morning…"
Hoping she'd successfully rid her tone of any telltale signs that she'd been crying, she cleared her throat and spoke softly, apologetically. "I know, I'm sorry. I just… Would you mind coming over? I can't sleep." The words were easy, much easier than she expected them to be.
"Oh, right, okay… I won't be long baby." And he ended the call without waiting to hear any words in return.
She slid back under the duvet and laid her phone back on the bedside table, running the conversation through her head over and over. When she left House's apartment, there had been no question or doubt in her mind what she had to do next. Tell Lucas, tell him she was sorry, tell him it meant nothing and hope he understood enough not to hate her for it. But then she wondered, and she hated herself for wondering, if she really needed to tell him at all. All it would cause was pain and suffering, and for something that supposedly meant nothing, was it really worth it? As she closed her eyes, the darkness swallowed her up again but sleep was no closer. Her mind was filled with fear, confusion, self doubt and self hatred, causing her to toss and turn as if she was attempting to fight off her daemons with her hands. It was tormenting her, and she knew her time was running out.
There was the sound of wood against carpet and a crack of light slipped into her room as the door opened a fraction. Her boyfriend stayed silent as he closed the door behind him and crept in bare feet towards her bed, not knowing if she was awake or had succumbed to fatigue. But as he approached her, he saw her eyes flicker open slightly and he sat down on the bed beside her. "I'm sorry, I didn't know if you'd managed to sleep yet, so I didn't want to wake you by knocking on the door, I just used my key. I hope you don't mind."
Smelling his smell, she pulled him closer to her, because he made her feel safe. The panic in the pit of her stomach was subsiding with every word he spoke and she even managed a small and grateful smile to him, even though she was afraid it looked more like a grimace. "Of course not, thank you. I'm sorry too, for waking you up at such a stupid time, making you come out here…" She trailed off, not wanting to think any further into that sentence.
"Oh, sssssh, don't worry about it, it's okay…" Gently he swung his legs onto the bed beside her and, still fully clothed and laying on top of the quilt, he put his arms around her gently. "What is it, what's wrong? What happened…?"
Only then did she feel like there was an obstruction in her throat. She couldn't speak, she could lie out right to him, he didn't deserve it. Not that he deserved to be lied to by omission either, but that was easier on the conscience. She merely looked at him, with fearful, and apologetic eyes before resting her head on his chest and feeling protected and comforted. As she sank into the warmth and calming feeling his presence brought, she couldn't help feeling that she didn't deserve this.