** CHAPTER 4 **

The hours House had spent in the clinic were just as he had thought they'd be: Boring, exhausting, and endless! And the patients were exactly the kind he'd expected to have. Lonely, old women crying for attention, and nervous moms crying for help, in between which, he also had his share of dumb, pubescent teens, anxious to be pregnant after their first kiss, and stupid women ashamed they were after their denied night of unsafe sex with the first loser they'd met in a bar... Morons! That's what they all were. But House had been patient, and he'd treated them with his best good will, trying to be the least cynical he could. Now his work duties were more than fulfilled.

He went to his office to retrieve his jacket and backpack before leaving. His leg was hurting him worse than usual, as it often did when something had annoyed him for quite a while. Less than two hours had passed since he'd taken his last Vicodin, but he really needed another dose. He rummaged in his jeans' pocket to find the bottle of pills and once done, quickly popped one into his mouth. He sat down at his desk and took some time to rub his leg, allowing the pill to take effect. The room was dark and through the window that gave him a view toward Wilson's office, he could see it was dark there, too. Too bad, because he could have enjoyed a drink with his friend. No. Wilson would have probably annoyed him the whole evening with his obsessive need to pry, forcing him to talk about Cuddy when actually there was nothing to say. Nothing at all…

So what? They'd kissed. Big deal! Maybe it'd felt good in the heat of the moment and, surely, House could confirm his body was not all dead flesh, but what had happened that night was just an out of the blue impulse. And it was nothing worth rationalizing about. Anyway, what could've possibly come out of it if he tried?

Yes, Cuddy was hot. Then what? He'd never denied the fact that her body was turning him on. Especially when, with the way she usually dressed, it was pretty hard not to pay attention to it!

But then, there was this other thing about her that he had never felt with other women, except maybe Stacy: Cuddy wasn't all pitying with him. Damn, she could even make jokes about him being a cripple! He liked that about her, and the fact that she'd never obsessively felt the need to fix him. And she was not that bad a doctor… as incredible as it seemed, even he was willing to admit that. There'd been times when she'd made bold and risky medical decisions which - he would never admit to her, of course - had quite impressed him. Actually, beneath her freaking need to over-control everything, she was as wild and crazy as he was, ready to make impulsive choices and live with the risk to regret them. Even make him make her regret them. Because she wasn't afraid.

Nobody but Cuddy had actually dared to give him the Ketamine. When everyone else had been paralyzed by the idea of making a medical decision that could've had dangerous consequences, she'd given him a risky cure that had brought him hope. Maybe it hadn't lasted and maybe he'd felt bitter, eventually, even toward her, but he'd been able to walk without pain, even run again and she had given him that… House was so tired of all the brown-nosers that always feared to defy him or impose their choices on him. He was not God, and sometimes he needed someone to remind him of that. Cuddy wasn't afraid to be that someone. She had balls! And the way she was always so determinedly standing up to him was such a massive turn-on! Sometimes he had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop the thrilling sensation from overwhelming him as he could feel his body fizzle when they argued, when she smiled at him, or when she looked at him with her mischievous gaze…

Whoa, whoa, whoa! House tilted his head back and pushed his thumbs inside his eyes as if he wanted to thrust them into his skull. What was that? Why couldn't he get her out of his mind? It was enough to drive him up a wall. He'd probably taken too much Vicodin and now he was just high.

Yeah, he thought, that's exactly what it is, nothing more: Just the unexpected and rather annoying effects of the pills…

House forcefully rubbed his forehead in a desperate attempt to bring his mind back to reality. Then he reached for his cane and stood up. He took his leather jacket, put it on, and grabbed his backpack. With a resigned sigh, he walked out of his office and headed to the elevator so he could finally get out of this damn hospital where he'd had one of the most horrible days of his week.

On the ground floor, he walked out of the elevator and limped painfully toward the exit door. When he passed by the clinic, he couldn't help glancing toward her office. Through the wooden blinds, he saw the diffuse light. Almost in spite of him, he slowed down his pace and looked more intensely in that direction, as if he were trying to picture her seated at her desk, drowning herself in deep work. It was dark outside. It was late. And Cuddy was still there, doing things she most probably could've dealt with the next morning. She, too, had to suffer somehow to pull off this masquerade and pretend everything was about work and duty. House knew she was in pain, suffering, and that she was feeling lost. For him, pain was a companion he'd learned to hate silently and cope with throughout the years. But Cuddy, she was not used to it, and House could tell just by the way she was struggling to conceal it so hard.

Unconsciously, he took a bee line and changed direction, heading toward the clinic door that further led to her office. When he realized what he was doing, he stopped abruptly and looked down at his feet, trying to rationalize the irrational. Truth is, he wanted to comfort her. Just like he'd wanted to when he had come to her place that night and they'd kissed. He just wanted to take her in his arms and relieve her from her pain by letting her pass it on to him. He knew what pain could do and he didn't want that for her. Yet, for the time being, in front of the clinic door, he found himself unable to push it open and walk there. Instead, he took a deep breath and turned around, walking toward the exit once more. At the hospital entrance door, he took a moment to stare outside: cars, lights, and houses, and people in those houses… lives… So many of them out there. House sighed and adjusted his leather jacket's collar, throwing his backpack higher on his shoulder before stepping outside into the cold.

Wilson was right, somehow: Yes, he was afraid. But not because he feared Cuddy might drive him away. He was afraid of what he was feeling. He knew that every time he'd been genuinely emotionally attached to someone, it'd always ended badly because he couldn't help but screw it up. And it scared the hell out of him that he might turn out to be that bastard of a man that would hurt her and cause her more pain...

# # # # #

After Wilson's earlier visit, Lisa Cuddy hadn't been able to focus on work anymore. Instead, she felt overwhelmed by unwanted thoughts that kept invading her brain and preventing her from dealing with work issues. She was tough, though, and perfectly used to making difficult and risky decisions. She knew what to do or what to say whenever she was confronted with a professional problem. She had no fear. 'Dammit, I am tough!' she kept repeating herself. But now this? House, who according to Wilson, had allegedly showed up at her place to ask her on a date? Was it possible that any of it could be something other than a bad joke? Why would House do anything like that anyway?

Well ok, of course, she could find a reason. Let's say it bluntly: She was well aware of the sexual tension between them. She was not that naïve. She was a confident woman, who accepted her femininity, and she knew she had power over men because of it. She wasn't afraid to own up to that either. House and she had always played that game together, sometimes almost pushing the limits a little too far, but that whole bantering verbal sparring had never been more than just that: A meaningless game heading nowhere, right? Because any attempt at taking it seriously would have been stupid and childish but, most of all, unreasonable. What was there to expect from a man like House anyway?

He was a damn jerk and a son of a bitch! Maybe a genius one, but with him everything had to be either black or white. There were no subtle light shades of grey in between. None of his sudden moments of tenderness, care or display of human feelings could ever be taken for granted. That's why Cuddy had forcefully tried to stay as far away from him as she could, and had eventually convinced herself that there was nothing there, nothing to hope for. Hoping would have been the worst, stupid thing to do. And she was smart, so she was well aware of that. In fact, there were even times when she thought that the best way to prevent herself from being hurt was to get rid of him. Actually, it was something she should've probably done a long time ago…

But the truth was slightly different, and she couldn't pretend like she wasn't aware of that difference, could she? House had crossed the lines on several occasions, with her, with the law, with morality… She'd had so many reasons to send him away, fire him, and let him pay the price of his mistakes on his own, alone, and far away from her concern. She wished she were able not to give a damn about what could happen to him, just like he was doing with everyone else around. Because everything was a game to him, everything was a challenge, nothing mattered, and he didn't care about anyone, not even himself…

The memory of that one time in the bus, when his heart had stopped sending him on the edge of death painfully and suddenly resurfaced in Cuddy's mind. She was there when he'd collapsed on the floor, unconscious. She'd rushed toward him, to give him CPR when the shock had rendered her almost out of breath herself. But she'd brought him back to life and held his head on her lap. And she was so distraught, so completely crushed by what she'd felt in that moment. She'd tried to deny it, but the truth is she'd felt terrorized at the very idea of losing him for real. At that time, the feeling had first turned into rage and anger against him. She wanted to hit him and yell at him because she hated herself for feeling that way and she hated him, even more. And yet, she'd held his hand instead, squeezing it tight until she could feel life running through his veins then, and later while he was in a coma.

He didn't know, but she'd cried for him then or, more precisely, because of him. She'd suffered through so much pain because of his crazy, irrational lack of concern. Nothing but the Truth ever mattered to him. She wanted him to say he was sorry. She wished he regretted the stupid things he'd done, playing with his life and making him, her, and his friends suffer. She wished he could promise her to take care of himself, respect his commitment to the hospital, understand the importance of what he had to do and acknowledge that people needed him and not just the doctor in him… but House was a stubborn idiot, oblivious like a child, and Cuddy was tired. Tired of thinking he was not who he pretended to be. Tired of being the one who hoped for better things to come…

Still, the night after she'd lost Joy, when she was living through the worst moment of pain and grief, alone in her house and crying, she'd wished for no one but him to be there. Because as strange as it sounded, there was actually no one else she could think of to ease her pain. She didn't want her mother, or Wilson, or any other friends to comfort her. She wanted him… Him and his blunt remarks that only he dared to speak. They were hard to stomach but, in the end, they always helped her. They were meant for her own good. And yes, maybe he'd mocked her and made all kinds of hurtful jokes about her wanting to adopt, but when the time had come to stop joking, he was the only one who had actually shown up. He was the only one who had realized how bad she needed someone that night because, in his own very special and twisted way, he cared for her. And he knew her so well, just like no one else did.

No one.

Jolted back to reality, Cuddy stared at her paperwork and the files covering her desk. She checked her watch: It was almost 8:30pm. Time to go, she thought, feeling suddenly drained. Never mind the unfinished work, it could wait until the next day. For the time being, she decided she didn't need to stay a minute longer, as her head was throbbing, and she needed to rest. Unable to suppress the guilt that leaving made her feel entirely, she took some random files with her, cheering herself with the promise that she'd find the strength to deal with them once at home. She grabbed her purse, went to the door to get her coat, and turned the lights off. Alone at this late hour, she walked through the lobby to the front door, and she quietly left the hospital.

And yet, as she was mechanically driving back to her house, her thoughts quietly straying to nothing in particular, she drove past House's neighborhood. Without really wishing for it, or realizing that she was, she almost unconsciously changed direction and turned in the street that led to his apartment.

Maybe her mind wasn't actually straying to nothing…