** CHAPTER 33 **

The sound of the door being closed jolted House out of his mute daze.

He looked around him and the sudden deafening silence in the emptiness of his apartment hit him full force. A hoarse moan came out of the depth of his throat and hearing the sound of his own uncontrollable pain echo into space only worsened the hurt he was feeling then.

It was excruciating and he wasn't used to feeling it anymore because it wasn't just physical pain. That he knew how to deal with because at least he was familiar with it. But the feeling that was overtaking him now was something else entirely, and it was utterly distressful. It mingled everything he'd tried to deny almost his entire life: Admit he could be emotionally hurt and confess he might need others.

For some reasons, House had always tried to pretend he was that genius misfit who was better off alone. So few people were allowed into his world because there were so few people he found interesting enough for him to pay attention to them. People weren't usually worth caring for.

Of course, he always cared for his patients, his patients' health, that is. And the fact that he was able to cure people who, without him, could have died, was important to him. But it was not important because of the human aspect of it. That's how he'd convinced his brain to think for so many years, anyway. What mattered when he dealt with his patients was that he had the solution. It was the fact that he knew. Each of his medical cases was nothing more than a battle against doubt and hesitation. And that was a battle he always won.

Without really being aware of it, House stood up and grabbed his bottle of bourbon. He poured himself a glass and, with the bottle still in his hand, sat back on his couch. He drank slowly, while thoughts started running inside his mind. Where did his life go? What had he done with it? Was it all worth it? Was loneliness really the comfortable, hiding place he'd convinced himself it was. What good did it do to him to stay far away from people, far away from the obligation of being involved?

Because this time…

Screw people! I don't need anyone! I don't want anyone… I have myself to rely on and that's enough. Never trust anyone with your heart.

Because this time, he had her…

Screw her! She demands and she orders, and she wants to control you but you're not her pet. You're nobody's pet. You don't need any leash.

He had her, and she was soft and tender and patient…

No. You just want her because she's hot. You just like to "do" her. You don't need her or the way she makes you feel when she's here. It's only good because the sex is good.

She was soft and tender and patient, and she didn't want to change him…

Every woman wants to change every man.

She didn't want to change him… She just wanted a connection with him. And it felt safe and right to let her in.

What if you can't change? What if you're hemmed in by this unemotional protecting world you've created?

It felt safe and right to let her in… but she deserved so much better than him…

How many drinks had he drunk? House didn't know. But he was now feeling high, dizzy, unsure and fragile. But in his alcohol blurred mind, he was paradoxically seeing clearly: He was an ass and Cuddy was the most unquestionable trustworthy constant there ever was in his life.

She'd always been here. Always. Through everything he'd gone through. Whatever feeling he'd felt, or emotional state he'd been in, happy, vulnerable, strong, mean, hurting, messy, angry or doubtful. She'd never let him down. She'd always waited, had never pushed him, and had always held a hand to him. And he was the biggest, stupid jerk the earth had ever carried if he couldn't even see how much he needed her.

His vision was all fuzzy and he didn't realize that tears had welled up in his eyes. He looked down at his hand, the one holding his now empty glass of alcohol, then he glanced at the bottle of Bourbon and, as a tear silently rolled down his cheek, he cast his eyes over his guitar that was leaned against the sofa's armrest. He leaned in to lay his glass on the coffee table and grabbed hold of the instrument, bringing its feminine curve against him, clinging to it and squeezing it tight against his chest. He closed his eyes and the image of her holding it came to his mind. She'd so touchingly tried to show him she could play music, tried to connect with him. And he'd pushed her away.

He clenched his fits, leaped to his feet and grabbed the guitar's case. In a stumbling but determined pace he walked to his door and hurried outside into the dark night.

# # # # #

Cuddy had cried all the way back to her place

She'd driven through the blurring vision of her tears because she was hurt, and the saddest part about it was that her heart was still aching for House all the same. Because no matter how strong the pain he made her feel could be, she always thought about him first and about how she could make him feel better. What she'd just done was maybe too much, too cruel, but she had a reason to do it. She'd known him for so long, she certainly knew better than to plague him with discomforting questions.

But everything was different now.

They had a physical connection. They'd slept together. Not just once or out of an irrational surge that they'd have soon forgotten the day after. No, what they had, they'd decided to have it, somehow. Where they were standing at now was their choice. None of them had dragged the other to some shadow place where they refused to be. She would never have dragged him where he didn't want to be. She didn't want to push him or make him feel trapped.

That's the reason why she'd felt compelled to leave. She knew House had to be alone. In a way, that was a journey he needed to make on his own. She'd never want to be with him if he didn't want to be with her, too. Being with him, now, couldn't only mean have sex anymore. He had to accept her in his life too, let her in. And she knew that it certainly might sound like the scariest thing for him because ever since his infarction, he'd never really allowed anyone to be close to him. He'd never really shared all of the things that spoke of who he really was, how he really felt or what he truly feared...

She was the only woman who'd been that close. And hell, there had to be a reason! She knew it. She'd taken a risk, though, a huge and scary one because she could lose him over a big, stupid gamble, but she had to. Yet, as strongly as she was convinced that it was the right thing to do, there was still a real, solid chance that House would not make that step. That's the reason why she'd cried all the way back to her house, hoping she'd made the right decision and thinking about him, thinking about how much she wanted to be with him, in his arms, rather than here, crying in her car and driving away from him.

Tears didn't even take her pain away. They didn't soothe the feeling of deprivation she felt then, without him. She wished it didn't matter, somehow, because she needed him so much despite everything. She wished she had the strength to stay and pretend she didn't need more. Just take what he had to give. But she couldn't. Where was the point in moving forward to the next step if things still remained the same? After twenty years, she knew deep inside that they were far more than just each other's wimp. It meant she really had something tangible to save and preserve. She really had something to believe in.

When Cuddy arrived at her place, the tears had dried, but her eyelids were swollen and her eyes red. She was exhausted and she needed the numbness of sleep to soothe her confused feelings. She went to her bedroom and undressed mechanically. She slipped into a nightie then slid inside her king size empty bed, shivering at the sensation of the cold sheet on her bare skin. She curled up in a ball and clenched her fists, cursing herself, while she desperately fought back the irrepressible stream of tears that started to flow again, rolled on her cheeks and wet her pillow until she finally fell asleep.

Her muscles were relaxed and her grip on the sheet had loosened. She was deep in sleep when her brain slowly began to bring her back to the surface of consciousness, sending sounding signals in her ears, coming from a far, far distance at first, then closer and closer, until it made her wriggle in her bed and moan. The sudden agitation of her body and the sound of her own sighs awoke her, and she blinked to adjust her sight to the semi darkness in her room. She heard indistinct noises coming from outside her window and she forced herself to stay still in her bed to analyze the nature of the sound better. And then her brain finally processed what it was.

It was the sound of a guitar.

And along with the guitar, the sound of someone's voice, singing.

I'm a man
I spell "M"… "A" child… "N"
That represents MAN!
No "B" ... "O" child… "Y"
That means mannish boy.

Cuddy narrowed her eyes to focus on the voice and she bit her lip when her pounding heart indisputably told her whose it was.

I'm a man
I'm a full-grown man
I'm a man
I'm a natural born lover man.

A fond smile formed on her lips which she simply couldn't repress because House was singing so forcefully and so convincingly under her window, it made her want to jump out of bed and run to him. But she was riveted to her mattress, unable to move, her eyes wide open and her breath taken away.

I'm a man
I'm a rollin' stone
I'm a man
I'm a hoochie coochie man.

What those simple blues notes echoing in the night made her feel was indescribable. She didn't know the song, but she didn't care, because it was his choice. So undeniably his choice! The music, the lyrics, the longing voice, longing but demanding voice at the same time: It was him.

Sittin' on the outside, just me and my mate
You know I'm made to move you honey,
come up two hours late
Wasn't that a man
I spell "M"… "A" child… "N"

At some point, in spite of the long, almost painful waves of pleasure that were coursing through her body and taking her common sense away, Cuddy suddenly realized it was the middle of the night and that at this late hour, she probably was the only one who was that much touched by the unconventionally romantic blues complaint. She remembered she had neighbors that'd rather sleep, like any normal person would do, instead of being witness to that incredible moment; a moment that was becoming slightly embarrassing. She took a deep breath and stepped out of her bed, cautiously tiptoeing to the window before opening it.

Registering her silhouette as she approached gave House all the confirmation he needed to know that she'd heard him and then, before she had time to open the window, he started to sing even louder and more enthusiastically, shouting in the dark, his neck stretched toward her.

I'm a rollin' stone
Man-child
I'm a hoochie coochie man
The line I shoot will never miss
When I make love to a woman,
she can't resist.

Cuddy inhaled deeply through her nose and closed her eyes, taking a short pause to suppress the smile that was forming on her lips and then, she finally opened her window.

"Lisa Cuddy! I rode here to you, you Heartless Woman, who took my peace, my sleep and ... my peace!" House instantly shouted. "You can't leave me and Muddy standing outside like that." He started singing again.

I'm a man-child
I'm a hoochie coochie man
well, well, well, well
hurry, hurry, hurry, hurry
Don't hurt me, don't hurt me child
don't hurt me, don't hurt me, don't hurt me child

She put her hands on her hips and frowned at him suspiciously.

"Have you been drinking?" she asked, trying hard to sound more shocked than helplessly won over.

He immediately stopped singing and looked at her with puppy eyes.

"Maybe I had one or two drinks. But it only helped me see-"

"See what?" she inquired, pursing her lips.

"Joanna!" he yelled spreading his arms out, holding the neck of his guitar in his right hand, the instrument dangerously swaying at his side.

Cuddy's mouth dropped open and she rolled her eyes at his nonsense. Now she wasn't feeling so much seduced by that stupid game of his anymore, which rules she had a hard time following.

"Joanna," House repeated, his voice markedly lower. "She was one of the babes I scored in College. And the first that really broke my heart. Then, there was Caitlin-"

He stopped out of breath and, gripping his guitar, he stumbled up to her window's edge and clang to it with his free hand.

"Cuddy," he whispered, sounding like he'd suddenly sobered up, "do you really need me to list them all? What will it take to make you open your door to me?"

He smiled sheepishly and held his guitar up.

"Do you want me to sing another song to you?"

He stared at her with begging eyes and, when she didn't answer right away, he determinedly re-positioned his guitar against him, his thumb ready to scrape the strings. Cuddy tried to glare angrily at him but was unable to, her gaze softening and her resistance already melting.

"No, shh, don't! God, House, do you have any idea what time it is? You can't play or sing-"

"You didn't like my song?" he said with a sulky pout.

Cuddy studied his face, his stubborn, unnerving, childish, wicked, impossibly sexy face. And she realized she was completely unable to resist it, resist him. She let out a heavy, defeated sigh, though it was a defeat she was more than willing to concede.

"Meet me at the door," she told him. "I'll be right there."

The instantaneous, immense relief that she saw pass in House's gaze just then right after she'd made that pledge shook Cuddy to the core. She closed the window and just for one second, through the thin net curtains, she watched him turn away and walk to her front door. And then, she practically ran to it herself, completely incapable of containing the sudden, irrational desire she felt rising inside her.

When she arrived at the door, she clutched the knob and took a deep breath to calm herself down before she opened it. House was standing on her doorstep, breathless too, with his guitar along his thigh. They stared at each other, both silent and still, as if they were both petrified and terrified of what would happen if one of them made a step forward. She drew aside the door frame, her hand still on the knob to let him in. He walked inside, and his eyes still locked with hers, he gently put his guitar on the floor, leaning it against the wall.

She was breathing fast and heavy and the intensity of his gaze on her commanded her not to move. She bit her lower lip and her hand released her grip on the doorknob, making a faint metallic sound that broke the silence between them. He studied her face intently, questioning her with a quizzical gaze and she slightly leaned in toward him.

And suddenly, as if they'd finally given each other a sign, House took a step forward, closing the small distance between them and Cuddy's breath hitch as she instantly arched to welcome the force of the urge she recognized in his outburst.

He crashed into her, and threw his arms around her waist, firmly and possessively squeezing her against him. Then he buried his face in her neck and growled like a wounded animal, as a long shudder ran down his spine. She felt his teeth bite her skin and his tongue lick her earlobe, her cheek, and her lips. She threw her head back and gave in without restraint to the violence of his desire.

"Don't do that to me again, Cuddy," he groaned between kisses. "Don't do that to me again."

She tightened her grasp around his neck and when she heard the hint of despair in his plea, and everything that it was saying without actually saying it, it stabbed her right in the chest, causing her to feel a pang so full of lust, it almost gave her an orgasm.

A/N

the song in this chapter is "Mannish Boy" - by the bluesman Muddy Waters (just for the record, he's one of HL's favorite musicians). You can easily find it on YouTube if you don't (already) know it and want to give it a listen.

what else? oh yes! season premiere: ahhh, so good!

THANK YOU TO EVERYONE FOR THEIR KIND REVIEWS...

to Cosette16: no this is not the end. we've just barely reached the middle of the story, and I mean, the one that's already written, because I haven't finished to write it yet!...