new chapter, where, finally, you'll hear about the missing, loved one...

** CHAPTER 50 **

Foreman was right. House's patient had Whipple's disease. Yet, following his boss' instructions, he'd first docilely given him corticosteroid. The patient's condition got suddenly worse after 24 hours of treatment. Eventually, the fact that Foreman was a proud and confident doctor who wasn't scared to disregard House's diagnosis proved to be a good thing for the patient, because he took the responsibility to stop the treatment and put him on I.V. Potassium instead, which saved the patient's life.

After a few hours, even though he was still feeling weak, Mr. Myers seemed out of danger and started recovering slowly. Foreman came to Wilson to inform him about what had happened. He didn't do it to take credit or to disparage House's unexpected incompetence. He just did what he needed to do: He followed the rules and did his job.

Wilson thanked him and as soon as Foreman walked out of his office, a tremendous, irrational fury started boiling inside of him. He was mostly furious against himself, for having blindly followed House's recommendations while he perfectly knew he shouldn't have. House didn't care about the patient. His mind was too preoccupied and devastated by Cuddy's runaway to even think straight about any medical cases.

And yet, after House had told him to put the patient on corticosteroid, he'd still fought against Foreman's better judgment to force him to give up on his first idea and follow his friend's order. But Foreman was right. House was the one being wrong and yet Wilson had chosen to listen to him, instead of listening to the most involved and concerned doctor on this case. He was positively infuriated for that unforgivable weakness which had almost cost a man's life.

Another day passed after his visit to House's apartment, and Wilson was really becoming tired of that mess and all the consequences which, naturally, had all ended up inside his hands for him to take care of. It had to stop!

Maybe House was incapable of dealing with anything other than his own misery right now but locking himself up in his apartment wouldn't help him feel better, either. He needed to come back to the hospital, deal with what he had always done to divert his mind with the only thing his brain was able to stay focused on: He needed to solve new puzzles. He needed medical challenges. And in order to make him realize that and push him to come back, his pride needed to be piqued.

Wilson picked up his phone and dialed his friend's number. After a few tones, he got the answering machine. "Yes, this is House, the brilliant doctor. Unfortunately, I'm not available right now. You'll have to go figure out what the patient is dying for all by yourself. And if your request isn't about medicine then you'll have to go find yourself new friends. Because I'm not available for that either."

"House? Pick up the phone! House! … Ok, fine… Let's say you're not here… Nice message by the way… I see you're keeping yourself occupied… In a very adult, responsible way… Anyway, I thought I should let you know that Foreman saved your ass. You should really thank him, you know… Thank God, he's as stubborn as you are, because he was right. Your patient has Whipple's Disease… Something you would have never missed, by the way, if you'd been more focused on that guy's case instead of drowning your pathetic self in Bourbon. Anyway, I guess what's important is that the patient is alive, right? So just give me a call … In case you want to apologize to Foreman…"

On the other end of the line, House ogled at his phone, until the beep of the answering machine collecting the message echoed in the room. He closed his eyes and tilted his head backward on his couch's backrest. He took a few deep breathes and straightened up again. Then, he opened his right hand and stared intensely at the small objects he was holding in his palm: A pair of earrings. Her pair of earrings.

He'd accidentally found them inside his nightstand's drawer while searching for his pills. His pills. He needed them now. He rummaged in his pants' pocket and fished out the orange plastic bottle. After having swallowed his dose, he winced and forcefully rubbed his thigh with his clenched fist, still tightly holding the small pieces of jewelry inside his hand.

He looked around and it overwhelmed him again: Her absence, the emptiness of his home, his uselessness without her. Almost mechanically, as if repeating an old, bad habit, he dialed her number and waited for the voicemail to tell him to leave a message.

"Guess what?... I almost killed a patient today. Well, no. That's not exactly true… I failed at saving a patient today. That is more correct … Oh, but sorry! I shouldn't tell you that since you don't care, do you? But you know what? I don't care, either … And I hope this is cancer… I hope they'll cut out your fucking boobs. You hear me? ... You were right … the only good thing about fucking you was that it was free… because apart from that-"

He slammed his cell shut and started to quiver uncontrollably. What had he just done?

No. No…

It wasn't true! He didn't mean any of it! That was not… He gasped for air and covered his face with his wobbling hand, breathing fast inside his palm, a lump tightening his throat. He dialed her number again and brought the cell phone to his ear.

"Cuddy, I- ..."

But he hung up, as the words got squeezed inside his throat and the shame was too vivid to say them aloud.

# # # # #

Finally, his phone rang. He'd left his message a little over an hour ago, but he intuitively knew who was calling him. He'd managed to trigger a reaction. He picked up the phone without bothering to check the caller ID.

"House?" he exclaimed smugly. "So? Have you come up with the best apologizing formula yet?"

"Wilson?"

The voice was hesitant, but he recognized it immediately.

"Cuddy? Cuddy, is that you?"

As an only answer, Wilson heard her gasp at the other end of the line.

"Oh my God! Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

An awkward silence followed her answer. Wilson frowned and shook his head as if he needed to be jolted out of a bad dream.

"Where are you?" he asked. But of course, without much surprise, he didn't get any answer - only the sound of her heavy, stressed breathing. "Cuddy, are you taking care of yourself?" he said, trying a different approach. "Are you at least seeing a doctor?"

"Yes, I am."

"Who is it? Who are you seeing?" he treaded carefully, afraid that she might hang up if he was being too nosy.

She puffed and another silence settled between them.

"Wilson? I'm calling to ask you to … take care of everyday matters in the hospital" she finally answered, ignoring his question. "Will you do that for me, please?"

"Of course, I will! But this is just temporary, right?"

"Yes."

"When are you coming back?"

"I don't know." She sighed heavily and Wilson could have sworn her voice had cracked a little.

"Are you sure you're alright?"

"Yes, I'm alright-" Her voice became wobbly, and she took a deep breath to try and control her quavering blow. Another heavy silence filled the air.

"How is he?" she finally asked.

Wilson was genuinely stunned by her query. A rush of relief mingled with anger flooded his veins.

"You're asking how he is?" he exclaimed. "Jesus, Cuddy, how do you think he is? House is a wreck! He's popping twice as many Vicodin as usual, which he swallows down with Bourbon. His leg hurts like hell, but the physical pain is nothing compared to the one he feels right now because you left him."

He paused and waited for her to react but all he could hear was the sound of her breathings, slightly accelerating.

"And this is affecting his medical judgment. Cuddy, he almost killed a patient!" he added accusingly, as if he were blaming her for it.

"Yes, I know what he did," she said, and her words faded behind the sound of a growing sob.

Wilson listened to her shed tears without saying a word. When her cries calmed down a little, he sighed heavily, feeling sorry for her. She sighed, too, and he could almost feel her pain coming up to him through the receiver within the sound of her moan.

"Lisa, you have to come back. This is stupid. None of you can take this any longer."

"He doesn't care," she whispered. Her voice choked with emotion, and she began to weep again. "He's said horrible things to me."

"He doesn't mean any of them. He's hurt. Come on! You know how House usually reacts when he is. Please, at least give me the name of the doctor you're seeing. We're worrying sick about you-"

"I don't know," she hesitated.

"Lisa, please… Believe me, House does care about you."

She took several, long wobbling breaths, sending the vibrating and distressing waves of her blows into the receiver.

"Russell," she finally confessed almost inaudibly.

"Who?" Wilson clutched the phone and pressed it harder against his ear.

"Bill Russell" she repeated, and she hung up the phone.

# # # # #

"Lunch is served!"

"I'm coming."

The clicking sound of the door being opened made her jump, and Cuddy hastily straightened herself up, wiping her tears away with the back of her hand.

"Hey, but you're crying!"

"I'm fine, mom. I'm coming."

Lisa Cuddy sniffed and forced a smile to the woman who was cautiously stepping inside the room.

"No, you're not! Look at yourself! What's the matter?"

"Nothing. I'm just a little… tired"

"You've been here for almost a week now, and since the moment you've arrived you seem so … sad. Are you really sure everything's ok? "

Mrs. Cuddy sat on the bed next to her daughter and Lisa averted her gaze, looking at the cloudy sky through the roof light of her room.

"Yes," she said, stubbornly avoiding her mother's scrutinizing gaze. "I just needed to take a break. And I wanted to spend some time with you and dad. I thought it'd make you happy. We never have time to see each other!"

"Oh honey, you're a terrible liar, you know. You're not here to visit us. Don't get me wrong, your father and I are very happy to have you here, but… you're not here for us. You just spend your days locked up in your room, or out, doing God knows what… We're not blind, sweetie. I may not see you very often, but I can still recognize when my daughter is not feeling well."

Lisa Cuddy sighed and briefly closed her eyes. She had forgotten how intuitive her mother was. She tried to put up her best convincing face and turned toward her mother.

"I'm ok," she repeated stubbornly.

"Is it work? Do you have any trouble at the hospital?"

"No, nothing's wrong at work!" she exclaimed, unwillingly sounding a little bit more jittery than she wished.

Mrs. Cuddy reached out her hand and lightly brushed her daughter's hair with her fingertips.

"Ok," she said carefully. "Is it about that man who asked you out then?"

"Mom!" A look of dismay flickered on Lisa's face, and she shook her head. "Bill didn't ask me out. He's a friend. He's a doctor, just like me. He's … helping me, and we're just going to have dinner, is all." She sniffed again, louder, and brought her fingers under her nostrils to swab her runny nose.

"Lisa, look at me."

She reluctantly complied and faced her mother again. Her red, watery eyes instantly spoke for her. Mrs. Cuddy stared into her daughter's eyes with a motherly concern.

"I'm your mother, but I'm a woman too, you know," she said softly. She covered her daughter's hand with hers and squeezed it gently. "I won't ask you his name if you don't want to tell me. But I know these eyes. I remember you having those eyes… a long time ago. You locked yourself up, and cried in your room during all summer… I asked you what was wrong, but you never said a thing and I felt so helpless. I just can't sit there and watch my daughter be sad like that again!"

Lisa Cuddy bit her bottom lip to stop the slight tremble that had started when her mother had evoked that summer. Isn't it ironic? she thought… And yet, it was true. She probably just had two real heartbreaks in her whole life and both of them were because of him. But she'd get over it. She'd get over it just like she had the first time.

"I'll be ok, mom" she said resolutely, taking a deep breath. "Just go down, and I'll join you in a few minutes. I need to powder my nose, or I'll scare dad with my awful face!"

She managed to flash a shy smile and Mrs. Cuddy enveloped her with a fond look.

"Ok. But don't take too long. You know your father easily gets impatient when he's hungry."

A/N

thank you once again for all your kind words about this story. it means a lot to me...

I know the angst is becoming, well, angsty, especially with this new chapter but, there's a light at the end of the tunnel, I swear :)

anyway, I hope that:

1) you'll forgive me for keeping House in his misery like that a little longer... but I just love to write him like that, and I think that many, many times we've seen that the lower he gets, the more he learns about himself and makes progresses... so this is for the best... I hope!

2) (esp. for beti86) I know, I'd read you said you were wishing Cuddy hadn't run to hide at her parent's... so, well, sorry about that! I hope it doesn't ruin the spirit of this fic for you.

~ maya

PS: (to huddles777) I can't even begin to explain the feeling your last comment left me. this was just so... wow! thank you... unfortunately (and obviously) the answer is 'no'! ugh