It was a little before midnight and House, just having finished his letter to Cuddy, sat at his piano playing a variety of tunes, all reflecting a variety of emotions. He was actually in a somewhat calm and relaxed mood unusual considering how depressed he'd been as of late. House admitted to himself that maybe the letter writing was therapeutic. He felt somewhat better after writing it. It took him several hours to write and in the course of it he took several breaks to think. During those breaks he paced his apartment, ordered take-out, played a few notes on the piano, called Wilson for no reason other than just to wake him up, and poured a few glasses of scotch, which he nursed slowly over a period of hours.
House looked around his apartment thinking about all the things that happened there over the years. His eyes roamed over the furniture remembering what part each piece has played in his life. He was never one to collect just any piece of furniture or any book or object. Everything he had meant something to him.
He looked at the couch where he and Wilson watched football games and "The L Word" and where Wilson slept many a night when one of his wives kicked him out of the house. He fondly remembered the nights Cuddy visited him and they ordered take-out and snuggled on the couch watching pre-recorded episodes of his favorite soaps. Cuddy thought the plots were ridiculous and made a point to ridicule the busty nurses with too much makeup as often as possible. House of course chastised her for ridiculing said nurses but his favorite part was dissecting the ridiculous medical plots. They enjoyed their time together though most of the time was spent at Cuddy's because of Rachel. The times House spent at the apartment were when he needed some alone time or he and Cuddy just wanted to be alone after a particularly rough day. During those occasions they'd asked Marina or Wilson to babysit so they could enjoy their time together.
House's mind wandered to Rachel. He didn't mind her. After a while he'd gotten used to her once they found something in common, which turned out to be cartoons. She was a cute kid and quite smart. She had the same pout as her mother and House had a hard time resisting the Cuddy pout
He took a drink of scotch, set it down and sighed. Looking around he admitted to himself that he would give up all of his possessions if he could have the one thing, or rather, person that would make him feel whole again. He wondered how she was doing. He walked over to the bookshelf and pulled out an old infectious diseases college textbook. He opened it up and took out a piece of paper and read it. It was the note Rachel and Cuddy left him when he was in the hospital recovering from the surgery on his leg. The note held so much meaning for him now than it did the first time he'd read it.
After the surgery, House had told Wilson he knew things had to change. He had been ready to try once again to make his life better. He was ready to repair the damage he'd done. He was ready to go into rehab and try again to rebuild his life. As Wilson helped him to the bathroom in his hospital room that morning, House knew what he had to do. He'd give Cuddy her space, he'd get himself together again and he'd go after her, proving to her once and for all he was the man she needed. He knew if he continued his self-destructive behavior, it would kill him. No matter how much hated life at times, he did not want to be dead. He placed the letter from Rachel and Cuddy back in the textbook and set it back on the shelf.
House resumed his place at the piano, played a few notes and thought about Cuddy. He could not figure out how he became the kind of man who could run his car through her house. How could I hurt the one person I love more than anyone in the world? He'd asked himself over and over 'd accepted responsibility, and knew what he did was wrong. He was also very aware of the fact someone could have been killed. What he doesn't understand is how he became the man committed that horrible act. Looking back it seemed like it was someone else who'd done that horrible thing. He felt a great sense of shame for his actions. He'd never had a violent streak and in the past he'd always hurt himself, not other people, when he was upset. Oh he'd lash out verbally at people, especially Cuddy and Wilson, but he would never do anything to intentionally cause them physical pain.
House was determined to try to fix himself but he felt conflicted. After all, if he could really fix himself, why didn't he do it when he was with Cuddy? He wrestled with that thought every day, thinking I did try, I did dammit. I did the best I knew how to do and she dumped me for one pill. Then out of the blue he recalled Wilson's words a few years back that sent a shiver down his spine. He'd said, "If you can't make it work with Cuddy, you can't make it work with anyone."
Thinking about the night of the breakup made him sad, angry, and finally confused. Even though he told Cuddy it wasn't her fault, looking back he realized that they were both responsible. On one hand, he should have recognized that Cuddy had certain things about her that were difficult to change. She was a perfectionist and had certain views of how relationships should be and how people should behave. He knew that about her and yet he ignored it. He went into the relationship thinking he could be the same son of a bitch he'd always been and she would accept him. On the other hand, she told him more than once she didn't want him to change those things that attracted her to him. She didn't want him to feel uncomfortable by trying to be someone he wasn't. She made a point to tell him often that she loved him for who he was but that was confusing sometimes because she would also say things indicating she wanted him to change. He wasn't always sure what she wanted, but then again maybe she wasn't sure either.
In retrospect he realized where they went wrong was that was they did not talk about their relationship. Talking about their feelings was just something neither of them was good at. They never sat down and talked about their hopes and expectations for themselves or each other. They never discussed where they wanted the relationship to go. House was certain the reason they didn't was because it would have forced them into thinking about their future together and that scared them both. They both needed to change a little for it to work, they needed to talk about it and meet in the middle. He knew he should have been more considerate to her; but at the same time she should have understood that the temptation to take Vicodin for his pain was a battle he fought every day. What they needed was to be there for each other and fight their fights together. Both of them had much to lose if the relationship didn't work out, but they were too scared to talk about it. So instead they went about their business day after day, hoping to keep the status quo, and completely ignoring the elephant in the room. In the end, the inability to communicate sabotaged their happiness. They embarked on the relationship with constant worries about what they would do to possibly screw it up. For them it wasn't a matter of if but when.
Suddenly, House grabbed his cell phone and dialed Nolan's office number. He felt the need to talk to him sooner than his next scheduled appointment. When it went to voice mail, he left a message and hung up. He'd been seeing the psychiatrist regularly for months and they had been steadily delving into the underlying reasons that set into motion the chain of events which ripped apart two lives. House's hope was that Nolan could help him get to the core issues that tore him apart, so that he could live the kind he'd denied himself for years. It was exhausting, brutal and depressing at times but they pressed on.
House played a bit more on the piano and then, sufficiently exhausted he got up, turned off the lights and headed to bed, leaving his near-full glass of whiskey on the coaster sitting on his piano. He was already in his pajamas so he sat on the edge of his bed, opened the nightstand drawer and pulled out a framed photo. He smirked at it remembering when it was taken. It was the day Rachel attended the birthday party of one of the other little girls in the neighborhood. Rachel and the little girl had played together in the park and so the little girl's parents had invited her. Rachel was adamant about wearing a certain outfit that day, her favorite brightly-colored shirt which didn't match her favorite brightly-colored pants. Rachel's mother of course wanted her to wear a pretty little dress but after some tears on Rachel's part, Cuddy turned to House for help. House's reply was simple, "Just let her wear what she wants; let her be her own person."
Suddenly Rachel stopped crying as if she understood what he'd said.
Cuddy relented and before she left the house with Rachel, House had taken a picture of them for posterity. He'd told Cuddy that someday she would wish she'd had a picture of that moment but what House was really thinking was that he wanted to use it to embarrass the hell out of Rachel when she was older. Now, he was glad he had it for another reason, so he could remember the good times they had when the three of them were together.
House lay on the bed with his back against the headboard staring at the framed picture of the smiling mother and daughter, the former the most beautiful woman he'd ever known and the latter an adorable kid who had captured his heart in ways he could never explain. He traced Cuddy's face with his finger, let out a sigh and set the framed picture on his nightstand. He turned off the lamp next to his bed and settled in for another night of restless sleep, though since writing the letter to Cuddy, he felt just a little bit better than he had felt in a long time. He knew he had a long way to go but at least it was a start.
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