A/N: Many thanks to Madfashionista and GratefulInsomniac for taking a peek at this and offering suggestions. Also thank you to V for her medical advice. She's really helped me better understand the source of House's leg pain and realistic treatments for it.
Cuddy left work at four o'clock on Tuesday afternoon, picked up Rachel from school and headed home. It had been a long day at the hospital. All she wanted to do was relax and spend some time with her daughter. Upon arriving home she checked her mailbox and found a letter from Princeton. It was that scraggly doctor's handwriting she knew so well. House. A smile came to her face. She hadn't wanted to get her hopes up but she had wondered if House would write her back. She was anxious to read it but decided to wait until later when she was relaxed and Rachel was in bed.
After doing a few loads of laundry and some light housekeeping, she cooked a light dinner of sautéed vegetables and rice. As they ate, Rachel chatted away excitedly about her first day learning piano in her after school music class. Later, Cuddy cleaned up the dinner dishes, helped Rachel with her bath and read her a story before she went to sleep. After checking the doors were locked, she went into her bedroom with the letter, a bottle of wine and a glass. She prepared an aromatherapy bath for herself. She wanted the mood to be perfect when she read the letter. She brought the letter and wine into the bathroom, setting them along with some towels next to the tub. She stripped down and stepped into the water and settled in enjoying the feel of the heat on her skin. Taking a long drink from her glass of wine she reached for the letter, being careful not to get it wet. For a moment she surveyed the envelope before opening, wondering what House was thinking as he placed the letter inside. Nervously, she opened the envelope, took a deep breath and began reading.
Dear Cuddy,
Thank you for the letter, it meant a lot to me. I hope you don't mind me writing to you again, there is still so much to say. I think it will always be that way between us.
Remember that time when we shared my office? You told me "everyone knows this is going somewhere" well I wanted it to go somewhere too but instead of kissing you, which is what I wanted to do, I deflected (again!) and grabbed your breast and once again pushed you away. I was so stupid. I was afraid to take a chance because I feared rejection. Even though I knew you wanted it at that moment, I knew what I bastard I was and that it was inevitable anything good between us would crash and burn.
When you and I became involved, I felt the best I'd felt in a long time. I was off the Vicodin and even though my leg hurt, I was more clear-headed than I'd been in years. Being with you made my pain easier to handle. The thing was…I wasn't happy, it had nothing to do with you, it was me. Remember? I don't do happy, you said so yourself. I spent too much time worrying about when you'd finally break up with me that I couldn't let myself go.
In your letter you talked about me being a ticking time bomb. I was too wrapped up in my own selfish needs and my pain to realize the destruction I'd caused.. I sure as hell did a good job of hurting you and Wilson. While I buried myself in misery, I wanted to see you hurt as much as I did. And I am so sorry for that because I honestly never really wanted to hurt you. And while we're on the subject, I need to address something neither one of us has brought up but it's time.
I never saw you look as defeated as when I invited you to my apartment for my so-called wedding. If I could take that back I would. That's when I knew I'd gone too far. I hardly even knew Dominika when I married her. She needed a green card so she could stay here, start her own business, the whole American dream crap. I figured what better way to get back at you than to marry this girl so she could get her green card. She offered to clean my apartment in exchange for a marriage of convenience. She cleaned my apartment twice a week and spent the rest of her time with her boyfriend in New York City. We never slept together and never had sex. She must have thought I was strange because on our "wedding night" I told her I didn't sleep with married women. She knew how fucked up I was when she found out what I done to my ex-girlfriend. She got angry and then after I was sent to prison, filed for an annulment. I received a short letter thanking me for trying to help her but that she couldn't go through with it.
What a miserable son of a bitch I was to put you through that. What's worse is that I actually hoped you would put a stop to it. I wanted you to save me. I did it both to hurt you and try to get you to realize you wanted to be with me. I was being manipulative son of a bitch yet again. Looking back, it's difficult to believe I actually hurt you like that, yet I have to recognize that's the fucked up person I was. I could say I'm sorry over and over again but it doesn't convey to you the truth of how sorry I really am.
Anyway, my mom is here visiting for a few days. It's been a long time since we've seen each other and we're just starting to talk. I feel bad for not having been in touch with her as I should have; I guess I haven't been a very good son. I just didn't want her to know all the shit I've done. Funny thing though, I have nothing to fear, she's not pushing me to talk yet I just feel like I want to talk to her which is unusual for me. Today we had a long talk about my father. She believes I am the way I am in part because of him. I'm conflicted over my feelings for him. I hate him and I don't. He couldn't accept I wasn't like him, he couldn't accept…well, you know some things about my father, but there's so much more you don't know and maybe someday you will.
I'm still in therapy. It's hard some days but I keep doing it. Nolan tells me I have to do this for myself, not you or Wilson or anyone else. It should be easy for me to do this for me considering I see myself as the center of the universe but this is different from anything else I've ever had to do. Change sucks but I'm trying. When I open up, I have to confront things about myself I didn't want to face before. It's difficult to do that after living my life this way for so long.
Cuddy, I am sorry to hear about your sister's husband. Thinking of her loss reminds me of how I felt when you were sick. The thought of you dying—I can't even begin to convey to you all the feelings that overwhelmed me. Maybe I can talk about that sometime. I'm surprised to hear your sister thought we were good together but then again we had something other people didn't understand; hell I don't even think we understood it.
You mentioned your internal battle—fighting what you think you should feel versus what you do feel. You've always been an independent spirit and never let anyone get the best of you. You even stood up to your mom finally and I was proud of you for that. Even with that independent spirit though you've always been concerned about your image and what people thought of you. We were so opposite weren't we? You cared what people thought and I didn't give a shit. I may have given you a hard time about caring but you were so damn good at what you did Cuddy. You earned every bit of the respect you got in the hospital and then some. I mocked you catering to donors and the higher-ups but you kept that hospital at the top and you should be proud. I never came out and said it directly but I admire you and am proud of you. I always have been.
I see you finally found out the secret I shared with Rachel. I really wanted to get to know her better, for our sake. I was scared shitless I'll admit, and I wasn't sure how to take her, I'm just not good with kids, but she turned out to be a smart kid and we actually had fun after we spent a little time together. For some strange reason she liked me. She seemed to enjoy some of the things we did together like the park and when I read to her. To be honest I was embarrassed for anyone to find out I was actually good with her. After all, I had a reputation as an asshole I had to keep up. I also worried that if you found out we did get along you might want to get more serious and take things to a whole new level or you might have gotten scared I was getting too close and then you'd back off suddenly. Either way I felt like no matter what I did I was on the losing end. I'm not blaming you Cuddy, again this is one of the reasons things really didn't work out with us, and we never communicated. If we had shared what was on our mind, things would be different.
I've been thinking about you a lot lately. Sometimes it comes in the form of dreams when I sleep and sometimes I'll be doing something and it reminds me of you. I wish I'd told you then that all the little moments we had together meant so much to me. I was so afraid to tell you just how much because I was afraid to let myself just feel. I regret that. I think about my life now and how you aren't a part of it like you used to be. It hurts so much not to have you around. God woman, you used to drive me crazy like no one else could. I have a picture of you and Rachel that helps me remember the good times. I'm looking at is as I write this. Call it my muse…it works.
I love you. I always will love you but I understand that sometimes love isn't enough. You need more, you deserved more. Hell, I guess we all do. I hope you'll write again.
Always, House
Cuddy had tears in her eyes. House was trying, she could tell that much from the letter. He was indeed better at writing his feelings than he ever was speaking them. She thought about how difficult it must have been for him to pour his heart out again. The man who kept so much inside was trying to change. It would not be easy. She was surprised he brought up the green card marriage. She recalled vividly the moment she ran out of House's apartment. She nearly threw up on the way out. When she got home she called her sister to watch Rachel for a few days and then she sat on the floor in the living room and got drunk. She'd cried for hours while drinking herself into a stupor. When she woke the next morning she was lying on the floor, her head hurt and she'd started crying again realizing any chance she thought she had of ever getting House back was gone for good.
Now, thinking about these memories made Cuddy cry again. She knew House wasn't trying to hurt her with his words; he was trying to be honest with her. She couldn't tell if her tears were over how much he'd hurt her or how much she'd hurt him.
Cuddy read the letter one more time before getting out of the tub. After drying off she went into her bedroom to put on something to wear to bed. After reading his sad but heartfelt letter, she needed to feel close to him. She rummaged around in the bottom of her closet for a few minutes until she'd found what she was looking for. Exiting the closet looking quite pleased, she slipped the worn red garment over her head. She looked at herself in the mirror and smiled at the Suicide Jack's Last Man Standing Poker Tournament tee shirt that hung loose on her body. It was one the shirts she'd "borrowed" from House. She never washed the shirts because she loved the way they smelled, a mixture of his soap and cologne.
Cuddy crawled into bed and turned out the light. Just before drifting off to sleep, she softly whispered, "Goodnight House."