Hello guys!
I'm sorry if this took me so long, I didn't expect it to. I hope you enjoy this part! Again, thanks to everyone for your kind words, they Mean a lot for me :)
The door closed, causing a vaguely audible sound as the wind slammed it shut more violently than she wanted, and Cuddy hurried to help House to stand still as he dangerously flinched. She let her purse and House's backpack drop from her shoulders and supported the man, guiding him to his room. The few steps they made to reach the bedroom seemed to be miles, to both of them, but Cuddy was glad he didn't try to make it any harder and cooperated easily, which surprised her to a certain extent.
Once sitting on the edge of his bed, safe and sound – almost, Cuddy headed back to the doorway, picking up the bags she'd negligently left on the floor before returning to the room where House was half-laying now.
She looked down for a second as he rubbed his thigh, guessing he wouldn't want anyone to witness the moment. It was too intimate, too humiliating, and she knew things about that. She knew that despite the change in their relationship, pain was a bubble that no one was allowed to enter, not that easily. She also knew that guilt was a major factor explaining her behavior but preferred not to admit it. So Cuddy busied herself cleaning up his stuff, putting his clothes into the closet and taking medical instruments from her bag.
"This really is insane," she said, back to him.
"We both are doctors, I'll survive." He put his hurt leg onto the mattress with a help of his hands, grimacing as a cramp ran through his spine. He was glad she intentionally didn't face him, but didn't make a comment about it.
"We don't have a hospital's commodities," Cuddy countered, preparing a syringe of a sedative and again pausing a second before turning to face him. "I'll have to go back to the hospital. I'm giving you a sedative and painkillers, so don't take any Vicodin," she said, planting the needle in his arm as he weakly nodded.
He let his head fall backward, closing his eyes and relishing the sensation of appeasement that overwhelmed him once the cocktail started to show its effects. Cuddy looked at him, confused and relieved.
"I still think you should be hospitalized," she said as she put the syringe on the bedside table, not losing eye-contact with him. She looked at him with compassion and understanding, but also with worry and she didn't hide it when he pierced her with his own gaze.
"I still don't want to hear my best friend saying I killed his girlfriend," House said in a low voice. So low that he hoped it was enough not to be heard. But she heard it. She also knew that it was a dangerous ground to go through, and that she had to be careful with her word choice as the man facing her would retract and return to his fortress and not get out of it again if he felt too exposed. But somehow, the things that were happening between them and him trusting her enough to open himself that way gave her the confidence to try.
"It's not your fault," she murmured, risking to touch his arm.
"I didn't say it was. But he will," he said, looking at her without really seeing her, his mind was absent, now. And it wasn't only because of the injection she gave him.
"He's angry at the world, it'll pass," she tried to rationalize, without hoping it'd really make him feel better, even slightly.
"Will it?" he added, sarcasm filling the tone of his voice. "I went far this time," House said, more to himself.
"You don't have to control everything all the time," Cuddy gently told him. The thought that they'd rarely had a deep and calm conversation crossed his mind. He found himself liking it though it wasn't easy. Although he wasn't comfortable, he didn't fear her reaction, and it was just okay.
"This is how I stay safe," he said, now his voice a bit sleepy, and warm. He closed his eyes a second and she watched him. In spite of his tired features, she thought he was agreeable to look at, with all the wrinkles that defined his face, his little nose, the thin lips that a neglected beard devoured, and the blue eyes of his that met her blue-gray ones when he opened them.
"Safety isn't about control," Cuddy countered, frowning a bit. Her nose wrinkled, as it often did when she was arguing or confused, and he'd always found that beautiful on her.
"Yeah, safety is about the feeling others give us," he said, mockingly and somehow bitterly. He perfectly understood what she meant, and so did she.
"Not automatically. But being alone doesn't mean you're safe."
She didn't look away, neither did he, though it allowed them to read in each other. But being bare-souled didn't bother them at that very moment. Their eyes spoke more loudly than their words, and they revealed all the unsaid things they hid in between the words.
"I'd rather be," he said, shrugging. His thigh started to wake up and his head to feel dizzy. He put a hand on his scar and massaged it slightly through his jeans.
"This isn't what you said last time," Cuddy objected, an eyebrow slightly higher than the other. "What was that, then?"
"What is this?" he asked in his turn, vaguely gesturing to the space between them.
Cuddy bit her lip. Now that was a dangerous ground for her. For both of them, in fact. She had no idea what would be his reaction to any of her answers, not that she had one. "I don't know," she sincerely said, trying to keep her eyes locked to the oceans fixing her.
"Unknowns are safe?"
"I'd take the risk."
He didn't say a thing, just contemplating her eyes that asked him that silent question. Would you? He didn't know the right answer to that. It was not like there was a right or a wrong one, he just didn't know to what point he'd push his limits, and for now, he preferred to be safe. And she understood that.
So she got up after a sigh and reached for her purse, before returning near him and handing him two pills and the glass of water that was onto the bedside table. "Take it, it'll help you to sleep," she said, taking the needle and other instruments she used and heading to the bathroom as he took the meds. "I'll be back at 4. Call me at the first problem, I don't want to have to deal with a half-dead man," she said as she went back to the room and took her stuff.
She exited the room as he nodded, settling correctly under the blanket.
Cuddy closed the folder and put it on top of the ones she had already consulted before taking another one and opening it without pausing. The sooner she resumed her work, the better it'd be, and she had a lot of it since she had neglected her job in the few past days, considering the circumstances.
She consulted her wrist-watch as a knock on the door came to her ears. 10 a.m. Without raising her head and still filling a form, she allowed the person behind the wooden door to come in with a distracted 'yes?'. She stopped running her ink pen onto the paper in a sudden movement, putting it aside as she met Wilson's dead gaze. She thought that even in sorrow, he didn't lose his good manners. Cuddy looked down for a moment, feigning to put the folders away. She wondered if he slept at the hospital.
"Wilson," she saluted him once she recollected herself.
"You have a minute?" he asked, playing nervously with his hands and looking at his shoes.
"Sure. You want to go somewhere else?" Cuddy offered, already getting up and getting around her desk.
"Thank you," he said, grateful. Being in the hospital revived not so dead memories and, for the moment, he'd rather forget everything. He was glad she understood that. He watched her put on her coat, reaching for her purse afterward and silently asking him if they may go as she put her phone into it. His response was silent, too. Nodding, Cuddy preceded him toward the door and paused, waiting for him to follow. She opened it as she heard his footsteps and they made their way through the main door of the hospital.
Smiling at the waiter that gave her the menu, she ordered only two coffees, after quickly consulting Wilson who seemed to approve. The suit-dressed man nodded and walked away to get their order ready after a few polite phrases, leaving them alone at the tiny table of the café.
"How are you?" Cuddy queried, biting her lip as soon as the stupid question escaped her mouth. Actually, she didn't know how to deal with other people's grief.
"You already know how I am," Wilson said, looking at his joined hands in front of him.
"I… I am sorry," she apologized, her lips curving in a genuine expression of guilt. "You can talk to me, if you want," she gently offered, putting a hand on his. They were cold.
"I don't know what to say."
Cuddy took a moment and looked at the street, through the window that gave a view on the animated town. For those people outside, it was just a normal day, but not for the man beside her. She measured her words this time. "How do you feel?"
"Unfair. I feel like this is unfair," Wilson said, his voice trembling and it felt like each word he said was a struggle.
"Life is unfair," Cuddy replied, turning to look at him. He lowered his head, slightly tightening his grip on her hand. "All we can do is keep fighting to make it a bit less so."
He looked back at her, she was right. But the last thing he felt capable of doing right now was fighting against the injustice of life. "Yeah, I guess I'll just get over it," he said, though, with no real enthusiasm in his voice and eyes.
"You'll be fine, just give it time," Cuddy added, a tiny but encouraging smile on her lips and squeezing his hand in turn. He was glad she was there. He did his best to return her smile but all his lips did was tremble before they froze again.
"Thank you. For being here," he said, looking down at the table again. He wanted to say something, but didn't know how, or even if he had the strength to say those words. Cuddy didn't say anything, she just shared his silence; and his sorrow, as much as she was capable of feeling it. She put an arm around his shoulders and stood still, her other hand in his. The coffee had been on their table for several minutes and was probably cold now, but neither of them touched their cup.
"The… Funeral. It's tomorrow," he said, as if he was realizing it right then and right there. "Will you…"
"Of course, Wilson. I'll be there," she quickly affirmed, meeting his gaze and hoping it'd reassure him to a certain extent.
He nodded, looking away and freeing his hand, to take the cup of coffee in front of him. The discussion had exhausted him beyond belief and the coming days seemed to be a mountain of which he couldn't see the peak. He appreciated the silence that filled the air for a moment, but he could feel that Cuddy wanted to say something else, and that something visibly bothered her.
"Wilson… Do you want him to come too?" Cuddy asked, after a long hesitation.
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