House welcomed the kiss but her jerked to pull his arms close to him with an, "Argh!" when Cuddy attacked his armpits. He squirmed under the further attacks she laid on him, caught between protesting and letting out vulnerable laughs. He was ultra sensitive after sex; he had ticklish enough spots on a good day but after sex he was simply ticklish everywhere. In retaliation, he dashed a hand out and managed to give her armpit a quick but fierce tickle before he was rolling away from Cuddy, trying to curl up protectively from her onslaught of more tickling.
"I'll get you back," he warned her when she decided to leave him alone to go to the bathroom. He would, too. But now that his body had tensed up a bit from the tickling, he had to stretch out all over again... which he didn't mind. Sprawling out onto his back, he gave his arms and legs and back a stretch, twisting and flexing his limbs and joints until all the tickle-induced tension was squeezed out. Then he just lay there, staring contentedly up at the ceiling until Cuddy returned with a facecloth.
He lifted his head from the pillow to look down at what she was doing, then dropped his head back. "I figured," he replied. He started to yawn. "That's all right," he continued once his yawn subsided. "I can watch TV or read." Cuddy had plenty of books - if TV didn't keep his interest, he'd surely find something on her bookshelves that was interesting. Point was, no matter how tired he was, he wasn't going to give into it just yet, not on his first night of getting out. "Or maybe I'll buzz my monster truck around the house and crash it into everything."
That reminded him, though. He was due for a dose of prazosin. As Cuddy finished cleaning him up, he pushed himself to a sitting position. "Just remembered - gotta take my meds."
"No truck," Cuddy said immediately. "It's too noisy. You'll keep me up and believe me--you don't want to do that."
It was entirely possible she wouldn't sleep long anyway. She'd been sleeping in three or four hour stretches for some time now, waking when the baby got restless or her back started to hurt or whatever other little discomfort disturbed her. She needed the sleep she could get and anyone who interrupted it wasn't going to get a warm welcome.
"Okay," she said with a nod. She was relieved to see he was taking his treatment seriously. She knew he had been--he'd committed himself for heaven's sake--but she was a little worried he'd try to avoid it once he was no longer in a controlled environment. He didn't like therapy to begin with so it wouldn't be a surprise if he tried to skip his sessions with Megan or 'forget' to take his meds. This was only his first day home so he was probably still on his best behavior but she hoped he'd get into a routine where his treatment would become a habit.
She took the washcloth back to the bathroom and rinsed it out before leaving it on the side of the tub. She went back to the bedroom and slipped between the sheets. She piled her pillows against the headboard and reclined back, pulling the top sheet to her waist...or, what used to be her waist. She wasn't ready to sleep just yet but it seemed easier to stay in bed. That way, when she did find herself drifing off, she wouldn't have to find the energy to get herself back to bed.
"Are they helping?" she asked House. "The meds--do you think they've helped?"
While Cuddy went back to the bathroom, House got up and left the room for his bag still in the front hall. He picked it up and limped back to the bedroom, dumping on the floor by his side of the bed. Then he sat down, leaned over and rummaged around in the bag once he unzipped it to find his medication.
He was prying one of the little bright blue capsules out of its pocket when Cuddy returned. "You mean these?" He popped the pill onto his palm. "I haven't had a full-scale nightmare in a while. So, I guess they are."
He threw the pill into his mouth, pulling a face at the bitter taste that it immediately imprinted on his tongue. He'd forgotten to get a glass of water; getting up from the bed, he headed for the bathroom and when he got to the sink, he turned the tap on and cupped his hands under the water, drinking it to swallow the pill. Once he had, he quickly washed his face, dried it on a towel and picked up his toothbrush to scrub his teeth.
After he finished brushing his teeth, went to the toilet and washed his hands, he returned to the bedroom, back around to his side of the bed. He decided he'd leave the prazosin on the bedside table - if he was going to stay for a few nights, which he'd decided he would, he'd leave them in the open where he'd see them and remember to take them.
"If you mean my happy pills..." he continued, returning to Cuddy's question as he sat on the edge of the bed, shoulders slouched.
He shrugged. Had he noticed a big change? Well, in some ways, yes. In some others, no. His problems hadn't gone away. He was still worried and troubled by a lot of things. But he wasn't in a constant state of feeling unsettled, like he was right on the edge of losing control. He didn't feel like he was drowning so much, either. Before, he'd felt weighted down with an incredible heaviness that made him feel like he was sinking right down to the bottom of an abyss he couldn't swim out of. The pills seemed to have taken away several of the weights pulling him down - he was nowhere near out of the waters yet, but at the very least he felt like he'd broken to the surface and could breathe a little better.
Cuddy was happy to hear he hadn't had one of his horrible nightmares lately. She knew he hated them, felt completely out of control when one took hold of his mind. They scared her, too. He'd get so deep into the nightmare he didn't know where he was or who was around him. After seeing a couple of them, she'd genuinely worried he might hurt himself unintentionally while in the grip of a nightmare. Later, when he'd confessed to feeling distraught enough to wish for death, she'd started worrying he'd injure himself intentionally.
She reached over and rubbed his back when he told her the anti-depressants were helping as well. She wasn't sure how he felt about that--about how the drugs affected him or even the fact he needed meds to begin with. For her, though, it was purely good news. With hindsight, she was able to see how overwhelmed he'd gotten by all his demons ganging up on him at once. A selfish part of her wished she could've helped, that she could've been enough to make him happy but objectively she understood that no one person could do that for him, not even himself. He needed the therapy and he needed the drugs. She was just glad they were actually working.
"I'm glad they're working. I feel better knowing this last month hasn't been for nothing. That would really be depressing." She rubbed his back a little more, then reached for his arm. "Come here," she said, tugging at him to come snuggle with her.
If he had it his way, none of this would have happened. That went without saying, of course. If he had it his way, he wouldn't need the medication, the therapy, the inpatient care, none of it. Technically, he did have it his way if he wanted to - if he wanted to, he could forego the therapy and the drugs and choose to battle on by himself. He was stubborn enough to, that was for sure. But he'd also seen how his troubles were so badly damaging his relationship with Cuddy. In a choice between battling on by himself and having Cuddy in his life, and his kid, he'd chosen to go with the latter.
He nodded slightly as Cuddy rubbed his back and said she was glad the meds were working. The concerns she voiced were the exact same ones he'd had, over and over again. Change was hard for him, especially when it came to this kind of change - accepting he had demons he needed to face and conquer. But he couldn't keep going the way he had. He could see that now.
As Cuddy tugged on his arm, he pushed back onto the bed, swung his legs up and turned in towards her as he scooted closer. He settled by her side with his arm curled around the base of her belly and his head tucked on her shoulder, just above her breast. He inhaled deeply and let out a slow breath.
He didn't say anything for a while. It was nice to simply lie with Cuddy and know he had all the time in the world to do so. For a short while, he even closed his eyes and listened to her breathing and the faint lub-dub of her heart beating. Eventually, he opened his eyes again and turned his head up against her shoulder so he was looking at her.
"Thank you," he said quietly.
He paused. He wanted to thank her for sticking by his side, for not leaving him, for helping him, for being tough with him, for not leaving him. For loving him.
Cuddy put her arm around his shoulder when he settled down next to her. It was nice to simply have him close where she could feel him, even smell a faint hint of his shampoo on his hair. All those times they'd been apart, not just the last month but all the times they'd been separated, she'd feared she'd never get to experience this again. Even when he'd been in the hospital, she'd worried he give up or he wouldn't get better or he'd get better but decide he didn't need her complicating her life. There were so many ways they could have fallen apart and having him here now was a gift. It wasn't one she took lightly either.
She rubbed her hand lightly over his shoulder and relaxed back against her pillows. She was enjoying the quiet when he suddenly turned his head. "You're welcome," she said, sounding almost hesitant. She hadn't done 'everything' so she wasn't sure she deserved his thanks. And she didn't want his thanks for the things she had done. She didn't ever want their relationship to become about what one of them had done or what one owed the other. She was with him because she loved him and she wanted him to be with her because he loved her.
She tucked her chin down to kiss him. "You're the one who's done all the hard work," she said, placing a second kiss to his forehead. She pulled her head back to look at him. "All I've done is wait. I'm good at that. I've been waiting for you for a long time."
Cuddy didn't sound like she believed him or was wary of his thanks, and he supposed he didn't blame her. After all, though he'd caused more than his share of problems to their relationship, Cuddy had contributed her share, too.
But the things she had done to help him and to stand by him was more than he deserved. She'd done more for him than he'd probably done for her, that was for sure. His more prominent memories of their relationship involved making Cuddy angry, making her sad, making her cry...
He tilted his head up a little further to meet her kiss. Going to hospital might have been hard work. It had definitely been a hard choice and an even harder adjustment. Cuddy had done a lot more for him than just wait. She'd been the one to hit him with the ultimatum that pushed him to seek help. She'd stuck by him, she'd put up with him, she'd tried to be patient with him. She'd also kept him employed, she'd bailed his ass out more times than he deserved, she looked out for him...
"You've done a lot more than that," he replied. He absently began caressing her belly, rubbing his fingers over the bed covers and running his palm in small, up and down strokes. He wasn't sure what she meant by waiting for him for a long time. There were a number of ways that could be interpreted and he wasn't sure which was the correct one.
Cuddy gave a small shrug. She had done a lot for House over the years both personally and professionally and it was nice to hear him acknowledge that. It was weird, though--as many times as she'd thought she'd like to hear him say "thank you," she found she didn't actually need his thanks. She'd chosen to protect and help him because she believed it was the right thing to do, not because she expected him to be grateful. In some strange way, it was as if whatever sacrifices she'd made meant more because she'd done them without expecting anything in return. Still, it was nice to know he did know what she'd done for him and he was grateful.
"I'm not sure," she said when he asked what she meant about waiting. She really didn't know. There had always been an attraction between them and she'd had fun with that, with the flirting and the innuendo, but she'd never allowed herself to admit to anything more than a superficial attraction. She'd suppressed any deeper feelings so strongly she wasn't sure any more when they'd begun.
"There was that one night, after Stacy left, and the way it ended I knew nothing was ever going to happen for us. But, being at least slightly self-destructive, I couldn't let it go," she said, idly tracing abstract patterns on his skin with her fingertip. It was older than that, though, maybe all the way back to university. There'd always been something about him that spoke to her. She suspected her years of unsuccessful dating were at least a little bit in part because she'd always been looking for someone like House. The trouble was, of course, there wasn't anyone like him. There was only the original.
"I think it started even before that. No, I know it started before that," she admitted. "I didn't want to want you. You're a great doctor but you were never relationship material. It didn't matter anyway because you weren't interested in me. Despite that, here I am, years later, feeling like for the first time in my life, I've finally got the one person who makes me whole."
House nestled his head more comfortably on Cuddy's shoulder, a slight frown forming as she talked. That night he and Cuddy had spent together had been a time he hadn't been able to let go of, either. It had happened at a time where everything in his life had turned upside down, from the infarction to Stacy leaving him. He'd pretended to everyone else that he was fine, that he'd moved on.
But really, he'd been anything but. The worst of it was the loneliness; he'd deserted everyone, Stacy had left him and he'd felt completely alone. For that one night with Cuddy, he felt for a little while that he belonged to someone again. Though he made certain to push Cuddy away from him in fear of her rejecting him more than anything, he'd been unable to let that night go at the same time.
His brows shot up in surprise at what Cuddy said next, about knowing her feelings for him and started long before anything had ever happened between them. He'd had secret fantasies that Cuddy had always been interested in him. There had always been an attraction between them but House was certain her attraction had never gone deeper than entertainment value. Still, he'd sometimes entertained fantasies that Cuddy had always had a thing for him, had always been interested in him.
It was true that he hadn't been interested in her during the years he was with Stacy - he hadn't been interested in anybody else aside from her, he'd been so ridiculously smitten. Once Stacy had left, however, there was a huge gaping hole in him and the closest thing he'd ever had to a relationship since was his and Cuddy's traded innuendos. That was where the fantasies of Cuddy always being interested in him began to surface. He fulfilled his needs, though, with hookers.
"Wow, that's a revelation," he said. He wasn't being sarcastic, either. He was genuinely surprised to hear her interest in him had run deep for years. Did he make her whole? He had a hard time believing he did - he hurt her more than he did her good. He didn't like hurting her, though. He didn't like himself when he did. In fact, he just plain didn't like himself.
He turned his head up against her shoulder again to look at her. "What makes you think I wasn't interested in you?"
Cuddy let out a soft laugh. It was a revelation, one that had been very slow in coming. Even now, she couldn't be completely sure what she'd felt and when she'd felt it. He'd been a major player in her life for so long but she'd tried so hard to keep him out of the center of her life. She'd decided he was bad news, at least on a personal level. Maybe that was a bit of sour grapes because he hadn't shown any real interest in her but there was still some truth to it. He was and always had been a difficult man and she'd conveniently convinced herself she wanted someone easy and normal...and boring.
She looked down at him when he asked why she thought he hadn't been interested. "Well, the fact you never tried to initiate anything was a clue," she said. "You never gave me any sign, not before Stacy, not after. You may have been interested in my breasts but you weren't interested in me."
It was more complicated than that, of course. It always was with him. He hadn't been interested in anyone after Stacy. Although she'd been hurt he never followed up on their one night together, with time she came to understand it wasn't her. He wouldn't have gotten into a relationship with anyone after Stacy. He was too wounded by her leaving.
It wasn't fair to say his only interest had been physical either. Yes, he had always enjoyed ogling her breasts or leering at her ass but if that had been all there was, he probably wouldn't have even remembered her name. And she certainly wouldn't have put up with his bull all these years. Something had clicked between them. They became friends and colleagues. They tormented each other but they also talked. They confided in each other. There'd always been some undefinable thing between them.
"It doesn't matter," she said, lifting her hand to stroke his hair. She let out a sigh and stared up at the ceiling for a moment before lowering her head to look at him again. "Even if you'd made a move years ago, I might've turned you down. I might've thought what the hell do I want with this crazy man?" She gave him a crooked smile. "Maybe we both needed to have the lives we've had separately before we were capable of seeing what we could have together. I'm just glad we did see it before it was too late."
"You never tried to initiate anything with me," he countered. "You never gave me any sign. You may have been interested in my big cane but you didn't seem the slightest bit interested in me, either."
Cuddy was right that he hadn't initiated anything with her... but neither had she, as he'd just pointed out. That she'd never pursued anything with him after their night together said to him she wasn't interested in taking things further. It was probably just as well in hindsight - he hadn't been in any place to have a relationship at that time. But it had admittedly hurt that she didn't seem to want anything further to do with him.
But like she said, it didn't matter anymore. That was back then and this was now. She probably would have turned him down. Fair enough, too, because he was a bastard that most sane women wouldn't want to have anything to do with in a million years. Proof that Cuddy was either insane or a masochist, or possibly both.
As she stroked his hair, House sighed and closed his eyes briefly. Maybe she was right that they'd needed to live their lives separately before realising what they were capable of having together. Better now than never. "Maybe," he agreed quietly.
He opened his eyes back up to Cuddy then. "But you're wrong, just so you know," he said. "About me not being interested in you."
"Never?" she asked, one eyebrow arched. Admittedly she'd never come right out and told him she was interested in a relationship but she'd done everything but that. She'd done everything she could to keep him close by, to help him. Some of that was for his benefit--she knew he needed his work to keep him sane. However, it was for her benefit as well. Almost since the moment she'd met him, she'd wanted him in her life and she'd achieved that any way she could.
Of course, if she'd thought he had any serious--ie not breast related--interest in her, she might've been more direct in expressing her own interest. One thing she'd learned was not to put her heart out where it could get trampled on. That wasn't his fault. All the men she'd expressed interest in had sent her on her way. In that sense, House was just like all the other guys. It was the only way in which he was like other men but it was the one way that made her keep her emotional distance.
There truly was no point in thinking about woulda/coulda/shoulda. The past couldn't be changed. Besides, who knew what might happen even if they could change it. Maybe they would've gotten together sooner, and maybe it would've been a disaster. What they had now could still end in disaster, too, but it didn't have to. They still had a potential future together and that's what she cared about, not some possible missed opportunity in the past.
"Oh, please," she scoffed gently when he told her she was wrong. In the early days, he'd already been a legend and she'd been just another face in the crowd. Then there'd been Stacy and House hadn't had any interest in anyone but her. Cuddy didn't think he'd even been able to see any woman but Stacy. He'd been completely in love with her. Then, after Stacy, he hadn't wanted another relationship. He'd done everything in his power to avoid the possibility. If he'd had any interest in Cuddy, he must've beaten it down before it could surface.
"Sorry," she said, gently ruffling his hair. "If you say you were interested, then I believe you. I just.... When were you interested?" she asked. "Because I obviously missed it."
House gave her an incredulous look. Though he'd never outright pursued a relationship with Cuddy, he did think he made it kind of obvious that he liked her. "I've been sexually harassing you for eight years and you missed that I was interested?"
He shoved himself up on his elbow so he could see Cuddy better. He hadn't just noticed her at work - he'd noticed her back when they were in college. Well, he'd noticed a lot of girls in college, though he couldn't recall any of their names. Cuddy's name, however, he'd remembered.
"Do you remember that time in college I found your neurobiology notes that you'd lost? I gave them to you in the cafeteria at lunch and told you you'd labelled the Brodmann brain area 36 incorrectly? You'd labelled it parahippocampal gyrus; I told you it was the parahippocampal cortex. I think you were kind of pissed off that I'd gone through your notes. Which I did - I read through everything."
He paused, a mildly sheepish look growing on his face. "You didn't lose your notes. I might have taken them out of your bag when you weren't looking."
"I realize you have a difficult time with the 'subtle' differences, but sexual harassment and romantic interest aren't the same thing."
Except possibly in House's case, she had to admit. He was just socially awkward enough he might consider ogling to be an indication of a deeper interest. The added benefit for him was that if the target of his interest rejected him, he could pretend his own interest had never been anything but purely physical. What he didn't seem to realize, though, was that if he ogled every decent set of breasts that crossed his field of vision, there was no reason for Cuddy to think it meant anything more in her case.
She needed a more definitive sign in any case. Unlike House, she was not socially awkward. She got along fine with people as colleagues and friends. She'd never gotten the hang of romantic relationships, though. She didn't know why but she never read the signs right. Too many times she'd ended up looking stupid or pathetic because she'd misread a man's level of interest. She'd learned to wait until she got a clearer indication which, with House, never came.
She let out a faint hurrumph. She absolutely remembered him returning her notes. She'd been thrilled to have her notes returned to her. She'd been in a panic trying to find them and worried about how she'd make up for the loss if she couldn't. Lisa Cuddy had not been prepared to see her grade drop just because she'd lost her notes. When House had shown up with them, she'd damn near kissed him, she was so relieved. The urge to kiss him had died quickly, though, when he started talking. The arrogant bastard had not only read them all, he'd corrected her. It had been so annoying, and so House.
"You didn't," she exclaimed. She pushed upright a bit more, staring at him in surprise. Then she gave him a light thump on the head. "Do you have any idea how worried I was about those notes?" She laughed then, and kissed the spot she'd thumped. It was such a classic House move. She really should've seen through it, except she hadn't known him as well back then. She hadn't known to look for ulterior motives.
"Ow," he complained at being hit on the head, not that it hurt at all. As he rubbed the spot she'd hit, he replied, "Of course I knew you'd be worried. I wouldn't have stolen them if I didn't think it would get your attention."
He hadn't known Cuddy too well at college, but he'd known her well enough to know she was a study fanatic. In fact, he needn't have even known her to know that - almost every time he'd laid eyes on her, she had her face jammed in a book, or her arms bundled with books and notes.
That was all the info he'd needed to know how much she'd freak over losing an entire subject's worth of notes. It was a good ploy in getting her attention, too, and it had definitely worked. Though, he hadn't really known what to do once he did have her attention. He was just as awkward back then as he was now with approaching women he liked.
When Cuddy kissed him and exclaimed that he should have said something, he shrugged. "That would've been boring," he answered. The actual translation of his answer was: I was too chicken to. He shrugged again. "It was an excuse to talk to you more than anything. And it worked. Well, up until the part where I told you the places in your notes that you'd gotten things wrong."
He smiled slightly to himself. Some things never change, he thought. He'd never in a million years thought back then that he'd end up working for Cuddy and doing things like correcting her and Cuddy getting pissy at him doing so. In one way or another, he and Cuddy had remained in each other's orbit for twenty years - that was even more than the amount of years he'd known Wilson.
"Actually," he said, "I was going to ask you to come out with me one night to the student bar. That was the whole point of me stealing your notes. I had a plan devised. But then I guess I... well, I chickened out." He rolled his eyes at himself, a little flustered by his admission.
"You're such an idiot," Cuddy said, her tone a mixture of exasperation and affection. He hadn't needed an excuse to talk to her. Even back then, everyone had known who Gregory House was. And a lot of people, including her, had wanted to get a little closer and watch the genius at work. If he'd wanted to talk to her, all he had to do was crook his finger and she would've come running.
Thing was, she had been thrilled when he'd returned her notes. She'd been thrilled he'd even noticed her...right up to the point where he started correcting her. Her ego was big enough she didn't take well to being told she was wrong, especially not in the blunt way House did it. What had really deflated her ego, though, was the thought he believed she was stupid. Compared to him, she had been pretty ignorant but having it pointed out.... Well, it had killed any small notion she might've had that he could ever be interested in her.
"We're both idiots," she added, relaxing back against the pillows again. She couldn't help but wonder what it would've been like if they'd hooked up back then. Back when they were both a little less cynical, back when he'd had full use of his leg. Would they have been mature enough to see past the surface and recognize each other's true qualities? Maybe. Or maybe not. There just wasn't any point regretting the missed opportunity.
Although....
"For a genius, you're not all that bright sometimes," she said. "You never figured out the only reason you knew who I was is because I audited a class you were taking."
"I'll get you back," he warned her when she decided to leave him alone to go to the bathroom. He would, too. But now that his body had tensed up a bit from the tickling, he had to stretch out all over again... which he didn't mind. Sprawling out onto his back, he gave his arms and legs and back a stretch, twisting and flexing his limbs and joints until all the tickle-induced tension was squeezed out. Then he just lay there, staring contentedly up at the ceiling until Cuddy returned with a facecloth.
He lifted his head from the pillow to look down at what she was doing, then dropped his head back. "I figured," he replied. He started to yawn. "That's all right," he continued once his yawn subsided. "I can watch TV or read." Cuddy had plenty of books - if TV didn't keep his interest, he'd surely find something on her bookshelves that was interesting. Point was, no matter how tired he was, he wasn't going to give into it just yet, not on his first night of getting out. "Or maybe I'll buzz my monster truck around the house and crash it into everything."
That reminded him, though. He was due for a dose of prazosin. As Cuddy finished cleaning him up, he pushed himself to a sitting position. "Just remembered - gotta take my meds."
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It was entirely possible she wouldn't sleep long anyway. She'd been sleeping in three or four hour stretches for some time now, waking when the baby got restless or her back started to hurt or whatever other little discomfort disturbed her. She needed the sleep she could get and anyone who interrupted it wasn't going to get a warm welcome.
"Okay," she said with a nod. She was relieved to see he was taking his treatment seriously. She knew he had been--he'd committed himself for heaven's sake--but she was a little worried he'd try to avoid it once he was no longer in a controlled environment. He didn't like therapy to begin with so it wouldn't be a surprise if he tried to skip his sessions with Megan or 'forget' to take his meds. This was only his first day home so he was probably still on his best behavior but she hoped he'd get into a routine where his treatment would become a habit.
She took the washcloth back to the bathroom and rinsed it out before leaving it on the side of the tub. She went back to the bedroom and slipped between the sheets. She piled her pillows against the headboard and reclined back, pulling the top sheet to her waist...or, what used to be her waist. She wasn't ready to sleep just yet but it seemed easier to stay in bed. That way, when she did find herself drifing off, she wouldn't have to find the energy to get herself back to bed.
"Are they helping?" she asked House. "The meds--do you think they've helped?"
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He was prying one of the little bright blue capsules out of its pocket when Cuddy returned. "You mean these?" He popped the pill onto his palm. "I haven't had a full-scale nightmare in a while. So, I guess they are."
He threw the pill into his mouth, pulling a face at the bitter taste that it immediately imprinted on his tongue. He'd forgotten to get a glass of water; getting up from the bed, he headed for the bathroom and when he got to the sink, he turned the tap on and cupped his hands under the water, drinking it to swallow the pill. Once he had, he quickly washed his face, dried it on a towel and picked up his toothbrush to scrub his teeth.
After he finished brushing his teeth, went to the toilet and washed his hands, he returned to the bedroom, back around to his side of the bed. He decided he'd leave the prazosin on the bedside table - if he was going to stay for a few nights, which he'd decided he would, he'd leave them in the open where he'd see them and remember to take them.
"If you mean my happy pills..." he continued, returning to Cuddy's question as he sat on the edge of the bed, shoulders slouched.
He shrugged. Had he noticed a big change? Well, in some ways, yes. In some others, no. His problems hadn't gone away. He was still worried and troubled by a lot of things. But he wasn't in a constant state of feeling unsettled, like he was right on the edge of losing control. He didn't feel like he was drowning so much, either. Before, he'd felt weighted down with an incredible heaviness that made him feel like he was sinking right down to the bottom of an abyss he couldn't swim out of. The pills seemed to have taken away several of the weights pulling him down - he was nowhere near out of the waters yet, but at the very least he felt like he'd broken to the surface and could breathe a little better.
"Yeah, they're helping."
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She reached over and rubbed his back when he told her the anti-depressants were helping as well. She wasn't sure how he felt about that--about how the drugs affected him or even the fact he needed meds to begin with. For her, though, it was purely good news. With hindsight, she was able to see how overwhelmed he'd gotten by all his demons ganging up on him at once. A selfish part of her wished she could've helped, that she could've been enough to make him happy but objectively she understood that no one person could do that for him, not even himself. He needed the therapy and he needed the drugs. She was just glad they were actually working.
"I'm glad they're working. I feel better knowing this last month hasn't been for nothing. That would really be depressing." She rubbed his back a little more, then reached for his arm. "Come here," she said, tugging at him to come snuggle with her.
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He nodded slightly as Cuddy rubbed his back and said she was glad the meds were working. The concerns she voiced were the exact same ones he'd had, over and over again. Change was hard for him, especially when it came to this kind of change - accepting he had demons he needed to face and conquer. But he couldn't keep going the way he had. He could see that now.
As Cuddy tugged on his arm, he pushed back onto the bed, swung his legs up and turned in towards her as he scooted closer. He settled by her side with his arm curled around the base of her belly and his head tucked on her shoulder, just above her breast. He inhaled deeply and let out a slow breath.
He didn't say anything for a while. It was nice to simply lie with Cuddy and know he had all the time in the world to do so. For a short while, he even closed his eyes and listened to her breathing and the faint lub-dub of her heart beating. Eventually, he opened his eyes again and turned his head up against her shoulder so he was looking at her.
"Thank you," he said quietly.
He paused. He wanted to thank her for sticking by his side, for not leaving him, for helping him, for being tough with him, for not leaving him. For loving him.
"For everything."
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She rubbed her hand lightly over his shoulder and relaxed back against her pillows. She was enjoying the quiet when he suddenly turned his head. "You're welcome," she said, sounding almost hesitant. She hadn't done 'everything' so she wasn't sure she deserved his thanks. And she didn't want his thanks for the things she had done. She didn't ever want their relationship to become about what one of them had done or what one owed the other. She was with him because she loved him and she wanted him to be with her because he loved her.
She tucked her chin down to kiss him. "You're the one who's done all the hard work," she said, placing a second kiss to his forehead. She pulled her head back to look at him. "All I've done is wait. I'm good at that. I've been waiting for you for a long time."
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But the things she had done to help him and to stand by him was more than he deserved. She'd done more for him than he'd probably done for her, that was for sure. His more prominent memories of their relationship involved making Cuddy angry, making her sad, making her cry...
He tilted his head up a little further to meet her kiss. Going to hospital might have been hard work. It had definitely been a hard choice and an even harder adjustment. Cuddy had done a lot more for him than just wait. She'd been the one to hit him with the ultimatum that pushed him to seek help. She'd stuck by him, she'd put up with him, she'd tried to be patient with him. She'd also kept him employed, she'd bailed his ass out more times than he deserved, she looked out for him...
"You've done a lot more than that," he replied. He absently began caressing her belly, rubbing his fingers over the bed covers and running his palm in small, up and down strokes. He wasn't sure what she meant by waiting for him for a long time. There were a number of ways that could be interpreted and he wasn't sure which was the correct one.
"What do you mean?" he asked her.
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"I'm not sure," she said when he asked what she meant about waiting. She really didn't know. There had always been an attraction between them and she'd had fun with that, with the flirting and the innuendo, but she'd never allowed herself to admit to anything more than a superficial attraction. She'd suppressed any deeper feelings so strongly she wasn't sure any more when they'd begun.
"There was that one night, after Stacy left, and the way it ended I knew nothing was ever going to happen for us. But, being at least slightly self-destructive, I couldn't let it go," she said, idly tracing abstract patterns on his skin with her fingertip. It was older than that, though, maybe all the way back to university. There'd always been something about him that spoke to her. She suspected her years of unsuccessful dating were at least a little bit in part because she'd always been looking for someone like House. The trouble was, of course, there wasn't anyone like him. There was only the original.
"I think it started even before that. No, I know it started before that," she admitted. "I didn't want to want you. You're a great doctor but you were never relationship material. It didn't matter anyway because you weren't interested in me. Despite that, here I am, years later, feeling like for the first time in my life, I've finally got the one person who makes me whole."
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But really, he'd been anything but. The worst of it was the loneliness; he'd deserted everyone, Stacy had left him and he'd felt completely alone. For that one night with Cuddy, he felt for a little while that he belonged to someone again. Though he made certain to push Cuddy away from him in fear of her rejecting him more than anything, he'd been unable to let that night go at the same time.
His brows shot up in surprise at what Cuddy said next, about knowing her feelings for him and started long before anything had ever happened between them. He'd had secret fantasies that Cuddy had always been interested in him. There had always been an attraction between them but House was certain her attraction had never gone deeper than entertainment value. Still, he'd sometimes entertained fantasies that Cuddy had always had a thing for him, had always been interested in him.
It was true that he hadn't been interested in her during the years he was with Stacy - he hadn't been interested in anybody else aside from her, he'd been so ridiculously smitten. Once Stacy had left, however, there was a huge gaping hole in him and the closest thing he'd ever had to a relationship since was his and Cuddy's traded innuendos. That was where the fantasies of Cuddy always being interested in him began to surface. He fulfilled his needs, though, with hookers.
"Wow, that's a revelation," he said. He wasn't being sarcastic, either. He was genuinely surprised to hear her interest in him had run deep for years. Did he make her whole? He had a hard time believing he did - he hurt her more than he did her good. He didn't like hurting her, though. He didn't like himself when he did. In fact, he just plain didn't like himself.
He turned his head up against her shoulder again to look at her. "What makes you think I wasn't interested in you?"
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She looked down at him when he asked why she thought he hadn't been interested. "Well, the fact you never tried to initiate anything was a clue," she said. "You never gave me any sign, not before Stacy, not after. You may have been interested in my breasts but you weren't interested in me."
It was more complicated than that, of course. It always was with him. He hadn't been interested in anyone after Stacy. Although she'd been hurt he never followed up on their one night together, with time she came to understand it wasn't her. He wouldn't have gotten into a relationship with anyone after Stacy. He was too wounded by her leaving.
It wasn't fair to say his only interest had been physical either. Yes, he had always enjoyed ogling her breasts or leering at her ass but if that had been all there was, he probably wouldn't have even remembered her name. And she certainly wouldn't have put up with his bull all these years. Something had clicked between them. They became friends and colleagues. They tormented each other but they also talked. They confided in each other. There'd always been some undefinable thing between them.
"It doesn't matter," she said, lifting her hand to stroke his hair. She let out a sigh and stared up at the ceiling for a moment before lowering her head to look at him again. "Even if you'd made a move years ago, I might've turned you down. I might've thought what the hell do I want with this crazy man?" She gave him a crooked smile. "Maybe we both needed to have the lives we've had separately before we were capable of seeing what we could have together. I'm just glad we did see it before it was too late."
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Cuddy was right that he hadn't initiated anything with her... but neither had she, as he'd just pointed out. That she'd never pursued anything with him after their night together said to him she wasn't interested in taking things further. It was probably just as well in hindsight - he hadn't been in any place to have a relationship at that time. But it had admittedly hurt that she didn't seem to want anything further to do with him.
But like she said, it didn't matter anymore. That was back then and this was now. She probably would have turned him down. Fair enough, too, because he was a bastard that most sane women wouldn't want to have anything to do with in a million years. Proof that Cuddy was either insane or a masochist, or possibly both.
As she stroked his hair, House sighed and closed his eyes briefly. Maybe she was right that they'd needed to live their lives separately before realising what they were capable of having together. Better now than never. "Maybe," he agreed quietly.
He opened his eyes back up to Cuddy then. "But you're wrong, just so you know," he said. "About me not being interested in you."
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Of course, if she'd thought he had any serious--ie not breast related--interest in her, she might've been more direct in expressing her own interest. One thing she'd learned was not to put her heart out where it could get trampled on. That wasn't his fault. All the men she'd expressed interest in had sent her on her way. In that sense, House was just like all the other guys. It was the only way in which he was like other men but it was the one way that made her keep her emotional distance.
There truly was no point in thinking about woulda/coulda/shoulda. The past couldn't be changed. Besides, who knew what might happen even if they could change it. Maybe they would've gotten together sooner, and maybe it would've been a disaster. What they had now could still end in disaster, too, but it didn't have to. They still had a potential future together and that's what she cared about, not some possible missed opportunity in the past.
"Oh, please," she scoffed gently when he told her she was wrong. In the early days, he'd already been a legend and she'd been just another face in the crowd. Then there'd been Stacy and House hadn't had any interest in anyone but her. Cuddy didn't think he'd even been able to see any woman but Stacy. He'd been completely in love with her. Then, after Stacy, he hadn't wanted another relationship. He'd done everything in his power to avoid the possibility. If he'd had any interest in Cuddy, he must've beaten it down before it could surface.
"Sorry," she said, gently ruffling his hair. "If you say you were interested, then I believe you. I just.... When were you interested?" she asked. "Because I obviously missed it."
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He shoved himself up on his elbow so he could see Cuddy better. He hadn't just noticed her at work - he'd noticed her back when they were in college. Well, he'd noticed a lot of girls in college, though he couldn't recall any of their names. Cuddy's name, however, he'd remembered.
"Do you remember that time in college I found your neurobiology notes that you'd lost? I gave them to you in the cafeteria at lunch and told you you'd labelled the Brodmann brain area 36 incorrectly? You'd labelled it parahippocampal gyrus; I told you it was the parahippocampal cortex. I think you were kind of pissed off that I'd gone through your notes. Which I did - I read through everything."
He paused, a mildly sheepish look growing on his face. "You didn't lose your notes. I might have taken them out of your bag when you weren't looking."
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Except possibly in House's case, she had to admit. He was just socially awkward enough he might consider ogling to be an indication of a deeper interest. The added benefit for him was that if the target of his interest rejected him, he could pretend his own interest had never been anything but purely physical. What he didn't seem to realize, though, was that if he ogled every decent set of breasts that crossed his field of vision, there was no reason for Cuddy to think it meant anything more in her case.
She needed a more definitive sign in any case. Unlike House, she was not socially awkward. She got along fine with people as colleagues and friends. She'd never gotten the hang of romantic relationships, though. She didn't know why but she never read the signs right. Too many times she'd ended up looking stupid or pathetic because she'd misread a man's level of interest. She'd learned to wait until she got a clearer indication which, with House, never came.
She let out a faint hurrumph. She absolutely remembered him returning her notes. She'd been thrilled to have her notes returned to her. She'd been in a panic trying to find them and worried about how she'd make up for the loss if she couldn't. Lisa Cuddy had not been prepared to see her grade drop just because she'd lost her notes. When House had shown up with them, she'd damn near kissed him, she was so relieved. The urge to kiss him had died quickly, though, when he started talking. The arrogant bastard had not only read them all, he'd corrected her. It had been so annoying, and so House.
"You didn't," she exclaimed. She pushed upright a bit more, staring at him in surprise. Then she gave him a light thump on the head. "Do you have any idea how worried I was about those notes?" She laughed then, and kissed the spot she'd thumped. It was such a classic House move. She really should've seen through it, except she hadn't known him as well back then. She hadn't known to look for ulterior motives.
"Why didn't you just say something?"
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He hadn't known Cuddy too well at college, but he'd known her well enough to know she was a study fanatic. In fact, he needn't have even known her to know that - almost every time he'd laid eyes on her, she had her face jammed in a book, or her arms bundled with books and notes.
That was all the info he'd needed to know how much she'd freak over losing an entire subject's worth of notes. It was a good ploy in getting her attention, too, and it had definitely worked. Though, he hadn't really known what to do once he did have her attention. He was just as awkward back then as he was now with approaching women he liked.
When Cuddy kissed him and exclaimed that he should have said something, he shrugged. "That would've been boring," he answered. The actual translation of his answer was: I was too chicken to. He shrugged again. "It was an excuse to talk to you more than anything. And it worked. Well, up until the part where I told you the places in your notes that you'd gotten things wrong."
He smiled slightly to himself. Some things never change, he thought. He'd never in a million years thought back then that he'd end up working for Cuddy and doing things like correcting her and Cuddy getting pissy at him doing so. In one way or another, he and Cuddy had remained in each other's orbit for twenty years - that was even more than the amount of years he'd known Wilson.
"Actually," he said, "I was going to ask you to come out with me one night to the student bar. That was the whole point of me stealing your notes. I had a plan devised. But then I guess I... well, I chickened out." He rolled his eyes at himself, a little flustered by his admission.
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Thing was, she had been thrilled when he'd returned her notes. She'd been thrilled he'd even noticed her...right up to the point where he started correcting her. Her ego was big enough she didn't take well to being told she was wrong, especially not in the blunt way House did it. What had really deflated her ego, though, was the thought he believed she was stupid. Compared to him, she had been pretty ignorant but having it pointed out.... Well, it had killed any small notion she might've had that he could ever be interested in her.
"We're both idiots," she added, relaxing back against the pillows again. She couldn't help but wonder what it would've been like if they'd hooked up back then. Back when they were both a little less cynical, back when he'd had full use of his leg. Would they have been mature enough to see past the surface and recognize each other's true qualities? Maybe. Or maybe not. There just wasn't any point regretting the missed opportunity.
Although....
"For a genius, you're not all that bright sometimes," she said. "You never figured out the only reason you knew who I was is because I audited a class you were taking."
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