This Sinking Boat
Title: This Sinking Boat
Pairings: House/Cuddy
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Don't own House M.D. nor the characters. Don't own "Falling Slowly" by Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova either.
Summary: Begins in the early times when House worked at PPTH and then courses through tid bits of the House/Cuddy relationship and ending where I feel like it (around late season three/season four).
Author's Note: As it stands now, this is a oneshot with an underbelly of slight subtext and a questionable ending. However, I could end up making this into a chapter fic depending on feedback and potential. (And if I get any brilliant ideas. Although, any possible future chapters will more than likely not contain any more lyrics.)
I don't know you, but I want you all the more for that.
Cuddy approached his office and sucked in a quick breath as she pushed open the glass door. He was standing behind his desk and shoving a few charts into his backpack. A suitcase rested on the floor next to the desk.
“What are you doing?” she asked him. She was actually going to ask if he wanted to go out and have a drink with her. However, his current display appeared to be a much more pressing matter.
House brought his eyes up to her. “What are you doing?”
“Asked you first.” She stepped into the office, letting the door swing silently closed behind her.
“Packing.” House directed his gaze back down to the backpack and zipped it shut.
“Why?” Cuddy raised an eyebrow.
“Vacation,” he gave and slung the backpack over one shoulder.
Cuddy folded her arms across her chest as her mouth set itself into a small frown. “You never take vacations.”
“Going to my folks’.” He managed his suitcase in one hand while his cane was in the other.
“You hate your parents,” she replied.
“Funny that I’d be going there, huh?” He raised his eyebrows to her.
Cuddy moved across the room, making him stop as she blocked his path. “What’s going on, Greg?”
“Nothing, Cuddy.” House gave her a shrug in return.
“You know, you can call me by my first name,” she told him. “I thought since I was your doctor before and since we had been exchanging holiday cards-”
“Stacy handled the cards,” he cut her off.
“Oh.” She directed her eyes to the floor.
“I’ll be back on Monday,” he said.
She brought her eyes back up to him. “You’re not going to visit your parents, are you?”
His eyes were still locked on hers. “No.”
House stepped around Cuddy, heading for his office door. She spun around, watching his backside as he tried to hurry with his limp.
“Greg.”
He stopped, straightening, and faced her.
“Be careful,” she told him and he nodded in reply before letting himself out of his office.
Words fall through me, and always fool me, and I can't react.
“I don’t have a problem,” House insisted as he practically knocked Cuddy over on his way down the hall.
“Then give me your Vicodin,” Cuddy replied, following after him after regaining her balance.
“No,” he called back over his shoulder.
Cuddy shook her head, picking up her pace, and sighed. “House-”
House spun quickly and Cuddy almost lost balance once again as she prevented herself from crashing into him.
“If I give you my Vicodin, I would just be giving in to your egomaniacal mind,” House said, his words biting.
Cuddy drew back. “What are you talking about?”
“You’re trying to prove a point, correct?” House asked her.
“Yeah, but-” Cuddy attempted to defend her actions with truth.
“I’m not your experiment, Cuddy,” House cut her off sharply and took off again.
“House, this has nothing to do with-” Cuddy let out a frustrated cry as House rounded a corner and was gone from her sight.
And games that never amount to more than they're meant will play themselves out.
Cuddy’s hands were placed on her hips as she stood next to the nurse’s station in the Clinic. House was standing in front of her, attempting to bother her about trivial things in order to get her to dismiss him from the area. The surrounding nurses were ignoring the two, finding it easier to get their work done if they didn’t occupy themselves with the issues going on between the two rivaling parties.
“Are you going to give me an explanation?” Cuddy asked House, cocking her head to the side.
“For?” House leaned in, exaggerating the word.
“For you showing up at my house last night,” Cuddy offered him an answer.
House straightened and shrugged. “It was all in the chart.”
“I thought giving you time to come up with an excuse would be beneficial to both of us,” Cuddy told him, clearly not pleased with his response.
“What do you mean by that?” House eyed her up.
“Either you would own up to your feelings or prove to me that feelings had nothing to do with it.” Cuddy tried to act nonchalant as she snatched a chart from the top of a pile.
“I don’t have feelings for you.” House rolled his eyes at her. “I just like messing with you.”
Cuddy’s eyes immediately locked on House. “Why?”
“Because Wilson has begun to cry when I mess with him,” House replied.
“You’re not going to be honest with me, are you?” Cuddy clutched the chart to her chest.
“Would I lie to you?” He asked her.
Cuddy shook her head and moved past him. She turned slightly as she headed for exam room two. “As you like to point out, House, everybody lies.”
Falling slowly, eyes that know me, and I can't go back.
“I’m not in the mood.” The words were almost an annoyed groan as they made their way out of Cuddy’s mouth.
“What makes you think I am?” House shut Cuddy’s office door loudly before grandly facing her with a large swoop. “I just need an okay.”
“Since when have you ever come to me for an okay?” Cuddy seated herself in her office chair.
“Since I don’t want to hear your whiney bitching later,” House replied.
Cuddy narrowed her eyes at him. “What is it?”
“Kid needs open heart surgery.” House took a few steps into her office, jamming his cane into the floor with each one.
Cuddy stared. “You do realize the boy is only two.”
“Really?” House made sure his fake shock was over the top. “That explains the incessant drooling.”
Cuddy tried to ignore House’s attempt at agitating her. “He’s already at a great risk for infection-"
“And he’ll die without the surgery,” House cut her off, wanting to get the okay and get out of there as soon as possible.
“House, you can’t ask me to agree to this just so you can play with his heart.” Cuddy enclasped her hands on top of her desk as she kept her eyes on him.
“It’s more fun than a football,” House told her.
“Did you talk to Dr. Pollowitz?” Cuddy asked him as she tried to hold back a sigh.
“Yes?” House’s eyebrows drew together in his guess.
“I’m not letting you cut this child open without having a legitimate reason for an open heart surgery,” Cuddy said. “If there is something wrong with him and Pollowitz agrees, then do the surgery. Otherwise, find another way to diagnose the boy.”
House paused a moment, taking her words in, and then quickly turned away. He took off for the door, already trying to determine his next course of action when he suddenly stopped and faced the desk.
“If you’re going to cry in your office,” House started, gaining Cuddy’s attention, “you may want to check your mascara before you allow unsuspecting employees in.”
Cuddy set her jaw. “If you’re going to be wallowing in addiction and self pity, you may want to knock before you barge into the offices of unsuspecting coworkers.”
House closed his mouth to form a tight line and walked out of her office. Cuddy quickly swiped at the smudged mascara under her eyes.
You have suffered enough and warred with yourself. It's time that you won.
It was dark in his office, but she let herself in anyway, knowing he was in there. Cuddy looked to her right and saw him sitting there, cane resting across his lap.
“Going home any time soon?” She folded her arms across her chest to try and make herself seem tougher.
“Let me guess,” he paused for dramatic effect, “someone came crying to mommy.”
Her breath caught slightly. “No, House, I-”
“Save it,” he cut her off with a deep, harsh tone.
She swallowed hard. “I know you wanted to do the surgery to help, but I couldn’t-”
“Kid was about as tall as my cane.” House ran a finger along the smooth wood.
Cuddy’s eyes followed his finger before she brought them back up to his face. “If we did unnecessary surgeries for every patient in the hope that we might find something one time, we-”
House stopped moving his hand and brought his eyes up to meet Cuddy’s. “How long do you think his casket will be?” Cuddy stared at him, speechless. House gave a shrug. “Maybe they’ll get him an urn.”
Cuddy took a step closer to the chair. “Are you okay?”
“Why wouldn’t I be, Cuddy?” he asked her.
“When a child patient dies, it’s never easy,” Cuddy said. “It’s never okay.”
“Am I suppose to care?” He tilted his head slightly to the side. “Or feel guilt?”
“Yeah,” she answered him, but she wasn’t looking at him anymore.
House caught on quickly. “No one blames you.”
Cuddy brought her eyes back to him. “No one, but myself.”
House picked up his cane and forced himself to his feet. “There are casualties in medicine.”
“But, they shouldn’t be two year olds,” she replied quietly.
Cuddy moved toward the door and House quickly went after her. She pulled at the door, but her loose grip made her hand slip from the handle. House pushed against the glass, forcing the door closed. Cuddy turned towards House as he leaned in too close.
“Blaming yourself won’t bring him back,” House told her, his voice just above a whisper. “Learning from this might help the next one.”
“What am I suppose to learn?” Cuddy blinked back tears. “To let you do whatever you want?”
“No.” He raised the level of his voice. “Next time these symptoms appear, we’ll be better prepared.”
“At the cost of a child’s life,” Cuddy replied.
“And the next one will live,” he said. “And the next. And the next one after-”
“It doesn’t make it okay,” she cut him off.
“A child patient dying is never okay,” he repeated her words.
Cuddy drew in a breath and leaned her head against his shoulder. House paused a moment before wrapping his arms around her. She shook her head slightly.
“I’m sorry,” she apologized as she pulled back. “It’s been a long day.”
House let his guard down only slightly. “It has been for both of us.”
Take this sinking boat and point it home. We've still got time.
Cuddy turned the lights on while House went to make her a coffee. He brought the mug to her and she accepted it gratefully. Cuddy was still thinking of the little boy as she drew the mug to her lips. Although House wouldn’t admit it, he was thinking of the little boy as well.
“Want a Vicodin?” he offered as she lowered the mug back down.
“Give me them.” Cuddy extended a hand.
House believed she was actually going to give in to the little white pill. He lobbed the pill bottle to her and she caught it with one hand. She quickly jammed the bottle into the pocket of her navy blue suit jacket.
House frowned. “Hey.”
“You shouldn’t use them to run from your feelings,” she told him and set her mug down on his desk.
He crossed the room towards her. “You should.”
“That’s how addictions start,” she replied.
House stopped in his tracks and dropped his mouth open. “You don’t say.”
“Are you going to be okay?” she asked him, returning seriousness to their conversation.
“When I get my Vicodin back.” Cuddy pulled the bottle from her pocket and tossed it back to him. House popped a pill and then looked to her as he slipped the bottle into his own pocket. “Are you?”
“Yeah.” Cuddy gave a nod. “I’m always fine.”
“Your tears prove it,” House told her, frowning once again.
“Weakness.” Cuddy picked the mug back up and took another sip of coffee.
“I agree.” House tightened his grip on his cane.
“You would,” Cuddy replied and placed the mug back down.
“Unlikely you would think so,” House said and turned from her, making his way across the room.
Cuddy leaned against his desk. “My father was...”
House stopped and turned slightly. “Abusive?”
“No,” Cuddy answered forcefully. “Strict. Cuddy girls don’t cry.”
“They get even?” House asked, but she didn’t respond. He paused. “You never talk about your parents.”
“You don’t either,” Cuddy was quick to reply.
“Not much to say.” House shrugged and seated himself in the chair he had been sitting in earlier.
“Me neither.” Cuddy shrugged as well.
House studied her from across the room. “You hide a lot behind those dark lined blue eyes of yours.”
“You hide a lot as a common courtesy to others,” Cuddy offered in return.
“What is that suppose to mean?” House’s eyebrows drew together.
“You feel it’s bothersome to force your actual problems and feelings on others.” Cuddy picked the mug up to warm her hands. “You bottle them up and seduce them into succumbing to drugs.”
“So?” House found that he couldn’t seem to utter anything other than one pathetic word.
“So sometimes people ask about you because they care.”
Raise your hopeful voice, you had the choice. You've made it now.
“You care about my poor little problems, Cuddy?” The bitterness in House’s voice showed he was clearly opposed to her accusations about his problems and feelings.
“I care about you,” Cuddy corrected. “I worry when-”
“I don’t want to hear it,” House cut her off and brought himself to his feet, believing that if he was sitting while she was standing, it gave her the upper hand.
“You don’t want to hear that someone other than yourself cares about you?” Cuddy asked him. “Well, I’ve got news for you, House, people care-”
“Because they like to be treated like shit,” House finished her sentence for her. “When have I ever been kind to you without staring at your tits or grabbing your ass?”
Cuddy set the mug down with a clunk. She moved towards him slowly as if she was certain he would flee if she approached too quickly. “Why do you try to hold up this image when we’re alone? There’s no one here to blackmail you because you’re showing that you’re not actually a jackass who-”
“Why do you always insist there’s more to me?” House limped past her.
Cuddy stopped and turned, her eyes on him. “Because I see it every damn day when you so vehemently deny there’s-”
House faced her. “Because you want to see something that isn’t there.”
Cuddy jammed her hands to her hips. “Or because I’m seeing something that you insist isn’t there. Just because you won’t admit it, it doesn’t mean-”
House shook his head. “Admitting is only a mere fraction-”
“I know,” she cut him off hastily and paused for a second. “It takes a lot for someone to admit their faults.” Her words were colder than she meant them to be.
House ignored her coldness even if it did cause a slight pang of hurt. “So this great characteristic you claim you see in me is actually a fault?”
“You see it as one,” Cuddy replied, knowing she was right.
“I don’t see anything.” House shrugged at her.
“Because you stopped looking.” Cuddy dropped her voice reasonably low. “Drug addiction can do that to you.”
“Or choosing to detach from people,” House offered. “How do you think I’m so damn good at my job, Cuddy?”
“House...” Cuddy had become increasingly frustrated and was at her breaking point. “Will you be honest with me? Once. Not tonight or tomorrow. Maybe not even anytime in the near future. But, once. Will you?”
House gave her another shrug. “When you’re honest with me.”
“I am-” Cuddy started, getting herself even more riled up.
“No,” House cut her off sternly. “You’re not.”
House went to raise his cane in order to move away from Cuddy, but the cane slipped in his hand and fell forward. Cuddy bent down and swiped it from the floor just to break the tension. She straightened and extended his cane to him.
Reaching for his cane, House’s fingers brushed against Cuddy’s and he let them rest there a moment. Cuddy stared down at his fingers as his warmth transfered to her hand. As the heat seemed to intensify, Cuddy pulled back and House wrapped his hand around the cane and retracted it.
“I will,” he whispered in response to her previous question.
Cuddy nodded, but couldn’t look at him. Without any parting words, she removed herself from his office. House remained in the middle of the room and frowned, his mind going over the biting words that reminded him that everybody lies, including himself.
Pairings: House/Cuddy
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Don't own House M.D. nor the characters. Don't own "Falling Slowly" by Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova either.
Summary: Begins in the early times when House worked at PPTH and then courses through tid bits of the House/Cuddy relationship and ending where I feel like it (around late season three/season four).
Author's Note: As it stands now, this is a oneshot with an underbelly of slight subtext and a questionable ending. However, I could end up making this into a chapter fic depending on feedback and potential. (And if I get any brilliant ideas. Although, any possible future chapters will more than likely not contain any more lyrics.)
I don't know you, but I want you all the more for that.
Cuddy approached his office and sucked in a quick breath as she pushed open the glass door. He was standing behind his desk and shoving a few charts into his backpack. A suitcase rested on the floor next to the desk.
“What are you doing?” she asked him. She was actually going to ask if he wanted to go out and have a drink with her. However, his current display appeared to be a much more pressing matter.
House brought his eyes up to her. “What are you doing?”
“Asked you first.” She stepped into the office, letting the door swing silently closed behind her.
“Packing.” House directed his gaze back down to the backpack and zipped it shut.
“Why?” Cuddy raised an eyebrow.
“Vacation,” he gave and slung the backpack over one shoulder.
Cuddy folded her arms across her chest as her mouth set itself into a small frown. “You never take vacations.”
“Going to my folks’.” He managed his suitcase in one hand while his cane was in the other.
“You hate your parents,” she replied.
“Funny that I’d be going there, huh?” He raised his eyebrows to her.
Cuddy moved across the room, making him stop as she blocked his path. “What’s going on, Greg?”
“Nothing, Cuddy.” House gave her a shrug in return.
“You know, you can call me by my first name,” she told him. “I thought since I was your doctor before and since we had been exchanging holiday cards-”
“Stacy handled the cards,” he cut her off.
“Oh.” She directed her eyes to the floor.
“I’ll be back on Monday,” he said.
She brought her eyes back up to him. “You’re not going to visit your parents, are you?”
His eyes were still locked on hers. “No.”
House stepped around Cuddy, heading for his office door. She spun around, watching his backside as he tried to hurry with his limp.
“Greg.”
He stopped, straightening, and faced her.
“Be careful,” she told him and he nodded in reply before letting himself out of his office.
Words fall through me, and always fool me, and I can't react.
“I don’t have a problem,” House insisted as he practically knocked Cuddy over on his way down the hall.
“Then give me your Vicodin,” Cuddy replied, following after him after regaining her balance.
“No,” he called back over his shoulder.
Cuddy shook her head, picking up her pace, and sighed. “House-”
House spun quickly and Cuddy almost lost balance once again as she prevented herself from crashing into him.
“If I give you my Vicodin, I would just be giving in to your egomaniacal mind,” House said, his words biting.
Cuddy drew back. “What are you talking about?”
“You’re trying to prove a point, correct?” House asked her.
“Yeah, but-” Cuddy attempted to defend her actions with truth.
“I’m not your experiment, Cuddy,” House cut her off sharply and took off again.
“House, this has nothing to do with-” Cuddy let out a frustrated cry as House rounded a corner and was gone from her sight.
And games that never amount to more than they're meant will play themselves out.
Cuddy’s hands were placed on her hips as she stood next to the nurse’s station in the Clinic. House was standing in front of her, attempting to bother her about trivial things in order to get her to dismiss him from the area. The surrounding nurses were ignoring the two, finding it easier to get their work done if they didn’t occupy themselves with the issues going on between the two rivaling parties.
“Are you going to give me an explanation?” Cuddy asked House, cocking her head to the side.
“For?” House leaned in, exaggerating the word.
“For you showing up at my house last night,” Cuddy offered him an answer.
House straightened and shrugged. “It was all in the chart.”
“I thought giving you time to come up with an excuse would be beneficial to both of us,” Cuddy told him, clearly not pleased with his response.
“What do you mean by that?” House eyed her up.
“Either you would own up to your feelings or prove to me that feelings had nothing to do with it.” Cuddy tried to act nonchalant as she snatched a chart from the top of a pile.
“I don’t have feelings for you.” House rolled his eyes at her. “I just like messing with you.”
Cuddy’s eyes immediately locked on House. “Why?”
“Because Wilson has begun to cry when I mess with him,” House replied.
“You’re not going to be honest with me, are you?” Cuddy clutched the chart to her chest.
“Would I lie to you?” He asked her.
Cuddy shook her head and moved past him. She turned slightly as she headed for exam room two. “As you like to point out, House, everybody lies.”
Falling slowly, eyes that know me, and I can't go back.
“I’m not in the mood.” The words were almost an annoyed groan as they made their way out of Cuddy’s mouth.
“What makes you think I am?” House shut Cuddy’s office door loudly before grandly facing her with a large swoop. “I just need an okay.”
“Since when have you ever come to me for an okay?” Cuddy seated herself in her office chair.
“Since I don’t want to hear your whiney bitching later,” House replied.
Cuddy narrowed her eyes at him. “What is it?”
“Kid needs open heart surgery.” House took a few steps into her office, jamming his cane into the floor with each one.
Cuddy stared. “You do realize the boy is only two.”
“Really?” House made sure his fake shock was over the top. “That explains the incessant drooling.”
Cuddy tried to ignore House’s attempt at agitating her. “He’s already at a great risk for infection-"
“And he’ll die without the surgery,” House cut her off, wanting to get the okay and get out of there as soon as possible.
“House, you can’t ask me to agree to this just so you can play with his heart.” Cuddy enclasped her hands on top of her desk as she kept her eyes on him.
“It’s more fun than a football,” House told her.
“Did you talk to Dr. Pollowitz?” Cuddy asked him as she tried to hold back a sigh.
“Yes?” House’s eyebrows drew together in his guess.
“I’m not letting you cut this child open without having a legitimate reason for an open heart surgery,” Cuddy said. “If there is something wrong with him and Pollowitz agrees, then do the surgery. Otherwise, find another way to diagnose the boy.”
House paused a moment, taking her words in, and then quickly turned away. He took off for the door, already trying to determine his next course of action when he suddenly stopped and faced the desk.
“If you’re going to cry in your office,” House started, gaining Cuddy’s attention, “you may want to check your mascara before you allow unsuspecting employees in.”
Cuddy set her jaw. “If you’re going to be wallowing in addiction and self pity, you may want to knock before you barge into the offices of unsuspecting coworkers.”
House closed his mouth to form a tight line and walked out of her office. Cuddy quickly swiped at the smudged mascara under her eyes.
You have suffered enough and warred with yourself. It's time that you won.
It was dark in his office, but she let herself in anyway, knowing he was in there. Cuddy looked to her right and saw him sitting there, cane resting across his lap.
“Going home any time soon?” She folded her arms across her chest to try and make herself seem tougher.
“Let me guess,” he paused for dramatic effect, “someone came crying to mommy.”
Her breath caught slightly. “No, House, I-”
“Save it,” he cut her off with a deep, harsh tone.
She swallowed hard. “I know you wanted to do the surgery to help, but I couldn’t-”
“Kid was about as tall as my cane.” House ran a finger along the smooth wood.
Cuddy’s eyes followed his finger before she brought them back up to his face. “If we did unnecessary surgeries for every patient in the hope that we might find something one time, we-”
House stopped moving his hand and brought his eyes up to meet Cuddy’s. “How long do you think his casket will be?” Cuddy stared at him, speechless. House gave a shrug. “Maybe they’ll get him an urn.”
Cuddy took a step closer to the chair. “Are you okay?”
“Why wouldn’t I be, Cuddy?” he asked her.
“When a child patient dies, it’s never easy,” Cuddy said. “It’s never okay.”
“Am I suppose to care?” He tilted his head slightly to the side. “Or feel guilt?”
“Yeah,” she answered him, but she wasn’t looking at him anymore.
House caught on quickly. “No one blames you.”
Cuddy brought her eyes back to him. “No one, but myself.”
House picked up his cane and forced himself to his feet. “There are casualties in medicine.”
“But, they shouldn’t be two year olds,” she replied quietly.
Cuddy moved toward the door and House quickly went after her. She pulled at the door, but her loose grip made her hand slip from the handle. House pushed against the glass, forcing the door closed. Cuddy turned towards House as he leaned in too close.
“Blaming yourself won’t bring him back,” House told her, his voice just above a whisper. “Learning from this might help the next one.”
“What am I suppose to learn?” Cuddy blinked back tears. “To let you do whatever you want?”
“No.” He raised the level of his voice. “Next time these symptoms appear, we’ll be better prepared.”
“At the cost of a child’s life,” Cuddy replied.
“And the next one will live,” he said. “And the next. And the next one after-”
“It doesn’t make it okay,” she cut him off.
“A child patient dying is never okay,” he repeated her words.
Cuddy drew in a breath and leaned her head against his shoulder. House paused a moment before wrapping his arms around her. She shook her head slightly.
“I’m sorry,” she apologized as she pulled back. “It’s been a long day.”
House let his guard down only slightly. “It has been for both of us.”
Take this sinking boat and point it home. We've still got time.
Cuddy turned the lights on while House went to make her a coffee. He brought the mug to her and she accepted it gratefully. Cuddy was still thinking of the little boy as she drew the mug to her lips. Although House wouldn’t admit it, he was thinking of the little boy as well.
“Want a Vicodin?” he offered as she lowered the mug back down.
“Give me them.” Cuddy extended a hand.
House believed she was actually going to give in to the little white pill. He lobbed the pill bottle to her and she caught it with one hand. She quickly jammed the bottle into the pocket of her navy blue suit jacket.
House frowned. “Hey.”
“You shouldn’t use them to run from your feelings,” she told him and set her mug down on his desk.
He crossed the room towards her. “You should.”
“That’s how addictions start,” she replied.
House stopped in his tracks and dropped his mouth open. “You don’t say.”
“Are you going to be okay?” she asked him, returning seriousness to their conversation.
“When I get my Vicodin back.” Cuddy pulled the bottle from her pocket and tossed it back to him. House popped a pill and then looked to her as he slipped the bottle into his own pocket. “Are you?”
“Yeah.” Cuddy gave a nod. “I’m always fine.”
“Your tears prove it,” House told her, frowning once again.
“Weakness.” Cuddy picked the mug back up and took another sip of coffee.
“I agree.” House tightened his grip on his cane.
“You would,” Cuddy replied and placed the mug back down.
“Unlikely you would think so,” House said and turned from her, making his way across the room.
Cuddy leaned against his desk. “My father was...”
House stopped and turned slightly. “Abusive?”
“No,” Cuddy answered forcefully. “Strict. Cuddy girls don’t cry.”
“They get even?” House asked, but she didn’t respond. He paused. “You never talk about your parents.”
“You don’t either,” Cuddy was quick to reply.
“Not much to say.” House shrugged and seated himself in the chair he had been sitting in earlier.
“Me neither.” Cuddy shrugged as well.
House studied her from across the room. “You hide a lot behind those dark lined blue eyes of yours.”
“You hide a lot as a common courtesy to others,” Cuddy offered in return.
“What is that suppose to mean?” House’s eyebrows drew together.
“You feel it’s bothersome to force your actual problems and feelings on others.” Cuddy picked the mug up to warm her hands. “You bottle them up and seduce them into succumbing to drugs.”
“So?” House found that he couldn’t seem to utter anything other than one pathetic word.
“So sometimes people ask about you because they care.”
Raise your hopeful voice, you had the choice. You've made it now.
“You care about my poor little problems, Cuddy?” The bitterness in House’s voice showed he was clearly opposed to her accusations about his problems and feelings.
“I care about you,” Cuddy corrected. “I worry when-”
“I don’t want to hear it,” House cut her off and brought himself to his feet, believing that if he was sitting while she was standing, it gave her the upper hand.
“You don’t want to hear that someone other than yourself cares about you?” Cuddy asked him. “Well, I’ve got news for you, House, people care-”
“Because they like to be treated like shit,” House finished her sentence for her. “When have I ever been kind to you without staring at your tits or grabbing your ass?”
Cuddy set the mug down with a clunk. She moved towards him slowly as if she was certain he would flee if she approached too quickly. “Why do you try to hold up this image when we’re alone? There’s no one here to blackmail you because you’re showing that you’re not actually a jackass who-”
“Why do you always insist there’s more to me?” House limped past her.
Cuddy stopped and turned, her eyes on him. “Because I see it every damn day when you so vehemently deny there’s-”
House faced her. “Because you want to see something that isn’t there.”
Cuddy jammed her hands to her hips. “Or because I’m seeing something that you insist isn’t there. Just because you won’t admit it, it doesn’t mean-”
House shook his head. “Admitting is only a mere fraction-”
“I know,” she cut him off hastily and paused for a second. “It takes a lot for someone to admit their faults.” Her words were colder than she meant them to be.
House ignored her coldness even if it did cause a slight pang of hurt. “So this great characteristic you claim you see in me is actually a fault?”
“You see it as one,” Cuddy replied, knowing she was right.
“I don’t see anything.” House shrugged at her.
“Because you stopped looking.” Cuddy dropped her voice reasonably low. “Drug addiction can do that to you.”
“Or choosing to detach from people,” House offered. “How do you think I’m so damn good at my job, Cuddy?”
“House...” Cuddy had become increasingly frustrated and was at her breaking point. “Will you be honest with me? Once. Not tonight or tomorrow. Maybe not even anytime in the near future. But, once. Will you?”
House gave her another shrug. “When you’re honest with me.”
“I am-” Cuddy started, getting herself even more riled up.
“No,” House cut her off sternly. “You’re not.”
House went to raise his cane in order to move away from Cuddy, but the cane slipped in his hand and fell forward. Cuddy bent down and swiped it from the floor just to break the tension. She straightened and extended his cane to him.
Reaching for his cane, House’s fingers brushed against Cuddy’s and he let them rest there a moment. Cuddy stared down at his fingers as his warmth transfered to her hand. As the heat seemed to intensify, Cuddy pulled back and House wrapped his hand around the cane and retracted it.
“I will,” he whispered in response to her previous question.
Cuddy nodded, but couldn’t look at him. Without any parting words, she removed herself from his office. House remained in the middle of the room and frowned, his mind going over the biting words that reminded him that everybody lies, including himself.