Fic: Down to the Bone: Chapter Seven
Title: Down to the Bone
Rating: R
Warning: Sensitive and triggering material.
Disclaimer: I don't own House M.D. or the characters. They belong to Fox and David Shore.
Summary: Cuddy develops an eating disorder. Takes place with House's old team.
Author's Note: Sorry about the lack of update. I've been having a bit of trouble with this fic...
(Chapter One. Chapter Two. Chapter Three.Chapter Four.Chapter Five.Chapter Six.)
He was there when she awoke. It took her a moment to realize she wasn’t alone, but her eyes fell on him sitting in a chair near her bed. He was staring at her, but his mind was elsewhere. Upon her movement, however, his eyes locked with hers.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
House gave a shrug. “Figured you might be leaving soon.”
“Not soon enough,” Cuddy commented and held back a sigh.
“Why don’t you sign yourself out?”
“I would if my doctor wasn’t so adamant about me staying,” she replied. “He said it’s a serious health risk to leave in my current state.”
House leaned against the back of his chair, eyeing her up. “They’re going to send you away soon.”
She frowned at him in return. “They would not.”
“If you’re not putting on the weight to stop being a health risk, they will,” he told her.
Cuddy sat up straighter in her bed. “No, they won’t.”
“Wilson’s pushing it,” he added.
“He is not,” she immediately responded, thinking he was trying to get a rise out of her.
“Well, he wants you to get better,” House pointed out to her as he tapped his cane against the floor.
She folded her arms over her chest and shook her head slightly. “He can’t force me to go.”
“He can,” House said, locking eyes with her.
“You have to stop him.” Her eyes remained locked with his. “I don’t want to go to some treatment center.”
“You’re the only one who can stop him,” he replied, not offering any sort of help. “Eat something, put the weight on.”
“I...” Cuddy looked away from him.
“What?” he prompted, his eyes still not leaving her.
“I can’t.” She unfolded her arms and let them fall at her sides as she still kept her eyes downcast.
“Why can’t you?” House asked, wondering if she was going to offer up some truth.
“I don’t want to get into this,” she snapped and shot him a glare.
“You have to get into it with someone,” he told her.
“No. I don’t.”
Cuddy shifted in the hospital bed and turned her back toward him. She didn’t want to talk about it and she didn’t want to argue with him. House stared at her spine and ribs that were pressed against her taut, pale skin.
“How the hell did it get this bad?” His voice came off a bit louder, demanding an answer since he wasn’t quite sure himself on how it escalated to this.
“Go away,” Cuddy muttered over her shoulder and shut her eyes, hoping it would help to block him out even more.
“You never needed to diet in the first place,” he said.
A flash of anger crossed over her face as she turned onto her back. She sat up and ignored the slight lightheadedness. She placed her eyes on him.
“Oh yeah?” She raised her eyebrows. “I thought my ass was huge.”
He frowned. “I’ve been saying that forever, Cuddy. What made you actually think I was serious?”
Cuddy shook her head, unsure how to voice a response without letting too much emotion show. She really didn’t want to get into this with anyone, especially not with him.
“You’re killing yourself.” His eyes were locked with hers again.
“Go away, House,” her tone switched to being somewhat defeated and she turned her back to him once more.
House knew he wouldn’t get any further with her. He stood from the chair and headed out of her hospital room.
Now that she was alone, Cuddy began to think about what House had said to her. She figured that if she seemed to be getting better, she might be able to talk her way out of the hospital. If she began to clean her plate, she might get out without being forced into treatment she didn’t want.
It was embarrassing to admit she had this problem. Going to treatment meant admitting that she was out of control when the only thing she wanted was to be in control. If she could bring her hospital stay into her own terms, she could find a way out and then slip back into her old habits once she was away from watchful eyes.
Cuddy placed a smile on her face as she watched Dr. Felio enter her hospital room. He gave her a smile as he approached her hospital bed.
“Hello, Lisa,” he greeted. “How are you doing today?”
“Fine,” she answered.
“I checked with the nurses,” he began. “You’re up two pounds.”
“I am,” she agreed, knowing she was up precisely two point seven pounds.
Dr. Felio gave a small nod. “And how do you feel about that?”
“Fine,” Cuddy replied, making sure to keep her tone on the bright side.
“And you’ve been speaking with the nutritionist, Charlene, right?” Dr. Felio asked.
“Right.” Cuddy nodded. “We’ve made meal plans for when I go home.”
“I still recommend you see a therapist,” he added.
“I’m going to,” she told him. “I’ve already made an appointment. And I’m taking a little time off of work.”
“Then, I don’t see why we need to keep you here any longer.” Dr. Felio informed her as he made a note on her chart. “If you’re ready to go, I see no problem with it.”
“Thank you.”
Dr. Felio paused a moment and then gave her a small smile. “I hope you get better, Lisa.”
She placed a tight smile on her face. “Me, too.”
Wilson pressed open the glass door to House’s office. He stepped inside and let the door close behind himself. House was sitting at his desk, two open charts in front of him.
“Can I talk to you?” Wilson asked.
House sighed. “What?”
“It’s about-”
“Cuddy, I know,” House instantly cut him off. “It’s always about Cuddy. What now?”
“She isn’t any better, House,” Wilson told him.
“And what?” House replied, annoyed. “I know that. You know that. She knows that. What do you expect to do?”
“I’m worried, all right?” Wilson said, eyebrows drawn in clear concern. “I’m worried and I was hoping I could talk to you about this because you know as much as I do, but if you’re going to be like this, I’m just-”
“What’s there to talk about?” House cut him off again. “You’re worried. That’s all. We can’t make some master plan to fix her. She doesn’t want to be fixed. What will talking to me help? What does it matter if we talk about it?”
“Fine.”
With that, Wilson turned and went back to the door. House stood from his chair just as Wilson was pulling open the door.
“Hey,” House called out to him. “Wanna go for a drink or something tonight? Seven?”
Wilson stopped and turned around.
“Yeah,” he agreed. “Sure.”
House gave a nod in return and then sat back down. Wilson turned back around and headed out of the office.
Cuddy was awake when she heard someone fumbling around on her front porch. She was in bed, too drained to move as she felt like dead weight. She wondered if it would have been better to have died when her heart had stopped.
Her eyes closed as the front door opened. If she didn’t hear the sound of the rubber end of a cane hitting her hardwood floor in the next few seconds, she would be scrambling to call nine one one despite her exhaustion.
There was a soft thud and she eased. He was moving down her hallway, but his steps sounded different. They were slower, perhaps clumsier. She opened her eyes as he appeared in her doorway.
“Get out of my house,” Cuddy told him.
“Sleeping already?” House asked, his words slurring a touch. “Wilson says you won’t let him in. He thinks you haven’t been out of your house in days. No nutritionist, no therapist. But, we both know that’s not true. You at least went to the gym, right?”
Cuddy stared at him a moment. “Are you drunk?”
“Get up,” House commanded as he limped to her bedside.
She frowned. “What?”
“Get up.” He grabbed her arm and gave a tug. “Come on. Use that inner strength and sit up.”
“You’re drunk,” she replied and pulled her arm away from him.
“And you’re anorexic,” he spat back.
“Fuck off, House.”
He smirked and moved around her bed. She forced herself to sit up, her head pounding. House seated himself on the other side of her bed.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
House gave a shrug. “Thought I’d stay a while.”
“No.” She shook her head. “Get out.”
“We need to talk,” he told her.
“We don’t need to talk,” she responded, glaring at him. “Not when you’re drunk. Now, will you leave? I’m trying to sleep.”
“Not until you tell me the truth,” he said. “You need to stop this, Cuddy.”
“Well, I can’t stop.”
“You can.”
Cuddy moved off of her bed and walked away from him. Her pajama pants were baggy and falling off, despite being tied, and her sweatshirt hung off her body. She stopped once she was a few feet from the bed and faced him.
“House, it’s like your Vicodin,” she explained. “It’s an addiction. If you stop, you go through withdrawal. If I stop, I gain weight.”
“You need to gain weight,” he pointed out.
She raised her eyebrows at him. “So my ass gets bigger? No.”
“You don’t have an ass,” he replied.
“Look.” Cuddy pinched her upper arm, pulling skin away from her bone. “See that?”
“Your skin.”
“It’s fat.”
She was growing angrier by the second, wanting him to get out and leave her alone. She wanted him to understand, yet she also wanted him to go away and never bother to come back.
It made House sick to see her standing there and saying these things. He felt sick that she was seeing herself this way, believing in ideas that weren’t true. He felt sick because she was sick and he wasn’t sure if she could be cured.
“It isn’t fat,” he told her. “You can’t get rid of your skin, Cuddy. Not unless you die.”
Cuddy let out an aggravated sigh and released her skin. She shook her head as she made her way around her bed.
“I’m not having this conversation with you.”
“Your head is messed up,” he said.
She stopped on the other side of the bed, her hands planted to her bony hips. “And your thigh is messed up. Even?”
“My thigh isn’t literally killing me,” he replied.
“Neither is my head,” she returned.
He locked eyes with her. “But, your eating disorder is.”
She paused for only a brief moment. “I want you out of my house.”
Cuddy entered into her bathroom and shut the door. She drew in a breath as she lowered herself to the floor. She clutched her knees to her chest, feeling a pain in her empty stomach. She listened hard, waiting until she heard House leave before going back into her bedroom and trying to fall asleep.
Chapter Eight.
Rating: R
Warning: Sensitive and triggering material.
Disclaimer: I don't own House M.D. or the characters. They belong to Fox and David Shore.
Summary: Cuddy develops an eating disorder. Takes place with House's old team.
Author's Note: Sorry about the lack of update. I've been having a bit of trouble with this fic...
(Chapter One. Chapter Two. Chapter Three.Chapter Four.Chapter Five.Chapter Six.)
He was there when she awoke. It took her a moment to realize she wasn’t alone, but her eyes fell on him sitting in a chair near her bed. He was staring at her, but his mind was elsewhere. Upon her movement, however, his eyes locked with hers.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
House gave a shrug. “Figured you might be leaving soon.”
“Not soon enough,” Cuddy commented and held back a sigh.
“Why don’t you sign yourself out?”
“I would if my doctor wasn’t so adamant about me staying,” she replied. “He said it’s a serious health risk to leave in my current state.”
House leaned against the back of his chair, eyeing her up. “They’re going to send you away soon.”
She frowned at him in return. “They would not.”
“If you’re not putting on the weight to stop being a health risk, they will,” he told her.
Cuddy sat up straighter in her bed. “No, they won’t.”
“Wilson’s pushing it,” he added.
“He is not,” she immediately responded, thinking he was trying to get a rise out of her.
“Well, he wants you to get better,” House pointed out to her as he tapped his cane against the floor.
She folded her arms over her chest and shook her head slightly. “He can’t force me to go.”
“He can,” House said, locking eyes with her.
“You have to stop him.” Her eyes remained locked with his. “I don’t want to go to some treatment center.”
“You’re the only one who can stop him,” he replied, not offering any sort of help. “Eat something, put the weight on.”
“I...” Cuddy looked away from him.
“What?” he prompted, his eyes still not leaving her.
“I can’t.” She unfolded her arms and let them fall at her sides as she still kept her eyes downcast.
“Why can’t you?” House asked, wondering if she was going to offer up some truth.
“I don’t want to get into this,” she snapped and shot him a glare.
“You have to get into it with someone,” he told her.
“No. I don’t.”
Cuddy shifted in the hospital bed and turned her back toward him. She didn’t want to talk about it and she didn’t want to argue with him. House stared at her spine and ribs that were pressed against her taut, pale skin.
“How the hell did it get this bad?” His voice came off a bit louder, demanding an answer since he wasn’t quite sure himself on how it escalated to this.
“Go away,” Cuddy muttered over her shoulder and shut her eyes, hoping it would help to block him out even more.
“You never needed to diet in the first place,” he said.
A flash of anger crossed over her face as she turned onto her back. She sat up and ignored the slight lightheadedness. She placed her eyes on him.
“Oh yeah?” She raised her eyebrows. “I thought my ass was huge.”
He frowned. “I’ve been saying that forever, Cuddy. What made you actually think I was serious?”
Cuddy shook her head, unsure how to voice a response without letting too much emotion show. She really didn’t want to get into this with anyone, especially not with him.
“You’re killing yourself.” His eyes were locked with hers again.
“Go away, House,” her tone switched to being somewhat defeated and she turned her back to him once more.
House knew he wouldn’t get any further with her. He stood from the chair and headed out of her hospital room.
Now that she was alone, Cuddy began to think about what House had said to her. She figured that if she seemed to be getting better, she might be able to talk her way out of the hospital. If she began to clean her plate, she might get out without being forced into treatment she didn’t want.
It was embarrassing to admit she had this problem. Going to treatment meant admitting that she was out of control when the only thing she wanted was to be in control. If she could bring her hospital stay into her own terms, she could find a way out and then slip back into her old habits once she was away from watchful eyes.
Cuddy placed a smile on her face as she watched Dr. Felio enter her hospital room. He gave her a smile as he approached her hospital bed.
“Hello, Lisa,” he greeted. “How are you doing today?”
“Fine,” she answered.
“I checked with the nurses,” he began. “You’re up two pounds.”
“I am,” she agreed, knowing she was up precisely two point seven pounds.
Dr. Felio gave a small nod. “And how do you feel about that?”
“Fine,” Cuddy replied, making sure to keep her tone on the bright side.
“And you’ve been speaking with the nutritionist, Charlene, right?” Dr. Felio asked.
“Right.” Cuddy nodded. “We’ve made meal plans for when I go home.”
“I still recommend you see a therapist,” he added.
“I’m going to,” she told him. “I’ve already made an appointment. And I’m taking a little time off of work.”
“Then, I don’t see why we need to keep you here any longer.” Dr. Felio informed her as he made a note on her chart. “If you’re ready to go, I see no problem with it.”
“Thank you.”
Dr. Felio paused a moment and then gave her a small smile. “I hope you get better, Lisa.”
She placed a tight smile on her face. “Me, too.”
Wilson pressed open the glass door to House’s office. He stepped inside and let the door close behind himself. House was sitting at his desk, two open charts in front of him.
“Can I talk to you?” Wilson asked.
House sighed. “What?”
“It’s about-”
“Cuddy, I know,” House instantly cut him off. “It’s always about Cuddy. What now?”
“She isn’t any better, House,” Wilson told him.
“And what?” House replied, annoyed. “I know that. You know that. She knows that. What do you expect to do?”
“I’m worried, all right?” Wilson said, eyebrows drawn in clear concern. “I’m worried and I was hoping I could talk to you about this because you know as much as I do, but if you’re going to be like this, I’m just-”
“What’s there to talk about?” House cut him off again. “You’re worried. That’s all. We can’t make some master plan to fix her. She doesn’t want to be fixed. What will talking to me help? What does it matter if we talk about it?”
“Fine.”
With that, Wilson turned and went back to the door. House stood from his chair just as Wilson was pulling open the door.
“Hey,” House called out to him. “Wanna go for a drink or something tonight? Seven?”
Wilson stopped and turned around.
“Yeah,” he agreed. “Sure.”
House gave a nod in return and then sat back down. Wilson turned back around and headed out of the office.
Cuddy was awake when she heard someone fumbling around on her front porch. She was in bed, too drained to move as she felt like dead weight. She wondered if it would have been better to have died when her heart had stopped.
Her eyes closed as the front door opened. If she didn’t hear the sound of the rubber end of a cane hitting her hardwood floor in the next few seconds, she would be scrambling to call nine one one despite her exhaustion.
There was a soft thud and she eased. He was moving down her hallway, but his steps sounded different. They were slower, perhaps clumsier. She opened her eyes as he appeared in her doorway.
“Get out of my house,” Cuddy told him.
“Sleeping already?” House asked, his words slurring a touch. “Wilson says you won’t let him in. He thinks you haven’t been out of your house in days. No nutritionist, no therapist. But, we both know that’s not true. You at least went to the gym, right?”
Cuddy stared at him a moment. “Are you drunk?”
“Get up,” House commanded as he limped to her bedside.
She frowned. “What?”
“Get up.” He grabbed her arm and gave a tug. “Come on. Use that inner strength and sit up.”
“You’re drunk,” she replied and pulled her arm away from him.
“And you’re anorexic,” he spat back.
“Fuck off, House.”
He smirked and moved around her bed. She forced herself to sit up, her head pounding. House seated himself on the other side of her bed.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
House gave a shrug. “Thought I’d stay a while.”
“No.” She shook her head. “Get out.”
“We need to talk,” he told her.
“We don’t need to talk,” she responded, glaring at him. “Not when you’re drunk. Now, will you leave? I’m trying to sleep.”
“Not until you tell me the truth,” he said. “You need to stop this, Cuddy.”
“Well, I can’t stop.”
“You can.”
Cuddy moved off of her bed and walked away from him. Her pajama pants were baggy and falling off, despite being tied, and her sweatshirt hung off her body. She stopped once she was a few feet from the bed and faced him.
“House, it’s like your Vicodin,” she explained. “It’s an addiction. If you stop, you go through withdrawal. If I stop, I gain weight.”
“You need to gain weight,” he pointed out.
She raised her eyebrows at him. “So my ass gets bigger? No.”
“You don’t have an ass,” he replied.
“Look.” Cuddy pinched her upper arm, pulling skin away from her bone. “See that?”
“Your skin.”
“It’s fat.”
She was growing angrier by the second, wanting him to get out and leave her alone. She wanted him to understand, yet she also wanted him to go away and never bother to come back.
It made House sick to see her standing there and saying these things. He felt sick that she was seeing herself this way, believing in ideas that weren’t true. He felt sick because she was sick and he wasn’t sure if she could be cured.
“It isn’t fat,” he told her. “You can’t get rid of your skin, Cuddy. Not unless you die.”
Cuddy let out an aggravated sigh and released her skin. She shook her head as she made her way around her bed.
“I’m not having this conversation with you.”
“Your head is messed up,” he said.
She stopped on the other side of the bed, her hands planted to her bony hips. “And your thigh is messed up. Even?”
“My thigh isn’t literally killing me,” he replied.
“Neither is my head,” she returned.
He locked eyes with her. “But, your eating disorder is.”
She paused for only a brief moment. “I want you out of my house.”
Cuddy entered into her bathroom and shut the door. She drew in a breath as she lowered herself to the floor. She clutched her knees to her chest, feeling a pain in her empty stomach. She listened hard, waiting until she heard House leave before going back into her bedroom and trying to fall asleep.
Chapter Eight.