closed to Cuddy

[rubicks_complex]

House couldn’t rest, much less sleep. His argument with Cuddy had left him feeling restless and on edge. He spent a good part of an hour shifting from his back to his side and back again, unable to get comfortable, moving about to the point where his bed covers had rumpled halfway off the bed

Comments

[rubicks_complex]

House scoffed. "Well, now that would just be silly, Cuddy," he retorted. "Like I can get my hands on Vicodin."

He suddenly held up his finger as though to 'wait there a moment', and said, "Let me show you something." He reached for his cane and gathered it towards him at the same time as he clumsily started to try and hoist himself up from the floor. The first couple of attempts were aborted because it was difficult to actually get up from the floor, but once he latched his hands onto Cuddy's shoulders and used her as leverage to push himself up, House stood with a grunt and then bent down to retrieve his cane.

"Let me show you something," he repeated, and he started to limp across to the bed. Reaching the bedside, he hooked his cane under his arm. "Now, watch closely," he instructed.

He reached his other hand down to the bottle on the bedside table, popped it open and tipped a pill out. He recapped the bottle, set the bottle back down and then faced Cuddy.

"See this?" he said, holding the pill up. He then angled the pill to his mouth, popped it in and swallowed in demonstration before making a 'ta-da!' gesture with his arms.

[l_cuddy_md]

Cuddy let out an exasperated grunt as House used her to pull himself to his feet, but he was oblivious to anything but his own whacked out thoughts. She got to her own feet and turned in time to see him grab a pill bottle from the bedside table. She watched in stunned disbelief as he tossed back what appeared to be a Vicodin.

"How many of those have you taken?" Cuddy asked. He was already stoned; the last thing he needed was more. The last thing he needed was any pills. Then she frowned. Obviously she was an idiot for not confiscating his remaining Vicodin, but he'd only had a couple of pills left. That wasn't enough to get him this stoned, not and still have pills left in the bottle. She walked toward him, reaching for the pill bottle.

"How many of those are there?"

[rubicks_complex]

"Uh-uh," House chastised, moving the bottle out of her reach when she reached for them. "You're not taking away my comfort, not this time. But in answer to your question--"

He obnoxiously shook the pill bottle, the pills rattling loudly to indicate that it was a nearly full vial. "Cool, huh?" he continued with a grin before he looked down to his hands. He popped the lid open with his thumb and tipped the contents out onto his palm, showing all the pills and then dropped them back in one by one.

He looked back up to Cuddy. "Wait, you asked me another question..." He looked momentarily confused as he tried to backtrack the conversation, screwing one eye up in a doped manner, concentrating as he peered up towards the ceiling. "Something about..."

He snapped the bottle shut and then suddenly clicked his fingers and pointed at Cuddy. "Oh! How many I've had." He then shrugged as he reached his hand up to his head and scratched it. "Dunno. Two? Maybe three? All that matters is--" He tossed the pill bottle in the air so that it spun once before he caught it again, a little clumsily. "Got what I need. You not happy about that? I am."

[l_cuddy_md]

"This is not what you need," Cuddy insisted. She stared at House in disbelief...and wasn't that foolish of her. Yes, logically, after all he'd been through with the detoxing and withdrawal it was stupid of him to be sitting here stoned out of his mind. But it was even more stupid of her to believe that he could or would be able to resist such a temptation.

"This is temporary, House. As soon as those pills run out you'll be right back where you were, puking and shivering and helpless." Cuddy pressed the heels of her hands against her temples. She was so angry and disappointed, it felt like her head would explode. Her eyes narrowed as she eyed the vial House was playing with. "Who gave you those pills?"

[rubicks_complex]

Well, now, there was an interesting question: who gave him the pills. He hadn't quite got around to thinking that part through yet. He'd been too fixated on the fact that he had his pills at all to pay any heed to the absurdity of the Hotel replenishing his supply. But if it replenished it this time, that must mean it replenished his pills every time.

He lifted his hand and made a circular gesture in the air, indicating around the room; at the whole Hotel. "Whatever forces that be which control this place are obviously shining down on me with favour. Who'd that be? The Bellboy? Some other creepy looking zombie?"

He looked back down to his pills, giving the bottle another shake. House chose to be completely indifferent towards Cuddy's growing frustration. He was too stoned to care, anyway.

"Doesn't matter who. I got my pills. I need them, contrary to what you choose to believe. About time something went right in this guilded cage."

[l_cuddy_md]

Cuddy turned sharply away from House; she needed to think. So...the hotel, or whatever malign forces were behind it, were supplying House with his drugs? Why the hell would it do that? And more importantly, how the hell was she supposed to fight the hotel? She could barely get House to see reason.

"You...stupid son of a bitch." Cuddy turned on House, her frustration finally at a boiling point. Frustration at the hotel, at House, at everything that had happened since she New Jersey had disappeared from her view. Was it fair to take it all out on him? At the moment, she didn't really care.

"You had a chance here. A difficult one, I know. Detox sucks. But you had a chance to get clean for the first time in years, and you threw it away without a moment's thought because all you care about is the damn high."

[rubicks_complex]

House was tossing his pill bottle up and down in the air when Cuddy had turned away from him; the pill bottle was in mid-air when she faced back and fired that all he cared about was the high. He caught the pill bottle in his palm and evened his gaze on Cuddy, feeling a sudden spark of mild aggravation at her. Mild because he was too stoned to be anything other than, well, stoned. His attention span tended not to stretch as far when he was high.

"I care about my pain," House shot back. "Ever think about that part? Or has the pain part conveniently escaped your mind?"

He'd lost count of the number of times Cuddy had been on his back about there being better, more efficient ways of dealing with his pain, other than his pills. His pills worked for him, though. As much as they were going to work, anyway. There wasn't a cure for neuropathic pain and it was something that was hard to control, and House was content with his pills -- they helped him function, he did his job and survived just fine with his pills, addiction or not.

"It's not you that has to live with the pain, so it's easy for you to tell me what's best for me and what's bad for me," House continued. "But what works for you in that idealistic mind of yours doesn't realistically work for me. You being the control freak you are, you just want me to continue on your idealistic regimine because maybe in your ideal world if you can help me get my pain under control, then maybe you won't feel so guilty about being part of the problem in the first place."

House peered at her sharply for another moment before he backed right off; he was back to grinning in the same stoned way he had when Cuddy found him on the floor. "There're some things in this world you can't control, Cuddy," House continued as he slumped down on the bed, sounding completely mellow again. He stretched across and placed his pills on the bedside table. "You had your hospital, you could control that all you liked. But you're here now, and this Hotel's the one controlling you whether you like it or not, and what're you going to do about that?"

He looked back up to Cuddy as he started to scoot back on the bed. "Controlling me and my pain management isn't your answer, as much as you'd like it to be."

[l_cuddy_md]

"This isn't about pain." Cuddy grabbed the pill bottle from the table and shook it in House's face. His grinning, stoned face and god how she hated that expression. House was intelligent and focused and expressive, but when he was stoned there was nothing but a vacant, stupid stare. "If this was about pain you would've taken one pill. One, House. Not three or four or however many you took. You didn't get stoned because you're in pain. You got stoned because you're a coward."

Cuddy tossed the bottle at House's chest, then stalked to the other side of the room. She stared at the wall, concentrating on slowing her breathing. She reached up and brushed away angry tears before turning back around to face him.

"I'm not here out of guilt. I'm not here because I get off on controlling you. It's not an escape or an avoidance technique." Well, not entirely. Caring for House did give her something to do, it made her feel useful, and she honestly couldn't see how that could be a bad thing.

But it was also a distraction from her primary goal which was to get the hell out of here. If she weren't taking care of House, she could be working toward that goal. Well, looked like she'd have plenty of time now, didn't it?

"I'm here because I care more about you than I do about getting out of here." She threw up her hands in a gesture of surrender. House was more determined and more stubborn than she was, and it was time to stop banging her head against the wall over him.

"Guess I'm not the control freak you think I am," Cuddy said, struggling to keep her expression impassive. "'Cause I give up. I quit."

[rubicks_complex]

House clumsily grasped for the pills when they were tossed back at him, and at first he was too focused on setting his pills back on the bedside table to pay attention to Cuddy and the way she was fighting emotions towards his behaviour. He pushed himself up to a sitting position and scooted back until his back was resting against the headboard, and turned his attention back to Cuddy when she faced around again.

The first few things she said completely rebounded off his ears and that showed in the way he was vacantly looking at her. He was enjoying the buzz too much to really give a shit. Right now, he didn't view it as him being a coward; he viewed it as him having what he needed, even if he did indulge a little bit. But hey, the Hotel was going to replenish the goods when he ran out, so what was the big deal?

I'm here because I care more about you than I do about getting out of here. House didn't expect her to say that, and if anything was going to make him pay attention, that certainly did. He frowned at her when the meaning of those words sank in, frowning even more when she said she was quitting. He wasn't sure, at first, if he was more unsettled by the fact that she said she cared or the fact that she was quitting. Because if she quit and something went wrong, what if she really meant that? Who would he have then?

But what could possibly go wrong now? He had his pills. That was all he needed. He could brush off that remark about her caring about him by proving that he didn't need to be cared about -- the Hotel was caring for him now, by supplying his pills.

Reaching that conclusion, House snorted and gave her a smile that showed he really didn't care. That was what he wanted to believe, anyway: that he didn't care. "Yeah. Well, I got what I need. I don't need you anymore. You're obviously mistaking me for someone who gives a crap."

House lifted his hand and pointed to the wall behind him. "The person you're looking for in that department would be in room 108. Goes by the name of Wilson. Likes needy people, especially the pissed off sort who feel they've been used or wrongly done by." He dropped his hand to his lap. "Tell him I said hi."

[l_cuddy_md]

"No, of course you don't need me," Cuddy snapped. "You never did. You don't need anyone...at least, that's what you'd like to think."

Cuddy stood right next to the bed and stared down at House with disgust. He leaned against the headboard, happy to have his pills, happy to be getting rid of her. She knew it wasn't that he didn't need anyone--that was patently absurd. It was that he didn't want to need anyone.

"You're pathetic. What kind of doctor overmedicates himself rather than deal with his problem? It's bad medicine, and you're a lousy doctor. You should've turned in your medical license years ago."

She knew one of the things House took greatest pride in was his ability, his genius, at medicine. Which was exactly why she, in her anger, tried to hit him where she hoped it would hurt the worst. She didn't know what she hoped to accomplish. Maybe she didn't even care anymore. She'd felt gutted since walking in and finding House high, a sick, tight sensation in her chest. Maybe she simply wanted him to feel some of that pain.

As she turned toward the door, Cuddy gave House a cold look over her shoulder. "Don't worry--I'll be sure to give Dr. Wilson your 'regards'."

[rubicks_complex]

House had every intention of ignoring Cuddy now. Kick back, relax, enjoy the buzz, enjoy the freedom from pain that the detox caused, release from the pain in his leg. Not that the pain was completely gone -- it was never completely gone. But when he was stoned enough, like he was now, he was able to almost fully distract himself from that.

He waved his hand at Cuddy in a 'yeah, yeah, whatever' manner when she started on about him not needing anyone. He closed his eyes, and the 'you're pathetic' and 'what kind of doctor overmedicates himself' rolled off his back. Yeah, this was nothing he never heard before. Same old same old: he was a drug addict and it was pathetic, blah blah.

He was about to tell Cuddy to get lost when he suddenly heard her next words: you're a lousy doctor. He wasn't sure he heard correctly at first, and he cracked open one eye to peer up at her. As her sentence continued, the frown on his brow increased, and when she turned away House shifted up on to his elbows, blinking furiously to try and bring about lucidity.

Did she just call him a lousy doctor? That he should've turned in his medical licence years ago? The realisation of her words and how deep they actually cut slapped some clarity into House and he pushed himself up to a sitting position, glaring across the room at Cuddy. He completely ignored her cold comment about passing on her regards to Wilson.

"I am not," he shot at her. He shifted to the edge of the bed and carefully swung his legs over the edge. "I'm the best doctor you have on your otherwise completely incompetent staff of morons, and you know it."

Suddenly roused to anger, despite how stoned he was, House reached for his cane and pushed himself up from the bed. He unsteadily swayed as he started to head towards her.

"That's totally rich coming from you, a doctor who hasn't even properly practiced medicine in over ten years, telling me that I'm lousy. Who's the last life you saved, Cuddy? Huh? You're the one who should have your medical licence taken from you. The last life you tried to save, you almost killed. Your roof guy -- he only lived because of me, because I'm good at what I do. I'm a better doctor stoned or high or otherwise than you'll ever be."

[l_cuddy_md]

Cuddy turned back to face House, her features schooled into just the hint of a sneer. He was a better doctor than she? Yes, of course he was. Many doctors were better than she was. It hurt, sure. One couldn't spend all that time and energy becoming a doctor and not be disappointed to find that you weren't the great healer you'd dreamed of being.

But she'd had years to come to terms with the fact that she was a better administrator than she was a doctor. She'd rationalized, compensated, thrown her energy into being the best hospital administrator she could be, and she'd succeeded. Sometimes that was even enough to satisfy her.

House, though, he had the ability. He had a gift and he squandered it and that angered her as much as anything he did.

"You were the best, back when you were sober. But you haven't been sober in five years," Cuddy said. She walked back to House, stopping him in his swaying, unsteady steps. She planted her feet and stared up at him. "Your judgment is impaired. You're unfocused, erratic, downright dangerous. You treat maybe two patients per month, and most of them are misdiagnosed and subjected to unnecessary and dangerous tests and treatments before you finally get lucky and figure out the answer."

Cuddy knew she was treading on thin ice here. There was some element of truth to what she said, but only a little. She was simply so tired of working her ass off to protect House and getting it thrown back in her face. She was tired of letting him escape the consequences of his actions.

"Frankly, I'm beginning to wonder how many of 'your' successes are actually due to your team," Cuddy added, purely out of spite.

[rubicks_complex]

House stared down at her, stunned by her attack. Not the part about him being erratic and dangerous -- he'd heard no end of lectures from Cuddy and Wilson about how he 'got lucky' with a case. No, the last part -- his successes being due to his team rather than himself. He felt an abrupt rush of anger and leaned right down so he was almost nose-to-nose with Cuddy.

"I treat two patients a month, I save two patients a month." He pointed at himself. "I save them. Not my team. My team work with me, but if it wasn't for me those two patients that come in each month wouldn't walk out of your hospital alive. My work is never based on luck. It's based on me thinking outside the square, searching for answers until I find them. And I always do."

He then pointed at Cuddy. "You think I'm such a lousy, dangerous doctor, you're the one that comes off looking like the idiot here, Cuddy, because you're the one that keeps me employed. So, what does that say about you? Must mean you're a lousier and more dangerous doctor than I am. Just like you're lousy at relationships. Just like you're lousy at everything you wish you were good at."

This was downgrading to nothing but a fight based upon shooting spite at each other now. To see who could hurt the other most. House never backed down from an argument, especially ones that involved firing hurtful barbs. House stood tall again so he was towering over Cuddy, and gestured to her body. "You love looking the part. Successful, together, visually attractive. And what have you got to show for that?"

He snorted scornfully at her. "Nothing. Not even a guy who wants you. Not even blind dates want you, Cuddy. What does that tell you? All you have is just a hospital you like to treat as your baby because it's the only thing you've got. And you haven't even got that anymore. You're stuck out here, in the middle of nowhere, no way to get home, and there's no one to even miss you. Your hospital certainly isn't going to."

[l_cuddy_md]

"At least I've got something to go back to," Cuddy said, refusing to back away from House. He didn't scare her, not physically at least. Verbally, well, that was another story. She'd never managed to grow a thick enough skin to protect her from the worst of House's barbs. It was a little easier to dismiss them, though, when she knew he was stoned. When she could lie to herself, tell herself that his words were the result of intoxication and anger, and not in any way close to the truth.

"I've got my family, and yes, my 'baby.' The hospital needs me. I may not get the glory you do, but my job is just as important.

"What have you got? You're addicted to narcotics, you avoid your parents, pushed away the woman you love--twice, your best friend isn't speaking to you, and the only reason you can congratulate yourself about saving patients is because this 'idiot' here," Cuddy said, pointing at her own chest. "This idiot keeps you gainfully employed."

Cuddy leaned in closer, even though that meant having to tilt her head back to meet House's gaze. "So tell me, House, who's the bigger idiot? The woman who doesn't have it all but is open to the possibilities? Or the man who had it all and threw it away?"

[rubicks_complex]

House held her gaze, a cold expression on his face. Inasmuch as Cuddy refused to allow herself to be scathed by House's words, House was trying to do the same in response to Cuddy's words; he may have been stoned, but her words still cut him. What did he have? Apart from his job?

He quickly shook that train of thought off before it spiralled into something he couldn't deal with, and he leaned down so he was right in Cuddy's face. "What possibilities have you got now?" he replied viciously. "You had all those possibilities before you wound up here."

He stood tall again. "What were your words about your family? That they'd worry, but there's no one whose life would be all that affected if you weren't there." He snorted. "Don't kid yourself, Cuddy. You have about as much as I have. And you being here has made you realise that. Except you're keeping yourself busy by looking after me so you don't have to think about any of that."

House started to turn away and he was about to tell her to get lost, though changed his mind. He peered down at Cuddy again. "You know, as much you claim you hate the way I intrude on your personal life, there's a part of you that likes it. Because at least somebody is paying you some attention.

"You can wax poetic all you like about how much of a lonely, miserable bastard I am, but you're just as lonely, Cuddy. You're just not miserable because you live in this bubble of denial, though I'd hate to think what would happen when that bubble finally bursts."

[l_cuddy_md]

"Right, I like being spied on and harrassed by you." Cuddy rolled her eyes, then jabbed her forefinger at House's chest, twisting his words again to suggest another possibility. "Truth is, you're just obsessed with me, and I'm beginning to wonder why...."

Cuddy pulled back slightly with a 'so there' look on her face. House was obsessed with her, at times, but obsession was House's M.O. He always had something or someone to obsess over. It didn't mean anything except that it was another method of distraction.

"I still have possibilities," Cuddy insisted. "I am going home again, I promise you that. But even if I couldn't, I'd still have a chance at fulfilling some of my dreams because, unlike you, I don't try to alienate every single person I meet."

Cuddy threw up her hands and turned away from House. This whole discussion was pointless. Everything she'd ever tried to do for House was pointless, because what she wanted for him was clearly not what he wanted for himself.

"But that's what you want, isn't it? You want to alienate everyone, especially those nasty people who care about you. You want to be alone and miserable and stoned." Cuddy let out a bitter laugh. "This place must be like your idea of heaven."