rp for Cuddy
House made his way slowly down the hallway, towards his room. Thanks to Snape’s potion, he was in considerably less pain than he’d been since first meeting Snape in the bar… or really, since discovering about Cuddy and Dean. Which, to House, felt like eons ago now. Maybe it was eons ago - it wasn’t like he had any idea how much time had passed
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He silently took the pill from her hand, not meeting her eyes, when she presented it to him, and he threw it into his mouth and dry swallowed. The question she asked reminded him that he'd gone to Snape earlier for potions - and it also reminded him that he still had the pill he'd stolen, in his pocket.
He nodded. "Somewhat," he replied.
Now would be a good time to leave; he'd taken his pill. He didn't move from the spot, though. He slowly raised his eyes to Cuddy's face, finally looking at her. He didn't know whether to walk out or tell her about Wilson. About Stacy. Or whether to just kiss her because he didn't want to leave and he didn't want to think about anything, including all the bullshit with Dean. Or whether to... to...
He looked away, feeling a stab of helplessness. Along with that feeling came a sudden twinge of sharp pain in his leg, which he automatically reached down to with his hand to clutch his thigh. He lied; no, the pain in his thigh didn't settle down. Psychosomatic, Wilson would call this pain in his leg. Projection. Projection of emotions because he can't face them, won't face them. Yeah, well, fuck Wilson.
House dropped his head with a defeated sigh and then shook it. "No," he admitted truthfully to Cuddy's question, and if this wasn't pathetic that he was letting Cuddy see how much everything was affecting him, then he didn't know what was.
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She knew the pain was real, and exacerbated by his run-in with Dean, but she also knew a lot of it was mental. However, she didn't need The Idiot's Guide to Gregory House to know that pointing out the psychosomatic aspect of his leg pain would not be well received. Not now. Not since she was the one who'd caused the psychological distress that was now being transmitted to his leg. She was in an impossible position: she wanted to help with the pain but she was the one causing it so he'd be better off away from her which meant she wouldn't be able to help. Well, fuck.
"House," she said quietly. She grasped his arm lightly, hoping he'd lookat her. "You should get off your feet for a while. Give your leg a chance to recover from the fall."
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Once the words were out of his mouth, he wished he hadn't said anything. He was supposed to just leave now he'd had his pill and... He sighed, hanging his head low again. Well, he didn't know first-hand Stacy was here. He only heard it from Wilson. So, he added in a mutter, "Apparently."
He pulled away from Cuddy and limped across to the bed, and wearily sat down on the edge. He reached down to his thigh and began to rub it, turning his eyes up to Cuddy. Well, he'd said it now. No point in pretending he hadn't.
"Wilson told me," he said reluctantly.
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"Stacy...Warner?" She watched him sag onto the bed, her mouth open in shock. Of course it had to be Stacy Warner. She was the only Stacy they both knew. But.... She put a hand to her forehead, a million questions racing through her mind. Like when and how and a whole bunch of other questions she already knew were unanswerable.
And in the midst of all those questions was the unsettling thought that Stacy was the woman House loved and she was here now and even if Cuddy's relationship with him hadn't already been hanging by a thread then this could be....
Cuddy slumped onto the bed next to House. She shouldn't be thinking that way. Stacy was her friend and it was selfish and thoughtless and wrong to be thinking about herself when Stacy was probably at least semi-freaked about being here.
"What...god." She tried to focus. Evidently House hadn't spoken to Stacy himself. He'd gotten the information from Wilson, which meant Wilson must've talked to her. "What did Wilson say? Is Mark with her?"
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That was a lie. Or, really, it hadn't been Wilson who'd done the majority of the talking - House had. But the way Wilson looked and behaved more than made up for anything Wilson could've said.
House rubbed his thigh a little firmer and then forced himself to brace both his hands against the edge of the mattress, gripping it firmly. He sighed despondently. Stacy wasn't just the crux of his issues - Wilson was, too. House was, well, concerned about Wilson. He didn't want to be, but how could he not be?
"Don't know what's happened to him," House admitted in a murmur. That was a lie, too - he knew exactly what had happened to Wilson. It was more disbelief at how unglued Wilson had become. "Barely recognise him."
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She was just about to brave the question of why House hadn't gone to talk to Stacy when he mumbled something about not recognizing Wilson. What did that mean? "Has Wilson gone Goth or something?"
She tried to remember the last time she'd spoken to Wilson. She didn't think it was all that long ago, but then again, with the time distortion in the hotel it could've been a lot longer than she realized. It had been not long after they'd had their delightful trips home and Wilson had obviously had as difficult a time dealing with it as the rest of them. But he'd been getting his act together...or so he'd said and she'd never followed up to make sure.
"Oh, god." She shifted, turning slightly toward House. "He's not still drinking, is he?"
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He sobered when Cuddy then asked if Wilson was still drinking. He nodded, staring down at the floor. Images of seeing Wilson when he first entered his room, of pouring his whiskey down the drain, of soaping up a wash cloth for him while Wilson sat on the toilet - just the way Cuddy had done for House when he was going through detox - went through House's mind, and he felt a burst of anger. Or maybe it was panic. Or fear.
He snatched his cane up and pushed himself up from the bed, a sudden need to pace or fidget with something. He started to pace the room, making his way across to the window, then towards the door, and when he was walking back towards the window again he stopped in the middle of the room long enough to look at Cuddy.
"He hadn't washed in god knows how long," he snapped. This wasn't Cuddy's fault, but she was here and that therefore made her in the line of fire for how uptight he was feeling. "Hadn't shaved, hadn't eaten. Just sitting in his room, drinking like a fucking fish."
He resumed pacing, adding bitterly, "I had to pour his god damn whiskey down the sink. Had to make him take a bath, find him some clothes." He suddenly turned on Cuddy again. "And then he tells me Stacy's here!" he yelled.
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She also wanted to point out that he hardly had room to condemn Wilson. House had been known to wrap himself in misery. She'd had to protect him from his poison of choice and feed him and clean him up.... Which, actually, was why she understood the anger. Anger, frustration, fear: yes, she understood exactly what House was feeling because she'd been through it all with him.
Which was not to say she looked forward to going through that again, especially not with Wilson. He was the one she'd always been able to count on to maintain some kind of even keel. Wilson wasn't supposed to fall apart. Still, it wasn't like they could or would abandon him to his own devices.
She pulled back instinctively when House yelled at her, putting one arm back to brace against the mattress. "I understand why you're upset about Wilson, and we'll have to deal with that mess somehow." She definitely meant 'we' because while she hoped House would step up and be there for Wilson, she was prepared to do whatever needed to be done.
"But I'm not sure I understand why you're angry about Stacy."
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He stopped short. He was what? Was he angry? In shock? Scared? Confused? He moved his mouth soundlessly as he struggled to find a word to explain why he was feeling so freaked out and when he couldn't come up with anything, he threw his hand that wasn't holding his cane up in the air in frustrated exasperation and resumed pacing.
"It's just another thing, isn't it?" he finally exploded, reeling around to face Cuddy after he'd paced the room for the second time. "What, does whatever thing that controls this fucking place think it's funny to screw up people's lives more than they already are?" He snorted derisively. "Obviously not funny enough, or it wouldn't be pulling stunts like this."
He was getting too worked up to stay standing on the spot, so he started pacing, gesturing wildly with his hand. "It's like this place knows exactly where to hurt people. Like it gets its kicks from making things happen that cause pain. Or remind you of things that hurt. What kind of sick joke is that?"
He turned on Cuddy again. "You think I want Stacy here? I don't want that any more than I wanted you to sleep around. That's why I'm angry!"
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She sighed as he began pacing again. Her neck was starting to hurt from turning back and forth, watching him wear a track in the carpet. And the more worked up he got, the more worked up she got. She was able to remain outwardly calm, but her heart rate and blood pressure were both creeping up the scale.
"I wasn't 'sleeping around.' It was one person and it didn't mean anything," she snapped. Okay, sure, she'd screwed up and House was angry about it and she was going to have to deal with the fallout. But she wasn't going to let him accuse of things she hadn't done, not any more. He could call her a whore all he wanted, but that didn't make it true.
"And Stacy...." House said he didn't want her here, but was that because none of them wanted to see anyone stuck here? Or because he didn't want to deal with her? She ran a hand through her hair, tired of feeling stupid, of not understanding any damn thing.
"I don't know what happened between you two the last time she left. One day the two of you were sleeping together, the next she was packing up her office and going home," she said. "So I'm sorry if I don't understand, but the truth is I don't know what happened or how you feel about her now."
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He was just about to snap a retort to her along those very lines when Cuddy swiftly returned to the subject of Stacy. God, and she brought up the last time she left. House slowed his pacing to a stop and he dropped his head to peer down at the floor. Then he looked across at Cuddy sharply when she mentioned that Stacy and he had been sleeping together. How the hell did she know that? He lifted his hand to his forehead and rubbed it. Stacy, likely. Or Wilson. It didn't really matter how she knew - that wasn't even the issue right now.
"I told her to leave," he snapped. "If it makes you happier to know what happened."
He started to pace again, though slowed down as he approached the window. He could still remember the look on Stacy's face when he told her to go back to Short Hills with Mark. Coming to that decision had been one of the hardest things he'd done. And it shouldn't have been because he wanted to hate her for what happened to his leg. It was hard to hate someone he still had feelings for, though. Just as much as it was hard to have feelings for someone he wanted to hate.
"She was better off without me," he said bitterly. Or he was better off without her. Or, really, they were better off without each other.
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"For whatever little it's worth, I'm sorry it didn't work out between you two this time." She really couldn't say if Stacy was better off without House, or he without her. Sure, she had an opinion but she was hardly objective about the matter any more.
She got to her feet and took a couple of steps toward House. If it were anyone else she'd give him a hug or a pat on the back or something. But it was House and he didn't want her touching him so she stopped and stood in the middle of the room, looking stupid and pointless.
"And yeah, I understand now why you wouldn't be thrilled to see Stacy," she added. "Unfortunately, I don't see how you can avoid it."
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He dropped his chin down to his chest and sighed. Thinking about it past the anger made him feel depressed. If Stacy wasn't around at all, then he didn't have to think about it at all, which was how House liked it. But Cuddy was right - he had no way of avoiding it now, not with the knowledge of Stacy being here. He'd likely end up crossing her path at some point, too.
"Don't you think I know that?" he snapped. He drew in another deep breath and let it out slowly to try and calm down, then turned his head to look at Cuddy over his shoulder. She looked stupid, standing there like she had no idea where to place herself in the room.
House let his head hang low once again, reminding himself that this wasn't Cuddy's fault, so he had no reason to take this out on her. He could justify that he was still angry at her about Dean... except that and this issue with Stacy - as well as the issue with Wilson - weren't at all related.
He slowly turned around to face her and gave her a mildly reproachful look. The shouting he'd done helped to expel some of his anxiety, and he now felt tired. The pain in his leg took a lot out of him, too. He approached Cuddy wearily and let his shoulders sag once he was standing in front of her.
"I don't want to deal with this," he admitted in a low voice. "Dealt with enough already. Why couldn't it have just stayed..." He gestured between Cuddy and himself.
Before all the shit with Dean came about, things between Cuddy and himself had looked sort of promising. Confusing, but promising. At least he had something to hold onto. Now he didn't know what was what anymore.
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She kept her eyes on him as he approached her, not sure if he intended to keep taking his frustration out on her. It was almost worse, though, when he seemed almost defeated by everything that had happened. "I know. I wish...I wish for once we both could've had a little time to be happy. Or at least not miserable." She pressed her hand against his chest, then jerked it back before he could reject her touch.
"I wish I knew how fix it, all of it." She wrapped her arms around her and half turned away from House. When it came right down to it, she had a hard time exposing her vulnerability, just as much as House did. Too many failed relationships had taught her to protect her feelings. As whacked as it seemed, that had a lot to do with sleeping with Dean. She'd been trying to protect herself against the fact that she cared more for House than he cared for her, and all she'd done was hurt both of them.
"I'm going to lose you," she said in a soft voice. Have lost him said the part of her brain that knew she always lost. "And I hate that there's nothing I can do to stop that."
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He dropped his eyes back down to her when she said she was going to lose him. He didn't know what to do or say to that. So, he just stood there for a long moment, feeling as stupid and pointless as Cuddy looked minutes before standing in the middle of the room. He threw a glance at the door and contemplated leaving because he wasn't sure he could deal with this effectively. He usually ended up saying the wrong thing when he felt awkward.
He looked back to Cuddy, then reached his hand up to her shoulder and grasped it tentatively. He nudged her to face him again and gave her shoulder a light squeeze before he angled his thumb up to her jaw and lightly stroked it.
"You haven't lost me yet," he replied just as quietly. He released her shoulder and ran his hand down her arm gently. He paused, looking awkward as he built up the courage to then admit, "You're the best thing that's happened to me in here."
And that had to be all kinds of screwed up because half of the stuff he'd gone through with Cuddy in this place had been nothing but fighting and hurt and god knew what else. The whole thing with Dean had been a big blow to House. But despite all of that, Cuddy was the best thing that had happened to him in here. In a long while, come to think of it.
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"That's a sad commentary on affairs, if I'm the best thing that's happened to you." She said it in a joking tone, but she smiled at him, clasping his hand briefly in hers to let him know that she appreciated the effort he'd made to tell her she still mattered to him.
She gave his hand another quick squeeze, then released it. She needed to get her shit together and stop being pathetic. "Okay, time to stop pissing and moaning and figure out what to do." She couldn't really give House any advice on how to handle Stacy's presence. That would have to be his decision. But Wilson, she truly considered that a joint problem.
"What should we do about Wilson?"
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