Fear of Fire Leaves You Cold, Chapter 8
Title: Fear of Fire Leaves You Cold, Chapter 8
Author: Duckie Nicks
Rating: NC-17
Characters: House, Cuddy, Rachel Cuddy, Wilson, Arlene, Julia, etc.
Author's Note: Since this piece is set post "Moving On," there are spoilers for that episode. Also please note that, while I plan on making this House/Cuddy, it's not going to be a quick thing. Given what House has done, it will take a while to work through all of those issues. If you're looking for an easy happy ending, this isn't the piece for you. Some chapters are split for length.
Warning: This fic contains sex. This chapter also contains some Dominika.
Summary: After House crashes his car through Cuddy's home, both strive to rebuild their lives and deal with the consequences of their broken relationship.
Previous Chapters: Chapter 1, Chapter 2 (Part 1), Chapter 2 (Part 2), Chapter 3, Chapter 4 (Part 1), Chapter 4 (Part 2), Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7 (Part 1), Chapter 7 (Part 2)
Disclaimer: The show is not mine.
The weight of his guilt made moving impossible. Sleep came and went in quick intervals that bled together, but he was never given the escape unconsciousness would provide normally. Somehow his mind remained aware of the woman next to him and her anger. He could feel her occasional glare, sensed when she was surely telling herself that the personal price she would pay for this choice wasn’t worth it. How nice it would have been to be able to look over at her and reassure her that he would repay her, that he wouldn’t put her in the position of regretting her decision. He longed for that but knew that he had already shown he hadn’t earned the reprieve.
He couldn’t even thank her.
The sentiment seemed like it should have been within his reach. She’d saved him. From what he couldn’t summarize. Realistically speaking, he would have been denied the chance to beat the crap out of Gene like he wanted to. Whether the guards would have broken the fight up on their own or not was unclear, but House doubted he would have had much of an opportunity to overpower him. If for no other reason than Gene didn’t have a bum leg, the fight would go in his favor. What would happen after that was anyone’s guess, and House preferred not to. In fact, he couldn’t think about it, not in any real way, not now. Yet the darkness preoccupied him, left him taciturn and intensely unprepared for the change in Cuddy’s demeanor. And while thanking her should have been the easiest thing to do, he couldn’t allow himself to feel gratitude or anything that could be construed as positive. There was too much risk in giving into any emotion. So he closed his eyes and hoped to be home soon.
At times he couldn’t be sure if he were awake or dreaming. Occasionally he’d hear the fleshy sound of her palms against the steering wheel, quiet proof that he was conscious. But then that would fade away into something that felt less real - images of Gene and jail and a distinct unpleasantness that seemed to have no source. Dread snaked through House, but he couldn’t understand why. He didn’t want to know, and his mind flitted elsewhere.
When the car came to a halt a short time later, he realized he must have been asleep a little, for her cold command - “Get up” - startled him.
He blinked tiredly. Much to his surprise, they were outside of his apartment. He did as he was told as fast as his aching muscles would allow. After he’d managed to shakily stand, his weight heavily leaning on the cane, his hand reached for the small bag of possessions he’d had on him. Under her hateful gaze, his feeble actions felt embarrassing, and all he wanted to do was slink away without comment. He’d made things between them so bad that there was no point in even trying to talk to her.
But for some reason, she suddenly felt the need to say quite a lot. Abruptly she got out of the car with him. He didn’t ask what she was doing. Questioning her would be a provocation, and that was the last thing she needed. It felt strange to choose silence over instigation, but if he had any hope of moving past this, what other choice did he have?
She could read the query in his eyes anyway. “Just want to make sure you get inside okay,” she told him with a sneer, the remark punctuated by her car door being slammed shut. The way she said it made it seem far more likely that she was going to murder him in his apartment.
“Fine.” He decided to welcome the end, should she wish to give him one.
He wasn’t that lucky, obviously. When they got inside his place, there wasn’t even Dominika to distract them from the memories this apartment contained. Cuddy had said she’d loved him here first. He’d betrayed her here, and she’d dumped him, broken him, saved him in this place as well. In his head, they’d spent most of their relationship in her house, but that didn’t spare them the reminders of the milestones contained within these walls.
The heavy silence that descended upon them was cliché, yes, but it held them captive nonetheless. He had an urge to say something… but he didn’t know what to tell her. The only thing he wanted was for all of this to go away. Whether he should accomplish this through hating her or trying to earn her forgiveness was impossible to decide when he had no energy to consider the matter with a clear head.
Cuddy had no such ambivalence. She clearly wanted to despise him, although that wasn’t even putting it properly, because there was no yearning on her part to do so. She hated him now without any effort necessary. So for her then, it wasn’t difficult to push past the awkwardness and speak.
“You should know I’ve started to see someone else,” she announced.
He would have liked to say that he couldn’t understand why she wanted him to know this. But her desire to wound was only as obvious as her success in doing so by telling him.
“Same guy that was touching you before?” He didn’t want to know, but curiosity came instinctually to him.
“Does it matter?”
“I don’t know. You’re the one who brought it up,” he said pointedly.
That made her smirk. “And you think… what exactly? That I’m doing this to make you jealous?”
“I think -”
“Well, you’re wrong,” she interrupted, apparently not caring what he thought. “I told you because the last time you saw me with another man, we both know what happened. So for my family’s safety, I -”
“You didn’t have to do that.” He said that, knowing that it wasn’t true.
She was sarcastic, bordering on distraught, when she said, “Because you would never hurt me.”
He started to say, “I didn’t mean to,” but stopped himself from completing the thought. She didn’t care about that. She didn’t care about anything he had to say, and maybe she hadn’t ever. When he’d used Vicodin, had she given him a chance to explain? To defend himself? To apologize? Of course not. She’d just broken up with him as though she’d been waiting for an opportunity to reject him, like it didn’t matter what his reasoning was, because she had already made up her mind.
The thought filled him with… not rage, but something that seemed like a close approximation to that. He wouldn’t do anything to her, because the feeling was tempered with the overwhelming love he had for her. Truth be told, he didn’t understand it. How he could love and hate the same person so intensely was beyond his comprehension. In this instance, however, the latter won out.
“Yeah, I get it, Cuddy,” he said with equal facetiousness. “I was horrible and never good enough for you, and I should be punished every way imaginable for it. You can go now.”
Moments ago, she might have looked like she was desperate to inch her way toward the door. In telling her she could leave, he had somehow made her want to stay. She stood firm, arms folding across her chest.
“Oh I see. You’ve decided to cope with what you’ve done by convincing yourself that you’re the victim here. How horrible I am for daring to want a man who -”
“That’s just it. I’ll forgive you for anything, and you don’t care. I’d do anything for you, and it doesn’t matter to you.”
He didn’t care how pathetic he sounded - was. In that instant, his anger was gone completely, the frustration, the guilt, the sense of betrayal all gone, and what was left was the same painful desire he had for her. All he wanted was her, her forgiveness, her understanding.
His eyes trained on her, he could see that she wasn’t unmoved entirely. She seemed softer, sadder than she had before. But there was still a long distance between that and forgiving him, and she made that clear immediately.
“That’s the problem, House. You’ll do anything.” Her mouth curved downward in a deep frown that she eventually erased with a sigh. “I should go.”
He didn’t want that. He reached out to grab her hand but stopped himself from taking it. Touching her was verboten now and would continue to be until she changed her mind about him. For the time being, he had to settle for saying, “Wait.”
She shook her head. “No, we don’t have anything left to discuss.”
“But -”
“You know the rules. That’s all that needs to be said.” She didn’t give him a chance to argue. She just told him sternly, “Good bye.” Before he’d even opened his mouth, she’d turned and left.
For the first time in a long time, he was alone once more.
*******************************
She felt oddly empty after she left. Explaining to him how the rest of their lives would go was difficult, but the second she stepped outside of his apartment, she was devoid of any notable emotion. There was no regret, no sadness, no anger. There wasn’t even relief. Cuddy supposed it could be worse than being totally numb. Really, it was probably to her advantage that she felt nothing. It would make returning to work easier at least.
An hour later though, it didn’t feel like she was getting a break. News of House’s return seemed to have spread in her absence. The second she’d sat down at her desk after freeing House, she’d come face to face with a bombardment of emails from various doctors and hospital lawyers explaining to her why their offices couldn’t be switched with Wilson’s.
“What did you do?” she asked Regina when Regina brought her a salad and bottle of water from the cafeteria. “Ask everyone if they’d be willing to change offices?”
“Pretty much, yeah.” She was unapologetic. “They were gonna have to be asked eventually either way. I thought it would be better if you weren’t here when everyone learned House was coming back.”
Referring only to the food Regina put on her desk, Cuddy said, “Thank you. Unfortunately, they’ve found a way to complain anyway. Did you at least find someone willing to -”
“Of course not. Who would volunteer for that?”
It wasn’t lost on Cuddy that she herself had willingly subjected herself to him, and for nearly a year at that. Everyone else had seen what was wrong with him and avoided him. She had been the exception, the one to happily get closer when she should have stayed away. But there was nothing to do about that now. It was over; she was safe.
She sighed but recovered enough to make a quick decision. “Ron Simpson can make the switch.” If he’d hesitated to fire House, then dear Ron could deal with the fallout.
Regina seemed less convinced that this was a good idea. “You sure you wanna do that?”
“Yes.”
“He’s a board member.”
“Are you scared to tell him his office is -”
“No. No.” Cuddy had been joking, but Regina was borderline stern with her denial. “I’m not afraid. But I’m also aware of the likelihood of someone’s ego being bruised, and I’m not gonna be the one who bears the brunt of that.”
"Would you like it in writing?" Cuddy asked in a manner that sounded nearer to tart than teasing. She didn't give Regina time to answer. "If Ron has something to say about the switch, you can send him here, all right?"
"Yeah, sure. I'll call janitorial and let them know -”
"That'd be great. Thank you."
Regina turned to go but stopped after the first few steps. Facing Cuddy once more, she pointed out, "Dr. Chase is here. You want me to send him in?"
"Please do."
Cuddy longed to be able to say the opposite, truth be told. Everyone knew House was coming back, but this would be the first and surely not the last time someone on her staff questioned her about him. This would be the beginning. And all she felt at that moment was that she wasn't ready to defend this choice. She felt forced into bringing House back into the fold, but now she would have to present it as a decision she'd made autonomously. She would not let anyone think she'd been pressured into anything. Yet when Chase came into her office, she didn't know how to justify herself.
"You're letting him come back?" he asked petulantly, hands stiffly at his side as though he was afraid of being likened to a child.
She gestured to the chair opposite her desk. "Sit down." Politely he did while she unsnapped the plastic lid to her salad. "I see you've heard the news."
"Of course. But in typical Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital behavior, no one can tell me what that means for the diagnostics department." He didn't ask if he'd been replaced. His faith in House's intelligence made the answer to that question obvious, which she supposed was why he assumed he had been. "Look, I know it wasn't exactly official yet, and you have every right to run the hospital as you see fit. But you didn't even give me a chance to -”
"You're still going to be the head of diagnostics," Cuddy said flatly. She wasn't in a good mood and had no interest in comforting him. But the boyish smile he offered in relief made it impossible to be frustrated with him afterwards. Unlike with House, the youthfulness Chase had made him likable. "House will retain his title for the time being. The less changes we make, the less traction this story has in the news."
He nodded his head. "Okay, so we're keeping this quiet." He said the words out loud, but it was more for his own benefit than hers.
"You'll be in charge of the department. Unfortunately for you, given how this little development might affect our donations, you'll have to share a team. I doubt the budget committee will sign off on any new diagnostics fellows. However, you'll have final say on everything."
"Does House know that?"
"House is aware and in agreement of the specific set of rules he must follow if he wants his return to be permanent."
Chase looked like he didn't want to know, and Cuddy had no intention of telling him.
"Well," he said hesitantly. "That all sounds good, but... you are aware that we have a slight problem then, yeah?"
"What problem would that be?"
"Thirteen. She's on probation. She can't exactly work with House, can she? I mean... I guess technically he's not a convict but close enough."
“Okay.”
“Okay?” he asked, confused.
Cuddy just shrugged. “If she feels that her job is in conflict with her legal status, then she should resign.”
He didn’t like the simplicity of her solution. She could tell as much. “That’s it?”
“What other solution is there? House is staying. Either they work together, or she finds another hospital to work at.”
“She’s a good doctor,” Chase insisted though not firmly.
Cuddy wouldn’t deny his argument. “She is good. When she’s here, I would agree with you. Unfortunately, she has a tendency of not being here. Although I would like to keep her, I have to consider which employee would benefit the hospital the most.” Mentally she struggled to admit the next part, but it came out smoothly enough. “House works more. His name means more. In a comparison, he wins.”
She held Chase’s attention throughout the explanation. No sooner had she stopped talking though that he asked carefully, “Is this about getting back together with him or -”
“Excuse me?” she asked, folding her arms across her chest.
Her displeasure left him cowering instantly. “I’m sorry I -”
“This isn’t personal, but it is simple. House has more value to the hospital. If there’s a conflict, Thirteen has to go.”
He didn’t like her answer. But when he slinked away a few minutes later, Cuddy realized she didn’t like it either. There was nothing to be done about it however. Tomorrow morning House would be here. How that affected Thirteen was a concern Cuddy didn’t have the energy for.
An hour later, Thirteen hadn’t turned in a resignation. The diagnostics department was thankfully silent. Regina hadn’t come back to complain about Ron, and Ron hadn’t said anything either. All things considered, Cuddy felt that the day was going by with a modicum of ease. Given that she’d seen House earlier in the day, it wasn’t as bad as she would have thought it would be. Not that that was saying much.
House was coming back into her life. She’d set limits, but he would be in the hospital tomorrow. He’d be here, breathing the same air, passing through the same corridors. Today was all right, but she recognized that she was merely luxuriating in the last moments she would have free of him.
Immediately she regretted what she’d done - dropping the charges, agreeing to give House his job back, telling him about Malcolm before she’d even been on a date, agreeing to even go on a date when she wasn’t ready.
Protectively her thoughts swayed from House and toward Malcolm. He seemed different than the men she was normally attracted to. He seemed smooth but not manipulative, put together… not at all like House or Lucas or many of the men that had come before them. She’d never been interested in “bad boys,” per se. But looking back, she could see that they’d mostly been rough around the edges in some way, outliers of some sort. She’d known that going in, and that made those men completely unlike Malcolm.
Malcolm, who seemed normal enough and whom she knew absolutely nothing about, she corrected.
The secrets he might have seemed endless to her at that moment. She hadn’t thought House was perfect, but he had been capable of so much she’d never even considered possible. Malcolm seemed sweet by comparison, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t something hiding underneath.
There seemed to be too many ways in which he could hurt her. As attractive as he was, she hoped he wouldn’t call her. He’d been obviously interested when they’d first met, but she hoped that he would change his mind. A new man in her life was probably the last thing she needed right now.
Naturally she wasn’t that lucky. If she wanted no communication, of course he would keep his word. And he did, calling her not twenty minutes after she’d come to the conclusion that she should ignore any advances he might make. Since she didn’t recognize the number, foolishly she took the call on her cell when the phone rang. The second she heard his voice, she regretted answering.
Through her cringing, she heard him say, “Hi, Lisa. It’s Malcolm.”
“Oh,” she uttered breathlessly. “I - what can I do for you?” She sounded out of character with how nervous and awkward the words came out.
She wasn’t surprised that he picked up on it. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” she lied, shaking her head. “It’s just been a busy morning. I guess I’m a little distracted.” She changed the subject. “How are you?”
There was no way she sounded convincing, but he was kind enough to pretend as though she was. “I’m all right actually. I just have a few minutes to myself, so I thought I’d check up and see how you were doing. But if you can’t talk right now -”
“No, it’s fine. Really. If I weren’t talking to you, I’d be dealing with my staff complaining.”
“About Dr. House or just in general?” He wasn’t being intentionally intrusive, but it felt like he was encroaching upon something that wasn’t his business anyway. Before she could respond, he asked, “Is that weird for me to ask?”
She couldn’t help but smile a little, one of her palms briefly pressing against her face to hide the expression. He was being kind, considerate, and it felt nice, even though this really wasn’t something she wanted to talk about. “It’s… yes, a little.”
“I’m sure this whole day has been, shall we say, unconventional.” Before she could agree with him, he told her, “I feel like I should tell you that I know you were the one who picked up Greg House from prison.”
She instantly felt defensive. “I wasn’t keeping it a secret, and I didn’t realize it was a problem.”
“Hey, hold on now. I’m not judging you. It’s just that....” He fell silent briefly before saying simply, “The truth is we both know there was no medical condition or whatever that made House behave the way he did.”
“I’m not testifying against him.”
“I’m not asking you to. Besides, there’d be no point now; with the case dropped, even if you had changed your mind, I couldn’t do anything about it.”
“Then what does it matter if I drove him home?”
“This is awkward,” he muttered with a sigh. “Listen, I’m not trying to pry or anything like that. Okay? But when we were talking earlier, I thought you were digging my vibe. But if all this has happened so that you can get back together with him, all I’m saying is I’d rather know now.”
The choices he was presenting her with were in truth not the only ones available to her. She was aware that, more than anything, right now, she should choose the path of solitude. Dating House had been such a miscalculation on her part, possibly even proof that she had been so desperate for a partner that she had been willing to overlook the red flags all around him. In that light, being alone was the only real option to her. And yet… to forgo a relationship with a decent man because of House seemed so much like being beaten. It would be giving him everything he had hoped to achieve when he drove his car through her home. She wouldn’t give him that.
She couldn’t.
But then again, the very idea of dating someone, opening herself up to someone she didn’t know, made her nervous. And she knew that she wasn’t ready, even as she wanted to be.
“I have no interest in House,” she asserted firmly. “I have my reasons for wanting him out of prison, but it’s not because of some screwed up notion that he loves me or that I still love him.” Malcolm didn’t say anything, just stayed quiet, forcing her to admit, “I’m just not sure that I’m ready to date again.”
He sounded almost cheerful. “Okay. That’s cool.”
“Don’t sound so relieved.”
“Believe me, I’m not. However, if you’re not ready, then I have to respect that, don’t I?” It was a rhetorical question. “I’m not gonna try to convince you that dating me is a good idea. That’d just make me look pathetic and over eager, and I’d chase you away.”
She sighed. “Probably, yeah.”
“So I’ll back off.”
Her stomach twisted at the thought. The less he was interested in her, the more she wanted him to be, it seemed. She started to say that he didn’t have to do that, but he wouldn’t hear of it.
“I’m sure you’re used to having someone push you into this type of situation, but that’s not me. I think you should take all the time you need to move on.” Before she could contradict him or offer an apology for leading him on, he offered, “If I call you in a couple of weeks to see if you’re ready, would that be all right?”
“Of course.”
“Then that’s what I’ll do.”
It was promising enough. She hadn’t driven him away completely, which was more than she could have ever hoped for at this point. That he had any interest in her, given what he knew about House, was more than she deserved.
She just hoped that when he called in a few weeks, if he called, she would be ready. She would be able to want him.
Because she certainly didn’t want House, or to be beholden to him, any longer.
*************************
He was alone. For the first time in weeks, he was finally alone. There was no Gene, no guards to watch over him. No wife, although she’d probably, unfortunately return eventually.
Obviously she would have to come back. He hadn’t forgotten the conditions Cuddy had given him. But for the time being, House would relish being all by himself.
The bag of meager possessions he’d brought to jail was tossed aside and forgotten. As he made his way down the hallway toward the bathroom, his rumpled, dirty clothes followed suit. Piece by piece fell to the ground. When he was left in his underwear, he began to run a hot bath for himself.
He was sure Cuddy had hoped to leave him feeling as though the rest of his days would be miserable. But she hadn’t factored in the whole prison thing. Unhappiness would eventually set in. He wasn’t foolish to think otherwise. Right now however, he was content to have his freedom.
The feeling didn’t last. For the briefest of moments, when he sunk down into the hot water, a sense of ease washed over him. Relief slipped across his features before dissolving in the tub, disappearing. Once the feeling was gone, he couldn’t seem to get it back, no matter how he tried.
The rest of his life seemed too clear to him then. Of all her demands, he couldn’t even acknowledge the ones he could handle. All he could focus on were the ones he had no desire to bear.
How was he supposed to live without Cuddy? How could he do his job without her, without being able to talk to her? And what about Wilson? She hadn’t forbidden contact with him expressly, but House knew that without her approval, he would never have Wilson back in his life. They would band together, support one another, and completely shut House out of the equation. He’d been the inspiration for that friendship, but really what it came down to was that they commiserated together. House knew it would be easy for them to get rid of him and find something else to center their friendship on. Even if that weren’t the case, Wilson would still hate him.
How could anyone ever feel any differently?
After what House had done, what else besides hatred was left for him?
Without her forgiveness, there could be no redemption. If she’d been angry enough to let him go to prison, he would have had her hatred to justify retroactively his actions. She’d given him just enough to keep him in her debt.
With startling clarity, he understood at that moment that any freedom he thought he’d had was gone. He wasn’t in jail, but she had full control over him. If she decided he’d broken her rules, he was done. Professionally and otherwise. At first glance, it would seem like a better alternative than prison; he’d been grateful when she’d picked him up, after all. But a warden could be fair. Cuddy would not allow herself to be.
He sighed and rubbed his cheek with a wet hand. She was in such a dark place now, all of her worst qualities trained on him. She needed someone to pull her out of that space, but what could he do, besides wait her out? He wouldn’t be able to get close enough to fix things himself. And though he had the instinct to want to make her happy once more, he understood that self-preservation was of greater importance at this moment. She wanted nothing to do with him; it would be dangerous for him not to listen to her.
Besides, what could he do, really? Even if she were open to forgiving him, how was he supposed to make that happen?
His mind yearned for answers, a solution to make everything go back to the way it was… before.
It was hopeless.
Despair would have overpowered him then, but it didn’t have a chance to. The bathroom door being shoved open caught his attention.
As he waited for a fraction of a second to see who it was, his mood lifted at the possibility of Cuddy returning.
Instead, it was his wife.
Dominika looked no happier to see him than Cuddy had. Her features were narrowed on him, almost hawk-like. She was red in the face, and if she weren’t so visibly disgusted by his nude body, House assumed she would have attacked him.
"You!" she exclaimed, sounding so frustrated that she couldn't even complete the sentence with one breath. "Fuck for brain! What is wrong with you?"
He wasn't in the mood for her anger. Out of everyone who had been affected by his choices, she was the last person he felt like apologizing to. "Hi, sweetie," he said sarcastically. "Nice to see you -”
"Shut up!" She was fuming, her shoulders bobbing up and down with each deep inhale and ragged exhale she made. "You don't - you are idiot." He didn't care to fight back or even comment. It would probably be easier to stay quiet and let her vent, so that was what he did. "We marry, and you say you get me card. But you go to jail? Now, I never get my -”
"Relax. You'll get your citizenship." It had been one of Cuddy's demands, and while it was the one he cared about the least, he had no interest in screwing up his life over this pathetic caveat.
"How?" Dominika demanded, the question coming out as forcefully as it did anguished. "They know. They will know. I...." Her voice trailed off. When he looked at her carefully, he didn't see any tears. But the look in her eyes told him that she was almost there, that if she trusted him, she would be.
"I wasn't convicted of anything." A half-hearted defense at best, he could admit to himself. "Cuddy -" Dominika scoffed at the mention of her name. He ignored the implications of what that meant. "She got the charges against me dropped. She's convinced the police there was something medically wrong with -"
"There is! You are crazy."
"Yeah, well, either way, it's fine. When I.N.S. comes, they'll bring it up. But it was officially an accident, which means I can keep pretending to be in love with you."
"Lucky me," she snarled before slamming the bathroom door shut.
House stayed in the now lukewarm water for some time afterward. His fingers were beginning to prune, but the idea of going out into the apartment and facing Dominika's wrath some more was the last thing he wanted. He already had to deal with Cuddy's. Now he had to try to appease a woman who he didn't even care about? He didn't like that. Of course, as per Cuddy's rules, he would have to do what was necessary to make things right with Dominika. And maybe... since he had brought the woman into this mess to begin with as part of some stupid plan to get Cuddy back by making her jealous, he owed it to her anyway. For all Dominika had put up with, he guessed that she had earned the citizenship she wanted.
It was odd though. As beholden as he should be, it was a feeling he could tell he was forcing himself to have. In truth, he didn't care about her at all. At best, he was hoping that being a man of his word would make Cuddy happy. That was all there was to it.
That didn't scare him - much. But it did make him wonder just how terrible he really was. He should feel something for Dominika. Not love of course, but she had cleaned and cooked for him for a while now. She'd agreed to be part of a plan. Granted, it hadn't worked, but she'd been willing to do something for him when he'd needed someone to help him get Cuddy back. That should have earned some semblance of loyalty from him, some friendship. He thought he should have cared about her wellbeing just a little big. The truth was, however, he didn't care at all. And when he tried to figure out what that meant, he could only believe it meant that he was an awful person.
He'd been to therapy before; he'd gone off the Vicodin, and supposedly, he'd changed. In his head, that time at the mental institution had led him to a better place, something less dark. It had allowed him to have Cuddy in his life, and that love had transformed him, consumed him.
But that was a lie now. He could see that. If not for the way he had treated Cuddy, how little he cared for Dominika was proof. He was selfish and cruel, unfeeling and desperate. Cuddy had changed, but deep down, she was still the same person. However mean she was being at the moment, some part of her yearned to be kind. He had seen it in her eyes. He couldn't say the same about himself. He was the same person he had always been. The only difference was now, he had shown too much of himself to let anyone ever believe that he was capable of any goodness. Thanks to his idiocy, everyone knew what a monster he was.
Cuddy was ordering him to therapy, but he understood it wouldn't change anything. It hadn't before. No matter what, he would remain the same old bastard he'd always been.
**********************
In spite of his reservations, House was on time for his appointment the next day. Having been denied the right to drive, he’d had to take a taxi (Dominika wasn’t talking to him, so he couldn’t ask her). The office was easy enough to find though. Deep in the middle of town, the brownstone building had once been a family home. Converted into an office, it all seemed... nice enough, but it certainly wouldn't have been his pick. He was surprised that Cuddy had chosen this for him, too. It didn't really matter though.
He doubted anyone could help him. On the other hand, if recent events didn't spur him to change, what would? He had decided late last night that at least attempting to change was better than accepting the way he was. It would have been better of course if he'd had any hope of growth, and he didn't. He was here with the assumption that nothing would be fixed. He couldn't be fixed. But there was no other choice for him. He had to be here.
Yet he couldn't stop himself from feeling nervous in the waiting room. The walls had been painted in a soothing blue, the furniture a nice neutral gray, but none of that seemed to have any effect on him. While he clearly needed therapy, it was hard to accept that. Opening himself up to someone new wouldn't be easy. And when he remembered that the doctor would keep Cuddy apprised of his situation, he felt himself tense up. House started to reach for a Vicodin but stopped himself. It wouldn't help, he thought.
When the doctor opened the door a few minutes later, he regretted that decision. It was one thing to know in theory that he would be expected to open up to a stranger. It was another thing entirely to be face to face with that person. In that moment, even though she smiled at him, Audrey Jenkins seemed like she might be impossible to talk to. She was tall, almost his height, blonde hair, dark brown eyes that seemed less sympathetic than he would have liked. His first thought about her was that she would be hard to fool. His second thought - why did he wish to fool her to begin with?
"Greg House?" she asked in a warm but professional manner. It was a stupid question, because he was the only one in the room. He nodded his head anyway and let the idiocy go uncommented on. "Come on back. Let's get started."
He stood up from the chair without much difficulty. But the short walk made him feel uneasy anyway. As she shut the door behind him, he took in the room. Everything about it was designated to make a person feel comfortable. A wall, which would have been brick at one point, was now floor to ceiling windows. It overlooked a small but private garden area. Since it was summer, some of the flowers had wilted in the heat. The grass wasn't as green as it could have been, but House supposed it would have looked nice a few months ago.
Inside the actual room was a large couch; to avoid cliché, he had no desire to lie on it. There were also two armchairs near one another and Jenkins' desk with chairs in front of and behind it.
"Sit wherever you want," she said encouragingly. He chose one of the armchairs, and she copied him. "Did you have trouble finding the place?"
He shook his head. "No."
"Good." Immediately she changed the subject. "Since this is our first time together, I'd like to establish a framework for these meetings. You may notice once we begin that I don't use methods of recording our sessions. I don't take notes while you talk. I don't film or tape, and there are no secret means of me doing so."
"Really?" he asked that, mostly because she was looking at him for some type of response.
"I have an eidetic memory. It means -”
"I know what it means." He thought he understood why Cuddy had chosen this woman to work with him. Cuddy had heard about the doctor with the photographic memory and either assumed that he would find it interesting or that the doctor wouldn't let him get away with lying.
"I find that I am of better use to my patients if I focus on them, rather than taking notes. However, after our sessions, I will make notations in a chart. That way, should you ever wish to change psychiatrists, your new doctor will have a record of -"
"That's not going to be an issue." He was confident about that. If Cuddy had said to work with Jenkins, then that would happen. There would be no switching, no alternatives, no getting out of it.
Jenkins nodded her head in concession. "No, I don't think it will be... which provides a segue to what I suppose is your main reservation, should you have one."
Although he had come with at least some intention of giving this a try, he didn't take the bait. "What reservation do you think I have?"
"You've been ordered to attend these sessions."
"Yes."
"I'm sure at this point your employer has told you that she would be kept up to date about your attendance."
He nodded his head but had to ask, "That's not an issue for you?"
"No. Dr. Cuddy will be informed of your attendance ONLY and your interest in participating in the process. The details of our sessions will remain between us."
He bristled at her argument. It sounded fine in theory, but what proof did he have that she would keep her word? It would be so easy for her to say that and then tell Cuddy everything he'd said.
Jenkins sensed his hesitation. "You don't believe me."
"I didn't say that."
"That's not exactly a denial either," she pointed out.
"No, it's not," he agreed.
"What would I have to gain by telling your boss the specifics of our sessions? Money? Sick pleasure perhaps at revealing all your secrets? Possibly, but rationally, the negative consequences would far outweigh the positive ones. I have no interest in losing my license or my patients or gaining the reputation as a doctor who can't maintain confidence."
It certainly seemed logical. If she were caught revealing confidential information, it would be costly to her professionally. Still... he couldn't outright concede the argument to her.
"Might I suggest something?" she asked cautiously. He gave her a look to suggest that he didn't exactly care. "This... is just for you to think about. You don't have to tell me I'm right or wrong about this, okay? But what if your hesitation has nothing to do with me? What if you are preoccupied about me telling Dr. Cuddy your secrets, because you want her to be curious about your life?"
He would have groaned if he'd felt comfortable doing so. "Do we have to talk about her?"
"Don't we?" she threw back at him non-confrontationally.
That made him curious. "What did she tell you?"
"When she called to hire me to arrange sessions with you, I needed some convincing that there was a reason for me to agree to this. The details of that conversation aren't really that important."
"If they weren't important, wouldn't you just say what -"
"You know her better than I do. I am sure that you can create a scenario in your head of the exact nature of that dialogue. What I will tell you is that she did reveal that you two had dated and that you had been arrested afterwards."
He felt like he was being prompted to talk about the car and that day. "I don't want to talk about that."
Jenkins didn't seem disappointed by that. "I'm not asking you to. Whatever the reason you are here, I'm only here for one: to be a sounding board for you. I will inform Dr. Cuddy of your attendance. What goes on in these sessions will be determined by you alone."
House didn't respond. He doubted very much that she didn't want to hear about how he'd almost accidentally killed his ex-girlfriend. That sounded like a psychiatrist's wet dream. The only way it could get any juicier was if he'd nearly ran Cuddy over because of issues with his mother or something equally Freudian.
Jenkins leaned back in her chair. "What are you thinking?"
"That you're full of crap."
That actually made her smile. "I'm sure. I am fully expecting that it might be difficult for you to open up. That's completely normal, Greg."
He wanted to say that reservations were normal, but this situation was anything but. He kept quiet though. He was reluctant to speak in case any of this was relayed to Cuddy. Paradoxically, if she were listening so to speak, it would be better, he realized, for him to talk. The more into this he was, the better he would look in her eyes. Then again, she had no desire to see any good in him, and he could only guess what she might do with any information she was told.
"If we're going to sit here in silence," Jenkins prodded gently. "Would you mind if I read a book?"
"You're going to read?" He scoffed at the very idea.
She shrugged. "If you don't want to talk, it's less awkward if -"
"I didn't say that." If that got back to Cuddy, if she thought he wasn't taking this seriously... he began to sweat. "Don't tell her that."
Jenkins folded her hands across her lap. "I'm not going to tell her anything."
"You've already...." He stopped himself to avoid sounding like a petulant child.
"What would be proof for you? That I have your confidence in mind for each of these sessions, what would it take to convince you?"
She honestly wanted to know, or so it seemed. But he didn't know what she would have to do. Anything she said, he would assume was a lie. If they did this for a few weeks and she didn't betray him, he wasn't sure that he would be convinced.
"I don't know," he admitted.
"Is there anything I can do to prove my trustworthiness to you?"
"... Probably not."
"So if I'm understanding you then, and you should tell me when I'm wrong: no matter what I say or do, I might be lying to you."
"Everyone does."
"Lie to you?"
He shook his head. "Lie in general."
"Sure," she agreed. "But this is more than that, isn't it? I wouldn't just be lying. I would be betraying you. Wouldn't I? If I said to you that this is confidential and then told someone about our sessions, that would be a betrayal."
"Yeah. I understand what the definition of betrayal is, thanks."
She ignored the bite in his words. "And you assume I'm capable of -"
"Isn't everyone?"
"You tell me."
He rolled his eyes at the obvious prompt. "Yeah, doc. Everyone is capable of being an asshole," he said sarcastically.
"But willing to be though? Everyone may have the ability to commit betrayal, but do you think everyone is willing to -"
"Yes," he answered full-heartedly. He’d said it to shut her up. But in telling her that, he realized it was true.
A couple months ago, when he was with Cuddy, he could have never believed that she would dump him over a drug relapse. When she'd found him on the bathroom floor with the drugs in his hand, he'd believed her when she hadn't flinched at the sight, when she’d said she’d loved him. He'd thought he'd found someone who wouldn't turn away from him when he inevitably screwed up. But he hadn't found that person at all. No doubt she'd thought she'd fallen in love with someone who'd never hurt her. But he'd done that. And if they were capable of turning against one another, after everything they'd been through, yes, anyone could turn against him. He'd never be able to think otherwise now.
Jenkins didn't ask him for his thoughts when he fell silent. She just said sympathetically, "That must be difficult to accept." He didn't agree or disagree, and noticing his reluctance, she changed the subject. "So then let me ask you. What are your expectations for these sessions together? Assuming I don't betray you or don't do it for a while, if you would prefer, what are you hoping to get out of this experience?"
"I don't know."
"Consider the question for a moment then."
"Why?"
"I think it's easier to move forward if we both have a clear picture of what we want to achieve."
He thought about what he wanted to say. The answer was simple if difficult to actually state: he wanted to be fixed. Whatever that meant. Whatever was wrong with him, he wanted that part of him to be gone: the violence, the coldness, the malice within him. He didn't want to be like that anymore. But finding the words to express that was harder than he anticipated. Admitting that he was so screwed up that he couldn't even name what was wrong with him... well, he didn't know how to do that. Trusting Jenkins had nothing to do with it anymore. If she told Cuddy what he was saying, it didn't matter. If anything, he wanted her to hear how much he wanted to change things. It was embarrassing, but at least it might make her hate him a little less.
That was what made him realize he didn't care what Jenkins' endgame was. If she told Cuddy what he said, it couldn't make things any worse than they already were. If Jenkins told anyone, it couldn't make his life any more miserable. He hadn't been under any illusions about where he was with his life at the moment. But this was one more reminder that he had well and truly hit rock bottom. There was no place worse. And there was nothing shameful left to be had in having his secrets exposed.
Again though, he struggled to encompass that deep feeling of inadequacy into a sentence.
"Greg?"
"I don't know," he said lamely. "I guess... different - I want to be different when this is over."
"Different how?" He opened his mouth to speak, but words didn't come out. After a moment, he sighed in defeat. Sensing this, she changed the question. "How would you describe yourself now?"
He knew it didn't matter what he said. Regardless of the description, it would always amount to the same thing: he was the monster who had done everything he'd been accused of. There was nothing Cuddy could say that wasn't true. He'd gotten out of prison, but he was guilty. No one would ever believe otherwise, definitely not the one person who mattered. So he blurted out the first thing that came to mind.
"Bad."
It was hardly eloquent. It wasn't the most mature way of putting it, but it was true anyway. That was how he felt.
"You would describe yourself as 'bad.'"
He nodded his head. "Yeah."
She let the thought hang in the air for a moment, then asked, "Why do you think that?"
"Because... whatever Cuddy told you about me is... the truth." Reluctantly, he admitted, "Because even though it didn't seem like that was what I was doing at the time, I did try to kill her."
"And that makes you -"
"Doesn't make me a good person to have done that."
"No, that was probably not your best moment." It would have made him laugh if she didn't add, "This is a good start. I'm glad to see that you're capable of seeing that you've done something wrong. A lot of people can't even get that far, Greg. This is great work. If we can though, what I would like to do is to see if we can't come up with a more specific goal."
"Why?" he asked, annoyed. He had given her an answer and didn't enjoy being told that it hadn't been good enough.
She held up her hand to stop him. "Hold on for a second. Let's go back, focus on the first part of my words. Did you hear what I said?"
"Sure."
"What did I say?"
He started to feel frustrated at the question. He had heard her and therefore, didn't like going back and belaboring the point. "You said it was a good start."
"Did you also hear me say that I'm proud that you were able to answer at all?"
"Yes. Of course."
"You seemed a little upset though when I suggested we come up with a more specific goal. Were you?"
"I wouldn't put it like that. ”
"How would you put it?"
"I was annoyed. I gave an answer. You want a different answer."
"I would like... a more complete answer," Jenkins said judiciously. "I don't expect you to have one today. It can be something you think about. What qualities or habits are you really hoping to adjust? What tools would you like to have that you feel you don't have? That can be something you decide before our next session, and the answer can always change as we move forward. Okay?"
She was so optimistic about it that he found it hard to swallow. There was nothing saccharine about her delivery, but the sentiment of it made him feel uncomfortable. "Fine."
"The other thing I would like you to try is this: when someone gives you praise, I want you to really think about what they are telling you. I don't want you to discard it, so you can focus on what you perceive to be criticism. Maybe that can be our immediate goal."
He didn't treat the idea like it was a very good one, but he didn't rejected it either. "Okay."
"You don't like the suggestion."
He disagreed. "No, I think it's a needless one."
"Why?"
"Who exactly is going to be praising me any time soon?" He meant it more of a joke, but it wasn't funny. It was true, not humorous. And though he had a smirk on his face, it probably appeared to be more of a pained wince.
Jenkins answered instantly, "I just did, if you'll recall."
"Ooh, one time. Do I get a treat for that?"
"How about something to think about instead?" Then she specified, "Maybe you're not bad. Maybe it’s this perception of yourself that allows you to give yourself permission to do bad things. What do you think about that?"
Read on to the next chapter
Author: Duckie Nicks
Rating: NC-17
Characters: House, Cuddy, Rachel Cuddy, Wilson, Arlene, Julia, etc.
Author's Note: Since this piece is set post "Moving On," there are spoilers for that episode. Also please note that, while I plan on making this House/Cuddy, it's not going to be a quick thing. Given what House has done, it will take a while to work through all of those issues. If you're looking for an easy happy ending, this isn't the piece for you. Some chapters are split for length.
Warning: This fic contains sex. This chapter also contains some Dominika.
Summary: After House crashes his car through Cuddy's home, both strive to rebuild their lives and deal with the consequences of their broken relationship.
Previous Chapters: Chapter 1, Chapter 2 (Part 1), Chapter 2 (Part 2), Chapter 3, Chapter 4 (Part 1), Chapter 4 (Part 2), Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7 (Part 1), Chapter 7 (Part 2)
Disclaimer: The show is not mine.
The weight of his guilt made moving impossible. Sleep came and went in quick intervals that bled together, but he was never given the escape unconsciousness would provide normally. Somehow his mind remained aware of the woman next to him and her anger. He could feel her occasional glare, sensed when she was surely telling herself that the personal price she would pay for this choice wasn’t worth it. How nice it would have been to be able to look over at her and reassure her that he would repay her, that he wouldn’t put her in the position of regretting her decision. He longed for that but knew that he had already shown he hadn’t earned the reprieve.
He couldn’t even thank her.
The sentiment seemed like it should have been within his reach. She’d saved him. From what he couldn’t summarize. Realistically speaking, he would have been denied the chance to beat the crap out of Gene like he wanted to. Whether the guards would have broken the fight up on their own or not was unclear, but House doubted he would have had much of an opportunity to overpower him. If for no other reason than Gene didn’t have a bum leg, the fight would go in his favor. What would happen after that was anyone’s guess, and House preferred not to. In fact, he couldn’t think about it, not in any real way, not now. Yet the darkness preoccupied him, left him taciturn and intensely unprepared for the change in Cuddy’s demeanor. And while thanking her should have been the easiest thing to do, he couldn’t allow himself to feel gratitude or anything that could be construed as positive. There was too much risk in giving into any emotion. So he closed his eyes and hoped to be home soon.
At times he couldn’t be sure if he were awake or dreaming. Occasionally he’d hear the fleshy sound of her palms against the steering wheel, quiet proof that he was conscious. But then that would fade away into something that felt less real - images of Gene and jail and a distinct unpleasantness that seemed to have no source. Dread snaked through House, but he couldn’t understand why. He didn’t want to know, and his mind flitted elsewhere.
When the car came to a halt a short time later, he realized he must have been asleep a little, for her cold command - “Get up” - startled him.
He blinked tiredly. Much to his surprise, they were outside of his apartment. He did as he was told as fast as his aching muscles would allow. After he’d managed to shakily stand, his weight heavily leaning on the cane, his hand reached for the small bag of possessions he’d had on him. Under her hateful gaze, his feeble actions felt embarrassing, and all he wanted to do was slink away without comment. He’d made things between them so bad that there was no point in even trying to talk to her.
But for some reason, she suddenly felt the need to say quite a lot. Abruptly she got out of the car with him. He didn’t ask what she was doing. Questioning her would be a provocation, and that was the last thing she needed. It felt strange to choose silence over instigation, but if he had any hope of moving past this, what other choice did he have?
She could read the query in his eyes anyway. “Just want to make sure you get inside okay,” she told him with a sneer, the remark punctuated by her car door being slammed shut. The way she said it made it seem far more likely that she was going to murder him in his apartment.
“Fine.” He decided to welcome the end, should she wish to give him one.
He wasn’t that lucky, obviously. When they got inside his place, there wasn’t even Dominika to distract them from the memories this apartment contained. Cuddy had said she’d loved him here first. He’d betrayed her here, and she’d dumped him, broken him, saved him in this place as well. In his head, they’d spent most of their relationship in her house, but that didn’t spare them the reminders of the milestones contained within these walls.
The heavy silence that descended upon them was cliché, yes, but it held them captive nonetheless. He had an urge to say something… but he didn’t know what to tell her. The only thing he wanted was for all of this to go away. Whether he should accomplish this through hating her or trying to earn her forgiveness was impossible to decide when he had no energy to consider the matter with a clear head.
Cuddy had no such ambivalence. She clearly wanted to despise him, although that wasn’t even putting it properly, because there was no yearning on her part to do so. She hated him now without any effort necessary. So for her then, it wasn’t difficult to push past the awkwardness and speak.
“You should know I’ve started to see someone else,” she announced.
He would have liked to say that he couldn’t understand why she wanted him to know this. But her desire to wound was only as obvious as her success in doing so by telling him.
“Same guy that was touching you before?” He didn’t want to know, but curiosity came instinctually to him.
“Does it matter?”
“I don’t know. You’re the one who brought it up,” he said pointedly.
That made her smirk. “And you think… what exactly? That I’m doing this to make you jealous?”
“I think -”
“Well, you’re wrong,” she interrupted, apparently not caring what he thought. “I told you because the last time you saw me with another man, we both know what happened. So for my family’s safety, I -”
“You didn’t have to do that.” He said that, knowing that it wasn’t true.
She was sarcastic, bordering on distraught, when she said, “Because you would never hurt me.”
He started to say, “I didn’t mean to,” but stopped himself from completing the thought. She didn’t care about that. She didn’t care about anything he had to say, and maybe she hadn’t ever. When he’d used Vicodin, had she given him a chance to explain? To defend himself? To apologize? Of course not. She’d just broken up with him as though she’d been waiting for an opportunity to reject him, like it didn’t matter what his reasoning was, because she had already made up her mind.
The thought filled him with… not rage, but something that seemed like a close approximation to that. He wouldn’t do anything to her, because the feeling was tempered with the overwhelming love he had for her. Truth be told, he didn’t understand it. How he could love and hate the same person so intensely was beyond his comprehension. In this instance, however, the latter won out.
“Yeah, I get it, Cuddy,” he said with equal facetiousness. “I was horrible and never good enough for you, and I should be punished every way imaginable for it. You can go now.”
Moments ago, she might have looked like she was desperate to inch her way toward the door. In telling her she could leave, he had somehow made her want to stay. She stood firm, arms folding across her chest.
“Oh I see. You’ve decided to cope with what you’ve done by convincing yourself that you’re the victim here. How horrible I am for daring to want a man who -”
“That’s just it. I’ll forgive you for anything, and you don’t care. I’d do anything for you, and it doesn’t matter to you.”
He didn’t care how pathetic he sounded - was. In that instant, his anger was gone completely, the frustration, the guilt, the sense of betrayal all gone, and what was left was the same painful desire he had for her. All he wanted was her, her forgiveness, her understanding.
His eyes trained on her, he could see that she wasn’t unmoved entirely. She seemed softer, sadder than she had before. But there was still a long distance between that and forgiving him, and she made that clear immediately.
“That’s the problem, House. You’ll do anything.” Her mouth curved downward in a deep frown that she eventually erased with a sigh. “I should go.”
He didn’t want that. He reached out to grab her hand but stopped himself from taking it. Touching her was verboten now and would continue to be until she changed her mind about him. For the time being, he had to settle for saying, “Wait.”
She shook her head. “No, we don’t have anything left to discuss.”
“But -”
“You know the rules. That’s all that needs to be said.” She didn’t give him a chance to argue. She just told him sternly, “Good bye.” Before he’d even opened his mouth, she’d turned and left.
For the first time in a long time, he was alone once more.
*******************************
She felt oddly empty after she left. Explaining to him how the rest of their lives would go was difficult, but the second she stepped outside of his apartment, she was devoid of any notable emotion. There was no regret, no sadness, no anger. There wasn’t even relief. Cuddy supposed it could be worse than being totally numb. Really, it was probably to her advantage that she felt nothing. It would make returning to work easier at least.
An hour later though, it didn’t feel like she was getting a break. News of House’s return seemed to have spread in her absence. The second she’d sat down at her desk after freeing House, she’d come face to face with a bombardment of emails from various doctors and hospital lawyers explaining to her why their offices couldn’t be switched with Wilson’s.
“What did you do?” she asked Regina when Regina brought her a salad and bottle of water from the cafeteria. “Ask everyone if they’d be willing to change offices?”
“Pretty much, yeah.” She was unapologetic. “They were gonna have to be asked eventually either way. I thought it would be better if you weren’t here when everyone learned House was coming back.”
Referring only to the food Regina put on her desk, Cuddy said, “Thank you. Unfortunately, they’ve found a way to complain anyway. Did you at least find someone willing to -”
“Of course not. Who would volunteer for that?”
It wasn’t lost on Cuddy that she herself had willingly subjected herself to him, and for nearly a year at that. Everyone else had seen what was wrong with him and avoided him. She had been the exception, the one to happily get closer when she should have stayed away. But there was nothing to do about that now. It was over; she was safe.
She sighed but recovered enough to make a quick decision. “Ron Simpson can make the switch.” If he’d hesitated to fire House, then dear Ron could deal with the fallout.
Regina seemed less convinced that this was a good idea. “You sure you wanna do that?”
“Yes.”
“He’s a board member.”
“Are you scared to tell him his office is -”
“No. No.” Cuddy had been joking, but Regina was borderline stern with her denial. “I’m not afraid. But I’m also aware of the likelihood of someone’s ego being bruised, and I’m not gonna be the one who bears the brunt of that.”
"Would you like it in writing?" Cuddy asked in a manner that sounded nearer to tart than teasing. She didn't give Regina time to answer. "If Ron has something to say about the switch, you can send him here, all right?"
"Yeah, sure. I'll call janitorial and let them know -”
"That'd be great. Thank you."
Regina turned to go but stopped after the first few steps. Facing Cuddy once more, she pointed out, "Dr. Chase is here. You want me to send him in?"
"Please do."
Cuddy longed to be able to say the opposite, truth be told. Everyone knew House was coming back, but this would be the first and surely not the last time someone on her staff questioned her about him. This would be the beginning. And all she felt at that moment was that she wasn't ready to defend this choice. She felt forced into bringing House back into the fold, but now she would have to present it as a decision she'd made autonomously. She would not let anyone think she'd been pressured into anything. Yet when Chase came into her office, she didn't know how to justify herself.
"You're letting him come back?" he asked petulantly, hands stiffly at his side as though he was afraid of being likened to a child.
She gestured to the chair opposite her desk. "Sit down." Politely he did while she unsnapped the plastic lid to her salad. "I see you've heard the news."
"Of course. But in typical Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital behavior, no one can tell me what that means for the diagnostics department." He didn't ask if he'd been replaced. His faith in House's intelligence made the answer to that question obvious, which she supposed was why he assumed he had been. "Look, I know it wasn't exactly official yet, and you have every right to run the hospital as you see fit. But you didn't even give me a chance to -”
"You're still going to be the head of diagnostics," Cuddy said flatly. She wasn't in a good mood and had no interest in comforting him. But the boyish smile he offered in relief made it impossible to be frustrated with him afterwards. Unlike with House, the youthfulness Chase had made him likable. "House will retain his title for the time being. The less changes we make, the less traction this story has in the news."
He nodded his head. "Okay, so we're keeping this quiet." He said the words out loud, but it was more for his own benefit than hers.
"You'll be in charge of the department. Unfortunately for you, given how this little development might affect our donations, you'll have to share a team. I doubt the budget committee will sign off on any new diagnostics fellows. However, you'll have final say on everything."
"Does House know that?"
"House is aware and in agreement of the specific set of rules he must follow if he wants his return to be permanent."
Chase looked like he didn't want to know, and Cuddy had no intention of telling him.
"Well," he said hesitantly. "That all sounds good, but... you are aware that we have a slight problem then, yeah?"
"What problem would that be?"
"Thirteen. She's on probation. She can't exactly work with House, can she? I mean... I guess technically he's not a convict but close enough."
“Okay.”
“Okay?” he asked, confused.
Cuddy just shrugged. “If she feels that her job is in conflict with her legal status, then she should resign.”
He didn’t like the simplicity of her solution. She could tell as much. “That’s it?”
“What other solution is there? House is staying. Either they work together, or she finds another hospital to work at.”
“She’s a good doctor,” Chase insisted though not firmly.
Cuddy wouldn’t deny his argument. “She is good. When she’s here, I would agree with you. Unfortunately, she has a tendency of not being here. Although I would like to keep her, I have to consider which employee would benefit the hospital the most.” Mentally she struggled to admit the next part, but it came out smoothly enough. “House works more. His name means more. In a comparison, he wins.”
She held Chase’s attention throughout the explanation. No sooner had she stopped talking though that he asked carefully, “Is this about getting back together with him or -”
“Excuse me?” she asked, folding her arms across her chest.
Her displeasure left him cowering instantly. “I’m sorry I -”
“This isn’t personal, but it is simple. House has more value to the hospital. If there’s a conflict, Thirteen has to go.”
He didn’t like her answer. But when he slinked away a few minutes later, Cuddy realized she didn’t like it either. There was nothing to be done about it however. Tomorrow morning House would be here. How that affected Thirteen was a concern Cuddy didn’t have the energy for.
An hour later, Thirteen hadn’t turned in a resignation. The diagnostics department was thankfully silent. Regina hadn’t come back to complain about Ron, and Ron hadn’t said anything either. All things considered, Cuddy felt that the day was going by with a modicum of ease. Given that she’d seen House earlier in the day, it wasn’t as bad as she would have thought it would be. Not that that was saying much.
House was coming back into her life. She’d set limits, but he would be in the hospital tomorrow. He’d be here, breathing the same air, passing through the same corridors. Today was all right, but she recognized that she was merely luxuriating in the last moments she would have free of him.
Immediately she regretted what she’d done - dropping the charges, agreeing to give House his job back, telling him about Malcolm before she’d even been on a date, agreeing to even go on a date when she wasn’t ready.
Protectively her thoughts swayed from House and toward Malcolm. He seemed different than the men she was normally attracted to. He seemed smooth but not manipulative, put together… not at all like House or Lucas or many of the men that had come before them. She’d never been interested in “bad boys,” per se. But looking back, she could see that they’d mostly been rough around the edges in some way, outliers of some sort. She’d known that going in, and that made those men completely unlike Malcolm.
Malcolm, who seemed normal enough and whom she knew absolutely nothing about, she corrected.
The secrets he might have seemed endless to her at that moment. She hadn’t thought House was perfect, but he had been capable of so much she’d never even considered possible. Malcolm seemed sweet by comparison, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t something hiding underneath.
There seemed to be too many ways in which he could hurt her. As attractive as he was, she hoped he wouldn’t call her. He’d been obviously interested when they’d first met, but she hoped that he would change his mind. A new man in her life was probably the last thing she needed right now.
Naturally she wasn’t that lucky. If she wanted no communication, of course he would keep his word. And he did, calling her not twenty minutes after she’d come to the conclusion that she should ignore any advances he might make. Since she didn’t recognize the number, foolishly she took the call on her cell when the phone rang. The second she heard his voice, she regretted answering.
Through her cringing, she heard him say, “Hi, Lisa. It’s Malcolm.”
“Oh,” she uttered breathlessly. “I - what can I do for you?” She sounded out of character with how nervous and awkward the words came out.
She wasn’t surprised that he picked up on it. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” she lied, shaking her head. “It’s just been a busy morning. I guess I’m a little distracted.” She changed the subject. “How are you?”
There was no way she sounded convincing, but he was kind enough to pretend as though she was. “I’m all right actually. I just have a few minutes to myself, so I thought I’d check up and see how you were doing. But if you can’t talk right now -”
“No, it’s fine. Really. If I weren’t talking to you, I’d be dealing with my staff complaining.”
“About Dr. House or just in general?” He wasn’t being intentionally intrusive, but it felt like he was encroaching upon something that wasn’t his business anyway. Before she could respond, he asked, “Is that weird for me to ask?”
She couldn’t help but smile a little, one of her palms briefly pressing against her face to hide the expression. He was being kind, considerate, and it felt nice, even though this really wasn’t something she wanted to talk about. “It’s… yes, a little.”
“I’m sure this whole day has been, shall we say, unconventional.” Before she could agree with him, he told her, “I feel like I should tell you that I know you were the one who picked up Greg House from prison.”
She instantly felt defensive. “I wasn’t keeping it a secret, and I didn’t realize it was a problem.”
“Hey, hold on now. I’m not judging you. It’s just that....” He fell silent briefly before saying simply, “The truth is we both know there was no medical condition or whatever that made House behave the way he did.”
“I’m not testifying against him.”
“I’m not asking you to. Besides, there’d be no point now; with the case dropped, even if you had changed your mind, I couldn’t do anything about it.”
“Then what does it matter if I drove him home?”
“This is awkward,” he muttered with a sigh. “Listen, I’m not trying to pry or anything like that. Okay? But when we were talking earlier, I thought you were digging my vibe. But if all this has happened so that you can get back together with him, all I’m saying is I’d rather know now.”
The choices he was presenting her with were in truth not the only ones available to her. She was aware that, more than anything, right now, she should choose the path of solitude. Dating House had been such a miscalculation on her part, possibly even proof that she had been so desperate for a partner that she had been willing to overlook the red flags all around him. In that light, being alone was the only real option to her. And yet… to forgo a relationship with a decent man because of House seemed so much like being beaten. It would be giving him everything he had hoped to achieve when he drove his car through her home. She wouldn’t give him that.
She couldn’t.
But then again, the very idea of dating someone, opening herself up to someone she didn’t know, made her nervous. And she knew that she wasn’t ready, even as she wanted to be.
“I have no interest in House,” she asserted firmly. “I have my reasons for wanting him out of prison, but it’s not because of some screwed up notion that he loves me or that I still love him.” Malcolm didn’t say anything, just stayed quiet, forcing her to admit, “I’m just not sure that I’m ready to date again.”
He sounded almost cheerful. “Okay. That’s cool.”
“Don’t sound so relieved.”
“Believe me, I’m not. However, if you’re not ready, then I have to respect that, don’t I?” It was a rhetorical question. “I’m not gonna try to convince you that dating me is a good idea. That’d just make me look pathetic and over eager, and I’d chase you away.”
She sighed. “Probably, yeah.”
“So I’ll back off.”
Her stomach twisted at the thought. The less he was interested in her, the more she wanted him to be, it seemed. She started to say that he didn’t have to do that, but he wouldn’t hear of it.
“I’m sure you’re used to having someone push you into this type of situation, but that’s not me. I think you should take all the time you need to move on.” Before she could contradict him or offer an apology for leading him on, he offered, “If I call you in a couple of weeks to see if you’re ready, would that be all right?”
“Of course.”
“Then that’s what I’ll do.”
It was promising enough. She hadn’t driven him away completely, which was more than she could have ever hoped for at this point. That he had any interest in her, given what he knew about House, was more than she deserved.
She just hoped that when he called in a few weeks, if he called, she would be ready. She would be able to want him.
Because she certainly didn’t want House, or to be beholden to him, any longer.
*************************
He was alone. For the first time in weeks, he was finally alone. There was no Gene, no guards to watch over him. No wife, although she’d probably, unfortunately return eventually.
Obviously she would have to come back. He hadn’t forgotten the conditions Cuddy had given him. But for the time being, House would relish being all by himself.
The bag of meager possessions he’d brought to jail was tossed aside and forgotten. As he made his way down the hallway toward the bathroom, his rumpled, dirty clothes followed suit. Piece by piece fell to the ground. When he was left in his underwear, he began to run a hot bath for himself.
He was sure Cuddy had hoped to leave him feeling as though the rest of his days would be miserable. But she hadn’t factored in the whole prison thing. Unhappiness would eventually set in. He wasn’t foolish to think otherwise. Right now however, he was content to have his freedom.
The feeling didn’t last. For the briefest of moments, when he sunk down into the hot water, a sense of ease washed over him. Relief slipped across his features before dissolving in the tub, disappearing. Once the feeling was gone, he couldn’t seem to get it back, no matter how he tried.
The rest of his life seemed too clear to him then. Of all her demands, he couldn’t even acknowledge the ones he could handle. All he could focus on were the ones he had no desire to bear.
How was he supposed to live without Cuddy? How could he do his job without her, without being able to talk to her? And what about Wilson? She hadn’t forbidden contact with him expressly, but House knew that without her approval, he would never have Wilson back in his life. They would band together, support one another, and completely shut House out of the equation. He’d been the inspiration for that friendship, but really what it came down to was that they commiserated together. House knew it would be easy for them to get rid of him and find something else to center their friendship on. Even if that weren’t the case, Wilson would still hate him.
How could anyone ever feel any differently?
After what House had done, what else besides hatred was left for him?
Without her forgiveness, there could be no redemption. If she’d been angry enough to let him go to prison, he would have had her hatred to justify retroactively his actions. She’d given him just enough to keep him in her debt.
With startling clarity, he understood at that moment that any freedom he thought he’d had was gone. He wasn’t in jail, but she had full control over him. If she decided he’d broken her rules, he was done. Professionally and otherwise. At first glance, it would seem like a better alternative than prison; he’d been grateful when she’d picked him up, after all. But a warden could be fair. Cuddy would not allow herself to be.
He sighed and rubbed his cheek with a wet hand. She was in such a dark place now, all of her worst qualities trained on him. She needed someone to pull her out of that space, but what could he do, besides wait her out? He wouldn’t be able to get close enough to fix things himself. And though he had the instinct to want to make her happy once more, he understood that self-preservation was of greater importance at this moment. She wanted nothing to do with him; it would be dangerous for him not to listen to her.
Besides, what could he do, really? Even if she were open to forgiving him, how was he supposed to make that happen?
His mind yearned for answers, a solution to make everything go back to the way it was… before.
It was hopeless.
Despair would have overpowered him then, but it didn’t have a chance to. The bathroom door being shoved open caught his attention.
As he waited for a fraction of a second to see who it was, his mood lifted at the possibility of Cuddy returning.
Instead, it was his wife.
Dominika looked no happier to see him than Cuddy had. Her features were narrowed on him, almost hawk-like. She was red in the face, and if she weren’t so visibly disgusted by his nude body, House assumed she would have attacked him.
"You!" she exclaimed, sounding so frustrated that she couldn't even complete the sentence with one breath. "Fuck for brain! What is wrong with you?"
He wasn't in the mood for her anger. Out of everyone who had been affected by his choices, she was the last person he felt like apologizing to. "Hi, sweetie," he said sarcastically. "Nice to see you -”
"Shut up!" She was fuming, her shoulders bobbing up and down with each deep inhale and ragged exhale she made. "You don't - you are idiot." He didn't care to fight back or even comment. It would probably be easier to stay quiet and let her vent, so that was what he did. "We marry, and you say you get me card. But you go to jail? Now, I never get my -”
"Relax. You'll get your citizenship." It had been one of Cuddy's demands, and while it was the one he cared about the least, he had no interest in screwing up his life over this pathetic caveat.
"How?" Dominika demanded, the question coming out as forcefully as it did anguished. "They know. They will know. I...." Her voice trailed off. When he looked at her carefully, he didn't see any tears. But the look in her eyes told him that she was almost there, that if she trusted him, she would be.
"I wasn't convicted of anything." A half-hearted defense at best, he could admit to himself. "Cuddy -" Dominika scoffed at the mention of her name. He ignored the implications of what that meant. "She got the charges against me dropped. She's convinced the police there was something medically wrong with -"
"There is! You are crazy."
"Yeah, well, either way, it's fine. When I.N.S. comes, they'll bring it up. But it was officially an accident, which means I can keep pretending to be in love with you."
"Lucky me," she snarled before slamming the bathroom door shut.
House stayed in the now lukewarm water for some time afterward. His fingers were beginning to prune, but the idea of going out into the apartment and facing Dominika's wrath some more was the last thing he wanted. He already had to deal with Cuddy's. Now he had to try to appease a woman who he didn't even care about? He didn't like that. Of course, as per Cuddy's rules, he would have to do what was necessary to make things right with Dominika. And maybe... since he had brought the woman into this mess to begin with as part of some stupid plan to get Cuddy back by making her jealous, he owed it to her anyway. For all Dominika had put up with, he guessed that she had earned the citizenship she wanted.
It was odd though. As beholden as he should be, it was a feeling he could tell he was forcing himself to have. In truth, he didn't care about her at all. At best, he was hoping that being a man of his word would make Cuddy happy. That was all there was to it.
That didn't scare him - much. But it did make him wonder just how terrible he really was. He should feel something for Dominika. Not love of course, but she had cleaned and cooked for him for a while now. She'd agreed to be part of a plan. Granted, it hadn't worked, but she'd been willing to do something for him when he'd needed someone to help him get Cuddy back. That should have earned some semblance of loyalty from him, some friendship. He thought he should have cared about her wellbeing just a little big. The truth was, however, he didn't care at all. And when he tried to figure out what that meant, he could only believe it meant that he was an awful person.
He'd been to therapy before; he'd gone off the Vicodin, and supposedly, he'd changed. In his head, that time at the mental institution had led him to a better place, something less dark. It had allowed him to have Cuddy in his life, and that love had transformed him, consumed him.
But that was a lie now. He could see that. If not for the way he had treated Cuddy, how little he cared for Dominika was proof. He was selfish and cruel, unfeeling and desperate. Cuddy had changed, but deep down, she was still the same person. However mean she was being at the moment, some part of her yearned to be kind. He had seen it in her eyes. He couldn't say the same about himself. He was the same person he had always been. The only difference was now, he had shown too much of himself to let anyone ever believe that he was capable of any goodness. Thanks to his idiocy, everyone knew what a monster he was.
Cuddy was ordering him to therapy, but he understood it wouldn't change anything. It hadn't before. No matter what, he would remain the same old bastard he'd always been.
**********************
In spite of his reservations, House was on time for his appointment the next day. Having been denied the right to drive, he’d had to take a taxi (Dominika wasn’t talking to him, so he couldn’t ask her). The office was easy enough to find though. Deep in the middle of town, the brownstone building had once been a family home. Converted into an office, it all seemed... nice enough, but it certainly wouldn't have been his pick. He was surprised that Cuddy had chosen this for him, too. It didn't really matter though.
He doubted anyone could help him. On the other hand, if recent events didn't spur him to change, what would? He had decided late last night that at least attempting to change was better than accepting the way he was. It would have been better of course if he'd had any hope of growth, and he didn't. He was here with the assumption that nothing would be fixed. He couldn't be fixed. But there was no other choice for him. He had to be here.
Yet he couldn't stop himself from feeling nervous in the waiting room. The walls had been painted in a soothing blue, the furniture a nice neutral gray, but none of that seemed to have any effect on him. While he clearly needed therapy, it was hard to accept that. Opening himself up to someone new wouldn't be easy. And when he remembered that the doctor would keep Cuddy apprised of his situation, he felt himself tense up. House started to reach for a Vicodin but stopped himself. It wouldn't help, he thought.
When the doctor opened the door a few minutes later, he regretted that decision. It was one thing to know in theory that he would be expected to open up to a stranger. It was another thing entirely to be face to face with that person. In that moment, even though she smiled at him, Audrey Jenkins seemed like she might be impossible to talk to. She was tall, almost his height, blonde hair, dark brown eyes that seemed less sympathetic than he would have liked. His first thought about her was that she would be hard to fool. His second thought - why did he wish to fool her to begin with?
"Greg House?" she asked in a warm but professional manner. It was a stupid question, because he was the only one in the room. He nodded his head anyway and let the idiocy go uncommented on. "Come on back. Let's get started."
He stood up from the chair without much difficulty. But the short walk made him feel uneasy anyway. As she shut the door behind him, he took in the room. Everything about it was designated to make a person feel comfortable. A wall, which would have been brick at one point, was now floor to ceiling windows. It overlooked a small but private garden area. Since it was summer, some of the flowers had wilted in the heat. The grass wasn't as green as it could have been, but House supposed it would have looked nice a few months ago.
Inside the actual room was a large couch; to avoid cliché, he had no desire to lie on it. There were also two armchairs near one another and Jenkins' desk with chairs in front of and behind it.
"Sit wherever you want," she said encouragingly. He chose one of the armchairs, and she copied him. "Did you have trouble finding the place?"
He shook his head. "No."
"Good." Immediately she changed the subject. "Since this is our first time together, I'd like to establish a framework for these meetings. You may notice once we begin that I don't use methods of recording our sessions. I don't take notes while you talk. I don't film or tape, and there are no secret means of me doing so."
"Really?" he asked that, mostly because she was looking at him for some type of response.
"I have an eidetic memory. It means -”
"I know what it means." He thought he understood why Cuddy had chosen this woman to work with him. Cuddy had heard about the doctor with the photographic memory and either assumed that he would find it interesting or that the doctor wouldn't let him get away with lying.
"I find that I am of better use to my patients if I focus on them, rather than taking notes. However, after our sessions, I will make notations in a chart. That way, should you ever wish to change psychiatrists, your new doctor will have a record of -"
"That's not going to be an issue." He was confident about that. If Cuddy had said to work with Jenkins, then that would happen. There would be no switching, no alternatives, no getting out of it.
Jenkins nodded her head in concession. "No, I don't think it will be... which provides a segue to what I suppose is your main reservation, should you have one."
Although he had come with at least some intention of giving this a try, he didn't take the bait. "What reservation do you think I have?"
"You've been ordered to attend these sessions."
"Yes."
"I'm sure at this point your employer has told you that she would be kept up to date about your attendance."
He nodded his head but had to ask, "That's not an issue for you?"
"No. Dr. Cuddy will be informed of your attendance ONLY and your interest in participating in the process. The details of our sessions will remain between us."
He bristled at her argument. It sounded fine in theory, but what proof did he have that she would keep her word? It would be so easy for her to say that and then tell Cuddy everything he'd said.
Jenkins sensed his hesitation. "You don't believe me."
"I didn't say that."
"That's not exactly a denial either," she pointed out.
"No, it's not," he agreed.
"What would I have to gain by telling your boss the specifics of our sessions? Money? Sick pleasure perhaps at revealing all your secrets? Possibly, but rationally, the negative consequences would far outweigh the positive ones. I have no interest in losing my license or my patients or gaining the reputation as a doctor who can't maintain confidence."
It certainly seemed logical. If she were caught revealing confidential information, it would be costly to her professionally. Still... he couldn't outright concede the argument to her.
"Might I suggest something?" she asked cautiously. He gave her a look to suggest that he didn't exactly care. "This... is just for you to think about. You don't have to tell me I'm right or wrong about this, okay? But what if your hesitation has nothing to do with me? What if you are preoccupied about me telling Dr. Cuddy your secrets, because you want her to be curious about your life?"
He would have groaned if he'd felt comfortable doing so. "Do we have to talk about her?"
"Don't we?" she threw back at him non-confrontationally.
That made him curious. "What did she tell you?"
"When she called to hire me to arrange sessions with you, I needed some convincing that there was a reason for me to agree to this. The details of that conversation aren't really that important."
"If they weren't important, wouldn't you just say what -"
"You know her better than I do. I am sure that you can create a scenario in your head of the exact nature of that dialogue. What I will tell you is that she did reveal that you two had dated and that you had been arrested afterwards."
He felt like he was being prompted to talk about the car and that day. "I don't want to talk about that."
Jenkins didn't seem disappointed by that. "I'm not asking you to. Whatever the reason you are here, I'm only here for one: to be a sounding board for you. I will inform Dr. Cuddy of your attendance. What goes on in these sessions will be determined by you alone."
House didn't respond. He doubted very much that she didn't want to hear about how he'd almost accidentally killed his ex-girlfriend. That sounded like a psychiatrist's wet dream. The only way it could get any juicier was if he'd nearly ran Cuddy over because of issues with his mother or something equally Freudian.
Jenkins leaned back in her chair. "What are you thinking?"
"That you're full of crap."
That actually made her smile. "I'm sure. I am fully expecting that it might be difficult for you to open up. That's completely normal, Greg."
He wanted to say that reservations were normal, but this situation was anything but. He kept quiet though. He was reluctant to speak in case any of this was relayed to Cuddy. Paradoxically, if she were listening so to speak, it would be better, he realized, for him to talk. The more into this he was, the better he would look in her eyes. Then again, she had no desire to see any good in him, and he could only guess what she might do with any information she was told.
"If we're going to sit here in silence," Jenkins prodded gently. "Would you mind if I read a book?"
"You're going to read?" He scoffed at the very idea.
She shrugged. "If you don't want to talk, it's less awkward if -"
"I didn't say that." If that got back to Cuddy, if she thought he wasn't taking this seriously... he began to sweat. "Don't tell her that."
Jenkins folded her hands across her lap. "I'm not going to tell her anything."
"You've already...." He stopped himself to avoid sounding like a petulant child.
"What would be proof for you? That I have your confidence in mind for each of these sessions, what would it take to convince you?"
She honestly wanted to know, or so it seemed. But he didn't know what she would have to do. Anything she said, he would assume was a lie. If they did this for a few weeks and she didn't betray him, he wasn't sure that he would be convinced.
"I don't know," he admitted.
"Is there anything I can do to prove my trustworthiness to you?"
"... Probably not."
"So if I'm understanding you then, and you should tell me when I'm wrong: no matter what I say or do, I might be lying to you."
"Everyone does."
"Lie to you?"
He shook his head. "Lie in general."
"Sure," she agreed. "But this is more than that, isn't it? I wouldn't just be lying. I would be betraying you. Wouldn't I? If I said to you that this is confidential and then told someone about our sessions, that would be a betrayal."
"Yeah. I understand what the definition of betrayal is, thanks."
She ignored the bite in his words. "And you assume I'm capable of -"
"Isn't everyone?"
"You tell me."
He rolled his eyes at the obvious prompt. "Yeah, doc. Everyone is capable of being an asshole," he said sarcastically.
"But willing to be though? Everyone may have the ability to commit betrayal, but do you think everyone is willing to -"
"Yes," he answered full-heartedly. He’d said it to shut her up. But in telling her that, he realized it was true.
A couple months ago, when he was with Cuddy, he could have never believed that she would dump him over a drug relapse. When she'd found him on the bathroom floor with the drugs in his hand, he'd believed her when she hadn't flinched at the sight, when she’d said she’d loved him. He'd thought he'd found someone who wouldn't turn away from him when he inevitably screwed up. But he hadn't found that person at all. No doubt she'd thought she'd fallen in love with someone who'd never hurt her. But he'd done that. And if they were capable of turning against one another, after everything they'd been through, yes, anyone could turn against him. He'd never be able to think otherwise now.
Jenkins didn't ask him for his thoughts when he fell silent. She just said sympathetically, "That must be difficult to accept." He didn't agree or disagree, and noticing his reluctance, she changed the subject. "So then let me ask you. What are your expectations for these sessions together? Assuming I don't betray you or don't do it for a while, if you would prefer, what are you hoping to get out of this experience?"
"I don't know."
"Consider the question for a moment then."
"Why?"
"I think it's easier to move forward if we both have a clear picture of what we want to achieve."
He thought about what he wanted to say. The answer was simple if difficult to actually state: he wanted to be fixed. Whatever that meant. Whatever was wrong with him, he wanted that part of him to be gone: the violence, the coldness, the malice within him. He didn't want to be like that anymore. But finding the words to express that was harder than he anticipated. Admitting that he was so screwed up that he couldn't even name what was wrong with him... well, he didn't know how to do that. Trusting Jenkins had nothing to do with it anymore. If she told Cuddy what he was saying, it didn't matter. If anything, he wanted her to hear how much he wanted to change things. It was embarrassing, but at least it might make her hate him a little less.
That was what made him realize he didn't care what Jenkins' endgame was. If she told Cuddy what he said, it couldn't make things any worse than they already were. If Jenkins told anyone, it couldn't make his life any more miserable. He hadn't been under any illusions about where he was with his life at the moment. But this was one more reminder that he had well and truly hit rock bottom. There was no place worse. And there was nothing shameful left to be had in having his secrets exposed.
Again though, he struggled to encompass that deep feeling of inadequacy into a sentence.
"Greg?"
"I don't know," he said lamely. "I guess... different - I want to be different when this is over."
"Different how?" He opened his mouth to speak, but words didn't come out. After a moment, he sighed in defeat. Sensing this, she changed the question. "How would you describe yourself now?"
He knew it didn't matter what he said. Regardless of the description, it would always amount to the same thing: he was the monster who had done everything he'd been accused of. There was nothing Cuddy could say that wasn't true. He'd gotten out of prison, but he was guilty. No one would ever believe otherwise, definitely not the one person who mattered. So he blurted out the first thing that came to mind.
"Bad."
It was hardly eloquent. It wasn't the most mature way of putting it, but it was true anyway. That was how he felt.
"You would describe yourself as 'bad.'"
He nodded his head. "Yeah."
She let the thought hang in the air for a moment, then asked, "Why do you think that?"
"Because... whatever Cuddy told you about me is... the truth." Reluctantly, he admitted, "Because even though it didn't seem like that was what I was doing at the time, I did try to kill her."
"And that makes you -"
"Doesn't make me a good person to have done that."
"No, that was probably not your best moment." It would have made him laugh if she didn't add, "This is a good start. I'm glad to see that you're capable of seeing that you've done something wrong. A lot of people can't even get that far, Greg. This is great work. If we can though, what I would like to do is to see if we can't come up with a more specific goal."
"Why?" he asked, annoyed. He had given her an answer and didn't enjoy being told that it hadn't been good enough.
She held up her hand to stop him. "Hold on for a second. Let's go back, focus on the first part of my words. Did you hear what I said?"
"Sure."
"What did I say?"
He started to feel frustrated at the question. He had heard her and therefore, didn't like going back and belaboring the point. "You said it was a good start."
"Did you also hear me say that I'm proud that you were able to answer at all?"
"Yes. Of course."
"You seemed a little upset though when I suggested we come up with a more specific goal. Were you?"
"I wouldn't put it like that. ”
"How would you put it?"
"I was annoyed. I gave an answer. You want a different answer."
"I would like... a more complete answer," Jenkins said judiciously. "I don't expect you to have one today. It can be something you think about. What qualities or habits are you really hoping to adjust? What tools would you like to have that you feel you don't have? That can be something you decide before our next session, and the answer can always change as we move forward. Okay?"
She was so optimistic about it that he found it hard to swallow. There was nothing saccharine about her delivery, but the sentiment of it made him feel uncomfortable. "Fine."
"The other thing I would like you to try is this: when someone gives you praise, I want you to really think about what they are telling you. I don't want you to discard it, so you can focus on what you perceive to be criticism. Maybe that can be our immediate goal."
He didn't treat the idea like it was a very good one, but he didn't rejected it either. "Okay."
"You don't like the suggestion."
He disagreed. "No, I think it's a needless one."
"Why?"
"Who exactly is going to be praising me any time soon?" He meant it more of a joke, but it wasn't funny. It was true, not humorous. And though he had a smirk on his face, it probably appeared to be more of a pained wince.
Jenkins answered instantly, "I just did, if you'll recall."
"Ooh, one time. Do I get a treat for that?"
"How about something to think about instead?" Then she specified, "Maybe you're not bad. Maybe it’s this perception of yourself that allows you to give yourself permission to do bad things. What do you think about that?"
Read on to the next chapter