Edge of Chaos (12/15)

[lieueitak]

Title: Edge of Chaos, Chapter Twelve
Author: Duckie Nicks
Rating:  PG-13
Characters:  House, Cuddy, Wilson -- friendship between the three, maybe some Huddy if you squint.  This chapter also features Cameron.
Summary:  Somewhere between order and chaos, House searches for meaning and healing in his life. Can he recover what he's lost?  Can Wilson learn to forgive and ask for forgiveness?  Can Cuddy bridge the gap between them both?  Or are their friendships just another casualty of the bus accident?
Previous Chapters: Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three (Part One), Chapter Three (Part Two), Chapter Four, Chapter Five, Chapter Six, Chapter Seven (Part One), Chapter Seven (Part Two), Chapter Eight (Part One), Chapter Eight (Part Two), Chapter Nine, Chapter Ten (Part One), Chapter Ten (Part Two), Chapter Ten (Part Three), Chapter Ten (Part Four), Chapter Eleven (Part One), Chapter Eleven (Part Two), Chapter Eleven (Part Three)
Disclaimer:  I don't own the show!
Author's Note:  Spoilers for "Wilson's Heart."  Some chapters are split into parts because of Livejournal's character/word limit.  Reviews are greatly appreciated.



“According to [the theory of plate tectonics], the Earth’s crust is made up of about a dozen plates on which the continents and oceans rest. The plates are continually shifting because the surface beneath them - the hot, soft mantle - moving slowly like a conveyor belt, driven by heat and other forces at work in the Earth’s core… The Earth’s tectonic plates can move apart, collide, or slide past each other… When tectonic plates meet, the force causes mountains to rise and deep trenches to form.” -- University of Delaware College of Marine Studies and Sea Grant College Program’s “Plate Tectonics”

Wilson awoke to the piercing sound of the doorbell, the noise jarring when compared to the silence he’d become begrudgingly accustomed to. He hadn’t gotten completely drunk last night and in the early morning, instead preferring to fall into an uneasy sleep on the couch. But somehow his head still managed to pound as Cuddy’s doorbell chimed loudly once more.

To be honest, Wilson had half a mind to ignore it. Last time he’d answered the door it had been Cuddy herself, and that conversation had left him with several questions to consider and a heart heavier than he’d thought imaginable. And though he doubted that she’d come back, her little tiff with House apparently over, Wilson couldn’t help but worry that talking to another human being was the last thing he needed right now.

But then part of him started to think that he’d been making poor choices for himself for years now - allowing House to run his life, answering Cuddy’s door the other day, pretending that the alcohol was of any use to him, etc. And that long list of errors on his part made Wilson think that maybe the smart thing to do would be to do the opposite of whatever his first instincts were. Which meant that he should get off his ass and open the door, he realized begrudgingly.

Running a hand through his greasy, unkempt hair, he sighed loudly at the thought, secretly hoping that the person ringing the doorbell would go away before he had a chance to answer the door. As much as he understood his decisions in the recent past had all been mistakes, he was hesitant to do anything about it.

Standing up, he supposed it was like House said: people didn’t change. They didn’t want to, too afraid of what their new life would be like in order to make it any better. Or at least, Wilson mentally corrected, too terrified by how hard the change would be in order to actually follow through with it, because that was what was making him feel nervous right now. The idea that by answering the door, he could be opening himself up to more pain terrified him, to be quite honest. And that meant that, despite knowing this was what he had to do, he couldn’t help but timidly approach the door.

His hand practically shaking as he gripped the brass handle, he didn’t even consider looking through the peephole before yanking the door open; frankly, he was a little too obsessed over the idea that House might have been right about something - or rather that he might be proving House right - to care about that.

Of course it didn’t matter in the end, Wilson’s discomfort immediately eased at the sight of Cameron’s long blonde hair.

She, however, seemed to feel differently.

One of her eyebrows raised slightly, she said in confusion, “You’re not Cuddy.”

“She’s letting me stay here,” he explained dutifully, immediately, her surprise at his overall presence forcing him to speak.

Not that that really helped, because she continued to look at him in shock, her mouth slightly hanging open. So he hurriedly added, “She’s not here… not living here at the moment anyway.” He tried not to sound bitter about that, knowing that it wouldn’t sound right, but somehow his voice managed to betray him nonetheless.

“Cuddy’s just… letting you stay here,” she replied in a dazedly skeptical tone.

Feeling irritation rise within him, Wilson snapped, “She’s staying at House’s apartment. You can find her there.”

Admittedly he was being rude, curt in a way that could only be hurtful. But he had no interest in explaining what he was doing, in reliving the last few weeks in excruciating detail.

His hand still on the knob, he began to close the door in her face. If he were really turning into House, Wilson thought bitterly, he might as well go for broke.

But Cameron, having dealt with House for years, wasn’t willing to roll over and die. Instead she quickly put her hands out in front of her, stopping the door in its tracks. “That’s it?” Her voice was annoyingly annoyed, and unfortunately for him, she didn’t stop there. “You tell me that and slam the door in my face?”

He at least had the good social manners to look slightly embarrassed.

Knowing that his reason was going to sound so lame, he reluctantly admitted, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

She nodded her head a little in response. “That’s… understandable,” she said adamantly. “But I wasn’t going to force you to talk about it if you didn’t want to.” Her gaze softening, Cameron reminded him, “I know how horrible that is, how… oppressive everyone’s concern can be.”

Her words forced him to remember that she too had been through something similar, that although she never talked about it, at least not to him, she too had lost someone she loved. And that thought in his mind, he couldn’t help but ask suddenly, “Did moving help you?”

“I don’t regret it,” Cameron replied. “I’ve learned a lot from House, and I met Chase.” She shrugged. “I’m not upset by the way things turned out for me.”

Wilson thought her words sounded both reassuring and disapproving at the same time. An odd combination to be sure, it was almost as though she wanted to admit that she was content with her choice but was also afraid that he might get inspiration from it.

But before he had a chance to call her on it, she said in an honest tone, “Look… I ran away from anything I thought had to do with my husband’s memory.”

“But you don’t think I should do the same,” he deduced.

She shook her head. “You can run, but it doesn’t make things better. It just makes you lonely.”

“Half the time, I think I’d rather be alone,” Wilson admitted.

He hadn’t really put that sentiment into words before now, but he recognized the truth in it at that moment; part of him really didn’t want company. And it was kind of odd that he should feel that way, considering he’d been so… fixated with Cuddy’s decision to stay with House, because it meant one thing and one thing only:

He’d been so upset over the fact that he was alone that he hadn’t noticed just how much he might enjoy that.

“You don’t want to be alone, Wilson,” Cameron disagreed, cutting across his thoughts easily. “You don’t want to abandon everything and everyone you have here to -”

“It’d be worth it if it meant I’d be able to get away from House,” he snarled, his anger pushing through to the surface.

Taking a step closer to him, she said in a gentle tone, “No one is saying that you have to be friends with him again. But clearly he means something to you if you’re willing to do anything you can to get away from him.”

Wilson felt intuitively that there was some flaw in that logic, but before he even had a chance to name what it was, Cameron kept talking. “And if you’ve really had enough of him… running your life, you can’t let yourself make any more decisions based on him.”

He sidestepped her point. “Maybe I want to get away from Amber too.”

“You… can’t,” she said in a matter of fact tone, her eyes sad and lips frowning. “You can move. You can not go to the places you both used to love going to. You can… avoid everything that reminds you of her. But you can’t ever really get away from her. That’s just not how it works.”

There was something about the way she was talking, about the way her voice was tightly controlled with only the slightest hint of sadness spilling out over the edges, that reminded him once more of what she’d been through. She too, he reiterated to himself, had lost someone she loved. And that meant that there was no denying what she was saying, because she had been through it before.

She knew that there was no escaping, no avoiding what had happened.

And maybe on some level Wilson knew it as well. Because as much as he might like to think that Amber was the first person he’d lost, it wasn’t entirely the truth, because…

There had been Danny as well.

Of course, the situation was different. Amber was definitely… dead, where as his brother might still be roaming the streets somewhere.

Lost.

Completely submerged in the creation of his own mind, Danny could very well be gone if still here in a sense. And from that experience, Wilson had learned exactly what Cameron was trying to tell him: you couldn’t escape something that your own mind traitorously refused to forget. There was only the unwanted but unavoidable option of trying to… move on.

Which really didn’t seem like the right phrase for what he was being required to do. “Move on” - it sounded so… simple and easy, and worse still, it made Amber’s death sound like something that wasn’t all that heartbreaking.

And that couldn’t have been further from the truth.

“You know I’m right,” Cameron interrupted, perhaps sensing that he was realizing the same thing at that moment.

Nodding his head once, Wilson asked, his throat dry, “What do I do?”

She looked at him pointedly. “You know what to do. You… go back to your apartment. You go back to work, see your patients. You do what you did before.”

He let her words wash over him, each and every syllable settling into his consciousness slowly. The seconds ticking by, he worked hard to process what it was she was advising him to do. But the more he thought about it, the more Wilson felt like she was speaking Cantonese.

“I don’t think I can do that,” he told her mournfully. “Go back to the way things were… I can’t do that.”

Cameron looked at him silently for a minute, almost as though she were trying to decide what to tell him. And then she admitted in the same tone he had just used, “Yes, you can. You think you can’t, and then you actually try to do it, and… you realize just how easy it is to… continue on.”

He shook his head. “No.”

“Yes,” she insisted. “You can adjust to Amber being gone. You have to at some point,” she pointed out. “All I’m saying is that… running away doesn’t make doing that any easier.”

Maybe that made sense. Maybe that was something that he could believe in, he thought with a mental shrug. It was hard to know for sure, hard to see past the indifference and the certainty that she was wrong that he wore as protection.

And it was even harder to accept her suggestions when he considered - truly considered - the ramifications of doing so. Because if he were to do what she was telling him to do, he would have to move back into that tomb of an apartment; he’d have to go back to work and deal with House - and deal with the patients that constantly seemed to need something from him.

“I’m not ready for that,” he said suddenly, fear and frustration welling up inside of him. “I can’t handle that at the moment. The patients…” He sighed. “I don’t think seeing patients minutes away from death is going to help me move on from Amber.”

“Well…” Cameron stopped talking, her voice immediately quieting as she looked down at the file in her hand. Which, until now, he hadn’t noticed at all, his focus on getting rid of her to the exclusion of everything else.

Lamely he had to ask at that moment, “What’s that?”

She shifted a little on her feet, almost as though she didn’t want to tell him. But she must have pushed her concern about it to the side, because within seconds, she was explaining, “It’s a case I got in the E.R. A ten year old girl came in with -”

Eager to get to the point, Wilson couldn’t help but interrupt, “Then why are you here?”

“We’ve ruled out every medical possibility that I can think of, and she’s still sick. So Foreman -”

“Wants the case,” he finished.

“Right. But considering he killed his last patient, Cuddy has had him in clinic duty for nearly a month.”

He looked at her knowingly. “So you came here hoping she’d sign off on it.” She nodded her head but said nothing.

Truth be told, Wilson wasn’t sure what came over him then. He didn’t know if it were her silence at that moment or her words finally winning him over. Maybe it was the slightest possibility of taking something from House, of bypassing Cuddy in the same way she had bypassed Wilson over that made him do it. Whatever it was, he nonetheless spoke up, “Give me the case. I’ll oversee it.”

Cameron looked at him in half-suspicion, half-confusion. “Why?”

“You said it yourself. I need to get back to work.” The explanation came out so easy that it almost sounded true. “I don’t want to work with cancer patients. Foreman’s going to need someone else to hide his involvement in this anyway,” he pointed out. “Even if you’re the one who brings it to Cuddy, she’s not going to be fooled by a change in messenger.”

“So you just want me to tell her that you’re taking the case,” she said dryly.

“Yes.”

He sounded confident, which was almost ironic, considering he couldn’t have felt more differently. Honestly, part of him felt that what he was suggesting was nothing short of madness. Aside from Amber, aside from House and Cuddy and all of the other personal factors involved, there was one very important fact:

Wilson hadn’t practiced this kind of medicine in years.

Sure, there’d been a few times over the last decade or so where he’d given House advice or somehow found himself caught in the middle of a diagnosing session. But for the most part… he’d spent his years as a doctor treating patients with known, already diagnosed illnesses.

In some ways, that had been one of the things he’d originally liked about oncology; the diagnosis was almost a foregone conclusion, the bulk of the work being keeping patients comfortable while treating them.

It wasn’t unlike the earliest Disney movies that he’d watched as a kid, he’d decided years ago. Nowadays villains were rarely villainous in the films the pediatric cancer patients watched, but when he was a kid, there was no doubt who was the monster; it was always the ugly witch who’d been spited for some ridiculous reason. And being an oncologist was sort of like that: you didn’t necessarily know what made the monster come, but you knew who the monster was, and you knew that you had to slay it.

What House did regularly, on the other hand… was decidedly not like that. There was no clear bad guy, no readily identifiable disease or condition that you could treat. The work was more intensive on the front end, whereas Wilson’s focused on the latter - on the care of the patient.

And all in all, the two lines of work were different enough that he should have been completely uninterested in helping Foreman with a case.

But he wasn’t.

And because of that, he was grateful when Cameron, with a shrug of her shoulders, murmured, “All right.”

“Good.”

“I’ll talk to Cuddy, but in the meantime…” Quieting for a moment, she hesitated to finish the rest of the thought. But eventually she added, “You should sober up and -”

“I’m not drunk,” he said defensively.

And it was the truth, at that moment anyway. He might have been drinking pretty regularly the last month or so, but he wasn’t drunk right this second.

“I can smell it on you.”

At that, he couldn’t help but smile sheepishly, the last shower he’d taken something of a distant memory. “I’ll be fine.”

There was something in his voice that said she shouldn’t push it, despite the warmth and kindness and overall dismissive tone in it. “Well, at least shower,” she replied.

Nodding his head emphatically, he couldn’t help but think that that was a good idea. The sudden change in his life another thing he hadn’t anticipated, Wilson could only believe that he needed that extra bit of time to make sure he wasn’t making the biggest mistake of his life.

*****************************************************

The last time Lisa Cuddy had slept until ten am was a time she no longer remembered. Perhaps there had been a time or two in college, but she didn’t really know anymore. Years of running a hospital, more years as a doctor and training to be a doctor, it all made for lots of early mornings and late nights.

But today that would change.

Exhausted from her fight and subsequent détente with House, she slept soundly until the pounding on the front door woke her up. The noise was so jarring that she shot up in bed at the thump of the third knock.

Her breathing was uneven, a confused “Wha” escaping her of its own volition. Her hair was a tangled mess, dark curls pulling in every direction and falling in front of her bleary eyes. Even without a mirror, she could tell she looked like crap; she certainly felt that way. She wasn’t used to the sleeping schedule that seemed appropriate only for the mother of a newborn baby.

But a quick glance at House - undoubtedly the infant in this scenario - told her that he wasn’t suffering in quite the same way. He was wide awake, lying next to her with his eyes trained on the ceiling. Which meant that he’d been awake when the person at the door had started to knock.

“You couldn’t answer the door,” she snapped, exhaustion-induced irritation rearing its ugly head.

Not giving him a chance to respond, Cuddy dragged herself out of the bed. The front door was still being practically pounded on, and frankly, she was too concerned with making that stop to care what House was doing (which as it turned out was nothing).

But of course, stopping the insistent person at his door was easier said than done. The second Cuddy stood up, she understood she couldn’t answer the door like this. Her hair was a mess, and she’d clearly just woken up, but more importantly, she was wearing pajama pants and a tank top too sheer to offer her any coverage. And if she were to open the door dressed as she was, Cuddy had no doubt that the person - whoever it was - on the other side would get the wrong impression.

Then again, that assumed they would be able to get past the fact that you could practically see every detail of her nipples right now.

Considering she could practically feel House’s gaze trained on that area of her body, she thought it was unlikely. She scowled, muttering, “You’re disgusting,” as she tried to find something to cover up with. Her eyes quickly moving around the room, the first thing she saw was House’s bathrobe, and she easily decided that it was good enough.

Later on she would think that perhaps if she’d considered her choice of a cover up a little more, she would have grabbed something else. But as it happened, Cuddy didn’t think about that at all - not until she’d already opened the door and saw Cameron looking at her in shock anyway. Because it was at that moment, at the exact second surprise, judgment, and assumption flitted through Cameron’s gaze that Cuddy realized just how badly she’d just screwed up.

Her hands instinctively pulling the robe together, she felt shame wash through her hotly. Regardless of the fact that she hadn’t done anything with House, Cuddy knew that that wouldn’t really matter in the end; what this looked like was just as important as what it was. And worst of all was her inherent understanding that she could hardly say, “Don’t worry; I didn’t sleep with House,” because, even in her own head, that made her sound guilty as charged.

So she had no choice but to stay quiet until Cameron said awkwardly, “I guess Wilson was right. You are staying here.”

Cuddy shrugged it off as though her choice to watch after House wasn’t completely improper. “He obviously couldn’t be left alone. And considering everyone in the hospital hates him…”

But her reasoning apparently didn’t sit well with Cameron. “You could have gone outside of the hospital,” she suggested in a way that was supposed to sound non-judgmental.

Cuddy had to concede that point. Denying that there was some other option would only make her seem… blinded by her alleged feelings for House. Which meant she had no other choice than to nod her head in agreement. “I could have done that, yes.” Cocking her head to the slide, she added, “Unfortunately, we both know how… big of an ass he is and how incredibly likely it would be for him to intimidate and irritate anyone hired to take care of him.”

“That’s true,” Cameron replied dryly.

“As much as I’d rather be anywhere else but here, I decided to skip the weeks of finding replacements for House and hours of phone calls to my office complaining about whatever the hell he did that day.”

Cuddy thought it sounded reasonable; the way she calmly spoke, it really did sound like she’d thought her decision through and had come to a rational conclusion as opposed to taking one look at House’s pale, weak form and feeling as though he would be lost forever if she didn’t hold onto him tightly.

Trying not to think about that, she changed the topic of conversation. “I assume, though, that you’re not here to chat about a choice I made a month ago.”

Cameron gave her a weak smile. “You’re right... I didn’t come here for that.” Holding a file out for Cuddy to take, she continued, “I got a case in the E.R. and -”

“Foreman put you up to this,” Cuddy quickly deduced, opening the blue folder in her hands nonetheless.

“Yes, he did,” she said matter of factly.

And even though Cuddy kept skimming through the file for the symptoms the patient was presenting, she shook her head. Given the way Foreman’s last case had gone, she didn’t think that it really mattered what was wrong the patient; the best course of action seemed to be transferring her to a hospital with a real diagnostics team. “Your patient’s stable, so you can transfer her to -”

“You won’t let Foreman take the case, even though he’s run his own diagnostics department?” Cameron looked at her in disbelief, in a way that hardly made Cuddy want to change her mind.

She calmly closed the file and handed it back to Cameron. “I let him take a case last month, and he lied - failed to keep me informed about the true nature of the patient’s condition.”

Her reasoning, however, didn’t seem to be enough for the younger woman. “House does that all the time.”

Cuddy rolled her eyes dismissively. “Yes, he does, but for the most part… I trust his judgment. And for all the times I don’t, I…” She shrugged, searching for a way to explain just how their work relationship worked.

Truthfully, she didn’t think there was an adequate way to do that; for the most part, she and House had arrived at a silent conclusion - that he could practice medicine in a way that only he knew how to do while still respecting some ill-formed boundaries of hers. There were no lines in the sand really, no text in his contract that said he could only do X, Y, and Z.

It really was just a quiet understanding, one arrived of its own volition. And it was odd that it should be that way, that they should be able to navigate such a tenuous and stressful relationship by feeling about for the limits; his hatred for the irrational, her hatred for things out of her control - they should have had definite, rationally based rules.

But they didn’t.

And since that part of their relationship operated in that way, Cuddy thought it was impossible to have that kind of trust with anyone else.

Licking her dry lips a little, she tried to explain it to Cameron. “We have an understanding. And when we don’t agree on what that is exactly… I have my ways of dealing with that.”

It was so incredibly vague that she couldn’t deny that her response was probably completely unsatisfactory. “Cameron, what it comes down to at this moment is that… I’m here. I’m not at the hospital, and that means I can’t look over his shoulder. I don’t have that trust in him, and I can’t gain that overnight. You need to transfer -”

“What if I got someone to oversee the case - someone you do trust?”

The question was clearly meant to bait her, and though she was loathe to do it, Cuddy had to ask, “Who?”

“Wilson.”

Her reaction was to think that the name suggested shouldn’t have surprised her. Given that everything as of late seemed to work against her, against them all, it should only seem natural that this simple work prospect should also be complicated by their train wreck web of relationships.

The word hanging heavily in the air, it was all Cuddy could do to bite back a sigh. And perhaps Cameron sensed that complete lack of resolve, sensed Cuddy’s overall exasperation, because she seized the moment. “I got the impression, when I talked to him earlier, that things were tense between the two of you. But you’ve known him for years, and obviously you trust his medical opinion if he’s a department head.”

The sigh finally escaped.

“Wilson overseeing Foreman,” Cuddy said slowly, mulling the concept over.

“Weirder things have happened in the hospital.”

Just how true that was Cuddy didn’t want to know. And in any case, it didn’t exactly remove any of the discomfort she felt towards the situation Cameron was pitching. “I don’t know. Wilson hasn’t been… himself lately.”

“He’s grieving,” Cameron explained, sounding slightly annoyed at Cuddy. “The woman he loves is dead.”

“I understand that. But that doesn’t fill me with a lot of confidence in terms of his - ”

“A case could be exactly what he -”

Cameron didn’t get a chance to finish the thought.

“There’s a case?”

Both women turned to look down the hallway to where House was standing. The question one Cuddy had hoped she wouldn’t have to hear him ask, his voice strained with the clear desire to sound calm, her stomach dropped to her knees in guilt. This was truly one of the last things she’d ever wanted him to walk in on, and Cuddy couldn’t help but wish that she’d shoved Cameron back out the door the second she’d opened it up.

And when Cuddy, confused and nervous, stole a glance at Cameron, Cuddy really wished she’d slammed the door in the other woman’s face, because now Cameron looked completely convinced that House had been sleeping with Cuddy all along.

Of course, it wasn’t hard to understand why the younger woman felt that way. Here Cuddy was wearing House’s bathrobe, her bed head making it obvious that she’d just woken up. House was in his pajamas, his own hair equally mussed. And Cuddy knew that there was no arguing that she’d slept on the couch last night - as it was currently covered in the shopping bags she’d gotten only the previous evening.

Really, if she were an outsider, she too would have thought that they’d slept together.

So all in all, she was screwed on both ends, the totality of which made her unsure as to whom she should address first. House needed some sort of reassurance; that much was obviously clear. But she hesitated to lie and tell him that there was no case, to try and offer him some kind of ego stroke, because doing so would only make Cameron more convinced that something was going on.

Before Cuddy had a chance to do anything, though, Cameron took the decisions out of her hands. Her eyes darting back and forth between her current boss and her former one, Cameron looked lost, disgusted, and confused. “Did you… are you two sleeping together?”

The question was completely inappropriate, one that Cuddy was ready to rebuke and harshly deny.

But House answered first.

Unfortunately.

A smirk on his face, he replied easily, “Yup.”

If Cuddy were someone else, if she were someone simply looking in on this conversation, she thought she would have been curious to see what Cameron’s reaction was. But seeing as how House was saying that he had been sleeping with her, Cuddy was too consumed with rage and betrayal to give it much thought.

Her gaze focused solely on House, she didn’t care about Cameron at all.

Not even enough to realize that the hurt she was allowing House to see could also be seen by Cameron.

Frankly, it was by some sort of miracle that she didn’t slap him right then and there or demand to know why he would lie like that. Or maybe it wasn’t a miracle with the latter, because Cuddy knew, she thought viciously, why he would lie about sleeping with her. The reason was so simple that she didn’t even doubt that it was true; he lied…

Because he could.

Because he thought it would be fun to embarrass her, to once again spread a rumor about her that made her look like a complete idiot. Which she must have been, truly, if she’d thought - ever in her life - that he could respect her in some way. After all, it wasn’t like he ever had shown her respect, shown her that he could accept her authority over him.

He certainly hadn’t accepted, much less appreciated, her presence in his apartment this past month.

And honestly, all of that taken into consideration, she thought she should have known that he would do something like this the first chance he had.

Anger roiling through, the need for revenge growing, Cuddy played the one card she had left. A sour smirk now on her face, she turned to face Cameron once more. “Fine,” she told her breezily. “Tell Wilson and Foreman they’re more than welcome to run the diagnostics department if they want it.”

It didn’t bother her - not in the least - that the move was a childish one, because at this point, Cuddy didn’t care.

At all.

If House wanted to be a little boy, willing to lash out at anyone and everyone in his way, she would lash right back at him. And considering the rumor he’d just started, she thought she was being rather magnanimous, what with sparing him a painful death and all.

One look at House told her, however, that he didn’t agree. The betrayal she felt was mirrored in his eyes as well. And she was sure that if Cameron weren’t here, he would have already been yelling at her, throwing another fit, screaming “Get out” in the exact same manner he had nearly a month ago.

But as Cameron was here, they were, by some sort of miracle, staying silent, their only form of communication their heated glares toward one another. The air crackling with a dark energy around them, it couldn’t have been lost to either of them that whatever tentative peace and friendship they’d found was breaking apart. At a rapid speed as well, the wrenching force between them making Cuddy wonder how they’d ever made it this long together - alone - without any alcohol to subdue their tempers.

The question was one she didn’t have time to think about though; at this point, Cameron clearly knew that something was wrong, that something had altered between House and Cuddy. Cameron’s voice tentative, she spoke quietly, “Um… okay.”

Neither House nor Cuddy said anything.

So Cameron continued. “I think… I’m going to go. Now. I’ll let Wilson and Foreman know.”

Gingerly she took a step away from Cuddy and backed out the front door slowly almost as though Cameron were afraid that one false move would result in decapitation. Which Cuddy thought would have been funny if it weren’t quite so pathetic and simultaneously apropos.

As the younger woman skulked away, silence descended on House and Cuddy once more. They didn’t dare speak to one another at that moment. Because, although she didn’t know what House’s motivation was, Cuddy’s was that she knew, if they spoke right away, Cameron would overhear. And frankly, in Cuddy’s estimation, Cameron already knew too much.

But as soon as the blonde was safely through the doorway, as soon as Cuddy unceremoniously slammed the door shut, all bets were off.

“You’re letting Foreman and Wilson run my department,” House practically snarled, his forehead glistening with sweat.

“Yeah, I am,” she snapped. If he wanted an apology - or an explanation - she was determined not to give him one.

He didn’t deserve it.

House disagreed.

“They’re not diagnosticians. Foreman pushes papers around for you all day, and Wilson peddles around chemotherapy,” he said, his voice a near shout. “They don’t know what the hell they’re doing.”

She shook her head, moving closer to him. “What did you want me to do, House? Shut down the entire department while you recover?” Hands on her hips, she couldn’t deny that she was taunting him, purposely goading him. “Give you the case, so you can try to prove to everyone that even brain damaged you’re a better doctor than everyone else?”

“I am a better doctor,” he corrected, his voice holding the slightest bit of insecurity. Which she liked, to be quite honest, because it meant that her words had hit a little too close to home for his liking. “Unlike you - a woman who couldn’t diagnose her way out of a paper bag.”

She smirked, finally standing toe-to-toe with him. “To be honest, House, I might have been willing to tell Cameron no to save your ego.”

“My ego is -”

“But then you went and told her that we’re sleeping together,” she shouted over him, not giving him the chance to interrupt her.

He scoffed. “She thought we were having sex anyways. You know that, unless you’re as oblivious about human beings as you are the human body.”

Cuddy had to laugh; loudly and bitterly she laughed at the insult that was so ludicrous coming from the only person she knew who was so completely unable to deal with any and all relationships. “House…” She chuckled, beside herself in disbelief and anger. “If you had… any idea about human beings, you would not have told my employee that I’m sleeping with you.”

It was then that she realized that saying those words out loud made her feel that much worse. Internalized it had hurt, had made her sick, but it wasn’t until now, until the second she’d uttered what it was that he’d done, that she realized just how horrible and screwed up this entire situation was. Because with each syllable spoken came the knowledge that this wasn’t going to be an isolated moment.

Cameron would tell someone. Even if she had an ounce of discretion in her, she would tell someone - Chase probably - because the inkling of a fight she’d witnessed was too interesting and bizarre not to tell someone about it.

And as soon as the rumor was one party removed from the actual conversation, it would spread like wild fire. Chase or whoever the lucky recipient of Cameron’s loose lips would tell another person, and that person would whisper it to anyone and everyone who would listen.

Which meant that it would inevitably reach the ears of some asshole, disgruntled with Cuddy’s reign over the hospital, who had been waiting for something like this to use against her. And that person would contact the board, and then…

And then who knew what would happen then?

The board would scrutinize all of her decisions over the past couple of years. They’d look at the fine the hospital had incurred, thanks to House, during the hospital’s last unannounced inspection. They would look at the criminal charges against House (and her involvement in getting said charges dropped) and the one hundred million dollars she’d willingly given up to keep House employed. And from that…

They would decide that she had an improper affinity for him and fire at least one of them.

Which was really the last thing she wanted, despite the fact that she wanted to punch House in the face at present.

“You have no idea what you’ve done,” she told him darkly.

But he didn’t seem concerned about his words at all. “Cameron’s not going to tell anyone -”

“Oh, of course she is!”

“No, she’s not,” he fought back loudly. “She wasn’t going to say anything to anyone, because, unlike how you put Wilson and Foreman in charge, I was joking. And Cameron knew that.”

He was so angry by the time he finished speaking that the veins in his neck stood out, the tension inside of him completely visible for her to see. So much so that it gave her pause and made her consider whether or not it was good for him to even have this conversation. Taking in his appearance further, however, answered the question for her; it definitely wasn’t good for him.

He was red and sweaty and stressed out, and even though part of her was glad that he was probably going to be feeling like crap for the next couple of days, another part couldn’t bear the idea of that. Try as she might to wish him dead, to be thrilled at the fact that he was feeling some amount of pain for all of the grief he was causing…

She couldn’t.

Because as much as she didn’t want to care…

She did.

The thought grounding her a little, Cuddy sighed and threw her hands in the air. Suddenly, she told him, “We’re not having this conversation right now.”

“Why? You finally realize I’m right?”

His sarcasm didn’t give her pause as she pushed past him. As much as she might have wanted to fight him, as much as he clearly wanted her to, she knew that she couldn’t do it right now - not when the price of a fight was likely to be his wellbeing.

Walking down the hallway, she said, “We’re not talking about this anymore. I’m going to take a shower.”

Her tone left no room for discussion, but he followed her anyway. The doorknob to the bathroom in her hands, she spun around to face him once more; she sure as hell wasn’t going to let him follow her like a lost puppy dog any longer. “That means you go away,” she told him snottily.

Not giving him a chance to respond, Cuddy easily slid into the bathroom and slammed the door shut. She made sure to turn and look the door behind her; God only knew she couldn’t trust House to stay outside, to give her any semblance of privacy. Although maybe that was fair, considering she’d watched him take every single bath he’d had since he’d gotten out of the hospital.

But whether it was deserved or not didn’t matter, she supposed, because even a minute after she’d closed the door in his face, he hadn’t barged in. He hadn’t pounded on the door, yelled at her - he hadn’t done anything actually.

Naturally, Cuddy couldn’t believe that this was an act of kindness; after what he’d done minutes ago, she wasn’t sure there was any kindness in him. So she could only believe that he was biding his time, waiting to do something.

Leaning against the door, she decided to give him a few more minutes to make his move. But all was quiet and stayed that way, so…

She was hesitant to admit that nothing was happening much less that nothing would happen.

However, the longer she waited for House to do something, the more urgent the need to soothe her tense muscles with hot water became. And so reluctantly, she pulled herself away from the door.

Yet she’d barely had a moment’s peace in the shower before House found a way in. Her dark curls clinging wetly to her neck and shoulders, she supposed that she should have known that he had a key to get into the bathroom. Or maybe more to the point, she should have known that he would wait until she was naked to make his move.

Granted, she doubted he would be so bold as to pull the shower curtain aside, so that he could yell at her while she was naked. But that was a small consolation; after all, the white shower curtain was sheer enough for her to make out the plaid pattern of his pajama pants.

Who the hell knew what kind of details he could make out about her.

Growling in frustration, she curled her wet hands into fists at her side. Speaking loudly over the sound of the running water, Cuddy demanded to know, “What are you doing, House?”

“Sorry,” he said, not sounding the least bit sorry. “Need to pee.”

“It can wait five minutes,” she snapped. In her heart, she seriously doubted that he needed to go to the bathroom or that he needed to go so badly that he couldn’t wait until she’d finished her shower; it seemed too convenient for his bladder to be tied to his need to irritate her.

Then again, he always seemed to need to irritate her, so she supposed she shouldn’t be shocked that his bladder eventually lent itself to that end.

“I can’t wait,” he responded in a casual tone, his blurred-through-the-curtain form uneasily moving towards the toilet.

More than ever now she wanted to hit him. She wanted to kill him for never quite understanding the concept of personal space - at least not when it came to giving her any.

Angrily she navigated her body towards the back of the tub. On a better terrain, she would have stalked toward him, but given that she was taking a shower, she didn’t want to risk losing the opportunity to ream him by slipping and falling in the bathtub.

Her hand clasped around the white shower curtain that covered the back of the shower. Because of the overall open design, the tub needed two to stop water from going everywhere. And although she was sure he would have preferred she grab the one that stretched the length of the tub, the one that would let him see her completely naked, she instead yanked the one nestled against the half-wall that divided the shower from the toilet.

Pulling it viciously, she gave him a harsh glare. Not that he noticed; despite the fact that he was peeing, his head was cocked in her direction. And his line of sight was hovering around her chest area… though sadly for him, the half-wall covered her so that all he saw was her wet shoulders.

“Go. Away,” she repeated empathically.

But he shook his head. “I’m peeing.”

“House.”

“What? You want me to walk away while I’m still pissing? You really want to have to clean up my trail of urine?”

“That would be a much better threat if I hadn’t been doing that less than a month ago,” Cuddy pointed out darkly.

Of course, House proceeded to ignore her, perhaps angered and embarrassed by being reminded of what she’d done for him. At least, she hoped that he was feeling the latter, hoped that he could somehow begin to understand and appreciate the magnitude of her sacrifice for him.

And it was then that she realized that she resented him.

She resented House.

Maybe not for the fact that he needed to be taken care of… but because even though she’d done all she could to make him better, to help him recover, he… didn’t care.

At all.

There were moments when she thought he did. But right now, in this moment, Cuddy understood that if that were true, there wouldn’t be quite so many fights between them. There wouldn’t be the constant need for him to apologize to her. Because as screwed up as he was, he would have controlled himself if he’d valued her friendship.

But he didn’t.

And since he didn’t care about her at all, it had to be just… so simple for him, so easy to tell Cameron that they’d slept together. After all, for him, there was no downside to lying; he didn’t care about Cuddy’s friendship. He certainly didn’t care about the lie being spread around the hospital and to their bosses. Really, there was just no way for him to suffer in this.

And she resented him for it.

A lot.

There was no point in denying her feelings. God, it wasn’t like he was going to care that she felt that way. So, making a split-second decision, she spoke up, “I think what we need is to take a break.”

She closed the curtain and turned away from him. Because as soon as the words had been uttered, she doubted, at least in some small part, that she meant them. Something about saying it aloud made her feel like… maybe it wasn’t the right thing to do.

But she’d already said it, and House wasn’t saying anything in return. So Cuddy had to go with it. “I…” She swallowed hard and started over. “We have been… at each other’s throats for weeks now. And as much as I know that that’s part of what we do,” she said, gesticulating with her hands as if to show to no one that she didn’t really have the right terminology. “This is just too much. For both of us to take.”

Licking her lips, she waited for House to say something.

But he didn’t.

“I just think it would be good for us to… spend some time apart.”

“Fine.”

His voice was so quiet she’d barely been able to hear the reply, and though he was clearly trying to keep any and all emotion out of his tone, she could tell that he wasn’t exactly a fan of the idea.

Obviously she doubted that his reticence had anything to do with her. At this point, she really didn’t believe that he had any concern for her. On the other hand, he always seemed to be hesitant to change anything in his life. And her leaving after spending a month with him was a change.

A change that they both clearly were in dire need of.

“You won’t be alone,” she told him quickly, creating a plan as fast as she could. “I’ll spend today and tomorrow interviewing candidates from hospice - have them assist you during the day. I’ll stay here at night.”

Bitterly House finally spoke more than one word. “If you don’t want to be here, you don’t have to replace yourself with a baby sitter. I am a big boy.”

Cuddy sighed, her hand dejectedly turning off the water. There was no point in taking a hot shower when this conversation was only bound to aggravate and upset them both more than they already were.

Pressing her forehead into the warm, tiled shower wall, she tried to kindly explain her reasoning. “You’re still recovering, House. You can’t -”

“Be left alone? Yeah, God forbid I be allowed to bathe alone,” he said begrudgingly.

The comment infuriated her. “I think I can say the same right now to you,” she pointed out furiously.

“You’ll live.”

“And so will you,” she snapped, reaching outside the shower curtain with a hand to grab a towel. As she militantly wrapped the grey terrycloth around her body, she continued, “You will live if you have another person helping you out instead of me.”

“That’s not the point,” he argued.

Cuddy pushed the curtain aside. “Then what is the point?” she demanded to know.

He didn’t answer.

And it was almost weird, she thought, how he seemed… sheepish in a way. Or no, that wasn’t the right way to describe his demeanor she decided. House, being an enormous ass, didn’t know how to do sheepish; it wasn’t in his vocabulary.

But he did seem… slightly embarrassed by whatever it was he was feeling. And since he didn’t elaborate - hell, he didn’t answer the question at all - she thought that he must have been ashamed of whatever it was that was going on in that rat maze brain of his.

Unfortunately for him, she didn’t have the patience to pursue the matter in a particularly kind manner. “Well?”

He looked at her meaningfully, but he didn’t say anything.

Raising an eyebrow, Cuddy demanded to know, “Are you going to say something or are you just going to stand there and hope that I know how to read your screwed up mind?”

“Do what you want, Cuddy,” he snapped, turning around and heading towards the bathroom door.

“I will,” she told him, her chin raised defiantly as he disappeared into the hallway.

Finally alone in the bathroom, Cuddy stood there, droplets of water lazily cascading from her wet hair down along her collar bone. Pulling the towel around her body more tightly, she supposed that she’d just won the argument. He’d walked away after all, and House only did that when he won or when he knew that he had no chance of winning. And since he’d never argued any particular point, she didn’t think that he could have retreated feeling victorious.

But then again, she was standing there, essentially being given all the permission in the world to do what she’d said she thought was best; he’d walked away, and she could start talking to nurses to stay with him and take care of him.

And yet…

She didn’t feel victorious either.

How could she?

House believed, she knew, wholeheartedly that feelings were conditional, that her presence in his life was conditional; no matter how hard she’d worked this past month to show him otherwise, by telling him that she needed a break…

She’d proven him right.

She’d reinforced the belief that all relationships had conditions and that he shouldn’t waste his time with them.

Which meant that…

She might have won this particular argument.

But there were no winners here.

Go to the next part