cuddys_house | Saturday, 16th December

Saturday, 16th December

During the week:

"You know this is ridiculous, right?"

House looked up at Wilson from his desk. "Your tie? Couldn't agree more."

Wilson fixed him with an even look. "Cuddy. And you being stubborn enough to not do anything you two."

"Believe me, if it was about 'stubborn', she'd have come hurtling in here like a battle axe ages ago, doing her typical Cuddy thing," House retorted.

"You taken a look at yourself lately?" Wilson exclaimed. "You're miserable."

"According to you, that's my default," House countered. He looked away, though, and stared off towards the glass door that led out to the balcony. Even though it was late afternoon and heading past twilight, the snow covering everything outside made everything illuminate with a soft, white glow.

"Do something," Wilson continued, exasperated. "Stop being the proverbial ostrich with your head in the sand. Do something. Put this right. Make it up to her. Prove to her that you love her."

House snapped his attention back to Wilson. "Think I hadn't been trying to do that?" he snapped.

"Yes, but you're... you," Wilson replied, throwing a hand out towards House. "You do you things, which always results in insulting people, or hurting their feelings, or coming across as little more than an inconsiderate ass. You can't do that with women. You have to reassure them from time to time. Treat them like their feelings matter, even if it drives you insane. Listen to them."

"I did listen," House shot back, feeling prickly and defensive and wishing like hell Wilson would just get out of his face. "I told you how that went down. What good is listening even more going to do? Just so I can hear the same crap over again?"

"She said what she said for a reason, House," Wilson said. "Not because she wanted to spite you, not because she's out to hurt you. If you would just look beyond your own damn misery and think about someone else's feelings for once..."

House looked away again.

"Do you love her?" Wilson asked after a short, silent pause.

"What kind of stupid question is that?" he muttered.

"Then talk to her. She owed you an explanation and she's given that to you. So, what are you going to do about that? Give up?"

House sighed and reluctantly met Wilson's gaze again.

"Talk to her, House. You owe her that much. And if it doesn't work out, then..." Wilson swept his hands out to motion washing his hands clean. "But you have to at least try. Talk to her."

*

It was snowing lightly when House stepped out of his apartment. He adjusted his red scarf around his neck and tugged his thick overcoat tighter around him once he shut the door, a white cloud of steam billowing out of his mouth with every breath he exhaled. Carefully, he made his way down the steps and gave a thin-lipped, insincere smile to a couple passing by the sidewalk. He fumbled for his car key, his fingers already feeling like they were being bitten off with frost even though he'd only just come out from the warmth of his home, and unlocked his car. Clutching his coat firmly around him, he climbed in and shut the door, giving a little shudder at how god damn cold tonight was. Inside his car was like an icebox.

He switched the engine on and left it running for a few minutes to warm up. He stared out through the frosty windshield while he waited. He was wondering if maybe he was a little insane even bothering to try and talk to Cuddy. Or try to put things right with her. Or... He didn't know. All he did know was it had been over a month since he last spoke to her properly, apart from the unavoidable encounters at work which were always agonising to endure, and as much as he really did think things were over between them, he couldn't let it go. He couldn't let her go. Maybe going to her place would put things right. Or maybe it would offer closure. He didn't want closure, though. Closure was never what he wanted. But if this wasn't going to work between them, then closure was better than nothing.

He sighed and rubbed his face. Getting himself out to the car had taken close to an hour because he'd fretted and debated and argued with himself over and over, trying to work up the guts to leave. He hadn't even got to Cuddy's place yet and already his stomach was churning with butterflies. Before he could lose his nerve all over again, he shifted the car into gear and pulled away from the curb.

He rolled up outside her house about fifteen minutes later. Killing the engine, he just sat for a moment and stared out through the window at the front door. It was lit and a Christmas wreath was hanging on the door. Apart from that, everything looked the same. Light glowed from two of the downstairs windows - Cuddy was home. Probably close to getting ready for bed, he thought to himself as he looked down at his watch. Almost 9PM. He returned his attention to her place and watched it for another few minutes, then opened the door and climbed out. A few snowflakes caught in his hair and peppered over his shoulders as he headed up the garden path, and when he reached the front door he just stared at it.

This was like deja vu. He remembered the last time he'd come to Cuddy's place like this, how horrible that had been, how hard it had been. That was situation he'd hoped to never see a repeat of... and here he was. He could hear muffled sounds of the TV playing inside and he rubbed his hand over his chin as he considered just turning around and leaving. But - no. He was here. He needed to do this. They needed to do this.

With a deep breath, he knocked on the door.

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Cuddy relaxed as she finished her evening yoga session. She sat on her mat, cross-legged, and reached for the tv remote. She didn't expect to find anything to watch--there never was on a Saturday night. It was more for background noise, to keep her company. She liked her peace and quiet but sometimes it was a little too quiet in the house.

She reached for her over-sized sweatshirt as her muscles cooled down and she began to feel a chill. As long as she was active the leggings and tank top she wore were comfortable but at this time of year it didn't take long to feel the chill that seeped in around the windows and under the doors. She stood up and pulled the sweatshirt over her head, giving the baby a little pat as she pulled it over her now obvious baby bump. Not big yet, but obvious. A lot of her coworkers had started giving her curious looks. Some of them were probably trying to decide if she was pregnant or just getting fat. Others were probably trying to guess who the father was. She ignored the looks for the most part. She hadn't denied it to anyone who worked up the nerve to ask her about it but she didn't volunteer information. Her baby was her business.

As always happened when she was in the living room, her eyes were drawn to the mantel. It was the first night of Hanukkah and her menorah was set out in the middle of the mantel. She'd even lit the candle and said the prayers. She didn't normally do that. Hell, she even displayed some decorations that were technically for Christmas. This year, though, she'd felt the need to revive some of the rituals of her childhood. It was probably just the baby making her nostalgic but she'd figured--why not? It made her feel good and it certainly didn't hurt anyone. The first night's candle had been extinguished hours ago, though, and the silver menorah reflected only the light of the table lamp now.

Next to the menorah was the latest addition to her collection of family photographs. It was the picture of House she'd taken on the 'kissing bridge' in Paris, the one she'd taken before he was aware she had the camera out. It was the picture where he was just turning to look at her, relaxed, a hint of a smirk on his lips. She hadn't put it out to torture herself although it did make her sad to look at it. It also made her remember how good it could be. Could've been, she reminded herself. Part of her refused to believe it was all over even though she hadn't talked to him outside of work since that awful night. The logical part of her mind pointed out that a fight that bad followed by a month of silence was a pretty good indicator that the relationship had flamed out. She didn't always listen to the logical part of her mind, though. If she did, she would never have gotten involved with him in the first place.

She waved the remote at the tv and turned it off, intending to go treat herself to a long, hot bath. She frowned at the knock on the door. She couldn't imagine who'd be coming to see her this time on a Saturday night, especially not since the caller would have had to brave the December chill. Probably some pizza delivery kid who'd gotten lost. She pulled the door open with her mouth already open to deal with the kid quickly but her mouth stayed open, and silent, as it took her a moment to process the fact that it was definitely not a lost pizza delivery kid on her doorstep.

"Er...is there a problem with your patient?" That was the only reason she could think of for his presence, although why he'd show up in person and not use the phone was a good question. Then she frowned. "Do you even have a patient?"

House felt his insides knot up with nerves as he waited for the door to be answered. Over the past month, House had tried to convince himself that he was moving on from Cuddy, getting on with his life and putting the last three crazy months behind him. He'd done a good enough job of eliminating too much thought by keeping himself busy with a case that had come in a couple of weeks ago, and through other means - alcohol was a good friend of his in recent weeks. But standing on Cuddy's stoop right now, his insides knotting themselves up in a big, thick jumble made him realise: he wasn't over Cuddy. He never had been. He wasn't sure if that was a good or bad thing right now.

His heart skipped a beat when he heard the handle turn and he froze on the spot as Cuddy pulled the door open and met his gaze. He couldn't hold her gaze, though; he was the first to look away, studying the doorframe and the awning, anything except Cuddy. Until she spoke.

"I did a couple of weeks ago," he replied. "Bit late to get an authorisation on him, though I thought I'd give it a try."

Of course that wasn't why he was here. He felt somewhat disenchanted that Cuddy would reach that conclusion, too. Then again, they hadn't really spoken to each other for a month. What else was she to expect?

He shrugged and looked down, scuffing the end of his cane into a few dead leaves that was scattered by his feet. "Came to see you," he said awkwardly.

"Oh," Cuddy said softly. She wasn't sure how to react to that. Her heart started pounding and she felt...confusion? Fear? Anticipation? She didn't know. Over the past month she'd grieved for their relationship the way she might grieve the loss of a loved one, which it was really. Losing the relationship meant losing him. Her emotions had been all over the place and she'd struggled so hard to find some kind of peace of mind. His mere presence threatened to destroy the balance she'd worked to create and she found herself bracing for the worst.

Of course, knowing why he wanted to talk to her would help her know if the worst she imagined was going to become reality. The logical part of her mind spoke up again to remind her that the worst was the most likely. Chances were he was here to formally finish it. Her heart didn't listen, though. It still had hope, however faint.

"Sorry," she murmured as she realized she'd gone off into her own thoughts for a moment. She stepped back and opened the door wider so he could enter. She closed the door behind him, shivering in the cold air that had entered with him. She led him into the living room and then stopped in the middle of the room, feeling very apprehensive as she turned to face him. Without knowing his purpose, she didn't know what to say.

"Um...so...you wanted to talk?"

House waited patiently for Cuddy to let him in when she acknowledged why he was here, but started to eye her uncertainly when she just continued to stand there. Maybe she didn't want him here. He supposed that was likely. It should have been something to be prepared for, except he'd gotten so caught up in his own thoughts that Cuddy refusing to let him in hadn't crossed his mind until now. Just when he was considering turning away before he started to look any more like a fool, Cuddy opened the door wider for him to go inside. Relief washed over him and he obliged.

While Cuddy headed into the living room, House closed the door behind him, a chill running through his body from the warmth of her house being a stark contrast to the cold outside. He loosened his scarf slightly and unbuttoned his coat while he limped after her.

After a quick glance around the room, the first things his eyes landed on was the picture of him on the mantle. He was immediately taken by surprise. That was the last thing he expected to ever see in her house: any kind of memento of him. He frowned in confusion at it for a moment, only pulled out of his thoughts when Cuddy spoke again.

He turned his attention to her. He wanted to talk? No, he didn't want to talk. He had to, though. They both had to. He had to at least try, otherwise... He took a few more limped steps into the room, stopping just in front of the armchair and he ran a hand across his forehead. He didn't even know where to begin. So much needed to be said. So much needed to be put right between them. He wondered if putting it right was even possible. It was like walking into a trashed room and having to clean it up but having absolutely no idea where to begin.

He let out a slow breath, dropping his hand down, and he looked away. Maybe he should just start small, start somewhere safe, somewhere neutral for the moment. He tentatively set his eyes back on Cuddy.

"How you doing?" he asked.

The longer it took for House to start talking, the more anxious Cuddy became. The not knowing why he was there, what he wanted to say--that was the worst. Her mind was racing right along with her heart, considering all the possible ways this could go and not liking the possible ending of most of those ways. It was worse than finding herself in a position where she had to talk to him at work. There she could restrict the conversation to neutral topics, and if it got personal, the very fact it was in a public setting would prevent a lot of unpleasantness. Here, though, it was just the two of them and anything could happen.

Her eyebrows raised in confused surprise. "I'm fine. Okay." She wrapped her arms around her and shrugged. She wasn't fine. She hadn't been fine in a long time. Small talk might be his way of starting the conversation but she decided honesty was better than some polite and untruthful response.

"I'm getting by the best I can. Some days are okay. Others, not so much." She looked directly at him. "You?"

House just nodded. Fine. Okay. He wasn't sure if he believed her, but maybe she was fine and okay. What she said next, however, clarified it for him. And when she turned the question back to him, he just shrugged again.

"About the same," he replied.

It was the truth, too. Some days, he was okay. Or he thought he was okay, at least. Other days, he wasn't so okay. Some days he thought he was moving on from everything. Other days he felt like the weight of the world rested on his shoulders. Some days he didn't even want to get out of bed. Ever again, if he could help it.

He sighed and looked away. Well, this was painfully awkward. Though he and Cuddy were in the same room, it felt to him like they were as far from each other as the east was from the west. He didn't know what else to talk about. The weather? How it was almost Christmas and how the hell did that happen? That his birthday was in five days? Some birthday present.

At last, he faced back to Cuddy. Maybe cutting to the point was best. Except he was stuck again on where to start. He had no clue where to begin. He cleared his throat, setting both his hands on his cane in front of him. "I hoped we'd never come to this," he began quietly. "We've been in this place once before, and..."

No point rehashing that, he thought to himself. He lifted a hand again and ran his fingertips across his brow while he struggled to find the words and struggled even harder to not just turn and run. He hated these kinds of confrontations, the kinds that were driven by emotion and hurt and confusion and fear. He traced his fingers down the side of his face, across his lips, then dropped his hand to his side as he looked back to Cuddy.

"I've never been good at..." he continued slowly. "Being sensitive. Or being considerate. But that doesn't mean that I don't..." He paused again. "Care."

He swallowed and drew in another deep breath. "This isn't how I want things to be, Cuddy. This isn't..." He exhaled. God, what was he trying to say? His head was a jumble of words he was having trouble sorting into coherent sequence.

"This isn't right," he finally said with mild vehemence. He gestured between Cuddy and himself, becoming impassioned. "You and me being like this. Being apart. Like what we had never meant anything. That isn't right."

Cuddy cringed slightly when House started to refer to their last big blowout. Those were memories she didn't especially want to revisit. Especially since the issues from that argument had never been resolved. Which was probably part of why they were apart again. Issues never got resolved and they kept arguing about the same things over and over again.

"of course it's not right," she said quietly. If she weren't so anxious she might've laughed at his confession that he wasn't good at being sensitive. She certainly knew that. And most of the time she accepted it, she dealt with it. But there were times when she needed him to understand her feelings at least. She needed to know that he understood, even if he didn't directly act like it.

"This isn't what I want. I never wanted this but...." She lifted one hand in a frustrated wave. What she wanted--what he wanted--was only a small part of the problem. Yes, she wanted them to be together but how were they supposed to do that?

"I want to be with you but I don't know how to make that happen. I don't know how to fix what's wrong between us."

House gazed at Cuddy searchingly until she brought up not knowing how to fix what was wrong between them. Then he eased off and looked down, feeling somewhat defeated. He didn't know how to fix it, either.

He was reminded all over again of what Cuddy had said to him that night before she drove off. How she was convinced he was only using her as a distraction, that he was still pining over Stacy, that she'd never be what Stacy was to him. That had hurt. Cuddy might as well have driven a knife right through his heart for all those hurtful words were worth.

But if that was what she honestly thought, then how the hell could he even prove to her that it was none of those things? She wasn't going to believe him. She hadn't in the past. Why would she start believing him now? Jesus, he thought, closing his eyes briefly, why had he come here if this wasn't going to get resolved? If this wasn't capable of being resolved?

"I don't, either," he replied, looking back up to her. "I don't know how to prove anything to you. I don't know how to prove who you are to me without you assuming I'm thinking of someone else. I don't know how to fight for us because I feel like I can't win, no matter what I do. I'm always going to love you less, according to you, I'm always going to seek distractions above all else. I don't even know what any of that crap is."

Cuddy's heart sank when House said he didn't understand her feelings. She turned away, staring at the far wall as she tried to control her emotional reaction and find a way to make him understand. Because if they couldn't understand each other there was no hope of salvaging the relationship.

She moved slowly to the couch and sat down. She stared down at her hands, twisting them together in her lap before finally looking up at House. She knew his feelings for Stacy would never change. She'd gone into the relationship knowing that and it was something she was willing to accept...as long as it wasn't thrown in her face. It was only when she was forced to confront that fact that her worst fears came to the surface.

"Feelings aren't rational. You can't look at something and decide it doesn't make sense to you therefore it's not important." She continued to look at him, watch his expression. Her own expression was practically begging him to try to see things from her point of view. Or to at least accept that her feelings were valid even if they didn't make sense to him.

"I don't need proof. I need you to respect my feelings. Don't dismiss them because you don't understand them. Don't make a joke of them. When you do that it makes me feel.... I feel like I am nothing but a joke to you."

"Did I ever say it wasn't important?" House argued.

God damn it, it was important to him. He just wished Cuddy would get it from his perspective. He didn't do relationships easily, he didn't open himself up to people like this the way he had with Cuddy, and to be slapped in the face with statements about Stacy and Cuddy thinking she wasn't important to him felt exactly like that - a slap in the face.

He peered down at her with his own almost beseeching expression. He was trying to understand, he really was. All the times she spoke up about her feelings, he tried to understand. He tried to be sensitive, he tried to be what she needed him to be. But it never worked out that way. It was never intentional on his part because that was just the way he was, but Cuddy didn't seem to think so.

His expression eased into something more pensive when Cuddy announced she felt like nothing more than a joke to him. His initial reaction was to slam against that claim of hers, argue that she was being stupid, why the hell would she even think that? Of course she wasn't a joke to him. He stopped himself before any of those words could come out of his mouth, though. It was almost impossible for him to do that, but he managed to hold back. For once, he thought to himself, just listen to Cuddy, just listen to her without arguing.

He stamped his cane on the floor and looked down with a sigh. He wasn't sure how to go about telling Cuddy that, however. She would probably dismiss him as a joke if he so much as tried to be sensitive and understanding for her sake. Rubbing his brow, he limped slowly to the coffee table and sat down on the edge, clasping his cane between his legs. He tapped it a few times while peering down at the floor, then finally looked back up to Cuddy.

"I want you to..." God, he wished he didn't have to say it. He motioned between Cuddy and himself, as though that was supposed to explain what he wanted to say. Which of course it didn't. He let out a relenting sigh as he dropped his hand to his thigh. "Tell me how you feel. Can't promise I'll understand, but..."

He trailed off and just gave another, awkward wave of his hand to say the floor was open for her to talk.

Cuddy let her head drop forward when House argued with her. He didn't have to say it wasn't important in those exact words. He could use other words to imply he didn't think her feelings were important. It was in his tone of voice or his body language. She saw and heard those things and it hurt. She could take a joke but there were certain topics that just weren't funny.

She wasn't an irrational person but she definitely was more in tune with her emotions than House was. Emotions bothered him. He didn't know how to react so he trivialized them. When he did that to her emotions, naturally she felt trivialized as well. And while she understood that wasn't necessarily his intent, it was still the final result. She wanted him to stop trivializing her.

She lifted her gaze to him, wary, when he asked her to talk about her feelings. She damn near asked if it was a bad joke. Or maybe Wilson was standing behind him, twisting his arm. She managed to keep those knee-jerk reactions to herself, though, because then she would guilty of doing to him the same thing she'd accused him of doing to her.

"Sometimes when I'm with you, I feel amazing. I feel beautiful and special and...god, it's such an incredible feeling. But other times...."

The whole issue of House looking at other women had come up time and time again. He couldn't understand why it was a problem for her and she couldn't understand why he couldn't understand. Was she overreacting? Quite possibly. She could admit to that. The problem was that it wasn't just about him looking at another woman. Maybe it wasn't anything to do with him looking at another woman. It was all the baggage--it was Stacy and it was Cuddy's own bad relationships and they all got stirred up when he did something to provoke those insecurities. She couldn't change her history and she couldn't erase Stacy from his--the easiest solution was for him to simply stop doing things that stirred that baggage.

"When I get angry or upset because you're checking out one of your beach bunnies, you could say I'm insecure--that's probably true. You could say I'm being irrational--that's debatable. But that's not the point. I don't want you to answer my feelings with logic."

She gave him a searching look, trying to see if anything she said was getting through to him. She wasn't saying anything she hadn't said before and that had never gotten through to him. She needed to find a way to get through to him. It was quite possibly the most important communication she'd ever needed to make because it was the only way she'd be able to keep him in her life.

"I want to feel special all the time. Special to you. But life's just not that simple. Neither of us are children. We have history. We have baggage. We know that bad things can happen despite our best attempts." She scooted forward on the couch and reached for his hand as she looked at him. "I get scared that the bad stuff's going to happen no matter what I do."

House pressed his lips together to stop himself from arguing against Cuddy's points. He so badly wanted to. It went against his nature to not argue. He wanted to point out that she was being insecure when he was looking at other women, because looking didn't actually mean anything. It was just looking. He wanted to point out that, yes, she was irrational at times and that was probably the fault of her pregnancy hormones. He wanted to argue that, damn it, she was special to him and why the hell couldn't she get that into her head?

He kept a lid on all of that, though. He looked down at her hand in his when she reached for it, running his thumb across her knuckles briefly. God, he hadn't touched her in so long. He missed her like crazy. But he still didn't know how they were going to work this out. If they couldn't, then he was going to be missing her for a hell of a lot longer than he already had.

"I don't get what any of that has to do with you thinking I've only ever sought you as a distraction," he replied, looking back up to her. "What any of that has to do with Stacy. That is your insecurity talking. Nothing else. Because you're just assuming what I think, what I feel. Which makes me think I'm nothing more than a joke to you. That I'm wasting your time. And mine. Because if you're going to spend our relationship convinced you're nowhere near as important to me as you actually are, no matter what I say or do, then why bother? That's not going to make either of us happy."

"See, this is exactly what I'm talking about. No matter what I do or what I say... the bad stuff just keeps happening."

She kept hold of his hand but she closed her eyes told herself not to let her emotions get the better of her. He was still trying to explain or rationalize away her feelings and it was so incredibly frustrating. She felt like she was beating her head against the wall and he was right--that was going to get them nowhere and it certainly wasn't going to make either of them happy.

She truly didn't understand how he couldn't see how Stacy figured into it. She was the love of his life. By definition, that meant that everyone else had to be something less. She knew that didn't mean that they couldn't have a good relationship. She knew she could mean something to him. It just wouldn't be the same. And it wouldn't be enough to stop him from leaving her. He'd done it once...and the baby was a whole other issue with which they'd have to deal.

"You ask why bother? Because I love you. It's that simple. And it doesn't solve anything. I just don't...." She let out a shaky breath and squeezed his hand. Not intentionally. She just needed something to hold onto. She needed to hold on to him. "What do you need to hear from me? What do you want to tell me... because I obviously can't figure it out."

God. House let his head drop forward, frustration starting to set in. He didn't know how this always happened, but it seemed yet again that he and Cuddy were on completely different wavelengths with this. She was telling him that it didn't matter what she did or said, just like he kept telling her. He thought he was making himself perfectly clear. Apparently, he wasn't, and he felt like hitting his head against a wall for all it was worth.

"I need you to stop dragging my relationship with Stacy into this!" he exclaimed on the verge of anger, snapping his head up to look at Cuddy.

He rubbed a hand over his face in frustration, then stood. He needed to pace, something to occupy himself while he tried to get his thoughts into order. Heading across the room, he untangled his scarf so it was left hanging loose around his neck. He turned around to face Cuddy and threw a hand up at her.

"See, this is exactly what I mean," he said. "I can't prove anything to you, because you're basing what you think I feel for you on my past. I can't be what you need because you won't let me. How can I be anything to you if you're going to continually drag Stacy into this?"

"There are things you can do. That's what I'm trying to tell you. Little things, like not teasing me about the beach bunnies when you know it bothers me." Cuddy buried her face in her hands for a moment. "It's not like I'm asking you to scale Everest. I'm not even asking you to deal with your own feelings. I'm just asking you to have a little consideration for mine."

Was that really so much to ask? She really didn't think it was, but then she clearly sucked at relationships. Chances were she was getting it all wrong. She didn't want to be babied but she needed a little reassurance from him. But maybe it was too much to ask him to stop playing on her insecurities. She didn't know if that was a fault of his or hers. Maybe she just wasn't tough enough for love.

As for Stacy.... Cuddy didn't think she was dragging Stacy into it--she was already there. She'd been part of House's life for a decade now because he'd spent as much time pining over her absence as he had actually living with her. Cuddy wasn't sure he wasn't still pining. She wasn't sure he'd ever really dealt with what had happened between him and Stacy. Whatever the case, it wasn't something she could ignore.

"Stacy is part of this because she's part of you. She's the love of your life." Cuddy stood up and wrapped her arms around her. She looked very small and fragile. She felt small and fragile, and yet she knew she could deal with it. She just needed House to recognize the truth and be honest with her about it. Telling her he loved her while denying Stacy's influence on him wasn't being completely honest.

"It's simple math, House. There can only be one number one in your life, and I'm not it."

"Don't you get I'm not being serious when I do that?" House argued, exasperated. Sure, fine. He could not do that if it really bothered her. But if that was her biggest issue, why had she turned a molehill into a mountain over it?

Because of Stacy, he thought to himself. She was insecure about Stacy. As far as he could tell, she thought every slight against her, even in the most joking of ways, was some kind of implication that he saw her as second best. Because of Stacy. He just stared at her, his mouth slightly ajar as she stood up and said about Stacy being the love of his life.

No. Jesus, no, he thought. He rubbed his forehead fretfully, hardly able to believe Cuddy was this fixated on Stacy. God, he'd wanted nothing more than to put the hurt of losing Stacy behind him. He wanted to move on with his life, with Cuddy. Because she was the love of his life now. Or used to be, he realised with a twist to his gut. Used to be because they weren't even together anymore. Not at the moment. Not for the past month.

At her last words, House threw his arm out in a frustrated, protesting gesture. He didn't know what hurt more - Cuddy rubbing salt into the wound about Stacy, or Cuddy trying to make him admit something he didn't want to admit.

"This isn't fair, Cuddy," he shot back. "What you're doing is not fair." He turned away, his face covered with his hand for a moment while his thoughts reeled through his head, then he faced back to her. "What am I supposed to say to that? No? Yes? I say no, you're not going to believe me and you're going to accuse me of lying. I say yes, you're probably going to break down and cry and say 'I told you so'."

He sighed, giving Cuddy a hard, outraged, suffering look. He felt cornered. He felt trapped and threatened and felt like he had no way out. "I love you," he said, close to shouting. "Why isn't that enough?"

"Yeah, I get that. Do you get that it's not a joke to me?"

God. If he'd just done as she asked, if he'd just shown a little consideration from the beginning, it wouldn't have become such a big issue. If he hadn't kept banging away at her insecurities, she wouldn't have become even more insecure. She would've been able to deal with it. It was such a simple request, and it was hypocritcal of him to insist she not be hurt by his jokes. If she made jokes about, say, lusting after guys with two good legs, guys who could dance with her-- it wouldn't be any more serious than his 'jokes' but she'd bet he'd be just as hurt and insecure.

"You're supposed to say the truth," she insisted. How much worse could the truth be than what she already imagined? He couldn't possibly say anything she'd hadn't already considered. It would hurt to hear it but there'd be some kind of relief in having it out in the open. If anything, his refusal to deal with the issue only made her suspect the very worst.

"How is any of this fair? If I don't tell you what's wrong, you get mad but if I do tell you what's wrong you get mad. How is that fair?" she asked, flinging her arms out in frustration. She didn't know what he wanted from her...except that it was apparently something she couldn't give. No matter what she said, she couldn't win. She was almost too exhausted by the fighting to try anymore. If she thought winning was still possible, she'd keep trying but she was afraid she was simply deluding herself because she couldn't face the alternative.

She stared at him for a moment after he shouted. She didn't know what he wanted her to say. The truth? Lies? She was pretty damn sure no matter what she said, it would be the wrong thing. "I want it to be enough but I don't know what you want. I don't know if it's enough for you."

"How is bringing Stacy into any of this fair?" House countered, waving an arm about in as much frustration as Cuddy was. "How am I supposed to move on from any of that if you keep bringing it up?"

He stopped suddenly, a little stunned by the words that had come out of his own mouth. Surely that wasn't right. He was moving on from Stacy. Getting together with Cuddy proved that... didn't it? He never thought he'd be in another relationship, too scared of getting hurt, too leery of things falling apart, yet he'd risked going into a relationship with Cuddy. And ended up falling in love with her. Ended up not just thinking about long-term with Cuddy, but wanting it. The baby... Well, that was a matter all on its own. God. He scrubbed a hand through his hair. Everywhere he turned, there was an issue, something he didn't know how to deal with.

He dropped his hand and fixed Cuddy with a helpless look. Part of him just wanted to flee because this was all getting too much. Too much. Was he ever going to be to do anything right by Cuddy? It seemed not. He was always going to end up doing something to hurt her, intentionally or not. He was always going to have his past with Stacy that he couldn't escape from, especially while Cuddy kept bringing it up. There was always going to be something he wasn't doing right.

He looked down to the floor, suddenly defeated. He didn't want Stacy to be part of his baggage with Cuddy. He wanted that to be in his past, because it was in his past. He didn't want to be in a relationship with his past with Stacy overshadowed everything. But he didn't know how to break away from it, especially not when Cuddy brought it to the table.

He lifted a hand again and covered his face, rubbing his temples with his fingers and thumb. A horrible crushed feeling was settling inside him. Crushed because he didn't know how to fix this. Crushed because maybe he really was going to lose Cuddy for good. He looked away from Cuddy when he dropped his hand down so she wouldn't be able to see the expression on his face.

"I don't think it's even going to matter if I tell you what I want," he said quietly. "I want... us. I want..." He wanted Cuddy in his life, he wanted the good times they'd had, he wanted to wake up every morning knowing he belonged to her. That was enough for him. But maybe that wasn't enough for Cuddy.

He let out a defeated snort and looked back down, shaking his head slightly.

Cuddy rubbed her hand over her forehead, digging her fingers in to try and massage away the tension that was making her head pound and her eyes ache. She was barely paying attention to what House was saying. She expected it the be the same thing he'd been saying. They both kept saying the same damn things and nothing ever changed.

She frowned slightly as his words penetrated the dull thud of her headache. He'd said he was trying to move on from Stacy. That was the implication anyway. She wondered if that was possible. She wondered if he was capable of it but more importantly--did he want to? She knew he'd never forget Stacy but if he could find a comfortable place for her in his memories.... If he wanted to move on, then there was a chance they could make a future for themselves.

She dropped her hand and glanced over just as he dropped his head. She stepped around the coffee table, hesitant at first but then she lifted her chin and walked to him. She didn't give him time to reject her. She just put her arms around his shoulders and held him tightly.

"I want us, too," she said softly, her cheek pressed against his so that her mouth was close to his ear. "I want us more than anything. I just.... I needed to know the past wasn't going to become part of our future."

House turned his head away from Cuddy as she embraced him, and as much as he immediately thought about pushing her away, he didn't. But he didn't respond, either, apart from closing his eyes briefly when she pressed her cheek to his.

"It will if you keep making it a part of it," he replied.

God, he had a headache. A tension headache right in the centre of his forehead and behind his eyes. He felt tired and stressed and drained, and he was just so sick of all of this. He was sick of fighting, he was sick of being alone like he had been for the last month. If he had it his way, it would just be Cuddy and him again, none of this other baggage imposing on them. He'd thought when they first got together that it had been complicated and messy. But looking back on that now, that was nothing compared to this.

He glanced around him with his eyes before closing them again and turning his cheek a little firmer against Cuddy's. Just being able to touch her again after all this time... He drew in a deep breath, struck by the familiarity of her scent: the faint smell of her shampoo and of the soap she used, the floral scented washing detergent on her jumper that was on all of her clothes, her natural scent that he'd grown so accustomed to. He pressed his cheek even firmer to hers as a tightness took hold of him in his chest.

Everything was far from resolved. He didn't know if both of them wanting the same thing was going to be enough to make what they had last. All he did know was that the past month had been incredibly lonely and miserable and filled with a kind of pain that left him raw, no matter how much he tried to ignore it. And now here he was with Cuddy up against him, warm and solid and real, and he really didn't want to let that go. Because if he did, maybe he wouldn't have it back again.

He turned his face in more until his lips brushed against her cheek, and he just lingered there for a moment before pressing a kiss to her skin.

"God, would you just shut up?" Cuddy groaned. She was simply trying to find a path for them to take through all the complications and fears. She was trying to let herself believe that maybe he could move on and love her for her and they could make some kind of life together. And he just had to keep picking at the old wounds, never letting them heal.

She didn't let go of him, though. He didn't seem to comprehend her words but maybe he'd understand her touch. If she held on to him, maybe he'd understand she didn't want to let him go, never had. She'd only walked away because she feared causing more hurt if she stayed. There were times, in the heat of the moment, when she did want to hurt him. It was petty and nasty of her and she wasn't proud of it. It was only a heat of the moment thing, though. When she wasn't caught up in anger and sadness, she'd never wanted to hurt him anymore than she'd want to hurt herself. Sometimes the only way to do that was retreat from the field of battle.

Besides, she'd missed holding him. She'd missed the warm, solid feel of his body and the smell of him and even the scratch of his stubble. She buried her face against his shoulder and held him so tight her arms began to ache. Holding him again reminded her just how bad it felt when she couldn't. It reminded her of all the days she spent feeling like she was half empty, like part of her soul had been torn away and remained with him.

She pulled back to look at him, quickly wiping the back of her hand over her eyes. "You're still wearing your coat." Not the most brilliant conversational opening but she'd really just noticed that he'd never taken it off. He probably wanted to be ready to flee at a moment's notice. She didn't want him running away. "Take your coat off and sit with me. Please."

"You shut up," he retorted, though his tone was hardly confrontational.

He was sick to death of confrontation. He wished he and Cuddy could just settle their differences without any more fighting, any more confusion. On the other hand, he was still frustrated because it felt to him like Cuddy hadn't listened to a word he'd said. And Cuddy seemed to think the same thing about him. He didn't think he'd done anything wrong. Cuddy didn't think she'd done anything wrong. He sighed, frustrated, as he slid his arms around Cuddy to hold her against him.

But the good thing was that she was right here, right now, in his arms, touching him, holding onto him. That was probably as good as it was going to get right now. God, he'd missed her, he thought to himself as he hid his face into her hair, reaching a hand up to cup the back of her head to him. If this was as good as it was going to get, then he was okay with that for now. Being able to hold her was more than he could've hoped for, given he thought he never would again.

He was reluctant to let Cuddy go when she pulled back. Settling his hands on her upper arms, he looked down at her while she wiped her eyes. Without a word, he stepped back when she told him to remove his coat, and he did. He tossed it over onto the armchair nearest to him, along with his scarf, dressed now in just his jeans and a faded sweatshirt over an equally faded t-shirt. He took Cuddy's hand and pulled her with him as he sat down on the couch, enveloping her in his arms once she was by his side.

For the longest time, he didn't say anything, just held Cuddy to him and occasionally rubbed his hand up and down her arm and back. If he said something, it would probably be the wrong thing. It would probably start another fight, set them both back on the wrong track. He was sick of being on the wrong track. After a while he raised a hand to Cuddy's cheek and turned her towards him, guiding her mouth to his.

The minute they were sitting on the couch, Cuddy turned and snuggled up to House, drawing her feet up under her. She needed to simply be with him, feel his presence next to her. Even in the short time they'd been together--not counting the time they weren't together--she'd gotten used to him being part of her world. He was supposed to be there and when he wasn't, nothing felt right.

There was still so much that had to be resolved if they were going to make it as a couple but for the moment. Knowing that he wanted to move on and make something new with her helped a lot. It didn't fix everything by a long shot, but it helped ease some of her uncertainty. But even if that issue were eliminated, there were still problems they had to deal with. The frustrating thing was--a lot of it wasn't all that difficult to fix, or at least make better. A little consideration would go a very long way for her. She knew House was compulsive about poking people's weak spots. It was entertaining. It was interesting. She wanted him to stop doing it to her, though, at least in their personal lives. If he wanted to keep poking her at work, fine. She could deal with that. It was far more difficult to accept when it was personal.

She lifted her chin, pressing her lips to his when he turned her toward him. It was a gentle, lingering kiss, almost sad because there was a lot of regret behind it. She began to feel more at peace, though, as the kiss tapered off into a series of soft, short kisses. This was the way it should be, not screaming at each other.

"Why can't it be easy?" she murmured as she rested her forehead against his. She didn't expect an answer, it was just...it shouldn't be so hard. "I wait so long to fall in love--it should be easier after that."

House closed his eyes while they kiss, dropping his hand from her cheek to her shoulder. All the frustration he'd felt had melted away into relief, though not a happy relief. A sad relief, sad because the last month had just been awful and now he was here with Cuddy in his arms, he realised how battered and bruised he felt. He opened his eyes slowly as the kisses became short and soft, taking a moment to study Cuddy's face up close while she wasn't aware of it.

But then he closed his eyes again when she rested her forehead to his. He ran his hand from her shoulder down her arm, and sighed. He just shook his head slightly at her question. He didn't know why it couldn't be easy. Relationships had never been easy for him, though. Romantic relationships, friendships, parental relationship, even work relationships - none of them were easy. He didn't exactly try to make them easy, but even when he did try it was still always hard.

"I guess," he finally replied, lifting his chin and urging Cuddy to tuck her head down against his chest, "nothing that's worth fighting for is easy."

He let his head drop back against the couch, a hand settled on Cuddy's head, while he stared vacantly up to the ceiling. Thing was he didn't remember finding love being this hard. Then again, he'd never looked for love - love found him, both times, and in the most unexpected of ways. But he remembered falling into a relationship with Stacy much easier than this. Falling out of it had been the part that had really hurt. It was a completely different story with Cuddy. For a number of years, he'd always felt something for Cuddy but kept it hidden away from her, even from himself. And then he'd allowed it to crawl to the surface and found himself in a whirlwind relationship that had more ups and downs than a rollercoaster.

He lifted his head from the couch again and turned down to Cuddy, pressing a kiss to her temple, then to forehead, before nudging at her with his nose to get her to look up at him. He met her lips again and kissed them softly, gratefully. The kiss eased off into short, soft pecks again, and he opened his eyes and found himself meeting Cuddy's gaze. He exchanged a few more small kisses with her while staring into her eyes, then pulled back so he could look at her properly. He frowned while studying her face, running his hand up her arm.

"I hate not having you in my life," he murmured, so low and quiet it was almost a whisper. He parted his lips to say more, but then decided against it with how exposed and raw he felt. So, he just gave a small, subdued shake of his head.

"Yeah, well, that's crap," Cuddy muttered as she rested her head against his chest. She didn't mind fighting for something. She'd never been afraid of hard work. Love just shouldn't be this hard, though. At some point it should become easy, natural. It should stop breaking her heart.

Deep down she knew that a lot of their conflict had to do with when and how they came together. Yes, they were both stubborn. They both had strong personalities. There would always be some level of conflict between them. That wasn't the whole story, though. There were other factors, like the fact they were both older and a bit set in their ways. Neither one of them had had to accommodate someone else into their lives in a long time.

They'd also gotten toghether during a time when they were both dealing with some emotional issues. House had the shooting its aftermath and she'd been dealing with the desire for motherhood and the failed treatments. There was already a whole lot of stress in their lives and jumping into a new relationship had only added to that stress. The baby, of course, had just taken that over the top for House.

She raised her mouth to his when he looked down again. It had always been easier to communicate with him by physical means...which was part of the reason they had a baby coming. She lifted her hand to his cheek and met him in a series of easy kisses. She tried to let him feel, and see in her eyes, how much she loved him. She hated the way he sometimes made her feel but she loved him.

"I'm seriously considering chaining you to my bed so you can't leave again," she murmured. It would have the advantage of keeping him where he could put his mouth to good use but appealing as the idea sounded, obviously it wasn't a viable solution. Yet. There had to be some solution but she didn't know what it was.

She pulled back for a moment so she could shift around. She turned into him and extended her legs so they curved over his thighs. Then she reached up and pulled him toward her for a quietly passionate kiss. "This is definitely better than my original plans for the evening," she said with a soft smile.

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