Tuesday, October 3rd, 2006

[doctorhouse-md.livejournal.com]

Almost two weeks had passed since House's last encounter with Cuddy in the elevator. He'd crossed paths with her a few times since, but only under accidental or absolutely necessary circumstances, and barely two words were exchanged each time, nor was there any substantial eye contact.

It wasn't that House didn't intend on talking to Cuddy... he just couldn't seem to muster the courage, and each time he almost found enough courage he'd then find himself doubting and questioning things over and over. He took to drinking heavier when he was at home, to dull his thoughts. Not just his thoughts, but his anxiety and stress, too. His leg was aching; a persistent ache that wasn't strong enough to be painful, but was noticeable enough to be worrisome. And his nightmares... Well, he was getting so weary of running on less than three or four hours' sleep a night. Insomnia wasn't anything new to him, but everything that had happened lately was taking a much greater toll on his aging body. He felt pretty much like a mess.

The worst of it was no matter how much he tried to ignore the whole situation, it still lurked in the back of his mind. Cuddy wasn't just pregnant, House had cost himself a relationship that meant way more to him than he originally thought. Now that he and Cuddy were no longer together, he truly realised how much he'd lost and how much it hurt that he'd lost it. And so he kept wallowing in self-pity and broodiness, feeling sorry for himself to the point where he had no energy or even motivation to get his ass up from the couch when he was at him, except to go to the toilet, get food (which he had very little of) or go to bed.

Part of him hoped Cuddy would try again to talk to him so he didn't have to do the hard bit himself. But every time he thought about Cuddy approaching him, something instinctively wanted to flee and find shelter. The way Cuddy had confronted him in the elevator had filled him with even greater remorse for saying that their relationship was a mistake. He wasn't sure he could handle any further remorse if Cuddy confronted him again.

It was just past ten o'clock at night, the first Tuesday night in October, that House finally decided he needed to do something. He couldn't handle the way this was all eating away at him anymore. He couldn't handle not knowing the answer to whether he and Cuddy were worth trying to work things out. Most of all, he couldn't handle not being with Cuddy anymore. He stood up from the couch in the middle of a rerun of Home Improvement that he was blanking out in front of, switched the TV off and headed for the closet. It was getting cooler outside at nights now; he rugged himself up in his thick overcoat, grabbed up his keys and cane and headed out the door.

He arrived outside Cuddy's place a little after 10.30, pulling his car up to the curb across the street from her house. He sat and stared at it for a good five or ten minutes. Seemed Cuddy had gone to bed because he couldn't see any lights on. But he knew she was home because her car was in the drive. He finally climbed out of the car and slammed the door shut, and after locking the door he headed across the street and slowly up the garden path.

He hit another bout of uncertainty once he was the door, all sorts of worst-case scenarios running through his head as he contemplated what might happen if he knocked and if Cuddy answered the door. He threw a couple of longing looks back to his car and almost gave into just getting back into it and driving home because that seemed way easier than facing this. But at last, he finally mustered the courage to knock on her door.

Then he waited.