Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

House is lost in the depths of his own mind, visualizing potential connections between symptoms and solutions, when he's pulled back to reality by the sound of his cell phone ringing. He's expecting to hear from his team, but Cuddy's name flashes across the screen instead. As much as he wants his patient's lab results, he's relieved that she's calling. It's been such a long day and he wants to see her more than anything.

"Why are you calling me from downstairs?" He asks when he picks up. "Since when are you too lazy to get in the elevator to come see me?"

Cuddy is silent for too long in response, as if she's thrown off by his reply. "I'm not calling you from downstairs," she finally says.

He genuinely doesn't understand until he hears the unmistakable sound of a piano in the background and remembers where he's supposed to be.

Rachel's recital. That he signed her up for.

"Oh shit," he says, standing up from his desk and frantically looking towards the clock. "Shit."

"House?"

The time staring back at him doesn't make any sense. "There's no way it's after seven already," he says in disbelief. "It was four o'clock ten minutes ago."

For the last five days, House has been treating an eight-year-old boy named Jack whose immune system is crumbling without explanation. It's one of the rare occasions where House is truly and thoroughly stumped. He's aimlessly running tests in a desperate attempt to uncover some number that triggers an epiphany, but so far he's got nothing.

The only thing House knows for sure is that Jack's father is abusive. He can tell by the way Jack's mother, Violet, reacts every time her husband comes close. He can tell by the way Jack and his sister look at their dad as he hovers outside the hospital room. House doesn't have any physical evidence of abuse, but he would know that haunted, anxious look anywhere. After all, he saw it in his own reflection for years.

He's lost all objectivity, which makes him angry at himself. How many times has he accused Cuddy of not being able to focus on the medical facts because she's too emotionally involved, or because she sees herself in a patient? Now, here he is, trying to pin this kid's illness on a violent parent, even though he has no proof of correlation, let alone causation.

House hates that he can't focus on the medicine because all he can think of is his own father— or, even worse, of Cuddy and Rachel and what he would do if anyone ever so much asthought about hurting them.

Ironically, according to the time, House is the one who hurt Rachel tonight.

"I'm sorry," he manages to get out. "This kid is dying right in front of me. And I…I completely lost track of…"

"House, it's okay," Cuddy interrupts. "I know how hard you're working on this one. I'm not calling because I'm mad, I'm calling to check on you."

"I think I'm losing it."

"It's different when it's a child."

"It shouldn't be," he says with frustration. "Not for me."

Because science is still science, no matter how old someone is. He shouldn't fumble over distractions of his own making. He should be able to drown out the circumstances. He wonders when he lost that ability.

"But it is different," Cuddy insists. "And you're allowed to feel that. It's healthy and normal to feel it."

"I feel like I'm just sitting here with no ideas and it's going to kill an eight-year-old."

"Don't say that. I talked to Foreman before I left. You're looking at every possibility— you'll find the answer."

House closes his eyes and pictures Rachel in her dress — light purple, with small, white flowers at the bottom. He took her to pick it out because Cuddy had to stay late three nights in a row to deal with some drama with the nurses. Even though it sounds ridiculous that he had fun shopping with a five-year-old, that's exactly what happened. Maybe it's because he knows Rachel only gravitated towards the piano after hearing him play, and that link has bred a deep-seated pride within him. Or maybe it's because Rachel appreciates his immature sense of humor better than anyone. Either way, he told her she could get any dress she wanted, but managed to talk her out of one that was so poofy it would've made it hard for her to sit on the piano bench. I don't want to watch you fall over in the middle of the song, he said. You're coming to watch me? Rachel asked him. Of course I am. You're my protégée.

He feels sick to his stomach imagining her waiting for him to show up— he's hoping he still has time to get there. "If I leave the hospital right now, I can be at her school in…"

"Rachel already went on," Cuddy tells him. "They went in age order."

House has let Cuddy down a million times before. He's let Wilson down a million and one. Somehow nothing compares to how it feels to let Rachel down just this once.

"How pissed is she that I missed it?"

"We're taking her for ice cream, I'm sure she'll be over it in a few minutes."

It's not a real answer to his question, so he can draw his own conclusions.

"We?"

"My mom's here. And Wilson."

"Why the hell is Wilson there?"

"Rachel invited him last weekend, remember? When he came over for dinner and you were bragging about her?"

"He couldn't have come get me from my office before he left?"

It would be nice to place blame anywhere else, and Wilson is an easy target.

"We both came straight from the department meeting."

House can't argue because, technically speaking, as the head of diagnostics, he was also supposed to be at that meeting. It's not like he ever shows up to them, but normally he at least sends Foreman or Chase. He didn't even remember to do that today. He didn't do anything he was supposed to do for his boss or girlfriend, who happen to be one in the same.

For Rachel's sake, House should be glad that Wilson is there to support her. Selfishly, he hates it. Almost as much as he hates that Arlene is also there to make her little comments about how she perceives his level of commitment. See, Lisa, this is why you need someone you can count on. It's not that he thinks Cuddy will care what Arlene has to say, but he doesn't want her to endure criticism on his behalf.

"I feel like complete shit about this."

"You shouldn't, but it's sweet that you do. Do you think you're coming home at all tonight?"

"For a few hours, yeah. I need to sleep."

"Good. I'll see you then. I love you."

They're not the kind of couple that declares their love at the end of every phone call, so he really feels the weight of her words. She's trying to reassure him that she isn't mad, and that she supports him even on nights like this one. It's also not lost on him that she calls her house his home.

"I love you," he replies, fully meaning it.

Because Cuddy is the only person on earth who understands exactly what goes on inside his mind when a case burrows this deep. She never holds it against him. Oddly enough, she loves him for it, and gives him a safe place to retreat to when it's tearing him apart.

And if Arlene is standing close enough to hear him say it back, loud and certain and fully committed? Well, that's just an added bonus.

—/——/——/——/—

House gets to Cuddy's a little after nine and heads straight for the bedroom. Every joint in his body aches and he craves the type of deep, restorative sleep that sometimes leads to epiphanies first thing in the morning.

He finds Cuddy sitting on the bed, still dressed in her work clothes, typing out a message on her phone. She looks up and smiles as soon as she hears him. "Hi. Have you eaten?"

"No," he answers. "Not hungry."

"Are you sure? There are plenty of leftovers."

House doesn't care about food. He cares about Rachel, who's never been mad at him for more than five minutes. She's thrown fits in his presence, but he's never been the cause. In fact, he's usually the one she cries to when she's mad at her mom for making her go to bed before Brownbeard, or something equally as trivial.

"Should I go talk to her?" House asks.

"Not now."

"How come?"

"I already tucked her in and it's not worth it when she's in a bad mood."

"She's in a bad mood because of me."

"She just wants your attention and approval," Cuddy says. "It's okay that she's disappointed, but she also needs to learn empathy when it comes to your job. This is a good teaching moment for her— you didn't exactly blow her off for no reason."

"What'd you tell her?"

"I explained that you have a very sick patient and that I couldn't let you leave work."

House is shocked, but maybe he shouldn't be. "You took the blame?"

Cuddy shrugs. "It's not really a lie, is it? If your patient is that sick, you need to be there. Your job can't change because I want you at my daughter's recital."

House kicks off his shoes and sits down on the bed. "How'd she do?"

"She was nervous before she went on, but she looked so comfortable once she got on stage. She played beautifully."

"I told you she's a natural."

"It doesn't hurt that she's learning from the best," Cuddy adds. "I got the whole thing on video. You can watch after you've slept."

"Are you sure I shouldn't…"

"I promise it will be better if you talk to her tomorrow. Nothing good can come from it when you're both exhausted."

"Alright."

"Can I please get you some food now? You must be at least a little hungry. I can't remember the last time I saw you sit down for a meal."

He agrees only because Cuddy will never let it go. He might as well eat to stop her from worrying. He's already caused her enough grief for one night.

While she's in the kitchen, he gets up, changes into his pajamas, and settles back into bed. Jack is still on his mind, and so is Rachel, but being with Cuddy automatically brings his stress level down from a hard ten to soft seven.

A few minutes later, Cuddy walks back into the room with a bowl of pasta in one hand, and her cell phone in the other. He can tell she's annoyed at something by the way she's scrunching her nose. "What's with the face?" he asks, taking the food from her.

"A bunch of our temporary nurses didn't show up at the shift switch. I don't know what the hell went wrong, because I spent all day trying to make sure this wouldn't happen, but now I have to go back in."

"Oh."

It makes him feel like even more of an asshole that he didn't bother to ask about her day, especially since he knows she's been dealing with staffing issues all week.

"It shouldn't take long. I'll probably be back in an hour."

House thinks about how Cuddy went from work, to being the mom in the front row with her camera, and now back to work. He wonders how she shoulders so many responsibilities, but never breaks her promises. Cuddy always shows up for everyone who matters to her. House feels like he can't manage not to hurt the few people he cares about.

—/——/——/——/—

He's trying to sleep, and knows that his body needs it, but even now, amid the deprivation, he can't stop running through ideas. He's thinking about whether the gastric involvement is really gastric, or if maybe it's masking a cardiac issue, when he hears a noise coming from the hallway. He forces himself out of bed, knowing he has to make sure Rachel is okay.

He follows the sound to the kitchen, where he sees Rachel holding a glass cup, standing on her tippy toes, trying to get water from the fridge. She's not supposed to use real glasses, because she tends to drop things, so he quickens his pace to intervene.

"Hey, hey, careful," he warns, grabbing the glass from her. "Where's your plastic cup?"

"Where's mama?" Rachel asks a question of her own.

"She had to go deal with annoying nurses."

Rachel puts her hands on her hips and looks up at him. "You're a liar."

"Am not. The nurses are extremely annoying."

He knows that's not what Rachel is talking about though.

"You said you'd come see me."

"I know I did. I'm really sorry. I wanted to be there, but I had to work."

It's probably the sincerest apology he's ever given, but Rachel isn't buying it. "You leave work all the time when mom doesn't want you to. You have Chase and everyone to help you and I only played for five minutes. How come you couldn't see me and then go back?"

He doesn't know how to make her understand the situation. He doubts she has the capacity to process the complexities of his job. There are adults who don't understand what he does or how he does it, how the hell could she?

"Sometimes I can leave things with my team," he attempts to explain. "But other times people are so sick that I'm the only one who can help them. I never leave work when a patient is that sick."

"It was only five minutes!" Rachel huffs, stubbornly clinging to her argument.

"I know, but I have to focus uninterrupted in order to figure out..."

"You made me play the piano," she accuses. "You made me do it in front of everyone."

"I didn't make you do anything. You love the piano."

"No! I hate it and I hate you."

House understands this is what kids do when they have big emotions they don't know how to handle. It doesn't mean she hates him. It means she's overtired and cranky, just like Cuddy warned. House isn't Cuddy, but he thinks about what she said, about teaching Rachel something valuable.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there tonight," he repeats the sentiment, trying not to show his own frustration. "But you have no idea how lucky you are to be healthy enough to play the piano and have your mom, Wilson, and grandma come watch you. My patient is a boy only three years older than you and he might not get better."

His words penetrate her rage momentarily, her lip pouted and tears threatening to spill from her eyes. "But I wanted you, 'cause you're the one who taught me."

He smiles a little at the admission. "Well then there's a flaw in your logic, because clearly you don't hate me."

"Yes, I do," she whines. This time, instead of angry, she just sounds sad, and she starts to cry. "Hate you."

House knows he lost her. Once the tears start after bedtime, there's no winning her back. He isn't the only one who needs sleep.

"Okay, fine— you can hate me," he concedes. "Let's get you some water and get back to bed."

"I don't want water," Rachel cries harder. "I want mama."

House sympathizes with that feeling, because he wants Cuddy too.

—/——/——/——/—

House knows it's only a stupid five-year-old fit, but Rachel claiming to hate him makes him feel a lot more than he would've expected it to. It takes twenty-five minutes to calm her down enough to get her back to bed. Now, on top of obsessing about the symptoms, House is thinking about how long Rachel will be mad at him for. He's also worried Cuddy will be pissed because she specifically told him not to talk to Rachel even though it technically wasn't his fault and things would've been way worse if she dropped the glass and got hurt.

He's tossing and turning and stressing about all of this when his phone vibrates on the dresser. It's an email from Cuddy with the subject for when you wake up. He opens it then and there because he's not sleeping anyway. She's attached the video from the recital.

He clicks and watches Rachel play with confidence and ease. She didn't stumble on any of the harder parts she struggled with when they practiced. Even though Rachel might not be his biggest fan at the moment, he still taught her how to do that. He doesn't normally spend a lot of time thinking about his influence on her life, but this is calculable. She knew nothing about music until he taught her and now she can play well above average for her age group. That knowledge gives him enough peace to drift off to sleep.

He wakes up three hours later and Cuddy still isn't home, but he has two missed calls and four messages from his team asking him to come in. There's no chance in hell he'll be able to go back to sleep while they're waiting on him, so he gets up and starts to get dressed again. He's almost ready to leave when Cuddy walks back into the room looking completely wiped.

"Hey," she says. "What are you doing up?"

"Team called. They need me back."

"God," Cuddy dramatically drops her stuff on the floor and sighs. "Are we dating, or switching shifts?"

"Ships in the night. Well, super tanker in your case."

"You must still be tired, because that's an old joke."

"It's recycled. Forgot to tell you I'm becoming an environmentalist."

"Did you sleep at all?"

"I napped."

Cuddy slips out of her shoes, steps closer, and hugs him — really hugs him, breathing him in.

"Did you just sniff me?" House can't help but to laugh at how dramatic it is— it's the first time he's laughed in days.

"Can't help it," she says. "I miss you."

"This week really blows."

Cuddy looks up at him, chin resting on his chest. "Next time we're alone for more than five minutes I'll be the one blowing."

He laughs again. The second time in a week. It would be impossible to love her more than he already does. "Despite the last 72 hours of evidence to the contrary, we clearly spend too much time together."

She smirks and let's go. "Keep me updated on what's happening with Jack, okay?"

"Hold on," He grabs her to bring her in for another hug and breathes in the top of her head. "Only fair for me to get a sniff in, too."

He feels rejuvenated.

It's not sleep he needed to feel better.

As usual, all he needed was Cuddy.

—/——/——/——/—

For a little while (and maybe partially because of Cuddy's belief in him), House thinks he's solved it.

But only for a little while.

Jack dies at 7:36 AM.

It happens when House is there, paddles in hand, his team frantic around him. It happens right in front of him because sometimes even Cuddy's belief in him, as beautiful as it is, can't alter the outcome. Jack's monitor beeps uncontrollably until it stops. Until everything stops.

House walks out of the room without saying a word and his team knows better than to follow him. He goes into his office and collapses on the chair and falls asleep because being unconscious is the only way he knows how to handle a failure as monumental as this one.

He dreams of Cuddy and Rachel. Even before they were dating, House's worst nightmares were about losing Cuddy. These days Rachel is always there, too. This time he dreams of Rachel flatlining on the table instead of Jack, and Cuddy standing there yelling his name over and over and over.

Eventually, at the halfway point between dreams and reality, he realizes someone is actually saying his name. He opens his eyes and standing in front of him is the last person he wants to see— Jack's mother. Her eyes are red and the circles under them are so, so big. She looks like she can barely stand on her own two feet— she's holding onto the door handle as if it's the only thing keeping her upright.

"I'm sorry—I didn't mean to wake you," Violet says, voice hoarse and weak. "Dr. Foreman told me you'd be here."

House doesn't say anything because he doesn't want to talk to her. What is he supposed to say now that he's ruined the rest of her life?

"Dr. Foreman also told me you want to do a more extensive autopsy."

"Yes," House confirms. "Need your approval though."

They don't legally need to do one. The cause of death is heart failure, but that's not good enough for House. He wants to dig and dig until he finds a logical answer to why an eight-year-old heart gives out.

"I…can't," Violet tells him, sensing his disappointment. "I don't want to drag out this process. It's not going to change anything."

"It's your decision."

"I hope you can understand, even if you don't agree. I need Jack to be at peace."

House doesn't understand at all. He can't imagine what it's like to be able to let things go, to not want the answer to what killed someone you love. How can there be peace without knowledge? He nods at her anyway because he doesn't have enough energy to try and convince her.

"I hate to ask this, but is there any way you could also write me a prescription before we leave?"

"Sleeping pills?" he assumes.

"Pain killers."

"What for?"

"My back has never been in this much pain and ibuprofen isn't doing anything. Maybe it's from sleeping in that chair for the last week, but I can barely stand and I …I don't have time to fall apart now. I have to plan a funeral and I have to…"

House can tell she isn't lying. He recognizes raw, visceral pain better than most. But he has one concern. "I don't usually write prescriptions to grieving parents who might do something stupid like overdose."

She vigorously shakes her head, like she's appalled at what he's implying. "I may want to die right now— and trust me, I do— but I can't. I have another kid I have to live for. I could never leave Ella alone with…"

House knows the end of that sentence, even though she stops herself like she's been caught. He gets up and goes to his desk to pull out his prescription pad. "For the record, if you use this prescription to kill your husband, I won't testify against you."

She looks startled that someone has acknowledged the truth out loud. "You...know?"

"If I could prove it, I would've already called it in. But I know that 'proof' is a high bar in cases like this. Do you want me to help you prove it?"

"No."

"Are you sure? I'll say anything you need me to, and Cuddy can help get you somewhere safe."

"I appreciate that more than you know, but we're already going somewhere safe."

"You're leaving him?"

"Yes."

House is skeptical at first because, as a kid, he lived through false promises that sounded a lot like this one. "What's your escape plan? What makes you think he won't follow you?"

"I already started to plan it before Jack got sick. I have a family friend in Wyoming. My husband doesn't know anything about her. He's going on a business trip later this month, and we're going to be gone when he gets home. That's why I really can't fall apart. I need every moment I'm alone to make this work and I can't have my back screw things up more than they already are."

House finishes writing the prescription, and then he gets out his checkbook. The very least he can do is help make sure what's left of her family survives.

"I'm gonna go get your pills," he stands up and hands her the check. "Take this."

"What is this?" She asks, shocked by the gesture.

"You can't start over without money. If your husband sees you taking large sums of money from what I'm assuming is a joint account, he'll figure it out and try to stop you."

"I'll get a job when I get there. I can't take this."

"Sure you can."

She looks down at the number of zeros, trying to process them. "It's too much."

"It's really not. Just make sure he doesn't find it."

"You must have children," Violet concludes. "The way you've been so dedicated to Jack and the way you want to help us even now."

House is about to reply that he doesn't have kids, but his nightmares mean something, even if Rachel isn't technically his. "My girlfriend has a daughter."

"Do you have a picture?"

House takes his cell phone out of his pocket and opens a photo of Rachel sitting on Cuddy's lap on the piano bench — he took it a few weeks earlier when Rachel was first learning her recital song.

"Dr. Cuddy is your girlfriend?"

"Yeah."

"She's been so kind to us through everything. What's her daughter's name?"

"Rachel."

"She looks about Ella's age."

"She is."

"In another life, maybe they could've been friends."

"My father was abusive, and my mom didn't leave," House says as if it will explain everything.

Violet looks back at him as if it does. "I'm sorry."

"Me too. About Jack. I couldn't save him."

They're tied together forever by the gut-wrenching guilt they both feel for the things they couldn't change.

"Neither could I," she says.

—/——/——/——/—

House goes downstairs to get the prescription filled himself because he wants it as fast as possible and the young pharmacist who is scared of him always lets him jump to the front of the line. The sooner he gets the prescription, the sooner Violet and Ella can leave. He wants her plan to work. He wants Violet to do what his own mother couldn't.

He's been clean for so long that nobody questions him picking up a prescription of oxycodone. It doesn't even cross his own mind that it may be a dangerous game. But he's eaten one meal in two days, has slept maybe four hours total, and is emotionally overloaded. He pictures Jack's dead body in his mind without even needing to close his eyes. He feels Violet's fear as his own. He sees Rachel's face as she stood in the kitchen and said she hated him. He thinks about how Cuddy never fails him, but all he does is fail her.

Suddenly he's alone in the hallway with a pill bottle in his hand and it's like a reflex, like switching on a light switch when walking into a room. He tilts his head back and swallows two pills. Muscle memory. He doesn't even realize what he's done until he feels the pills rough against his esophagus and the familiar sensation brings reality crashing down.

Before he can begin to register the gravity of it, his phone rings. When Cuddy's name appears on the caller ID he wonders if she might have seen him somehow. He looks over his shoulder. No sign of her. He doesn't answer the first time because he's so paranoid about it, but she calls again and again.

"Hello?" He finally picks up on her fourth call.

"House."

He mentally freezes because it's creeping him out that she called within two seconds of his biggest fuck up in years. Normally he can read the tone of her voice over the phone, but his panic is precluding that skill.

"House? Chase called me. I'm so sorry about Jack."

"It's okay," he says on autopilot.

"No, it isn't. You don't have to pretend with me. Do you want to talk?"

"I want to sleep."

"Where are you right now? I'm taking Rachel to school. I can pick you up and bring you home."

He doesn't want to see her because he's afraid she'll be able to tell what he's done, so he tries to talk her out of it. "You're going to come here, get me, take Rachel to school, take me home, and then come back to work? That doesn't make any sense."

"Who cares about what makes sense? You're in no condition to drive. Plus, Rachel really wants to see you."

"She does?" he asks, surprised given how they left things.

"Yeah, she's been asking for you since she woke up. She told me she was 'mean' to you last night?"

"She wasn't."

"Well, she feels bad."

"Maybe Rachel shouldn't see me like this," he tries again to change her mind. "I'm kind of a mess right now."

"We both know she won't care. It'll only be a few minutes anyway. She might cheer you up and then you can finally get some real sleep."

House can't exactly say 'no, sorry, I'm about to be high' and he figures he can't deny Rachel two days in a row without causing permanent damage to their relationship. "Okay," he agrees, not seeing another option.

"I'll be there in ten minutes. Meet us outside."

—/——/——/——/—

"Hi House!"

Rachel, who is in a much better mood today, grins at him as soon as he opens the car door. He gets in the backseat next to her, which normally Cuddy would probably find weird, but half the point of this was for him to talk to Rachel. It happens to have the additional benefit of being far enough away from Cuddy that she can't see his eyes. He doesn't think they're glassy or red yet, but he'd rather be safe than sorry.

"Hey, kid."

"Sorry I wasn't nice yesterday," she says, looking guilty as hell. "I wanted to say that when I woke up, but you weren't home."

"Don't worry about it. You were being honest about how you felt. You can always be honest with me. I really am sorry that I missed your recital."

"That's okay. I'm not even mad now and there's gonna be another one."

Despite everything that's happened, he can't help but feel relieved at what she's implying. "So, does that mean you want to keep playing?"

"Yes 'cause it's fun and I still wanna be your pro-jay."

"Protégée," House corrects.

"Yeah— I wanna be like you."

The last thing on earth that House wants is for Rachel to be like him. Teaching her to play piano is one thing, but when it comes to the rest of her life, today is a stark reminder that she should only learn what not to do from him. Apparently the change in his demeanor is obvious enough for her to pick up on. "Why are you sad?" she asks.

"House's patient died honey," Cuddy intervenes from the driver's seat. "He's probably going to be sad for a few days and we're going to have to help as best we can, okay?"

"The little boy died?"

House nods. "His name was Jack."

A horrified look washes over Rachel's face. "Did he die because I yelled at you?"

"No, of course not."

"I didn't mean to wake you up when I wanted water."

"Rachel, no," House says firmly. "He was too sick. I was too late. It has nothing to do with you. I don't want you to even think about this."

"Okay," she concedes. "We can play pirates later or tomorrow if you want— to make you feel better?"

"Will you let me be the captain?"

"Yes."

"It's about time."

They pull up to Rachel's school a few minutes later and get in the drop-off line. When they reach the front, Cuddy goes to get out of the car, but House stops her. "I've got her."

He unbuckles Rachel's car seat and hands her the backpack from the floor. The whole mess of the previous night is seemingly behind them, which is at least one less thing for him to worry about.

"Have a good day baby," Cuddy says. "I'll see you tonight."

"Bye, mama."

"Go kick some kindergarten butt," House adds.

Rachel laughs, all the warmth back in her eyes. "I don't hate you," she says, looking right at him. "I love you."

House loves Rachel, too. He probably has for a while, but hearing her say it out loud for the first time crystalizes everything. He doesn't say it back though. Not like this. Not when it would be forever tainted by his bad decisions. Thankfully she jumps out of the car and runs off so fast that he wouldn't have had time to answer even if he wanted to.

Cuddy pulls out of the car line, but meets his gaze in the rearview mirror. "Thank you," she says.

"For what?"

"For being so good to her."

He can't accept the praise under the circumstances— it feels so wrong, even by his low standards. "I think I have to tell you something."

"What is it?"

He's so close to saying it. Cuddy, I took oxy. Cuddy, I'm sorry, it was stupid and an accident. But Rachel loves him — he heard it with his own ears. As much as he wants to be honest, he's terrified of losing everything he's worked so hard for. "I…wrote Jack's mom a check."

It's not a lie, it's just not the most important truth.

"To help with the funeral?"

"No. She's leaving her husband. I was worried he'd catch on and try to stop her if she used her own money."

"Violet's being abused?!" Cuddy surmises. "House, if that's true, I have to call…"

"Trust me, the hospital can't prove anything. There's no proof and she didn't tell me. I just know because I know. I want her and her daughter to have a real shot after what they've been through. I'm not even telling you as the Dean of Medicine, I'm telling you as my girlfriend. I thought I should since our finances are kind of intertwined these days."

"I understand," Cuddy softens. "Thank you for telling me."

"You're welcome."

"That was an amazing thing to do for them. I know it sounds cheesy, which you hate, but I'm proud of how you've handled everything this week."

It's like a knife right to his heart. You shouldn't be, he thinks to himself.

—/——/——/——/—

House sleeps most of the day, wakes up to shower and eat, and then sleeps all night. Cuddy doesn't suspect anything is amiss because he always crashes after a case, but especially one that's gone so horribly wrong. When he gets up the next day, he feels significantly less panicked because Oxy isn't Vicodin. There's no reason for this to be anything more than a one-time screw up after a very bad few days. All addicts have setbacks at some point — if this is his, it could've been a lot worse than two measly pills.

He gets to work around noon and heads straight for Wilson's office. He knows he'll eventually have to come clean to Cuddy about what happened. It's impossible to keep secrets from someone who knows him so well. She always finds out sooner or later, and 'later' is usually worse. He wants Wilson's advice on the best strategy for talking to her— on how and when he should go about it. There's no doubt Wilson is going to overreact, but telling him will be good practice for telling Cuddy— sort of like a test-run for how bad the freak out is going to be.

But then, not on purpose, Wilson makes things ten times worse.

"How are you holding up?" He asks as soon as House sits down across from him.

House shrugs. "What's there to say when you kill an eight-year-old?"

"Don't do that. You didn't kill him."

"I was his doctor, and now he's not alive. I think we can both do the math."

"He was too far gone when he got here. I know you know that."

"I don't want to talk about this," House says, trying to steer the conversation. "I want to talk about Cuddy."

Wilson smirks. "Yes, let's talk about Cuddy."

"Why are you saying it like that?"

"Because she couldn't shut up about you this morning. That should make you feel at least a little better."

"What'd she say?"

"She was going on and on about how much you did for Jack's family, and how selfless it was that you were upset, but still took the time to be there for Rachel."

"Oh."

"Selfless," Wilson repeats with emphasis. "Never thought I'd live to hear 'House' and 'selfless' in the same sentence."

"Me either."

"Cuddy loves you, but it's more than that. She sees what other people can't see in you."

"Yeah."

"I kind of can't believe you haven't screwed it up yet."

It's a joke. Wilson teases to make things seem normal and usually that's the best strategy. On any other day, after any other case, this is exactly what House would need to hear. But what Wilson doesn't know is that he has, in fact, screwed it up. He's screwed it up so badly. In that moment House accepts that no amount of Wilson's advice is going to get him out of the mess he's made.

"I know how hard this case was on you," Wilson continues, getting serious again. "You should take as much time as you need to grieve. But I think you should also try and focus on how lucky you are to have Cuddy and Rachel by your side."

"Trust me, I am focused on that."

Which is exactly the goddamn problem.

—/——/——/——/—

That afternoon, House treats a patient with a severe knee injury. Her rheumatologist is out of the office, so she came to the clinic, desperate for relief. House gives her a cortisone steroid shot and is ready to send her on her way. Then, right before she leaves, she asks for a refill of her Vicodin prescription.

Cuddy believes in fate. She fully believes it was fate that she walked into the University of Michigan bookstore during one of only two shifts House had that week. She also believes it was fate that she found Rachel alive and healthy in that abandoned building, against all odds.

House doesn't believe in fate, but he does believe in choices.

For reasons he may never fully understand, he chooses to pocket ten of his patient's Vicodin.

—/——/——/——/—

He knows it's not worth it in the long run. The more Vicodin he takes, the harder it's going to be to stop, and the more upset everyone is going to be. The last thing he wants is to end up back at Mayfield, especially when he has so much more to lose this time around. For the first time ever, he has a life he feels is worth living every moment of. When he thinks about what it would do to Cuddy and Rachel to see him in a mental institution, he's disgusted by his own behavior. Rationally and intellectually, he knows he's making a mistake.

But physically? Not having leg pain? He's forgotten how great the relief is. Cuddy and Wilson used to tell him that being numb to everything is worse than being in pain— but that's easy for them to say, because they've never felt his pain. Over the last few years of sobriety, there's no question that his happiness has made the burden easier to bear, but his leg still hurts every single day. The absence of that hurt is addicting.

He tries to convince himself he can keep it under control. He won't take that many, he won't let it get out of hand this time, just enough to dull the aches. He tries to time the doses so they don't coincide with him being alone with Rachel or Cuddy. But one afternoon Marina has to unexpectedly leave early, and House is left with Rachel, who was promised a trip to the park. He took three pills with a late lunch and as much of an asshole as he is, he knows he shouldn't drive Rachel while he's high.

"Let's take a walk."

"To the park?" Rachel points to his leg and looks at him with confusion.

They never walk to the park. Or anywhere else for that matter. Rachel is used to driving everywhere with him, even when the destination is down the block.

"My leg doesn't hurt and it's nice out."

In reality it's cloudy and kind of cold but thankfully she doesn't question it.

When they get there, House still feels uneasy. Is he technically supervising Rachel if he's high? He's always been a very high-functioning addict, but what if something happens and he doesn't react fast enough because of the drugs? He decides to call Wilson and make him come to the park under the guise of being bored, but truthfully House is hardly ever bored around Rachel.

Once Wilson arrives, House relaxes, and can do way more than usual. He holds Rachel up to the monkey bars and pushes her on the swing for longer than ever before because his leg doesn't hurt.

Rachel laughs so hard as they run around that he starts to wonder if taking Vicodin is really so bad.

—/——/——/——/—

That night in bed Cuddy straddles him, pulls her shirt off, and tosses it on the floor. "I've been thinking about this all day," she says, before leaning in to kiss him.

House adores aggressive Cuddy, which is why he's so surprised to find he can't focus on her. Instead of thinking about what they're about to do, he's wondering what will happen if she finds out they had sex while he was high.

"What's wrong?" she questions, picking up on his distraction. "I just took my shirt off and you're thinking about something else."

"Am not," he tries to deny. "Patty and Selma have my full attention."

"No. You're being weird. But you don't have a case. Are you mad at me or something?"

"Don't be a moron."

"Hey." She puts both hands on his face, forcing him to look her in the eyes, unsatisfied by his lack of explanation. "Tell me what's going on."

She sounds so genuine and concerned — it's another opportunity to tell the truth, and another time he says something else instead. "My leg is hurting tonight. I was trying not to think about it."

She lifts herself off him so fast it's almost comical. "Oh, god. I'm sorry. I didn't know."

"You should never, ever apologize for being on top of me."

"Do you think it's hurting from the park?"

"Probably."

"Why did you walk there?"

"I don't know. I felt like it. My leg didn't hurt then."

"Wilson said you were chasing Rachel around, too."

He needs to keep in mind that Rachel has a big mouth and Wilson has an even bigger one.

"I was— and she went to bed without any drama tonight because she was so worn out."

"I'd honestly rather spend longer with her at bedtime than have you be in pain. You know you can't push too hard when you feel good, or it blows up in your face later. I get that it must be tempting, but you always end up paying."

"Don't put the shirt back on," he whines as he watches her reach for it. "I can power through."

"I'm sure you can, but I can't live with making your leg worse."

"Which is why I didn't want to tell you!"

"We can do this tomorrow," she promises. "Your body needs to rest tonight."

"Morning sex?"

By then, the Vicodin will be out of his system, and he can feel zero guilt.

"Deal."

"You better wake up with enough time for more than a quickie."

"Me?! You're the one who never wakes up early."

"I can wake up if I'm sufficiently motivated and I fully entrust you with that task."

Cuddy laughs and readjusts so that she's snuggled up against his bare chest. She also reaches down so that she can gently rub his leg. "Let's watch the next episode of that documentary we started."

"If you were fantasizing about doing me all day, I doubt the documentary is going to hit the spot."

"Want to know something? Sometimes when I'm at work I fantasize about this, too —being in bed with you at the end of the day when it's finally just us."

"I…know what you mean."

"You do?"

"Yeah," he says.

"Really? You think about this while you're at work?"

"I'm insanely in love with you—so, yeah."

In that moment, he learns the monumental difference between being high when he was miserable and being high when he's happy. The old House on Vicodin pushed Cuddy away, terrified that his true feelings for her would be exposed. Now he has everything he wants —a full life with her— and Vicodin seems to be dulling any instinct he has left to mask how deep his love for her runs. As if the pills dissolved the walls along with the pain.

Cuddy looks at him with pure adoration. "I still get butterflies when you say things like that."

And again, House has to wonder if Vicodin is really so bad.

—/——/——/——/—

He learns the answer to that question the hard way. It starts to unravel fast and beyond his control, like a spoke in a wheel that won't stop turning.

House falls into a pattern that gives him the illusion of restraint. He takes Vicodin every other day and only while he's at work. But the more he takes, the more he wants— so on the days he's not taking the pills, he's in a horrific mood.

He hides them in his office because it's the safest option. He would never bring drugs home and risk Rachel getting her hands on them. Instead, he tapes them inside book covers and lodges them in between drawers and shelves. For a week the clear-cut lines stay intact, but one night they accidentally blur. He forgets to take two pills out of his pocket and doesn't remember they're there until Cuddy bends down to pick his jeans off the bedroom floor.

"Why are you always touching my stuff?" he complains, grabbing the pants away from her.

"Why do you leave your stuff all over?" She asks, but it's light-hearted and teasing.

"Do you have any idea how fucking annoying you are?"

It comes out way harsher than he means it to. His anger is at himself, but it misfires before he realizes.

She glares at him, annoyed at both his words and tone. "Excuse me?"

"Sorry," he says quickly. "I'm sorry."

"Is this about the surgery?"

Cuddy said no to a procedure he wanted to do earlier that afternoon, so her assumption is that he's holding a grudge.

"No."

"You can be mad at me for rejecting your insane idea if you want, but I won't let you bring work resentment home. What if Rachel overheard you talk to me like that?"

It's a perfectly valid question— but he hears something else instead. What if Rachel found out you're a drug addict, House? Do you know how fast you'd lose us?

"I know," he says, more to his inner monologue than to her. "You're right."

She continues to stare at him, not yet won over.

"You're not annoying," he adds. "You're perfect. That wasn't…I really didn't mean it. I'm sorry."

She exhales and nods.

She lets it go tonight, but next time he won't be so lucky.

Vicodin might make him less scared, but it also makes him irritable and erratic. He can't have the good without the bad, as much as he wants to.

He needs to figure out a plan. Fast.

—/——/——/——/—

Cuddy isn't stupid. She knows something is going on. At first, she tells herself to let it be. She's well aware that Jack's death had a bigger impact on House than he's willing to admit. She watched the case eat away at him, and when she found out Jack and his family were being abused, the reaction made even more sense.

She doesn't want to be overbearing, especially because House's childhood is such a sensitive subject. The truth about his relationship with his father seeped out in tiny bits of information she pieced together during reluctant conversations. Forcing him to talk before he's ready is never a good strategy, but she's growing more concerned with each passing day.

Then one morning, Foreman and Chase come to her office before she's even had time to check her emails.

"We're worried about House," Chase says, skipping the small talk. "This case we're working…"

"He's being reckless?" Cuddy assumes.

"No. He's being overly cautious, which is even weirder."

It's the last thing she expected to hear. "What do you mean?"

"He's rejecting risky procedures that we know would help," Foreman tells her. "The only time I've ever seen him act like this was when you two started dating and he was afraid to piss you off."

"What are we missing here?" Chase asks. "You two get engaged or pregnant or something?"

Cuddy steadies herself. She would never betray House's trust and tell them what she really thinks —that he saw himself in a patient, that he saw Rachel in a patient, that he let himself truly care for his patient's family and only got heartache in return.

"I think…Jack's death got in his head," she shares the most diluted version of it.

"It was one of the worst cases we've ever had," Chase admits. "I still think about him, too."

"You also probably don't realize that House having a child he cares about in his life makes things a little different. I know he doesn't exactly advertise it, but he's gotten close with Rachel."

"He doesn't have to advertise it. It's obvious."

"He missed Rachel's piano recital to save Jack. She was upset with him and then he didn't even save Jack. You should give him time and a little bit of grace."

Foreman is skeptical and impatient. "He wouldn't do the same for us."

"You're wrong," Cuddy says, annoyed by the ignorance of that statement. "He has done the same for you. You just didn't know it."

—/——/——/——/—

She decides she has to talk to him, even if he's reluctant to open up, but she wants to do it the right way. Her plan is to get Marina to watch Rachel Saturday night so they can have true, uninterrupted alone time. In the meantime, she closely watches his behavior and tries to be extra understanding.

When she wakes up on Tuesday morning, House isn't in bed. Still groggy and wearing nothing but his t-shirt, she makes her way to the kitchen where he's silently standing in front of the coffee machine.

"Morning," she says, rubbing his back as she walks by. "Love you."

He turns around, more awake and alert than he usually is this early. "Why?"

"What?" She questions, thinking she must've misheard him.

"Why do you love me?"

At first, she assumes he's joking around, so she answers with sarcasm. "Why do I love my brilliant boyfriend who has never let me go through anything alone?"

"Do you hear yourself? That sounds like I'm smart and kind of a stalker."

She realizes then that he's completely serious, which makes her nervous. It's not a question he would ask randomly— there has to be a reason for it. "Where is this coming from?"

He remains stoic and steely. "Answer the question, Cuddy."

"I love everything about you so it's hard to narrow it down at seven in the morning while I'm pant-less in the kitchen."

House rolls his eyes at her. "You do not love everything about me."

"Yes, I do," she starts to get frustrated, but tries not to show it. "You can't tell me what I feel."

"You love the way I used to play games with you? And purposely mess with your head? And insult you as a person and doctor?"

"I love our story— even the ugly parts," she says stubbornly. "It's ours and if anything were different, we might not be here now."

"I don't need a philosophy lesson on the butterfly effect."

"Why are you even bringing up the past? It's not how you treat me now. Almost everything was different then."

"Yeah," House says. "Almost."

She has no idea what that means, but she tries her best to guess. "Are you doubting that I love you?"

"I never doubt that."

"But you… don't understand why I do?"

Normally House would brush off a question like that by pretending he's immune to insecurities, but today he's honest about it. "Not always."

"Okay," Cuddy accepts, treading lightly. "I promise to get better at reminding you, because there are so many reasons. You make me so happy, and I love you unconditionally."

"Unconditionally? There are no conditions? Nothing could change how you feel about me?"

"No. Why? Do you think there are conditions?"

"I didn't say that."

"But your question implies…"

Rachel runs into the kitchen, interrupting them and beelining straight for House. "Are you making breakfast?"

"I think we know one of the many reasons Rachel loves you is for your breakfast skills," Cuddy attempts to lighten the mood, even though her heart is still pounding in her chest.

"Can I help?" Rachel asks House.

"Sure, kid. Get me the milk?"

House snaps out of it as soon as Rachel pulls his focus, but Cuddy feels like she failed a test somehow.

—/——/——/——/—

Later that day at work, House comes to see her in her office. She's sitting on the couch, legs up on the table, mountains of paperwork in front of her. Worrying about him 24/7 has taken a toll on her schedule, pushing her way behind where she needs to be.

"I'm swamped," she tells him right away, hoping to mitigate potential distraction. "Are you okay?"

"I want to take a nap."

"Me saying you can't nap at work has certainly never stopped you before."

He sits down right next to her, gets in her space, and kisses her. "Hi," he says flirtatiously when they pull apart.

She leans in and gives him a second kiss. She craves the closeness and intimacy after their conversation this morning. The reassurance that he's not mad, that he still wants to be this close to her, is a cool balm to her anxious heart.

In fact, she'd like nothing more than to keep kissing him for the rest of the afternoon, but she comes to her senses after a few minutes. "I really am swamped."

"I know. I'm gonna nap. Those were just pre-nap kisses."

"You're going to nap in here?"

"I checked your schedule, and your meetings are all conference calls, so there's no reason for you to kick me out."

He rests his head in her lap and wraps his arms around her stomach. Clingy House is not new to her. She knows people would be shocked by how affectionate he is with her, but she's happily used to it by now. (She'll never forget how surprised Wilson was the first time they went out together and House grabbed her hand and had his arm around her all night).

But Clingy House at work, where anyone (including his team) could walk in and see him sprawled across her lap like a puppy? That's brand new to her.

It's soft and sweet and she loves it.

It also makes her suspicious as hell.

—/——/——/——/—

It continues like that for a few days. House goes from being weird and distant to being clingier than he's ever been before.

When she gets to work early one morning and has a case for his team, she walks the file upstairs herself. She's hoping to bump into Chase or Foreman and ask if they've noticed anything else out of the ordinary since their last conversation, but the entire office is empty.

She decides to leave the file on House's desk with a note giving them the basic background of her conversation with the family. As she's about to leave, something inside of her — an instinct perhaps — prevents her feet from moving. Before she knows what she's doing, she opens House's desk drawer. She doesn't know what she's looking for, or what she even suspects, but her desperation is mounting.

She finds his prescription pad. And a tiny stuffed turtle that he helped Rachel win at a fair. They named him Raymond after the inventor of the MRI and Rachel said he should keep it at work for good luck. Cuddy also finds the birthday card she gave him last year, which she wouldn't have ever imagined he saved.

She opens it and reminds herself of the words she wrote.

Happy birthday to my partner in everything, the compass for every decision I make, the one person who always tells me the truth no matter what. I couldn't do life without you.

Just a few of the reasons she loves him, staring right back at her. She doesn't understand how he could ever question them.

Nor does she understand why she has this horrific feeling that she's going to have to do life without him. The thought pops into her head and she has no idea where it came from, but it's a feeling she has down to her bones. It happens for no reason, and for every reason.

She gets the chills.

She feels like she's going to throw up.

—/——/——/——/—

There's only one person she can turn to try to make sense of her jumbled thoughts. She walks straight to his office and opens the door without knocking. "Do you have a minute?"

"Of course," Wilson says. "Everything okay?"

"I'm not sure," she admits. "I'm sorry to put you in this position, but I need you to be brutally honest with me because I need to be prepared."

"For what?"

"Has House said anything to you about breaking up with me?"

"What?!" Wilson laughs incredulously. "Are you insane?"

"I hope I am, actually."

"What are you even talking about?"

"House has been acting weird lately," she tells him. "Not in any obvious way, but in little things that I don't even know how to explain. I know he took Jack dying really hard, so I was trying to give him the space to just… be in his head. But I'm worried he got overwhelmed and is pulling away from me."

"Overwhelmed by what?"

"Rachel, maybe? She told him she loves him. You should've seen the look on his face."

"House loves Rachel."

"I know he does. I don't know if he's ready to know that though."

"So you think he's going to break up with you to... avoid it?"

"You say that like it's a ridiculous notion, when we both know it's not."

"He's not going to break up with you."

Cuddy paces, as every theory she's kept inside for the last few weeks spills out of her. "Maybe he thinks Rachel is a distraction. Or maybe losing Jack reminded him that being part of a family means you can get hurt. That's his biggest fear, right? I mean, it makes sense that he would try to…"

"Cuddy," Wilson cuts off her rant. "Can you please sit down and take a deep breath?"

"See, you're not telling me I'm wrong. You're telling me to sit down. Which is not comforting in the least bit."

"I'm telling you to sit down because you're going to burn a hole in my carpet and because I can't get a word in with you."

Cuddy sits and waits for him to say something that convinces her. "Well?"

"House might be scared, and it might've been triggered by Jack," Wilson admits. "But in the end? He'll be brave for you. He always loves you more than he's scared."

The statement makes her want to cry. She needs Wilson to be right. She needs it more than anything. "How pathetic do I sound panicking like this?"

"You don't sound pathetic. You sound like you love him."

"I don't know what to do."

It's a foreign, uncomfortable feeling for her. She usually knows exactly what to do in every facet of her life, but especially when it comes to House.

"Want me to try and gauge the situation? I can invite him to hang out tonight. We haven't gone bowling in a while."

"Okay," Cuddy agrees. "Thank you."

She doesn't feel better, but it's the best she can do for now.

—/——/——/——/—

Wilson asks House to go bowling.

But Wilson is the least subtle person on earth.

House immediately deduces that Wilson either already knows something, or is fishing for information.

The problem is that if Wilson is suspicious, Cuddy probably is too. Cuddy might have even sent Wilson to figure out what's going on.

So House says no to bowling and tries to ignore the nauseating sensation of the walls closing in on him.

—/——/——/——/—

House doesn't come home for dinner, but Cuddy wasn't expecting him too. She plays with Rachel, tries to stay distracted, and trusts that spending time with Wilson is exactly what he needs.

After Rachel's bedtime, she starts to wonder what's taking so long. She texts House and gets no reply. She calls him only to hear his voicemail. She figures maybe House and Wilson are having a real heart to heart at a bar somewhere and the last thing she wants is to interrupt.

But by 10:00 PM she decides she has a right to know what the hell is going on. She gives in and calls Wilson. "Are you still with House?"

"I wasn't with him at all. He said we could get breakfast tomorrow."

Her pulse quickens. "Did he say what he was doing tonight?"

"He said he was spending time with you, and I figured that was a good thing since you thought he was pulling away."

Suddenly she hates herself for not calling sooner. "He lied. He hasn't come home and he's not answering me."

"Okay— don't freak out. He's done this before."

Technically, that's true. But House hasn't done something like this in a very long time. That fact, combined with the way her gut is screaming at her, has her near tears. "Wilson—I have a really bad feeling."

"I promise it will be okay. He's probably brooding at a bar somewhere. I can go check some of his usual places."

"No," Cuddy decides. "I want to be the one to go look."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. Will you come over though? Rachel's asleep, but I need someone here with her."

She hears him grab his keys. "Already on my way."

—/——/——/——/—

House doesn't want to stay at work because when the halls of the hospital are too quiet, he still thinks of Jack. He doesn't want to go to his apartment because he doesn't want to remember the loneliness of living there (without his girls). He already established that he doesn't want to go to Wilson, who will only tell Cuddy. He wants to go to Cuddy, but he's terrified. Not of her, but of her doing what she needs to do to protect Rachel. House wants to protect Rachel, too — he just wishes he wasn't the one she needed to be protected from.

Feeling out of options, he rides his bike around, even though it's raining and he's wearing nothing but a t-shirt and jeans. For a half an hour he rides and thinks and procrastinates deciding what to do next. As he drives by the park, he takes a corner a little too fast for a slippery night. Before he knows it, he's on the ground, the bike's wheels spinning. Thankfully it's a gentle spill— he only has a few scratches on his hands. Still, his leg aches and there's no way the bike isn't going to get him home in its current condition.

He stands up, brushing wet leaves off his pants, tired of everything. He limps slowly into the park, lays down on a familiar picnic table, and closes his eyes.

He feels the rain falling on his face and wishes he could go back to the time before he ruined everything.

—/——/——/——/—

The first place Cuddy checks is House's apartment, but she finds it empty. She makes her way through Wilson's list of bars next, but House isn't in any of them. (At the third one, the bartender recognizes her picture of House, but says she hasn't seen him in over a year).

Cuddy drives his normal route between the hospital and her house, starting to imagine scenarios where he's been seriously hurt. She knows she's his emergency contact, and reasons that if he was in the hospital (especially her hospital), she would already know.

She tries to imagine what he's feeling — alone? angry at the universe for taking Jack? frustrated by his own emotions? She wishes he wouldn't feel alone, because would happily be angry or frustrated with him. She'd give him the space to feel whatever he needs to, if he would only give her the chance.

She drives by the park and spots his bike. On the ground. Dented. Like it hit the tree. She parks her car diagonally and jumps out. She walks with a brittle sort of determination— as a doctor she knows better than most that people are breakable, and so easy to lose. But she refuses to lose House now after how far they've come. She couldn't do life without him. She won't do life without him.

She finds him sprawled out on the picnic table and has flashbacks to coming to this same spot years ago to drag him back to clinic duty. She was already in love with him then and would've done anything to protect him, including commit a crime herself. Amazingly, that love was nothing compared to the kind they have now, layered and rooted so deeply.

"House."

He sits up when he hears her voice, and the first thing she registers is that he's not bleeding.

"Cuddy?"

"Thank god," she exhales. "What the hell are you doing?"

"I crashed my bike," he says way too casually.

"I noticed. You scared the shit out of me. I thought you were dead. Why didn't you call me?"

"My phone died. I was going to wait until the rain stopped to walk home."

She looks up at the clear sky above them. "The rain stopped an hour ago."

"Did it?"

She doesn't like the way he seems spaced out and confused — she wonders if it's possible he has a concussion. "Are you hurt? You don't look hurt. What about internal injuries? Did you hit the tree?"

"I'm fine," he insists. "I lost control for a split second and sort of teetered over. Nothing dramatic."

"Are you sure?"

House looks at her with a bewildered, awe-struck expression that makes her uneasy. "How are you here?"

"You lied to Wilson. You didn't come home. I've been looking everywhere for you."

He reaches out and touches her face— like he's checking if she's real. "You are here, right?"

And then it hits her so violently she's surprised she doesn't fall to her knees. She knows this look, because she's seen it before. It takes her back to such a terrible time— a time when she failed to see every warning sign blaring in her face.

A strangled cry escapes her throat as history repeats itself. "When?"

"What?"

"When did you relapse?"

She swears there's at least a minute of silence where they're just staring at each other, neither wanting to speak, because it will make this real. But it is real and she knows it has to be her who pushes forward.

"Please tell me," she begs. "It's okay, House. You can tell me."

Finally, he relents. "The morning Jack died."

"That was three and a half weeks ago."

"Yeah."

"You've been on Vicodin for three and a half weeks?"

"On and off," he admits. "More on than off this week."

"Oh."

She mentally runs through every interaction they've had since that horrific morning, as a thousand pieces of the puzzle fall perfectly into place.

"How pissed are you?"

"Extremely," she says. "At myself."

"Yourself?"

"For being an idiot. For not realizing."

"In fairness to you, I've been working my ass off to make sure you didn't realize."

"If you're in trouble, I should know about it. Even if you don't want me to. Especially if you don't want me to."

"How'd you find me tonight in the middle of the park, Cuddy? Because it looks like you know exactly what you need to know when I'm in trouble."

She feels selfish and stupid and a million other things. "I was worried about you breaking up with me instead of realizing you relapsed."

"You thought I was breaking up with you?" House scoffs at the very notion. "Maybe you are an idiot. I've been waiting for you to break up with me."

"I'm not going to do that."

"You sure? You might not want to commit to that right now. You're probably still processing."

Should she want to break up with him, she wonders? Because she doesn't. Ten minutes ago, she only wanted him to be alive, she wanted to make sure she didn't lose him, and now he's sitting right in front of her, needing her help. She understands there's a betrayal here somewhere— he's been on drugs and actively hiding it from her. But she has a strong inkling his decision to hide it stems from their shared fear of losing each other. The very same fear she felt as she was driving around frantically searching for him. How could she punish him for something she understands so well?

"Yes," she says. "I'm sure that I'm not breaking up with you."

"You're not lying," he observes, looking for her tell.

"No, I'm not."

"Why? You don't even know what happened yet."

She sits down next to him on the tabletop and puts his arm around him, his t-shirt still damp. "So then tell me. I want to know exactly what happened."

"Let's see— I decided to blow up my whole life."

If he's going to talk, she has to take it step-by-step. "How did it start?"

"Jack's mom needed a prescription for her back. I went to get it for her because I didn't want her to have to wait around after her son just died."

"You wrote her a prescription for Vicodin?"

"No. It started with Oxy. I was so out of it that morning. I hadn't slept and Jack flatlined right in front of me. I kept picturing Rachel in his place, and I couldn't get any of it to stop. I didn't plan on taking anything. I swear it wasn't even a thought in my mind. And I was going to tell you as soon as it happened, but then you called and said Rachel wanted to see me and she said she loved me after I was convinced she hated me for not showing up at the recital."

Cuddy thinks back to that day and tries to recall the details. "I remember you saying you wanted to tell me something. In the car?"

"You said you were proud of me," House reminds her. "Proud."

"But how did it go from Oxy to Vicodin?"

"I don't know. I guess it was easy to get reckless once I started. I wanted my brain to shut up."

"What was it saying?"

"That I failed everyone. Most of all you."

It breaks her heart to hear because she's never once viewed him a failure. He's the strongest person she knows. "You didn't fail anyone. Especially me."

"Jack died. Rachel was waiting to see me. And I decided to be a coward."

"Addicts relapse," Cuddy reminds him. "Especially under extreme emotional stress. I should've… I should've been more attentive that week instead of worrying about the stupid nurse shifts."

"No. I could've talked to you. You offered so many times. It's not your fault I'm a pathetic statistic."

"You're not pathetic."

"Cuddy— look at me," he gestures to his wet clothes. "I'm fucking pathetic."

"Well anyone would look pathetic after they crashed their bike and sat out in the rain for an hour and a half. That doesn't mean you are pathetic."

He gazes at her with bemusement. "You really have no idea how much I love you."

She knows he means it, but there's something gnawing at her. "How can you love me and simultaneously think I'd leave you right now?"

"No. Don't do that. It's not because I don't trust you. Or even because I think you'd want to leave me."

"Then why? I don't get it."

"You're an amazing mom, Cuddy. I couldn't blame you for protecting her, even if it made me suicidal."

"Protecting Rachel…from you?" It's such a ridiculous sentiment that she can't believe he'd even consider it.

"I made sure I was never high when I was alone with her," he adds quickly. "And I didn't bring pills into the house except for once but that was an honest mistake."

"I thought you were avoiding her because she said she loved you."

He shakes his head. "I love her, but I wasn't going to say it back while I was high."

And that's when Cuddy realizes that history isn't repeating itself. Not really. Because House isn't in his apartment hallucinating. She's not sitting at home oblivious to his suffering. He's being honest with her, even though the truth is brutal and ugly. And most of all— what makes it so very different — is the way he's thinking about his actions.

"Do you hear yourself right now? This… it isn't the same as before. You're not the same. You're actively thinking about how you taking Vicodin affects other people. You never used to care. That's… that's so big."

"I still took them. I knew it would hurt you and Rachel and I still took them."

He's not ready to forgive himself, but she's ready to figure out their next steps. "Do you want to get off the Vicodin?"

"Yes. But honestly? Also no."

"Can you explain the no?"

"Yeah. My leg hurts."

She nods, not sure if she should say more.

"Say what you're thinking," House sees right through her.

"According to what you just told me, you didn't relapse because of physical pain. I'm not discounting the physical pain. I'm only saying this would be a different conversation if you relapsed because your leg hurt so much."

"That's… true."

"If you're having significant changes in your leg pain, we need to deal with that medically, but it sounds like that wasn't the reason this started."

"It wasn't why it started, but it makes it so hard to stop."

"I understand, but I promise we can get through this."

"Not we," House corrects. "This is my fuck up. I have to fix it."

"That's not how this works. That's not what a relationship is. I'm not letting you do this alone."

"I don't know if you understand what you're saying," he warns her. "It's not going to require a mental hospital this time, but it's also not going to be pleasant."

"I don't need pleasant. I need to be there for you. I didn't get the chance last time and it's one of my biggest regrets. You have no idea how much I wish you really told me you needed me then."

"I need you now."

"You've got me, House. You do."

That's how it begins, and how it ends. Their weakness, and their strength.

What they've always had in common is how easy it is for both of them, individually, to slip into the vast darkness, comfortably and unnoticed. It's threatened to consume them many times before, but what they've learned the hard way, through experiences Cuddy wouldn't wish on anyone, is that the only way out is through.

And, more importantly, that the only way through is together.