I know it's long for a prologue but it should not be over fifty pages. Then it gets even grittier. As always please read and review. =)
“And he should’ve been able to keep it in his pants. The most stoic people in the world can not conceal their panic after they have been traumatized. Blame the autonomic nervous system. Besides, you never would have been able to hide it from me or House. I am a psychiatrist and House pays way to much attention to you, notices every subtle nuance, every nervous twitch, every compulsion.”
“I always found that a bit…”
“Creepy?”
“I was going to say uncanny…but creepy does fit.”
“He is chemically attracted to you.”
“Don’t start.”
“It’s true.”
“Shut up.”
“Fine, like I said, I’ll be laughing at your wedding.”
“And I’ll be laughing at yours.”
“I’m not getting married.”
“I think I’m going to mention that statement in my toast.”
“Burn in hell.”
“I’m too nice to burn in hell.”
“Every rose has its thorn. Satan’s probably afraid you’ll overthrow him.”
“Too bad you’re already destined to replace him.”
“I’ve missed this.”
“Missed…what?”
“You acting all haughty and insulting me about my evil ways…me telling you House has feelings for you and you denying it. Ever since…the incident…you’ve been on the verge of a panic attack. Every time someone would come near you you would flinch and get as far away as fast as possible. I’ve been bored without you.”
“I’m sorry…”
“Dear God Cuddy stop apologizing. You have nothing to apologize for.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t make me go medieval on your ass.”
“Right sor__ I never meant to hurt you.”
“You didn’t hurt me. You had been raped. It was understandable for you to avoid human contact.”
No matter what Sarah said Cuddy still felt guilty because she had hurt her. Even though Sarah denied that, Cuddy knew that she had and she owed Sarah a lot. It was Sarah who had helped her adjust to America. It was Sarah who had helped her deal with her brothers death. It was Sarah who had defended her against the prejudices of some of the teachers and students. Cuddy had done absolutely nothing for her. She hadn’t even helped her through her depression. Hell, Cuddy had had no idea, still had no idea, how bad it had been. The only reason she knew anything about it was because she had stumbled upon her Prozac four years ago. She had spent the weekend at Sarah’s house, it was just after her brother died she had not felt like going back to her apartment. While she was waiting for Sarah to get home from work she had played weird yet entertaining games on some strange thing called a Wii with Sarah’s mom and step-dad. It had been fun, but Cuddy had gotten a headache from staring at the TV for so long so Sarah’s mom had told her to go into the medicine cabinet and get some acetaminophen. In front of the acetaminophen had been Sarah’s Prozac. Cuddy had had no idea what the hell Prozac was so she had looked it up in Sarah’s drug guide. To this day she didn’t think Sarah knew she knew about her depression. Damn I’m a shitty friend, Cuddy thought. She could feel the tears she’d been holding back all day welling up in her eyes. She was so sensitive these days. Everything made her want to cry. A soft knock on the door interrupted her reverie.
“Come in,” Cuddy said flatly.
Her attorney stepped into the office.
“We need to go over your testimony for tomorrow,” she said placidly.
Great, that was just what Cuddy needed. She didn’t want to think about tomorrow until tomorrow. Besides, they had already gone over the cross examination. In anguish she rested her head in her hands, closed her eyes, and massaged her temples. She could really go for a drink. Unfortunately she was still underage and she wasn’t about to go to a liquor store and risk being carded.
“I know it sucks,” her attorney said compassionately, “but in order for us to win this case we need to make sure we do this right. Wouldn’t it suck more if he got off?”
“I’ll call you later,” she said to Sarah as she followed her attorney out the door.
“Don’t go anywhere. I need to talk to you as well,” the attorney said to Sarah.
“Come to my office. I have more important shit to do than wait for you.”
“Where is your office?”
“Fifth floor, tenth door on the right.”
“I’ll be up in about two hours.”
“Okay.”
About fifteen minutes later Cuddy and her attorney were sitting in the far corner of the neighborhood Caribou Coffee. Cuddy was drinking a large mocha with ten extra shots of espresso. Normally she did not do things like that. Her own words echoed in her mind
“You’re going to stop your heart with all that caffeine.”
That’s what she had said to Sarah on the many occasions when she ordered coffee with thirty shots of espresso. Now Cuddy felt like a hypocrite as well as a whore. It was only ten shots, it wasn’t thirty. Thirty was more likely to stop someone’s heart than ten. Wow am I derailed, she thought. No, you’re not, you’re fine, and the internal argument she had been having twenty-four seven ever since she had been raped took on a new angle. Maybe she needed therapy. Definitely not.
“Dr. Cuddy,” her attorney said gently, breaking into her thoughts.
Cuddy looked at her tiredly.
“You honestly think that buying me coffee is going to make me go over what is undoubtedly going to be the worst debacle of my life?”
“I know how hard this is…”
“I’m pretty sure you don’t.”
“Do you want him to go to jail?”
If her attorney had asked her this question two days ago Cuddys’ answer would have been yes. However, she had recently come to believe that if he ended up in jail he would just make things even worse than he had originally planned when he got out.
“No!”
The attorney raised her blonde eyebrows in shock. This threw off her whole argument. If Dr. Cuddy didn’t want to throw him in jail, then why were they doing this? It didn’t make sense.
“Why,” she asked.
Cuddy chose her words carefully, “Because…my life would have been…easier in the long run…if…if this had not happened.”
“Why?”
“Just…trust me on this.”
“It doesn’t make sense.”
“It doesn’t have to make sense to you.”
“Okay…”
“Sorry.”
“You don’t have to apologize to me.”
“Yes I do. This is not your fault.”
For the next hour they went over Cuddys’ testimony. Cuddy couldn’t get away fast enough. If her life was going to be over tomorrow she was going to enjoy her last day, well, as much as she could. Lately she had been having trouble enjoying anything, but she would be damned if she didn’t try. With a sense of determination she downed the rest of her espresso and tossed the empty cup in the trash. First thing on her agenda for her last day: Work. Not that she wouldn’t be able to work after tomorrow, but she could never go a day without working. She loved to work, it relaxed her. It was a remnant of her old life. Since she was raped only one thing had remained unchanged, her job. She wondered how long that would last. For the next eight hours she threw herself into her work. She filled out paperwork, saw patients, argued with House as usual, billed insurance companies, and hired a new security guard. When she was finally done with the days work she felt a tiny bit satisfied. As she stretched and yawned the red numbers of the digital clock cut down her good spirits. It was nine pm, ten hours until her life was over. What would she do with her last ten hours? The answer was obvious, something she would have never done if her life wasn’t going to be destroyed tomorrow.
Your life is not going to be destroyed, the little voice in her head argued.
But arguing was exhausting, denial was exhausting. For once she wished she would just shut up. There were few things in the world that would get her to shut up. All of them were illegal, but what did it matter? She was screwed anyway. What she did to herself would be a lot less painful than what Tritter would be doing to her. At least if she destroyed herself she would be the one in control. She stood up and walked out of her office not even paying attention to where she was going.
House sat on a stool in the local bar finishing his fourth glass of scotch. It was not unusual for him to spend his evenings at a bar. However, it was unusual for him to finish off four glasses of scotch in twenty minutes. Normally it took him about an hour. For the past two weeks he had felt oddly sad. Not that he was ever really happy, he was always miserable, but now he felt even more miserable. Every time he looked at Cuddy he pictured what had happened to her and an intolerable pain tore through him. When he was alone in his office or at home his mind would wander to her and what happened and what she had been like before. He hated Tritter and wanted him to die a painful death. Why do I care, he wondered as he downed his fifth glass, she was just another raped woman, just another statistic. Why should he obsess over her? He set his glass on the bar and waved the bartender.
“How about another there Johnny?”
“My names not Johnny,” the bartender said.
“My condolences, fill her up.”
The bartender frowned and uncorked the scotch bottle and was about to poor it when a female voice beckoned him for another drink. He put the bottle on the bar and walked over to her.
“I asked first,” House called after him.
“I like her better,” he replied.
That’s when House saw who the woman was and his jaw nearly fell to the floor.
“Cuddy?”
She turned around in her seat to face him nearly falling off the stool. The entire room was revolving around her, the person who called her name reduced to a blur. Still, she knew that blur…it moved towards her and sat down beside her. Still she hoped she was wrong. Oh damn…it was House.
“Drowning yourself in liquor is not going to help your case,” he said patronizingly.
“Dear God why do you hate me,” Cuddy exclaimed banging her head against the bar.
“Most people call me Greg or House, but God has a nice ring to it.”
“Shut. The Fuck. Up,” she said, her voice slurred and muffled by the bar, which her head was still resting on.
“You’re a mean drunk.”
Cuddy pushed herself off of the bar with her hands too hard and fell backwards off the stool. Without thinking House leapt off his stool causing a searing pain to shoot through his leg and tried to catch her. Unfortunately for her he failed. Her head cracked against the hardwood floor and she lied there watching the room whirl. What was the point in getting up? She would only fall again. Besides she could see large swirls of light from this angle. They were pretty…
“Are you all right,” House asked sounding concerned.
He never sounded concerned for her. If she had been sober enough she would have asked him why he was suddenly so worried about her. The only reaction she could muster in her current condition was anger. Every since she had been raped people had been treating her differently, all except Sarah. The only difference with her was she was annoying her about psychotherapy as well as her OCD, her relationship with House, and her relationship with Wilson. Other than that things were pretty much the same and Cuddy appreciated that. Pity pissed her off. As she was seriously considering physically assaulting House she felt him grab her hand and pull her up into a sitting position. For some reason this made her even angrier. She didn’t want to be helped just because she had become a pathetic statistic. Before this shit had started House would’ve watched her struggle to get up and laughed.
“I don’t need your hand I can helped it,” she snarled in a barely coherent sentence.
“Yeah, your point is vindicated by the way you can’t even sit up straight and the way you can’t even talk comprehensibly.”
“Ha! I am sitting up straight all by myself!!”
“I’m holding you up Cuddy!!”
Cuddy suddenly became aware of his hands on her shoulders. She would’ve killed him right then and there except she now had a splitting headache and her head was spinning.
“You have a concussion, I’m taking you home,” House said now not even trying to conceal his worry.
“No you’re not! I’m fine,” Cuddy insisted standing up way to quickly and falling back down.
“You took her keys right,” House asked the bartender.
“Seven glasses ago,” the bartender replied.
“See, you have no keys. Unless you plan on walking home at this hour or spend the night here both of which could result in a repeat of what happened two weeks ago then I’m taking you home.”
“How do I know that won’t result in a repeat of what happened two weeks ago?”
“Fine, I’ll slow down to ten miles per hour and you can tuck and roll. Would that be better?”
Cuddy knelt on the floor leaning against and unoccupied chair glaring up at him. If the room hadn’t been spinning like one of those damn Tilt-O’-Whirl’s she would’ve walked home. However, she couldn’t even stand without falling. Still, she would’ve rather crawled then let House take her home. That was if she had been able to crawl. House took her silent glaring as surrender and helped her into the passenger side of her car.
“Normally I wouldn’t really care how you handle you’re problems, but getting hammered the night before you have to go to court is probably not the most responsible thing to do,” he admonished mockingly.
“This coming from the king of the irresponsible,” she shot back massaging her temples.
“I wasn’t expecting you to become this unhinged for at least another month.”
“I am not unhinged. I am the same as I always was.”
“Which is why you are unhinged.”
“I’m not unhinged.”
“Okay, then you drank so much that you fell off a barstool giving yourself a concussion because you are happy with your life.”
“I am happy with my life damn it!”
“You know someone’s a good administrator when they can contradict themselves in one sentence.”
“Can you drive a little slower,” Cuddy complained, “You’re making me feel even more nauseous and I don’t want to puke in my car.”
“Whos’ fault is it that you’re nauseous in the first place?”
“Shut up.”
Almost as if he cared about what she wanted, House fell silent and didn’t push the issue any further. Grateful, Cuddy rested her head against the back of the seat and felt herself drifting off, but she couldn’t allow herself to fall asleep. Do not allow concussion patients to sleep for twelve hours after the initial injury. Great, now her old medical textbooks were admonishing her as well. Even though the constant battle within her mind was annoying and exhausting she didn’t even blink for fear of falling asleep. As unhappy as she was she didn’t want to die. She had finally started to reap the rewards of her hard work and like everything else that had not gone her way she assumed she would be able to fix this. She was always able to fix things. Why would this be any different? Tritter was just another man who objectified her, like ninety-nine percent of the men she had come across. The only difference was the Tritter had gone too far. It would not be as easy to crush his hopes at it had been with the rest of the ninety-nine percent, but there was nothing Lisa Cuddy could not handle. She was surprised that she was feeling back to her old confident self. She had felt so hopeless up until she had taken it upon herself to cut loose and get wasted enough to fall off a bar stool. Part of her knew she only felt back to her old self because she was so drunk all rationality had been tossed out the window. The realistic side of her situation that had made her feel so hopeless was forgotten. Instead she was clinging to her illusion of invincibility. Her plan had worked, she felt good except for the headache, nausea, and dizziness. A general calm overtook her and she felt her eyes close. All of the sleep deprivation from the past two weeks hit her at once and she fell into a deep sleep. She would’ve loved to continue sleeping except someone began violently shaking her and calling her name frantically. Reluctantly she opened her eyes and saw that they were now in her driveway. The passenger side door was open and cool air blasted her face, irritating her eyes. House was kneeling at the edge of the car with an expression she hadn’t seen since they had broken up. It was an expression of concern, the one she had seen every time she had one of her nose bleeds or every time she had been at the hospital watching her brother die. She wondered if she had drank enough to imagine that.
“Get up,” he snapped the look of concern disappearing, “You know as well as I do that you can’t sleep for another twelve hours.”
Cuddy rubbed her eyes sleepily and unbuckled her seatbelt. As soon as she did so House threaded his arm under hers and walked her into her house. After a few minutes of dragging her around searching for the most uncomfortable chair to seat her in he finally settled on a wooden one in the kitchen. He hoped she wouldn’t be able to fall asleep there. Luckily for him she appeared to be trying just as hard to stay awake as he was trying to keep her awake. He was glad she still had a will to live. After how she had been behaving and especially this alcohol incident he wasn’t sure if she still valued her life.
“Where’s your coffee,” he asked, “You’re going to need a hell of a lot of it.”
“Top left cabinet,” Cuddy replied groggily as she continued to massage her temples.
Never in her life had she had a worse headache.
“I would offer you pain killers except those don’t go well with a bottle of Scotch.”
“It’s all right,” Cuddy mumbled.
House busied himself with the coffee for a few minutes then sat down across from her.
“You don’t have to stay here,” Cuddy said softly.
“Who’s going to keep you awake?”
“I can keep myself awake.”
“Either I stay or I take you to the ER. It’s up to you.”
“If I go to the ER word will get around that I spent the night drinking and the defense will probably say I was drunk when I was raped and I actually consented and then they’ll have my career.”
“Well then the choice should be easy.”
“You’re an ass.”
“No shit.”
Cuddy rested her head on the table. She was too exhausted to hold it up anymore. All she wanted was to rest while she was still at peace. Her strong will was no match for her physical need for sleep.
“Sit up,” House demanded smacking the back of her head.
“Sorry,” Cuddy said lifting her head.
“I’ll forgive you this time, but that behavior can only be allowed once.”
“And he should’ve been able to keep it in his pants. The most stoic people in the world can not conceal their panic after they have been traumatized. Blame the autonomic nervous system. Besides, you never would have been able to hide it from me or House. I am a psychiatrist and House pays way to much attention to you, notices every subtle nuance, every nervous twitch, every compulsion.”
“I always found that a bit…”
“Creepy?”
“I was going to say uncanny…but creepy does fit.”
“He is chemically attracted to you.”
“Don’t start.”
“It’s true.”
“Shut up.”
“Fine, like I said, I’ll be laughing at your wedding.”
“And I’ll be laughing at yours.”
“I’m not getting married.”
“I think I’m going to mention that statement in my toast.”
“Burn in hell.”
“I’m too nice to burn in hell.”
“Every rose has its thorn. Satan’s probably afraid you’ll overthrow him.”
“Too bad you’re already destined to replace him.”
“I’ve missed this.”
“Missed…what?”
“You acting all haughty and insulting me about my evil ways…me telling you House has feelings for you and you denying it. Ever since…the incident…you’ve been on the verge of a panic attack. Every time someone would come near you you would flinch and get as far away as fast as possible. I’ve been bored without you.”
“I’m sorry…”
“Dear God Cuddy stop apologizing. You have nothing to apologize for.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t make me go medieval on your ass.”
“Right sor__ I never meant to hurt you.”
“You didn’t hurt me. You had been raped. It was understandable for you to avoid human contact.”
No matter what Sarah said Cuddy still felt guilty because she had hurt her. Even though Sarah denied that, Cuddy knew that she had and she owed Sarah a lot. It was Sarah who had helped her adjust to America. It was Sarah who had helped her deal with her brothers death. It was Sarah who had defended her against the prejudices of some of the teachers and students. Cuddy had done absolutely nothing for her. She hadn’t even helped her through her depression. Hell, Cuddy had had no idea, still had no idea, how bad it had been. The only reason she knew anything about it was because she had stumbled upon her Prozac four years ago. She had spent the weekend at Sarah’s house, it was just after her brother died she had not felt like going back to her apartment. While she was waiting for Sarah to get home from work she had played weird yet entertaining games on some strange thing called a Wii with Sarah’s mom and step-dad. It had been fun, but Cuddy had gotten a headache from staring at the TV for so long so Sarah’s mom had told her to go into the medicine cabinet and get some acetaminophen. In front of the acetaminophen had been Sarah’s Prozac. Cuddy had had no idea what the hell Prozac was so she had looked it up in Sarah’s drug guide. To this day she didn’t think Sarah knew she knew about her depression. Damn I’m a shitty friend, Cuddy thought. She could feel the tears she’d been holding back all day welling up in her eyes. She was so sensitive these days. Everything made her want to cry. A soft knock on the door interrupted her reverie.
“Come in,” Cuddy said flatly.
Her attorney stepped into the office.
“We need to go over your testimony for tomorrow,” she said placidly.
Great, that was just what Cuddy needed. She didn’t want to think about tomorrow until tomorrow. Besides, they had already gone over the cross examination. In anguish she rested her head in her hands, closed her eyes, and massaged her temples. She could really go for a drink. Unfortunately she was still underage and she wasn’t about to go to a liquor store and risk being carded.
“I know it sucks,” her attorney said compassionately, “but in order for us to win this case we need to make sure we do this right. Wouldn’t it suck more if he got off?”
“I’ll call you later,” she said to Sarah as she followed her attorney out the door.
“Don’t go anywhere. I need to talk to you as well,” the attorney said to Sarah.
“Come to my office. I have more important shit to do than wait for you.”
“Where is your office?”
“Fifth floor, tenth door on the right.”
“I’ll be up in about two hours.”
“Okay.”
About fifteen minutes later Cuddy and her attorney were sitting in the far corner of the neighborhood Caribou Coffee. Cuddy was drinking a large mocha with ten extra shots of espresso. Normally she did not do things like that. Her own words echoed in her mind
“You’re going to stop your heart with all that caffeine.”
That’s what she had said to Sarah on the many occasions when she ordered coffee with thirty shots of espresso. Now Cuddy felt like a hypocrite as well as a whore. It was only ten shots, it wasn’t thirty. Thirty was more likely to stop someone’s heart than ten. Wow am I derailed, she thought. No, you’re not, you’re fine, and the internal argument she had been having twenty-four seven ever since she had been raped took on a new angle. Maybe she needed therapy. Definitely not.
“Dr. Cuddy,” her attorney said gently, breaking into her thoughts.
Cuddy looked at her tiredly.
“You honestly think that buying me coffee is going to make me go over what is undoubtedly going to be the worst debacle of my life?”
“I know how hard this is…”
“I’m pretty sure you don’t.”
“Do you want him to go to jail?”
If her attorney had asked her this question two days ago Cuddys’ answer would have been yes. However, she had recently come to believe that if he ended up in jail he would just make things even worse than he had originally planned when he got out.
“No!”
The attorney raised her blonde eyebrows in shock. This threw off her whole argument. If Dr. Cuddy didn’t want to throw him in jail, then why were they doing this? It didn’t make sense.
“Why,” she asked.
Cuddy chose her words carefully, “Because…my life would have been…easier in the long run…if…if this had not happened.”
“Why?”
“Just…trust me on this.”
“It doesn’t make sense.”
“It doesn’t have to make sense to you.”
“Okay…”
“Sorry.”
“You don’t have to apologize to me.”
“Yes I do. This is not your fault.”
For the next hour they went over Cuddys’ testimony. Cuddy couldn’t get away fast enough. If her life was going to be over tomorrow she was going to enjoy her last day, well, as much as she could. Lately she had been having trouble enjoying anything, but she would be damned if she didn’t try. With a sense of determination she downed the rest of her espresso and tossed the empty cup in the trash. First thing on her agenda for her last day: Work. Not that she wouldn’t be able to work after tomorrow, but she could never go a day without working. She loved to work, it relaxed her. It was a remnant of her old life. Since she was raped only one thing had remained unchanged, her job. She wondered how long that would last. For the next eight hours she threw herself into her work. She filled out paperwork, saw patients, argued with House as usual, billed insurance companies, and hired a new security guard. When she was finally done with the days work she felt a tiny bit satisfied. As she stretched and yawned the red numbers of the digital clock cut down her good spirits. It was nine pm, ten hours until her life was over. What would she do with her last ten hours? The answer was obvious, something she would have never done if her life wasn’t going to be destroyed tomorrow.
Your life is not going to be destroyed, the little voice in her head argued.
But arguing was exhausting, denial was exhausting. For once she wished she would just shut up. There were few things in the world that would get her to shut up. All of them were illegal, but what did it matter? She was screwed anyway. What she did to herself would be a lot less painful than what Tritter would be doing to her. At least if she destroyed herself she would be the one in control. She stood up and walked out of her office not even paying attention to where she was going.
House sat on a stool in the local bar finishing his fourth glass of scotch. It was not unusual for him to spend his evenings at a bar. However, it was unusual for him to finish off four glasses of scotch in twenty minutes. Normally it took him about an hour. For the past two weeks he had felt oddly sad. Not that he was ever really happy, he was always miserable, but now he felt even more miserable. Every time he looked at Cuddy he pictured what had happened to her and an intolerable pain tore through him. When he was alone in his office or at home his mind would wander to her and what happened and what she had been like before. He hated Tritter and wanted him to die a painful death. Why do I care, he wondered as he downed his fifth glass, she was just another raped woman, just another statistic. Why should he obsess over her? He set his glass on the bar and waved the bartender.
“How about another there Johnny?”
“My names not Johnny,” the bartender said.
“My condolences, fill her up.”
The bartender frowned and uncorked the scotch bottle and was about to poor it when a female voice beckoned him for another drink. He put the bottle on the bar and walked over to her.
“I asked first,” House called after him.
“I like her better,” he replied.
That’s when House saw who the woman was and his jaw nearly fell to the floor.
“Cuddy?”
She turned around in her seat to face him nearly falling off the stool. The entire room was revolving around her, the person who called her name reduced to a blur. Still, she knew that blur…it moved towards her and sat down beside her. Still she hoped she was wrong. Oh damn…it was House.
“Drowning yourself in liquor is not going to help your case,” he said patronizingly.
“Dear God why do you hate me,” Cuddy exclaimed banging her head against the bar.
“Most people call me Greg or House, but God has a nice ring to it.”
“Shut. The Fuck. Up,” she said, her voice slurred and muffled by the bar, which her head was still resting on.
“You’re a mean drunk.”
Cuddy pushed herself off of the bar with her hands too hard and fell backwards off the stool. Without thinking House leapt off his stool causing a searing pain to shoot through his leg and tried to catch her. Unfortunately for her he failed. Her head cracked against the hardwood floor and she lied there watching the room whirl. What was the point in getting up? She would only fall again. Besides she could see large swirls of light from this angle. They were pretty…
“Are you all right,” House asked sounding concerned.
He never sounded concerned for her. If she had been sober enough she would have asked him why he was suddenly so worried about her. The only reaction she could muster in her current condition was anger. Every since she had been raped people had been treating her differently, all except Sarah. The only difference with her was she was annoying her about psychotherapy as well as her OCD, her relationship with House, and her relationship with Wilson. Other than that things were pretty much the same and Cuddy appreciated that. Pity pissed her off. As she was seriously considering physically assaulting House she felt him grab her hand and pull her up into a sitting position. For some reason this made her even angrier. She didn’t want to be helped just because she had become a pathetic statistic. Before this shit had started House would’ve watched her struggle to get up and laughed.
“I don’t need your hand I can helped it,” she snarled in a barely coherent sentence.
“Yeah, your point is vindicated by the way you can’t even sit up straight and the way you can’t even talk comprehensibly.”
“Ha! I am sitting up straight all by myself!!”
“I’m holding you up Cuddy!!”
Cuddy suddenly became aware of his hands on her shoulders. She would’ve killed him right then and there except she now had a splitting headache and her head was spinning.
“You have a concussion, I’m taking you home,” House said now not even trying to conceal his worry.
“No you’re not! I’m fine,” Cuddy insisted standing up way to quickly and falling back down.
“You took her keys right,” House asked the bartender.
“Seven glasses ago,” the bartender replied.
“See, you have no keys. Unless you plan on walking home at this hour or spend the night here both of which could result in a repeat of what happened two weeks ago then I’m taking you home.”
“How do I know that won’t result in a repeat of what happened two weeks ago?”
“Fine, I’ll slow down to ten miles per hour and you can tuck and roll. Would that be better?”
Cuddy knelt on the floor leaning against and unoccupied chair glaring up at him. If the room hadn’t been spinning like one of those damn Tilt-O’-Whirl’s she would’ve walked home. However, she couldn’t even stand without falling. Still, she would’ve rather crawled then let House take her home. That was if she had been able to crawl. House took her silent glaring as surrender and helped her into the passenger side of her car.
“Normally I wouldn’t really care how you handle you’re problems, but getting hammered the night before you have to go to court is probably not the most responsible thing to do,” he admonished mockingly.
“This coming from the king of the irresponsible,” she shot back massaging her temples.
“I wasn’t expecting you to become this unhinged for at least another month.”
“I am not unhinged. I am the same as I always was.”
“Which is why you are unhinged.”
“I’m not unhinged.”
“Okay, then you drank so much that you fell off a barstool giving yourself a concussion because you are happy with your life.”
“I am happy with my life damn it!”
“You know someone’s a good administrator when they can contradict themselves in one sentence.”
“Can you drive a little slower,” Cuddy complained, “You’re making me feel even more nauseous and I don’t want to puke in my car.”
“Whos’ fault is it that you’re nauseous in the first place?”
“Shut up.”
Almost as if he cared about what she wanted, House fell silent and didn’t push the issue any further. Grateful, Cuddy rested her head against the back of the seat and felt herself drifting off, but she couldn’t allow herself to fall asleep. Do not allow concussion patients to sleep for twelve hours after the initial injury. Great, now her old medical textbooks were admonishing her as well. Even though the constant battle within her mind was annoying and exhausting she didn’t even blink for fear of falling asleep. As unhappy as she was she didn’t want to die. She had finally started to reap the rewards of her hard work and like everything else that had not gone her way she assumed she would be able to fix this. She was always able to fix things. Why would this be any different? Tritter was just another man who objectified her, like ninety-nine percent of the men she had come across. The only difference was the Tritter had gone too far. It would not be as easy to crush his hopes at it had been with the rest of the ninety-nine percent, but there was nothing Lisa Cuddy could not handle. She was surprised that she was feeling back to her old confident self. She had felt so hopeless up until she had taken it upon herself to cut loose and get wasted enough to fall off a bar stool. Part of her knew she only felt back to her old self because she was so drunk all rationality had been tossed out the window. The realistic side of her situation that had made her feel so hopeless was forgotten. Instead she was clinging to her illusion of invincibility. Her plan had worked, she felt good except for the headache, nausea, and dizziness. A general calm overtook her and she felt her eyes close. All of the sleep deprivation from the past two weeks hit her at once and she fell into a deep sleep. She would’ve loved to continue sleeping except someone began violently shaking her and calling her name frantically. Reluctantly she opened her eyes and saw that they were now in her driveway. The passenger side door was open and cool air blasted her face, irritating her eyes. House was kneeling at the edge of the car with an expression she hadn’t seen since they had broken up. It was an expression of concern, the one she had seen every time she had one of her nose bleeds or every time she had been at the hospital watching her brother die. She wondered if she had drank enough to imagine that.
“Get up,” he snapped the look of concern disappearing, “You know as well as I do that you can’t sleep for another twelve hours.”
Cuddy rubbed her eyes sleepily and unbuckled her seatbelt. As soon as she did so House threaded his arm under hers and walked her into her house. After a few minutes of dragging her around searching for the most uncomfortable chair to seat her in he finally settled on a wooden one in the kitchen. He hoped she wouldn’t be able to fall asleep there. Luckily for him she appeared to be trying just as hard to stay awake as he was trying to keep her awake. He was glad she still had a will to live. After how she had been behaving and especially this alcohol incident he wasn’t sure if she still valued her life.
“Where’s your coffee,” he asked, “You’re going to need a hell of a lot of it.”
“Top left cabinet,” Cuddy replied groggily as she continued to massage her temples.
Never in her life had she had a worse headache.
“I would offer you pain killers except those don’t go well with a bottle of Scotch.”
“It’s all right,” Cuddy mumbled.
House busied himself with the coffee for a few minutes then sat down across from her.
“You don’t have to stay here,” Cuddy said softly.
“Who’s going to keep you awake?”
“I can keep myself awake.”
“Either I stay or I take you to the ER. It’s up to you.”
“If I go to the ER word will get around that I spent the night drinking and the defense will probably say I was drunk when I was raped and I actually consented and then they’ll have my career.”
“Well then the choice should be easy.”
“You’re an ass.”
“No shit.”
Cuddy rested her head on the table. She was too exhausted to hold it up anymore. All she wanted was to rest while she was still at peace. Her strong will was no match for her physical need for sleep.
“Sit up,” House demanded smacking the back of her head.
“Sorry,” Cuddy said lifting her head.
“I’ll forgive you this time, but that behavior can only be allowed once.”
