Sons and Lovers

Chapter 14

A/N—This is it, folks. The end of my summer Housefic project, only slightly interrupted by the Cuddy Fest and real life. Because I always feel the need to put my characters back from where I took them, I always try to return to canon by the end of a long fic like this one. This will, therefore, not be a completely happy ending (forewarned is forearmed as the say). Thanks for reading and especially all who have been so generous with their kind words.

I will resume my House episode reviews the day after the season premiere. My reviews and most of my Housefic can be found on my LJ at community. (pardon the shameless self promotion!) Read on.

"You know, I really don't need a team, Cuddy. I'd be fine on my own…"

"What? They haven't even started, and already they quit?" They were wasting time; filling the minutes until the email came through with the serum HCG results. "You need a team. Aren't they supposed to start next week?" Of course she knew they were but she wouldn't put it past House to retract their offers. He talked a good game about change and being all for it, but Cuddy knew that change was harder for House than it was for most.

House had grown up all over the planet. A life that anyone might seem to envy from the outside: exotic places like Egypt, Japan, Hawaii, London. House's facility with languages and the universal language of music helped him acclimate to the different cultures, but he'd never fit in among the American military kids that attended his schools. House had told Cuddy endless tales, back in the day, of sphinxes and volcanoes and mummies; castles and sooks. She'd only half-believed him as listened, mesmerized, to his low and seductive voice entice and seduce. But endless change can do its damage as well, and House paid for the constant upheaval and uncertainty.

A lifetime of uncertainty, of betrayals, of never feeling secure, had made it difficult for him to let go when he did, on occasion, find something to hold onto. Stacy, even after her betrayal; Wilson, herself. Even, although House would never admit it, his team, now broken and scattered in the dust of House's false-noted "good riddance." No she wouldn't put it past him, at all, to refuse to replace them, expecting , even hoping in some weird, warped way, that they would somehow find their way back into his service.

Cuddy regarded him through slit eyes as she dozed on the Eames chair. He was sitting tensed at his desk, forehead propped by his thumbs, seemingly engrossed in a journal article. She knew he wasn't reading, as he kept one eye on his computer display, waiting. As she was.

House was startled by the phone ringing so close to his ear.

"House." He glanced at the Caller ID display. It was the lab. He nodded and jotted down some figures on a legal pad. "Thanks. You'll email me a copy?"

Cuddy had walked quietly to his desk when the phone rang, and now held her breath as she peered down at the most important number: 72,776 mlU/ml. House looked up towards her, scrubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. "It's too big a decline even for 12 weeks, House."

She had anticipated his brushing off the serum HCG decline as normal second trimester drop-off. He didn't argue, unable to come up with a suitable response to the inevitable. He simply nodded slightly, in tacit agreement. There was nothing he could do or say to change it, or make it better, or soft-pedal it. She knew, as much as he did, if not more, exactly what a dramatic drop in serum HCG levels meant. Even at this point in a pregnancy. It was too much. Way too much.

"You need to call Dr…" House's voice was hoarse: wisps of scattered gravel, dry as dust. Cuddy unclipped her cell phone wordlessly; her hands were shaking, at odds with her calm demeanor. Suddenly, the phone fell, bouncing off the carpet, as she crumpled back into the Eames chair.

"I want to go home. I can call Morgan tomorrow. There's nothing…there's…" Cuddy looked away from House's gaze, no longer able to bear his silent watchfulness.

"Do you have any other symptoms?" It was a simple question. If the answer was "no," maybe the test was wrong; or it was anomalous result. Or something. "Bleeding, back pain, pain in…"

"I know the symptoms of miscarriage, and no," she replied shakily, "I don't think I have any of them. Other than the obvious. Nothing else would explain the serum HCG drop."

"Maybe your last test was wrong. Or there was a typo in her lab's report. Your numbers are still in range for a normal, end of first trimester pregnancy. The fact that you don't have any other symptoms…" He shook off the feeling that he was acting more like a family member than a rationally objective physician. Was he grasping at straws here? Hoping, if not for his sake, then for Cuddy's? "…All I'm saying is that we shouldn't jump to a conclusion based on one test, with no other basis; no other evidence."

"My breasts…."

"…are approaching the size of watermelons. And they're mine. I mean at least for the next six months. And even then, I'll only share unwillingly. I was never good at…" She knew what he was trying to do, and he had succeeded in, at least, making her smile. "You can call what's-her-name tomorrow and see if she can see you first thing. If it's going to happen…" He couldn't quite form the words to say it.

House was grateful that Cuddy hadn't insisted on doing an ultrasound before they left the hospital. She wouldn't have anyway: too much attention. Too many questions about why the dean of medicine needed the sonography equipment. And why House was with her doing it.

"Pancakes!"

"What?" The loudly proclaimed non-sequitor jarred Cuddy from her seat.

"Pancakes. You said you wanted them…"

"No." House scowled at her.

"You can'tnot eat. Little parasite has to get its nutrition somehow. Never known you to…"

"I'm having a miscarriage, House…"

"You don't know that." Exasperated, House washed his hand over his face. "Not for sure. If we look at this objectively…"

"I am. You're not. I would've bet that it would have been the other way around."

"I was wrong. Call her. Now. Your OB."

"It's Sunday."

"Oh, it's Sunday. OB's have a special deal with the AMA? Sundays off? Maybe I should change specialties!" House pulled out his cell phone, while Cuddy observed.

"You don't even have her number. You wouldn't call her." She rose from the chair, sure that he was bluffing.

"Speed dial #9." She reached him just as he was hitting "send." Cuddy glared at him as he handed her the phone, half amazed that he'd thought to put her doctor's phone number in his speed-dial directory.

"This is Lisa Cuddy. I'm a patient of Dr. Frawley's….No, it's not an emergency…If you could have her call me….DOCTOR Lisa Cuddy. My number is…no the caller ID number isn't my phone…" Cuddy gave her own cell number and hung up. She had continued to glare at House throughout the conversation, her anger rising in time to her increasing embarrassment as she spoke to Morgan Frawley's answering service.

"Now. Let's go get something to eat," House suggested as he retrieved his phone.

"I'm still not hungry." Cuddy was calmer.

"We can't just sit around all day and wait for her to call back. You told the service it wasn't an emergency. She won't call for hours. And we have to eat."

"Fine. You eat. I'm not hungry."

"That's not what I…"

"Look, I need some time alone, anyway. It's fine. I'll drop you off at your apartment and call you later, I talk to Morgan." House rose from his desk, trying with only limited success to control his rising frustration. He shook his head, willing himself calm.

"I'm not leaving you alone. That's ridiculous. What if…?"

"What? I start bleeding, get cramping? The inevitable outcome of this? I can handle it myself. I'm a…"

"Don't you fucking dare say it…" He felt they were about to circle back to the beginning again and he was about to lose all sense of control, if he ever had it to begin with. He willed his voice calm, taking a deep breath; closing his eyes before continuing. "Let's go back to your house. We'll wait. She'll call." Clipped thoughts were all he could handle at the moment. Cuddy nodded curtly.

They drove back to Cuddy's in silence; he could feel the familiar and uneasy tension as she erected trenches around her emotions, preparing for the worst. She looked straight ahead as he drove her Lexus, her face a grim profile in pink alabaster. He knew this game; Hell, he lived this game, and had done so most of his life. She was shutting him out.

The sound of Cuddy's phone shattered the silence, startling them both, further eroding their already-frayed nerves. "This is Dr. Cuddy." Her voice was too calm. Controlled and quiet as she described her symptoms and the results of the HCG test they had done. House saw her nod into the phone.

They pulled into Cuddy's driveway as the phone conversation ended. "House, there's really nothing you can do right now. Morgan wants to see me tomorrow morning in her office. She wants to do an ultrasound. No surprise there, I suppose. Another blood test to…"

"…To see if the serum HCG has dropped or is maintaining. She wants you on bed rest. Left side."

"How did…?"

"Google is a wonderful thing, Cuddy." House emerged from the driver's side, his gait visibly painful.

"House, I told you I can…"

"Don't."

"There's no reason for you… You're not getting any, so you might as well go home…" House smiled at the thought.

"Believe me, I'm not after your body."

"Screw you."

"Any time, although I don't think that right now…" He had followed her in, closing the door behind himself and settled himself on Cuddy's couch. He patted the sofa cushion next to him, inviting her. "Or would you rather lie down in bed."

"I'm not tired, House."

"Left side. Lie down."

"It's bullshit. It's not going to make a difference. If my HCG is dropping, nothing will. I'm not having cramping. Or bleeding, so…"

"I thought that was a good thing. The not cramping or bleeding. I could be wrong, though. I'm not really an OB, but I did hear a rumor that your OB strongly suggested…"

"Fine. But I'll lie down in bed. Alone. Stay or go. It's up to you." Cuddy watched, waiting for House to get up and leave. When he didn't, she made her way into the bedroom, leaving the door slightly ajar.

House listened to Cuddy's walls creak and sigh in the silence. He hadn't wanted this; was sure he wasn't up to the task. Wasn't sure he'd manage to suppress the demons and ghosts of his own past to go through with it. But this…

He hadn't wanted to feel; hadn't wanted to form another attachment, especially not to some "it" that was more an idea than a person. Hell, he hadn't even wanted to fall in love…again. Hated himself for having done it; remembered the sharp knife of betrayal and the ice-cold glare of apathy that went hand-in-hand with it. He shivered at the memory of her leaving; of her ambivalence after he had managed to win her again. Cuddy's face replaced Stacy's in a surreal-pathetic vision of Days of Future Past. Love was for suckers; for fools. And it was always conditional. You could never know the conditions, but you sure could anticipate them. Better that than…

House shook off the darkness that threatened to swallow him. He considered his own parents, his assumptions, and what he now knew; what his mind had only begun to process. His father's love for him wasn't conditional. It was non-existent; a sort of tolerance that hinged on a conformity that was beyond House's capability…or even his desire.

To Wilson, he was a project; the object of Wilson's neediness. And, House supposed, he did need someone to give a fuck about him. Symbiosis is a beautiful thing, he mused. Had Stacy ever loved him? Her love was certainly conditional, if at all. Conditional on an overt returning of affection and caring. Which was fine while he was whole, but not so much after she had destroyed the essence of who he was and would never again be. He had loved Stacy unconditionally; still loved her. Too bad for her that she couldn't see beyond what he had become; what she had made him into. Wouldn't stay and revel in the icicle glares that had replaced the warmth in his eyes. Wouldn't remain to feel the coldness of his shoulder as he refused her touch.

And then there was Cuddy. He was pretty sure that she loved him, maybe even unconditionally. She had stuck with him, rescued him—even as she had her own hand in destroying him all those years ago. Guilt…or unconditional love…or some perverse combination thereof? He loved her. He was pretty sure of that too. Despite Herculean efforts to the contrary; protestations and declarations too loudly proclaimed, to a point where he, himself, no longer believed them.

House rose from the sofa, looking at his watch. An hour had passed since Cuddy had gone into the bedroom. She would have expected him to follow; and been disappointed in him when he had not. Stand in line, Cuddy. Plenty of disappointment in Dr. Gregory House to fill Princeton Stadium, he mused darkly.

He opened the door to her room, expecting her to have fallen asleep long ago. Her wide-open eyes followed him warily, coolly, as he approached the bed. "I thought you had gone." Her voice was rough, subdued and drowned in tears.

House didn't answer, and instead got into the bed behind her as she lay dutifully on her left side. House gathered her against his chest from behind, simply being; holding onto her, his arms encircling, enfolding.

"They started about 10 minutes ago." She felt House cock his head, confused momentarily. But then he understood. He held onto her ever tighter, knowing that this was only the beginning of the end. House kissed the top of Cuddy's head as he stroked her abdomen, doing his best to ease the tightness and cramping that was now but gentle foreboding of the storm to come. The gesture, simple, expected, even, broke the dam to her emotions as Cuddy's body shook, wracked by sobbing; by loss and grief.

House gave her space, resisting the urge to damn the doctor's orders and turn her onto her right side, to face him, to have her tears fall on his chest and not on the pillow. There was nothing to say. There was only waiting: a death watch; a vigil for an unborn fetus—an "it." There was nothing to be done. Only to be. Only to hold on. Only to wait.

House's instincts had told him, months before, to run away: from her. And weeks before: from this. She had held him in her arms that terrible night so long ago: no conditions, no expectations. She had rescued him from the depths; from dying; from despair. Allowed him his space, as he had wept in her embrace.

Time marched on in silent vigil as he held her silently; her sobs long since ended. It could have been 20 minutes or 10 hours—he was no longer sure of anything but the presence of Cuddy 's back tucked against his body, and the growing pain in his right leg. Cuddy's body was still except for the inevitable spasms that came more frequently and with greater regularity. She moved suddenly, leaping from the bed, disturbing the warm sadness that had enveloped them both. House watched as she ran into the bathroom, sitting up as he rubbed ruthlessly at the agony in his right leg, waiting, knowing.

She had been prepared; they both had been, as much as you can be, and better than most: sometimes too much information wasn't necessarily a bad thing. The bathroom door opened slowly and Cuddy stood in the frame, a silhouette. "I need a plastic container and a ladle." Her voice was controlled and measured: a doctor giving an order. House looked around for his cane; he knew that walking without it would be more than a problem, especially since he was long overdue for his meds. He nodded, sucking in a breath, determined to do this with a minimum of fuss—or attention on himself. He slowly rose from the bed, holding onto the post, and then the armoire and walls as he maneuvered his way from the room silently. He saw his pill bottle and cane near the sofa, grabbing both as he crossed to the kitchen to look for the needed implements.

And what would he say to her when he got back to the bedroom? And the next day? And a month from now? He hated platitudes because they meant nothing and required no effort, no thought, to say. "Oh well, too bad Cuddy, we'll try again?" Not likely. This wasn't something they'd planned in the first place. And while it had grown on him, at least to the point of acceptance, parenthood was not something House actively sought, or even desired. He wasn't quite sure what Cuddy wanted, but after two miscarriages… But that was a conversation for another day.

House found Cuddy standing in the bathroom, blood everywhere, staring into the bowl. He was feeling physically more steady as the Vicodin began to slowly kick in and his muscles unstiffened. He touched her back lightly. "Go lie down. You shouldn't be on your feet. I'll…" he gestured toward the toilet and then the room itself. "Go." An order gently conveyed as House gazed into Cuddy's red, wet eyes.

Cuddy nodded slightly, turning back into the bedroom. House closed the door behind her, washing his hands over his eyes as he turned to the grim task at hand.