Title: Mixed Emotions

Pairing: House/Cuddy

Summary: House hears some shocking news, and consequently, struggles to deal with it.

Disclaimer: I don't own House MD or the characters.

Spoilers: From the episode One day, One room especially, but also stuff taken from Season 1, 2 and 3. I have seen Season 4, but pretend that it doesn't exist for the purpose of this fic, mainly because I'm not overly keen on the changes made and I think the fic will work better if the newbies aren't involved.

Rating: M

A/N: Feedback is appreciated, including constructive criticism.

House was irritable.

That in itself wasn't a strange occurrence, House was always irritable. What was different about this particular time was that his irritability was not because of clinic duty, patients, any of his work colleagues, or for that matter, anything in relation to the hospital.

It was his father.

At just before three o'clock that morning, House had answered the phone expecting Cuddy to be on the other end of it, informing him that he had a new patient and to get his ass out of bed and to the hospital. Instead, it had been his mother, tearfully informing him that his father had died after a sudden heart attack, and what was she going to do? House had been unable to offer her any words of comfort, not knowing what to say for the best. His mother needed him to tell her all was going to be ok, that he was there for her. Moreover, that he was sorry he hadn't been able to say goodbye to the father he loved. However, he couldn't do that, because truthfully?

He was fucking happy.

House being House, he had been unable to tell his mother why he couldn't care less, even now that his father was gone. He had remained silent, his sarcastic tongue on hold due to the fact that even though he was an evil bastard, he couldn't make his mother's pain worse. The woman who had given birth to him, raised him, the one person with unconditional love for him no matter what he did, did not deserve that. Nevertheless, when she'd asked him to come and stay, help her with the funeral arrangements, he had said no. That was the one thing he couldn't bring himself to do, and so he hung up, feeling guilty, but not guilty enough to change his mind.

Knowing there was no way he'd get any more sleep, he popped a few Vicodin and seated himself at his piano. He remained there for a couple of hours, playing song after song, refusing to think about the news he had just learnt. As much as he mocked people for relying on denial, right now it was the only way he could cling onto his sanity. Come six o'clock the birds had begun to chirp, and House hauled himself up, resting on the bed, his portable television resting on his stomach in front of him. It was there he remained until seven thirty, when boredom kicked in and he decided to go to work. As well as his usual activities (television and gameboy) he considered scouting the hospital for a potential patient, a puzzle to take his mind away from reality, if only for a few short days until he solved the case. Otherwise, even clinic duty wasn't a bad idea. At least if he was trying to diagnose an illness or treat patients then he would feel curious, feel intrigued by something, or merely just use his brain which ultimately was much better off than what he felt inside right now.

Nothing.

He felt nothing.

House's irritability became apparent the moment he walked through the doors of Princeton Plainsborough Teaching Hospital. A man wearing a suit rushed towards the exit, and not looking where he was going, had smacked straight into House. Feeling a jolt of pain run through his leg, House spat, "Idiot!" at the man responsible, and continued on his way, making sure to press his cane down upon the man's foot as he moved forward.

Behind him, the man turned, and in retaliation snapped, "Cripple!"

Normally, House would have replied with a sarcastic comment, shot down the man with his tongue. However, the mood he was in today wouldn't allow for as mild an action as this, and so facing the man once again, House slammed his cane into the man's shins, saying sarcastically, "Oh I'm so sorry; I slipped." Poor excuse, poor sarcasm, fantastic hit.

"You… bastard…" The man hissed through his teeth, bending over and clutching his legs.

"House!" From behind him came the voice of Lisa Cuddy, who had evidently witnessed the exchange between the two men, and was coming over to attempt damage control.

Ignoring her, House said to the man in a joyous voice, "Hey, if you're lucky, you'll be a cripple too!"

Cuddy came to stand next to House, saying in a dangerously low voice, "What the hell is going on, House?"

"My cane is just getting acquainted with this gentlemen's legs," House informed her lightly.

Cuddy's eyes narrowed, and just as she opened her mouth to tell him to apologise, the man gave an exaggerated groan and yelled, "What is your problem?!"

"Right now?" House pretended to think. "You."

"God, my legs…" The man was still moaning.

"Hey, you think that's bad?" House raised his voice. "Try losing half your thigh muscle. Now that is pain." Unreasonable anger had suddenly come over him, and he was much more than just irritated. Pulling his Vicodin out of his pocket, he shook one out into his hand, and threw it at the man. "Take that and stop acting like an overgrown baby." Turning, House began hobbling in the direction of the lifts, wanting to get to his office where he could have some peace and quiet before his team arrived.

"House!" He heard Cuddy begin to follow him, and cursed inwardly when she followed him into the lift. "What's wrong?"

"Right now? This annoying buzz in my ear, that keeps going on and on… oh wait, it's your voice!" He exclaimed, unable to stop himself.

Used to House's insults, Cuddy didn't bat an eyelid. Instead, she asked, "Is your leg ok?"

"Aside from the missing chunk of muscle I was just talking about, it's swell," he snapped.

Cuddy paused, knowing that the next question would probably be answer with a lie, but was still worth asking just in case. Biting her lip, Cuddy asked, "Are you ok?"

"On top of the world," House told her sarcastically, relieved when the lift stopped on his floor. Leaving rapidly, the click of heels behind him told him that Cuddy hadn't given up.

"What is it, House?" She asked, concern now evident in her voice.

Attempting to slam his office door in Cuddy's face didn't deter her, and so House resigned himself to the fact that this conversation was going to happen whether he liked it or not.

Cuddy started to speak, "Look, I'm not stupid…."

House interrupted her saying, "Really? Most women with a chest like that are… you must just be a special individual!"

"Why are you being like this?" Cuddy frowned.

"Like what?" House swallowed a Vicodin.

"A bigger jerk than you usually are," Cuddy stated.

"It's my time of the month," House said solemnly.

Ignoring this, Cuddy thought aloud. "You weren't like this yesterday, so whatever has happened, happened at some point yesterday evening, night, or this morning. You came into work early, so obviously you're trying not to think about it. Oh and your behaviour with that poor man back there shows you're angry about it."

House sighed. "Quit trying to be me, Cuddy. You don't have the brains."

"Maybe not," Cuddy conceded. "But that doesn't mean I'm going to forget about this." Maintaining eye contact with House until she left the room, Cuddy was intrigued by his behaviour. Something inside told her it wasn't his leg that was the problem, and if it wasn't his leg then…

What the hell was it?