Disclaimer: I unfortunately own nothing beyond my deranged mind and my exquisite taste. House MD belongs to David Shore and FOX.

This FIC is dedicated to B, my wonderful friend and beta. Without your precious boosting and native-speaker help, this would have never been published. Thank you, sunshine, for everything.

Andie.

A/N: As a big fan of music, I have my iPod as a primary source of inspiration. This story - as the others I've written and co-written - is musically influenced. Therefore, believing that a song can help the readers to better understand the author's intention while writing the story and consequently appreciate it even more, I've decided to name every chapter after the tune that moved me into creating Jerkiness, so you guys can have a soundtrack suggestion. :D

Jerkiness

Chapter One - Behind Blue Eyes*

Cuddy's vision was red with fury. Her brow furrowed in annoyance as she entered PPTH's lobby trying to get rid of the snowflakes that tinted her black leather coat in white. Stupid, stupid snowstorm! It was not enough that the piles of paperwork over her desk were numerous and high enough to match a Parthenon replica, no. Of course not…

She still had to be dragged out of her warm and dry office in the middle of the most cold and snowy day of the year, and have almost two hours wasted visiting apartments she would never consider setting her Prada-heeled feet in, let alone inhabiting. What the hell was Lucas thinking? That she would raise her kid in a place like that? Had he actually considered moving to that neighborhood, anyway? What does that say about him?

Ok, maybe she was overreacting. Just a little. The place was not exactly repulsive; it was surely good enough for someone… Someone that was not her. Or her new family. No. They belonged together in that loft, that perfect and charming real estate downtown that Wilson had been cunningly convinced to steal from her. Convinced by him, naturally.

The thought of House perverting Wilson's mind into scamming to ruin her plans of moving in with Lucas caused the already scarlet scenario before her eyes to deepen to the darkest shade of crimson. She almost began to regret her last avenging act - moving his over privileged parking space to the farthest end of the parking lot right in the middle of winter – while trying not to slip on a thick layer of ice that covered the hospital's sidewalk moments earlier. Yes, she was an idiot this way.

The hope that House had broken his two-hundred-dollar cane and fallen flat on his ass while trying to get to work was somehow comforting for Cuddy as she unlocked and waltzed in her office, shrugging off her coat and placing it on the hanger along with her scarf, gloves and earmuffs. It was not until she turned on the lights and closed the door that she noticed his unwelcome presence sprawled on her couch like he owned the whole place, as usual. The crimson was now in flames as anger built in the pit of her stomach burning all the way to her cheeks. She. Wanted. Blood!

"It's addictive, isn't it?" House started, venomous sarcasm dripping in his tone. "Jerkiness…"

Cuddy inhaled a lungful of air trying to calm herself down. Her hands balled into fists as she worked hard to control the rage that spread through her limbs as her blood boiled. Her lids instinctively dropped and she counted mentally to ten – a standard anger control procedure - managing to open her eyes again to face him. That was when she noticed…

"I mean, the jerkiness act per se is not really relevant… It can be a simple snarky comment, or a widely spread rumor, even an elaborate prank. Me, I've always been a fan of the complex scamming, you know… Too high of an IQ, things are never challenging enough, so I get bored easily," House blabbed nonchalantly in an apparently reflexive but casual tone. Although his voice did not give away any of his feelings, his eyes were the mirror of his soul. There was no way of hiding the misery coated in ice blue.

As Cuddy tried to make sense of his words, her chest clutched in angst as her eyes took in his broken figure. His lower lip was slashed and swollen, as if it had been smashed in by a punch or accidentally bitten. "The thing is there's really nothing like the shocked expression on an idiot's face after finding out he or she has just been jerked around… The mix of surprise, shame and outrage are absolutely fascinating. Boy, I wish you had set up some cameras at your sister's place last Thanksgiving. You would've gotten such a kick out of that." House went on making his point, ignoring Cuddy's flabbergasted expression as she scrutinized the brace that immobilized his injured left arm.

"House, what hap---" Cuddy meant to ask concernedly only to be cut off midsentence by House who was clearly not done with his convoluted speech.

"However, as an older member of the club you seem so eager to join, I must warn you that genuine jerkiness demands a lot of creativity. Not that I'm not impressed by your performance so far, I truly am… Ok, turning the closest person I had to a friend other than Wilson into your dirty little secret and blabbing to him shameful details of my personal life may have been a little bit cliché, and although it worked very effectively, the parking space change was not exactly original, but hey! The Thanksgiving thing was just genius!"

That was it. He had fallen flat on the floor just like she had secretly wished and evilly planned. Now he was hurt, his left arm was broken, an unnecessary addition to the already fierce pain he was obligated to endure, the fruit of her vainness marking his handsome face and adding more fragility to his handicapped figure. Tears started rolling freely down Cuddy's cheeks as his words began to sink in. He was right, she had wanted that, she had been craving for retaliation with every fiber of her being until moments before. Why did it feel like her chest was being ripped apart then?

House went on, unaffectedly, completely oblivious to Cuddy's agony. Or maybe very much aware of it… "Human beings are creatures of habit; the cool expressions of shock don't take long to turn into boring disappointed ones once they figure out what to expect from you. That's when it becomes difficult to surprise them; they raise their guards and become suspicious of every one of your acts, even the innocent ones…"

Brokenly, Cuddy watched the pain – both physical and emotional – become more evident on House's face as he grabbed his cane and stood to his feet with difficulty. His leg had probably also been hurt in the fall, right when he could no longer count on Vicodin to ease the soreness that would consume his 1.90m body for days, keeping him from sleeping…

"After a while, you start to question your own intentions. What if everyone is right? What if jerkiness becomes the only truth about you? There's really no use in such speculation. Then you realize you won't be able to convince anyone of the contrary anyway, because you will have already received public recognition. Vox populi, vox Dei, right?" House proceeded in a sad whispering, clearly addressing himself rather than Cuddy.

Grimacing as the stabbing pain shot mercilessly through his mutilated muscle, House limped slowly to the door. Cuddy motioned to stop him but her legs would not move; desolation kept her frozen in place. There was nothing she could do or say to make it better, not when she hated herself too much to come up with an actual self-defense speech. She would just let him go; there was no point in exposing her heart when she did not know what was left inside of it. She only knew it hurt.

Cuddy's mind played an instant flashback of her moments with House since that fatidic afternoon when she fired him after his balcony indiscretion, trying to find out the exact moment it had all started, the moment that vindictive stranger had taken the place of the two-decade woman in love she used to be. What had been made of her unconditional love for House? What had been responsible for turning it into a weapon apparently designed to cause him so much harm?

The guilt she had skillfully shoved to the back of her mind when Wilson and House left PPTH to gather his stuff and depart for Mayfield was back in full force. If only he had let her know what was going on instead of saying those horrible things about Rachel. If only he had actually asked her for help… She could not have known, right? There was no way she could have guessed what was going on inside his Vicodin-loaded and sleep-deprived mind that evening… How could she have missed the despair in his eyes? She should have stopped and listened to him. Why didn't she? She would have helped, oh God, she would have been there for him every step of the way. She would have held his hand through the moments of agony; she would have made love to him to take the pain away, slept in his arms so he did not feel cold, or lonely…

The memories reopened her still unhealed wounds which seemed to hurt even more after all this time. Maybe they had been infected due to her negligence of recognizing their existence and treating them properly. Was the damage caused reversible? Her head and heart worked frantically when his hoarse voice brought her back from her reverie. He was still standing in front of the door, hand clenching the doorknob, eyes facing the floor "You can do it if you want, Lisa. You've never found any obstacle big enough to stop you. You can go on with this and lose track of who you are if it helps you to deal with your pain." While opening the door, House completed, "I just wanted to make sure you knew that once you're there, it's awfully hard to go back."

And with that he walked out, closing the door behind him and leaving Cuddy to breakdown in the solitude of her sanctuary, because that was beasts do. They bleed alone.

*song by "Limp Bizkit" (or "The Who", if you like the original version better...)

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