- disclaimer: see part one
- a/n: see end for comments

I Know You Are But What Am I?
Guilty

'You just had to bring him back here, didn't you?' she huffs, not so much angry but shaken.

'I couldn't just leave him there. Lisa.'

She sighs and collapses into her chair. 'I know.'

Stacy sits across from her and reaches a hand across the desk. 'It's going to be okay,' she murmurs, and Cuddy laughs bitterly.

'Yeah, I'm sure it'll turn out just swell.'

'This wasn't your fault, Lisa. No matter what Greg said—'

'He didn't have to say it,' she whispers. 'He's right, he's—'

'Lisa, there's no way you could have known what was going to happen—'

'Of course I did, Stacy. He's married, for Christ's sake, what other outcome could there have been?'

'You didn't know he was going to hole himself up in a bar for three hours and then try to drive home.'

'He wasn't driving home, Stacy, he—' She stops and bites her lips.

'Lisa?'

'He was coming to see me.'

Stacy sighs and leans forward on her elbows, making eye contact. 'That still does not make this your fault.'

Cuddy shakes her head. 'If we hadn't been—'

'He still would have gotten divorced, Lisa. It's James, come on.' She attempts a smile. 'It was only a matter of time, whether you were there or not. At least now he has someone to take care of him.'

'Yeah, I've been doing a great job of that.'

'Lisa…' Stacy sighs, nearly exasperated. 'Stop, okay? Do you think James would want you beating yourself up like this?'

'He's not really in any position to stop me though, is he?' she snaps, but when the words reach her ears presses her knuckles to her lips and seals her eyes shut.

'Are you finished?' Stacy asks gently with a soft smile.

Cuddy nods and draws a shaky breath through her teeth. 'Yeah.'

xxx

'How long have they been together?' she asks quietly, coming up behind him.

House looks over at her, momentarily tearing his eyes away from the room, away from the bed and her sullen figure that hovers over it.

'Thinking of joining the party?'

Cameron looks at him blankly and leans on the reception desk. 'Just curious.' She pauses, then adds, 'I heard Wilson's getting a divorce.'

'News travels quick.'

'Too quick,' she concedes. Her lips turn up slightly. 'They look good together.'

House masks his surprise easily. 'I thought you'd be the last person to agree with breaking the sacred pact of marriage.' He says the words with a little too much disgust.

She shrugs and tilts her head slightly. 'I think circumstance factors into it. I also think the first one isn't necessarily the only one, or the right one for that matter.'

'That go for your first husband as well?' he asks with a raised eyebrow.

'I loved my husband,' she says, then glares at him pointedly, 'and I won't have him cheapened. Not even by you, Dr. House.'

xxx

People say it's because he's one of her doctors, because they're colleagues, or maybe even friends. They say it's because she's dedicated to her job and her employees, and that's why she checks in on him as often as she does.

Then they shake their heads and laugh softly, and wonder why they bother lying to themselves.

House watches her for as long as he can take it, then slips silently into the room and leans against the doorframe.

'The symposium.' She doesn't look up, doesn't smile, doesn't say a word. 'Last year. The faculty symposium. That's when it started.'

She swallows and tries to move her tongue. 'Yeah.'

'That's a long time.'

'Yeah.'

He steps in farther, standing at the foot of the bed and staring and Wilson's chest. 'He and Julie were already on the outs. It hit a playing field about Christmas… guess it's gone a bit downhill since then, huh?'

'Yeah.'

'Feeling monosyllabic?'

'What do you want, House?' she whispers, and he knows she fears the answer.

He tilts his head slightly. 'You ask me that a lot.'

'You never give me a straight answer.'

He shrugs and sits down in a chair in the corner. 'I want a lot of things. Not a lot of them are things you can give me.'

'No, I guess not.' She still doesn't look at him, and he watches her fingers rub against each other to keep from brushing the hair out of his eyes. He's about to tell her to do it when she speaks again. 'Is there anything?'

He thinks for a moment, then nods slowly. 'You make him happy. Happier, anyway.'

She almost laughs, but it isn't humourous, just tired, and broken. 'I don't know about that.' She pulls herself from the bed and starts for the door.

'Cuddy.'

She looks back, finally focusing her gaze on him. He looks worn and disheveled and completely drained.

'He called me.'

She covers her surprise well, he thinks. 'What?'

He swallows the bitter taste in his throat, and stares at the edge of the bed. 'From the bar. He called me and asked me to come down for a drink. I said no.' He fingers the head of his cane.

'Then you knew he was drunk.' He's amazed she's able to keep the accusation out of her voice.

'Yeah.'

'So why did you…'

'Verbal punching bag.' He tries to smirk but can't. 'That, and you seem to have a fondness for the whole 'guilt trip' thing.'

'Fondness?'

He concedes with a tip of his head. 'Obsession with.'

She raises and eyebrow and folds her arms. 'Maybe if I didn't have a constant reminder…'

'Cuddy.'

'I'm not talking about your leg,' she says sharply and he nods.

'There's nothing you can do about that. My sunny disposition is what it is.'

'I know,' she murmurs, and her eyes fall on Wilson's face, colourless and still.

'Well, actually,' he starts, 'you know that white sweater you have with the plunging neckline?'

They share a look, and a silent laugh that would feel wrong if voiced. They both know he'll never say I'm Sorry, and he's grateful for her ability to burn bridges and bury the past. He's never been good at either, but now, for her sake, he wishes he were.

Her movements are slow and fluid, as she crosses back to stand just a few feet from the part of the bed where Wilson's hand rests. He watches her carefully, because it's easier than watching him, and notes that he's never seen her quite so small, quite so helpless, and he supposes that he's probably a mirror image at the moment.

'I never figured you as the 'other woman' type,' he murmurs finally, the question buried just under the surface.

'When you grow up in a house where every dinner is like an episode of Jerry Springer, you tend to lose your respect for the bonds of holy matrimony pretty young,' she answers and he blinks, almost startled by the notion that Cuddy had anything less than a happy childhood.

And then he waits, because he's known her long enough to know when she'll really speak, when it's her voice and her soul that spills through her lips, rather than her solid façade.

'What's going to happen if…' But she can't complete the thought and he pretends he didn't hear it.

She shakes her head and bites her bottom lip, a habit she's had since college.

'I should go,' she murmurs, but he grabs her wrist lightly, with just enough force to make her stay. She stares down at him, wondering whether her instincts for self-preservation are stronger than her empathy.

Apparently not, she decides, when her shoulders relax and she stays in place, even though his hand has dropped away. His eyes hold her there, immobile, as they always have.

'You are infuriating,' she murmurs, an almost-smile threatening her cheeks.

'I do my best.'

The monitors beep, breaking the heavy silence and making the light pulse behind his eyes in sync with the crest of the thin green line. He loves that line and hates it, for everything it took away from him, and everything it's giving him now.

'House.' The word is soft, and crackly and barely audible and before he can try for another syllable there's a light in his eyes, questions lowly bombarding his ears. He answers as best he can but his head is pounding and everything's hazy and hot and his whole body aches.

And then there's something cool and soft and comforting on his face and he tries to turn toward it but his neck ripples in pain.

'Shh,' is what he thinks she says and rubs her knuckles over his face. He wants to say I'm Sorry, but his mouth is dry and his throat sore and within moments he's warm and quiet and numb.

When he wakes up again, the same thing happens but this time it's House hovering over him, smirk firmly in place. When he's satisfied with his responses he drops into a chair at the end of the bed and glares.

'You're an idiot,' he says, and Wilson lowers his eyes. There's a pause, and House stares out the door to the dull bustle of the hospital. 'The minute you can walk, she's gonna kick your ass,' he warns, returning his attention to the bed. 'And by 'kick your ass', I mean withhold sex for as long as humanly possible.'

Wilson makes an attempt at a nod, but fails miserably. House is silent a long moment, tapping his cane on the floor in sync with the beeping monitors.

'James?' He says, and Wilson knows he's supposed to respond.

'Yeah?'

The lights are off and with the door closed the room is silent, and House is nothing more than a tired silhouette in the corner.

'You aren't me.'

His voice is shallow and barely audible. 'I know.'

Moment over, House leans back in the chair and offers a crooked smile. 'You can't hold your liquor to save your life.'

Wilson mimics his expression and closes his eyes, drifting quickly back into unconsciousness.

'Yeah, tell me about it.'

xxx

It's incredible, she thinks, how the world looks infinitely better when it isn't draped in black. The sun hangs mid-sky and wobbles, throwing graceful shadows on the ground that neither look haunting or intimidating in the day.

She inhales deeply, eyes closed, thankful for the fresh air and warmth on her face that's slowly melting away the last twelve hours.

The door behind her opens and closes, and footsteps echo across the roof towards her.

'Hey,' he says, and draws the collar of his coat up around his neck.

'Hey,' she smiles back, and he returns the gesture.

'You okay?' he ventures and she gives him a look out of the corner of her eye.

'I'm fine,' she insists, but she's more amused and warmed by his concern than annoyed.

'I figured as much. Just thought I'd check.'

'Uh-huh,' she replies, unconvinced.

There's a silence—calm, congenial, before he asks casually, 'You think things'll go back to the way they were?' He leans over the edge and peers down at the small bodies below.

'I think it'll be fine, eventually.'

'Yeah.' He pauses, then chuckles softly, almost in disbelief. 'How did we miss that?'

'Miss what?'

'Wilson and Dr. Cuddy. It's just so… obvious.'

Cameron mimics his posture. 'It's obvious now that we know about it.'

Chase scoffs and gives her a meaningless glare, the corners of his eyes tinted with a smile.

'I think she handled it pretty well,' he says after a moment, reluctant to let the conversation die.

'I think she handled it the only way she knew how,' Cameron replies, observantly and without malice of any kind.

'Probably so,' he nods, but isn't entirely sure he knows what she means. And Cameron knows he doesn't, and can't help the small smile that creeps onto her face.

'Dr. Cuddy'll probably have him on a leash from now on, though.'

'House or Wilson?'

'Both,' she shrugs. 'Although I heard she's let House out of clinic duty for the week.'

'Lucky bastard.'

'No, not really.'

He sighs and nods, and pretends not to be disappointed. He can feel her eyes on him but doesn't turn until he's sure they've been removed.

'Come on,' he says, pushing off the wall. 'While House may be exempt, I highly doubt Dr. Cuddy will take too kindly to us skipping out on our duties.'

'Probably not,' she agrees, and follows him across the roof to the door.

There's a pause, a smirk on his face when he starts casually, 'So, do you still think House and Wilson are—'

'Shut up, Chase.'

He laughs, holding the door open for her as he grins, 'Whatever you say, Allison.'

/end

Notes: Little Lunar Wolf – I just adore Stacy, and I agree that she's one of the few people who truly knows and understands and loves House. I'm so glad she came out likeable. Too much Stacy-hate in his fandom. SilverMoonShining – update hath arrived. Hope you enjoy. Paige fan – I don't know; I think House has the capacity to apologize (we've seen him apologize to Cuddy), but I think the words are as far as he would take it. He's not going to ever show her that he's sorry. But it's a matter of opinion, I suppose, and it just makes my live to know people think the story is (relatively) in character. Re: title – check out the song. It's just eerily fabulous. :) Andy Osnard - glad you're liking! And huzzah for angst!

Thank you to the infinity to everyone who left a comment – critical, friendly or anything in between. Just to know people are reading it is enough!