Chapter 8: Forgiveness is Divine

House had dozed off after being brought back to his room. His team hadn't finished the last couple of scans, but that didn't really mean all that much to him. They had probably seen what they were seeing every single time.

Nothing.

It was frustrating not knowing what was happening to his body, but he had stopped obsessively running every disease he could think of through his head. It only made him tired and gave him a pounding headache. The headaches were occurring more and more often now and he didn't want to give them any reason to start. So, he simply stopped thinking.

It was strange, not thinking so much. Even when he was desperately depressed, he could think comfortably. Maybe his thoughts bordered on the morose, but at least he was still using his razor sharp mind to go through what he cared about enough to let hold his attention.

With all the free time he had not driving himself insane with thoughts of what he could possibly have, he found Lisa Cuddy's face drifting in. Now, as he lay on his too flat, too hard hospital bed, his dream self watched as dream Cuddy approached him.

They stood in front of one another and stared into one another's for a long time, before House spoke up.

"Oops, I did it again," he said, immediately appalled that not even his dream self could handle this situation with any tact. He winced slightly as she looked down at the ground.

"Yes, I know," she said quietly, ignoring the joke and getting straight to what he was trying to say. "And, even though I know why… I just can't figure out why. Does that make sense?"

House swallowed. "I don't want to hurt you."

"You already have."

"More than I have," he replied, frustrated. "You know why I do these things. I don't want you to get involved with me because… I don't know."

"You were upset about the whole professional/private lives conflict," she said calmly. "You want me. I know you do. And, I want you."

"What if I die?" he asked, his voice suddenly revealing the fear that had been eating away at him the moment he found himself in the hospital. "What happens then?"

"Then, you die. And, I'll mourn and be miserable for a while, but I'll get better. You know I'm strong. Don't pretend this is a question of strength."

House nodded carefully. "I don't know if I could stand it. Dying, I mean. And knowing that once we're finally totally honest about everything, I'm going to die and leave you here." He held up his hands as she started to reply. "I'm too selfish to die knowing that I'm leaving you behind suffering."

"I'll suffer worse if you don't," she replied. House shook his and laughed.

"God, you're talking Budda or something. Infinite wisdom and that crazy shit. You're starting to weird me out, Cuddy."

"That's because I'm not the real Cuddy," she said. "I'm your brain telling you to smarten up and get it together."

"What if I can't?"

"You have to try. If you do die, you can't leave things the way they are now."

House closed his eyes for a moment. "It's going to hurt."

"I know."

"I don't want to."

"I know. You need to, though."

"What is she going to say?"

"I think you already know that," dream Cuddy said and leaned forward to wrap her arms around him in a hug. "Do what you need to do. Please, Greg."

"I'll try."

"House?"

House opened his eyes slowly, then sighed with tired frustration. "Wilson, is that you?"

"Yeah."

"You're talking to me again?"

"I wasn't ever not talking to you." House heard him sit down in the seat that Chase usually occupied. "I had patients to look after this morning. You know that."

"I've been an idiot."

"You're figuring this out now?" Wilson asked incredulously. House shook his head.

"I really hurt her."

Wilson cleared his throat, but didn't say anything. House struggled into an upright position, glad that Wilson didn't help him. He had to be able to do something on his own.

"Did she come into work today?"

"She can still work, House. You're not that impossible to get over," Wilson reminded him. House felt his heart sink a little. "But, she is a mess, if that's what you're looking to hear."

"No… will you help me?"

Wilson laughed softly. "You're asking me for help? Wow. That's definitely a first."

"And, it'll be a last if you don't knock that smartass grin off your face."

"Not that you can see it, but, OK. What do you want me to do?"

"Can you bring her here? Or get me to her office? I need to talk to her."

"I can try."

House held his hand out, fingers folding inwards to make a fist. "Bros before hoes, Wilson?"

Wilson tapped his hand. "Maybe hoes this time?"

"Maybe," House acknowledged.

8

"It all adds up," Cameron said, leaning over the massive book she grabbed from House's office. "The blindness, the flu symptoms, the pain, everything."

Cuddy shook her head. "He's such an unlikely candidate for temporal arteritis, though."

"That's why it works. Nobody was expecting this or even considering it because he's too young and a man."

"Do you want to do the biopsy first or start on the drugs?"

Cameron considered this as Foreman and Chase joined them at the nurse's station. Foreman slid the book away from her and began to read the page she had opened it to. Chase stood behind him, reading over his shoulder.

"The drugs would start helping him now, but the biopsy would give us an immediate diagnosis."

"Immunosuppressants might make the biopsy more dangerous," Foreman said, nose still buried in the book. "I don't want to compromise his health anymore than it already is."

"He should start treatment immediately," Chase finally spoke up. "He's suffering."

Cuddy stared at the young doctor for a moment before looking away. "Start him on the immunosuppressants. His health is more important than an immediate diagnosis."

"What if Cameron isn't right?" Foreman asked. The other doctors exchanged nervous glances. "What if it is a virus or an infection and by suppressing his immune system, it just makes him an easier target?"

"We're going to need to pray that doesn't happen," Chase said calmly. Cameron looked at him in surprise. "There's not much else to do, is there?"

Cameron shook her head, then picked up House's chart where it had been sitting in front of her on the counter. She scribbled the prescription and signed off on it before handing it to a nearby nurse.

"Don't mention the change in medication," she instructed. The nurse looked at her in surprise.

"Dr. Cameron?"

"I don't want him to get his hopes up if it doesn't work," she explained.

The nurse nodded before walking down the hall and slipping quietly into House's hospital room.

Cuddy let out a long sigh. "I'll help her."

8

House was silent as the nurse came into the room. She checked his blood pressure, his pulse, and his blood oxygen level before making notes on his chart. He didn't say anything when she began to fiddle with the fluids which his IV was pumping into him. He just assumed that his saline drip was running low.

Then, the sound of heels clicked into the room. House stiffened instantly as Wilson climbed to his feet.

"Dr. Cuddy?" he asked, clearly confused as well as cautious. House knew he was already growing tired of playing referee. "Is there something I can help you with?"

"I don't think so, James," she said softly, no hint of anger or malice in her voice. House didn't let his guard down. "I need to talk to House privately. Besides, Dr. Cameron has something interesting she'd like to share with you."

House could tell that Wilson was struggling with some kind of internal battle as he stood beside his bed. Finally, he heard Wilson sigh.

"All right. I'll see what Dr. Cameron needs." He turned, leaned down, and rested a hand lightly on House's shoulder. "All right?"

"I'm fine, Jimmy. Get out of here."

"You're impossible," Wilson replied, a hint of laughter in his voice. "Just try not to kill each other. I don't want to have to call maintenance. They do enough without having to clean up that kind of mess."

"Thank you for that compassionate speech," House retorted. "I'll be sure to pass it on. Now, out!"

"I'm leaving!" Wilson called as he crossed the room and slipped out into the hallway. House waited to hear the click of the door sliding shut before clearing his throat and turning his head towards the end of his bed.

"Hey," he said quietly.

"Hey."

"So… I really screwed this up," he said grudgingly. He twisted his hands around the sheets, balling them up between his fingers and palms. "And, you know how much I hate admitting I'm wrong, so don't make me say it again."

Cuddy laughed gently. "At least you're admitting it. Why?"

"What do you mean, why?"

"Why are you admitting that you're wrong?"

House groaned. "Come on. Let's kiss and make up?" He puckered his lips dramatically and held out his arms.

"I need to hear it, House."

House dropped his hands back down into his lap and sighed. "Because I want you?"

"Because you want me?"

"Christ, Cuddy! What do you want from me?" he snapped. "It's not like I can drop onto my knees and offer you a dozen roses or something!"

"You'd do that if you could?"

House paused for a moment, assessing the potential danger in that question. Finding it to be fairly low, he nodded. "I think that I would."

"And, what else would you do?"

Cuddy's heels tapped on the floor as she approached him and sank down in the chair that Wilson had just left. House followed her trail with his head, eyes open despite their obvious uselessness.

"I might compose a song for a full scale symphony orchestra and choir, telling you what an asshole I've been." He could practically feel the smile on her face and continued. "I also might buy a Snickers from the vending machine on the third floor."

"What?" Cuddy asked, not bothering to hide her laughter anymore. "A Snickers bar?"

"Well, the slot that they put the Snickers in always drops two candy bars instead of just one. I'd let you keep one."

"That's very chivalrous of you."

"Damn straight it is!" House stopped. This was way too easy. "How come you came up here, anyways? I thought you'd hate me forever."

"I do hate you forever, but I think Cameron's found a way to fix you."

House reached out a hand quickly, hunting in the air for hers. When she captured his hand with her own and rested both back onto the mattress, he sighed with relief.

"And, you think it'll work, too."

"I've never hoped for anything else this badly," she admitted. She squeezed his hand. "I'm sorry I pushed you."

"No!" House snapped so forcefully that Cuddy pulled her hand away from his in surprise. He didn't try to pull her back. "Don't you dare start apologizing to me! I'm the one who's been an ass!"

"You really think you're dying, don't you?"

"What's that got to do with anything?"

"You only ever say things like that when you think you've reached the end of the line," she answered quietly. House nodded.

"Yeah, I know, but this time, that's not why I'm saying it. You can't say you're sorry because you didn't do anything wrong." He shook his head in frustration. "No, I guess you did, but I did, too. I should've realized that you didn't want to do anything here, but I where else was I going to go? I should've just shut up and-"

"Yes."

"What?" House felt a surge of confusion.

"You should just shut up," she answered.

Then, House felt hands cradling his face. Before he had the chance to say anything else or protest, warm lips were pressed up against his own. He could feel her stand by the way the weight of her lips shifted against his own. Instantly, he strained forward to pull her down closer. He broke the kiss, but didn't pull back from her face.

"I talk too much, don't I?"

"Yeah, you do. Now, shut up again so that we can get back to what we were doing."

House obliged happily.