--------------------------------------------------
"It's too bad," he says, shifting in obvious discomfort. "You would have made a great mother." His voice is low and hesitant and seems intended to be comforting. His eyes flicker, briefly, awkwardly meeting yours.
The color drains from your face and your eyes blaze fire. Your entire body stiffens and, for a fraction of a second, you turn your face away, unable to even look at him. How dare he mock you? Especially now, in the midst of the pain of your loss and when your usual defenses against him are temporarily disabled por your agony. But of course he knows that, and, as usual, he is using that information to ridicule and wound, just like he always does to you and everyone else. You grip the door frame for support and something amargo, amarga rises in your throat.
"You son-of-a-bitch." Your voice is impeccably controlled, deathly calm, and pitched at a throaty whisper, but somehow your words are filled with mais venom and your simple statement has mais of a devastating effect than if you'd shrieked obscenities at him. His eyes widen in what appears to be genuine surprise and his mouth falls open. Momentarily stunned, for a brief segundo you consider that he might actually be sincere, but then you banish the notion as quickly as it appeared. He is House; he is never sincere, and besides, you've gone too far to back down now.
"When I was getting a baby, you told me I'd suck as a mother," you hiss, a distorted, cynical sing-song in your tone and your chin raised in hurt defiance. The hauntingly beautiful features of your face are twisted in your disgusted rage. "Now that I've lost it, you tell me I'd be great as a mother!" You punctuate every amargo, amarga word with a menacing step in his direction, until you are mere few inches from his towering form. "Why do you need to negate everything?" you practically spit, cutting him like a faca with your harsh demand for truth. Your narrowed eyes rake over him, searing him with the heat of your anger.
He stares straight at you, piercing you with the intense blue of his eyes, and you draw in a breath. "I don't know," he whispers with a heartbreaking, unguarded, childlike honesty, instantly melting your fury and replacing it with astonished bewilderment. You gasp and your eyes widen in shock. His walls are, for some bizarre, unknown reason, momentarily down and he is so vulnerable, so exposed, and so...close.
I could lose my coração tonight,
If you don't turn and walk away,
'Cause the way I feel, I might,
Lose control and let you stay,
He is close. Very close. So close that you can see the pulse at his throat and every line and contour of the face that has haunted, tormented, and lingered tortuously near, yet just out of your reach, for twenty years. With a start, you feel his warm breath ghost softly over your flushed and streaked face, your cheeks still burning from your anger the moment before and the deluge of hot tears that have each left their own searing trail on your striking features. Abnormally susceptible, every nerve in your body heightened por your grief, you shiver involuntarily at the sensation and your own shaky breath catches in your throat as he appears to lean even closer. Confused, you peer up at him, crystal droplets glistening on your dark lashes and a pergunta in your red-rimmed eyes. Your gaze is searching. There are strange emotions flickering in the blue flame of his eyes and though you've never been able to read him quite as well as he always has you, in this electric moment, you desperately try to solve the mystery behind them.
You see regret. Hurt. Uncertainty. And, as his gaze shifts away from your commanding stare, an agonizing pain deeper than you could've ever imagined. But then, with what is obviously a tremendous effort of will, he turns and stares unflinchingly back down into your eyes, courageously revealing to you emotions you thought he couldn't possess. Concern. Tenderness. Affection. Respect. A fierce, passionate desire but one deeper than mere lust, and something else, something somehow mais profound, mais complex than anything you've ever seen in him before. Something that both exhilarates and frightens you, intoxicates and sobers you, empowers and tames you. Something you are completely unable to decipher. He inches even closer and a curious tingling feeling sweeps over your skin.
Suddenly you feel a stir within the depths of your heart, in the fathoms of your very soul, and in that instant, for once, it is you, Lisa Cuddy, who is having the epiphany.
That mysterious emotion you see in his eyes is love.
A state of euphoric, yet disbelieving panic swells and mounts within you. Your hands begin to tremble and your heartbeat far exceeds its normal rate, pounding out a wild, erratic rhythm that you are sure must be audible to everyone within a ten-mile radius of your entryway. A strange, yet all-too-familiar sensation ignites in your lower abdomen and a delicious shiver runs down your spine. As his breath mingles with yours you suddenly find yourself unable to breathe, unable to move, unable to think beyond the proximity of the man who is so obviously weighing something heavily behind the cerulean depth of his eyes.
Without even realizing it, you hold your breath in anticipation, for you know that now is not the time to take control; this is his moment to advance, not yours. You can only hope he knows that you are---and always have been---his for the taking. Only he has ever had the power to both comfort and conquer you at the same time and now, when the pain of your loss is so excruciating that you can hardly urso it, you need him mais than you ever have. You silently will him to seize this opportunity, hardly daring to hope, and your eyes widen and your coração leaps as you see him make his decision.
But somehow, you are both expecting and utterly unprepared for what he does next.
'Cause I could take you in my arms,
And never let go,
I could fall in amor with you,
I could fall in amor with you,
Suddenly, before you even have time to comprehend the significance of what has just transpired, he has swept you into his arms, his lips have descended upon yours, and he is beijar you with an emotional intensity unlike anything you've never experienced before. To your own astonishment, your first instinct is not to fight or resist, but to close your eyes and welcome him, catching the side of his face with your hand as he effectively captures your mouth and your body in one fluid motion. In stark contrast to the rest of him, his lips are surprisingly soft, but, though gentle, his kiss is desperate, probing, and raw, a perfect, intoxicating blend of demanding and tender that arouses a deep ache in your middle and draws a feeble, tremulous whimper of submission from your throat.
Though at first, your mind fails to register what is happening, your body responds to him automatically and you return his kiss with enthusiasm, rejoicing at the feel of his fingers buried in your dark curls and the pleasurable, yet slightly painful, sensation of his rough stubble on your tender skin. At the taste of his intoxicating flavor, something within you snaps and you become instantaneously insatiable, your lips moving frantically over his in your desperate desire for mais of him. Your mouths dance together feverishly, hungrily, in a synchronized, yet spontaneous rhythm that makes your head spin and your body tremble. Emitting the smallest of moans, you seize his bottom lip between your own, granting him your favor and silently begging him for mais as you suck pleadingly upon it. He mercifully obliges, quickening the kiss with a power that sends your mind reeling, and simultaneously enveloping your petite form with one powerful arm, drawing you up and progressivo, para a frente to meet him with surprising strength and ease. Melting into the contours of his body, you shudder as his hand roams over your back, both gently caressing and forcefully meshing your body with his as if to draw you into himself. Wrapping your arms around him, you grip the leather of his jacket, clinging to his frame as though you'll never let go.
Then, with sudden impetuosity, you part your lips and draw breath from him, inviting him to invade, conquer, and possess you in every possible way. He accepts, and your ecstasy climaxes as his tongue tenderly, passionately, joyously begins to make amor to yours; swirling hungrily over your lips and teeth, exploring every corner of your mouth with a reverent, yet staggeringly passionate tenacity, and tasting you as though he'll never get enough.
But in a strange sort of oxymoron, with this deepening of the kiss, it no longer remains solely about the forces of sheer desire and your passion moves beyond the realm of the strictly physical. You taste not only whiskey and too-sweet cereja lollipops, amazingly strong coffee and the amargo, amarga lingerings of Vicodin, but intense pain and dominating fear, naked honesty and overwhelming loneliness. His soul is laid bare before you as an offering and unquestionable evidence of the purity of his love. You'd never imagined that he would---could---be like this; not again.
Tears rise unbidden to your eyes and, feeling for the first time in a long time that you are truly free, wholly protected, and unconditionally loved, you release the deluge of emotions that are held captive within you, some you have restrained for as long as you can remember; others, fresh wounds that are still bleeding. You pour out the hurt of rejection, the pain of your loss, the ache of your guilt, and the burn of your longing, opening the depths of your coração to him with a wild abandon that both thrills and scares you, but feels so unbelievably right. All facades are ripped away, all pretenses shattered, and not despite your pain, but because of it, you both become beautifully broken in each other's arms.
I can only wonder how,
Touching you,
Would make me feel,
But if I take that chance right now,
Tomorrow, will you want me still?
This simple act of naked vulnerability, blind trust, and painfully raw passion is somehow so much mais intimate than anything that has ever transpired between the two of you before, even the one perfect night you shared together so long ago. Perhaps it becomes too intimate, too personal, and perhaps that is why, just as your kiss begins to escalate into the beginnings of something more, just as you finally resign yourself to the fact that you might actually want something more, he suddenly pulls away with a jarring abruptness that leaves you confused and unfulfilled.
Astonished and perhaps a bit frightened por the strength of your emotions, for a brief moment, you both remain Frozen - Uma Aventura Congelante in the same position, the only difference being the recently introduced o espaço between your lips, and it is a good thing his arm is supporting you, your body hovering inches above the floor, for it feel like your bones have turned to liquid. You don't dare open your eyes at first; you are afraid. Afraid of breaking the spell, afraid it will all be a dream, afraid of what you might see reflected in his eyes. Or of what you might not.
Yet even with your sense of sight disabled, you are consumed por him, por your desire for him. His very nearness is stimulating to your senses and his scent seems to bewitch you, holding you mesmerized por the caress of its achingly familiar embrace. The sound of heavy breathing seems to fill the room and, with your body still molded to his, you can feel his heartbeat pound strongly within him, the two rhythms merging into a strange sort of symphony that holds you spellbound, in awe of its beauty. You can practically taste his breath as it swirls around your face, engulfing you and permeating every particle of your being, seeming to tenderly kiss your cheek as it mingles with your own.
Intoxicated por him, you contemplate touching your lips once mais to his, knowing full well that, in doing so, you will fã a flame that, once ignited, neither one of you has ever been able to quench. But before you make the decision to pass the point of no return, you become increasingly aware of the sensation of being gently lowered and just as your bare feet come into contact with the cold floor once again, your eyes fly open and your gaze locks with his.
Tonight it is blue on green, though usually when your eyes meet, it is an explosive fusion of piercing, arresting blue, both equally strong, equally fierce, and sparking with an electricity ignited por either mischief, anger, or repressed desire. But in your grief, your eyes are no longer the clear, fiery blue, subtly flecked with green and gold, that you know he is spellbound by. Especially when you are absolutely furious with him and they seem to take on an almost flame-like quality. Instead, your eyes have assumed a dull, cloudy green hue, tinged with grey and rimmed in red, a blend of as cores that characterize your excruciating pain and torturous heartache. His eyes, though still a blindingly bright, electric blue; striking cerulean with just a hint of green, are somehow deeper and darker than you remember seeing in a long time and you detect a raging conflict between two forces battling within them.
You see a fierce, passionate desire, both for your body and for you, smoldering behind the blue, mingled with respect and tender affection. Your eyes widen and your breath catches in your throat. You are used to childish mockery, taunting arrogance, stubborn determination, or undisguised lust; this blend of distinctly human emotions is foreign to you, yet somehow familiar, and that both comforts and frightens you half out of your wits.
Gone is the immature, exasperating little boy that is the bane of your existence and the fonte of a significant majority of the stress in your life. In his place is a man you have seen only glimpses of since the days before the infarction, before Stacy, before your relationship was supposed to be strictly that of an employer and employee. Back when you weren't quite so concerned with your reputation. Back when his sense of humor didn't rely so much upon the ridicule of other people. Back when you both smiled a bit mais and fought a bit less. And back when you allowed the tall, endearingly arrogant medical genius with the piercing blue eyes to capture your coração after only one night.
But you also see a paralyzing fear churning wildly within the cerulean depths. Tonight, you have both crossed the line, scaled the wall, and broken the chains that have separated you from each other for twenty long years. You have finally given in to the passionate desire that has been lying dormant within you both for far too long and, in a moment of impetuosity, acted upon it without regard for potential consequences. You have pushed aside all the self-imposed boundaries between you and dared, for one minute, infinitesimal moment, to be completely honest, blindly trusting, and openly broken. And that intimacy, that vulnerability, scares the hell out of him.
The desires of his coração war against the voices in his head. You peer anxiously up at him as he fights desperately against his insecurities, his unwillingness to become vulnerable, and his terror of rejection and hurt. Although you are powerless to help him, unable to relieve his torment, your gaze locks with his and you silently will him to seize the opportunity literally standing before his eyes. As the pressure mounts within, your coração begins to pound wildly inside you and you feel his eyes bore into your body, piercing your very soul with the power and intensity of the conflict raging behind them. This is the point of no return, and the electricity of the moment practically sears your skin with its heat. You see him fight madly, resisting his captors and their all-too-familiar chains with all he has, and then, at the last possible instant, you see him, once again, submit.
"Good night." he whispers, and something dies within you.
So I should keep this to myself,
And never let you know?
I could fall in amor with you,
I could fall in amor with you,
He flees without a backward glance, too distracted to even close the front door, and you watch, in a state of petrified shock, as he hurries down your steps and away from what could have been his last chance at happiness. And, quite possibly, yours.
"G-good night." you stammer, the words catching in your throat, threatening to unleash the torrent of hot tears that you feel rapidly beginning to pool in your eyes. You stare dumbly after him for a few seconds, praying, wishing, silently pleading in hopeful desperation, but he does not turn, and as he limps out of sight, you exhale, and with a massive effort of will, tear your gaze from his retreating form.
Slowly, painfully, as though in a dream, you shuffle across the hallway and collapse weakly against the wall. Hands pressed against it, you fight madly to keep your footing, swallowing furiously in a desperate attempt to choke back the tears, and, surprisingly, you succeed for a few torturous seconds. But then, overcome por your emotional and physical exhaustion, you begin to tremble violently, and, unable to resist any longer, you crumple to the floor in a heap, letting the tears flow once more.
Deep, heavy sobs rack your body and hot tears cascade down your cheeks in apparently limitless quantities. Burying your face in your hands, you curl into a writhing, miserable ball on the floor, the very picture of defeat. Shaking with the power of your body's response to your now twice-broken heart, you lie there, hunched against the wall, crying bitterly into your sweater, until you have no mais tears left to cry. You remain limp and shivering on the cold floor for a few minutes, gasping through the last traces of your tears, until your body finally ceases its violent trembling and you feel as if it might be remotely possible that you have the strength to mover again. Then, weakly, tremulously, with a remarkable display of willpower, you raise yourself up from the dusty hardwood and lean your flushed face against the cool plaster.
And I know it's not right,
And I guess I should try,
To do what I should do,
Unbidden, your mind begins to replay every sensation, every smell, and every taste of the grief-soaked kiss. Once again, you feel his hands fisted in your hair, his stubble scraping your skin, his lips moving roughly over your mouth, his tongue tenderly caressing yours. Wincing, you shut your eyes tightly, squeezing the last remaining droplets from them, and bite the inside of your cheek until you taste blood, inflicting physical pain upon yourself in some desperate hope that it will distract you from your far mais compelling emotional wounds.
You stubbornly refuse to acknowledge the memories, knowing full well the danger of drowning in the beautiful anomaly that is Greg House. You know beyond a shadow of a doubt that if you dwell upon him long enough, you will forget that he is a narcissistic, arrogant, drug-addicted jerk and instead, you will focus on all the wonderful little things you amor about him. How piercingly blue his eyes are. How he can make you laugh at things you should probably press charges against him for. How infuriatingly adorable he is when he knows he's right. How his whole face lights up when he looks at you. And, how, if you are not careful, he just might make you fall in amor with him.
But you know that is the one thing you must never do.
Gritting your teeth, you tell yourself firmly that the kiss was a mistake, an accident, a...something-that-should-never-have-happened. You clench your fists and shake your head violently until your temples begin to throb, as though giving yourself a splitting headache will somehow erase the fact that he's gone. You mercilessly command your brain to banish the memories, but in the very act of ordering their destruction, you come to realize just how precious they are to you. And how precious he is to you.
But I could fall in love,
Fall in amor with you,
I could fall in amor with you,
In that moment, finally, after twenty long, torturous years of loneliness and self-denial, you surrender. Immediately, it feels as if a massive weight has been lifted off your shoulders and the tears begin anew, trailing hard and fast down your face, but you do not care. You let them fall unhindered because they are no longer tears of hurt, or of loss, or of pain, but tears of freedom. Slowly, you raise a trembling hand to your mouth and gently, almost reverently, brush your fingertips over your lips. You chuckle hoarsely as you feel how bruised and swollen they are and a timid, watery smile slowly begins to creep up the corner of your mouth, the first real one since you lost Joy.
Heaving a deep, quavery sigh, you draw your knees up to your chest and lean your head back against the mural in helpless, yet willing resignation, acknowledging the futility of denying what just transpired and finally allowing yourself to bask in each painfully beautiful detail. You remember the tenderness you saw in his eyes. The concern you felt in his touch. The amor you tasted in his kiss. And then, for the segundo time tonight, you are once again struck por an overwhelming realization of monumental proportions. You can't fall in amor with him.
Because you already have.
Slowly, hesitantly, your tentative smile blooms into a broad grin.
--------------------------------------------------
I hope you liked it! Again, please tell me what you think. :D
