For antiqueskies who asked for cowardice.

. . .

"You're a coward," she tells him. It's late and she's had too much to drink; the alcohol has loosened her tongue and, while it's refreshing to see her without her usual veneer of control, it's unsettling. This isn't the Cuddy he knows.

"You hide behind your pills and your crutch and your mind," she continues, slurring just a little. "You're afraid people might see that you're actually human."

She passes out before he can respond.

He won't admit that she's right, but before he leaves her office he gently brushes her hair out of her face.

She's a coward, too.