cuddys_house | September 5, evening

Current Mood: awkward

September 5, evening

House's day at work the following day had actually been quite productive. His team followed the patient as House had requested, which led to the discovery of where the guy actually lived. Which then led to the even bigger and more dramatic discovery that his home was host to a hydroponic hemp factory, one of the largest uncovered in the state. No wonder the guy had wanted to keep his actual home a secret.

These discoveries led to instant arrests, House's patient included in those arrests. House wasn't bothered by this because the uncovering of this basement hemp factory led to a quick diagnosis of what the guy actually had: strong allergies to marijuana extracts in the plants, caused by intense and prolonged exposure. While allergies had been ruled out in the past, this particular allergy had not been considered, seeing the patient had been very careful not to let on that he was dealing in weed of any sort, either as a dealer or a user.

Needless to say, House was satisfied. The drug bust was large enough that it made it to local news broadcast, though House wasn't particularly interested in any potential media circus that could stir. He was just pleased that he'd reached a diagnosis, if not a little annoyed with himself for not having observed his patient close enough for answers as simple as the one it resulted in.

Come late afternoon, however, all of that stuff was far from his mind. This date with Cuddy... He wasn't sure what to expect. He wasn't even sure what he'd been thinking in asking Cuddy out for dinner. But he made reservations at a classy enough restaurant across town at work, then rode his bike home and showered. He spent a good ten minutes staring into his wardrobe at the small collection of clothes he had.

Jeans, pants, shorts he hadn't worn since 1996, more jeans, t-shirts, a suit. Stupidly, he'd told Cuddy to dress for the occasion. Which meant he had to do the same thing. After agonising over how much he hated dressing up, he finally plucked the suit from the wardrobe and dressed in it. A black suit with a light blue shirt and a dark blue silk tie he'd had for years and had no memory of where he'd obtained said tie from. He dressed, fought with the tie, gave up on the tie and put on his shoes, then fought with his tie some more until it looked reasonable. He then spent another ten minutes caught between feeling anxious about the date and fighting with himself over how stupid he looked in the suit.

Around 7pm, he finally left his apartment, climbed into his car and started on his way towards Cuddy's place. Halfway there, he had a sudden attack of being old fashioned and pulled into a gas station and stared at the bunches of flowers lined on a rack by the main entrance. A voice argued with him in his head that he was being stupid, that he was going to look like an idiot, just turn around and go home. Another voice kept reminding him of the argument Cuddy and he had had and how strangely important he felt it to be to make an effort with her, even if it was just for tonight.

The second voice eventually won over. He got out of the car and stood in front of the flowers, agonising for another few minutes before finally purchasing a small bunch of red roses. Hell, it had been so long since he'd actually dated that he couldn't remember if giving flowers to a woman on a first date – and this technically was a first date – was a smart move or not. He continued to agonise over it the entire rest of the way to Cuddy's place, running their argument over in his mind, while thinking about other facets of this new relationship with her, while hating the tie he had around his neck at the same time. It went without saying that upon reaching Cuddy's place he spent another few moments debating with himself what the hell he was doing.

He almost gave into the impulse to throw the flowers into the trash on his way up the drive to Cuddy's front door. Instead, he stood at her door and did yet more fidgeting and agonising, then knocked on the door before he could chicken out.

This was so stupid. He felt like a stupid, awkward teenage boy all over again, no idea how to compose himself, what to say, how to stand, how to even hold the flowers in his hand. Why the hell did he wear a suit? Why the hell did he give into his stupid old fashioned ideas about dating and get these stupid flowers? He didn't have much time to think any strategies over, however; he heard the latch turn and he stood there motionless, awkwardly clutching the flowers by his side as the door opened.

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Cuddy's afternoon ended up being a lot more hectic than she'd planned. Thanks to House's habit of spying on his patients, the drug bust was a big news in Princeton. It was little more than a drop in the ocean as far as she was concerned but as long as the 'war on drugs' was a political hot potato, the local politicians and law enforcement were going to make the most of any victory, however small. What upset her plans was the fact that a couple of local reporters were attempting to sniff out the connection between one of the accused and his recent stay at Princeton-Plainsboro. Cuddy politely but firmly deflected all questions by claiming patient confidentiality. It was a legitimate claim, but didn't it figure that House would upset her plans even when she hadn't even seen him all day.

By late afternoon, she'd turned the problem over to the hospital lawyer and publicist. Yet even while she was waiting for them to draft a press release, one of the female reporters simply wouldn't give up. She tried everything from bribes to threats before attempting to coax Cuddy to meet her at a local bar to talk, off the record and woman to woman. Cuddy, still polite but firm, told the woman she didn't swing that way and hung up.

She'd had enough. She closed up her office and headed home, much later than she'd wished. Maybe it was a good thing, though, that she hadn't had time to think much about the date. No time to think meant no time to obsess, no time for all her issues to slither around the back of her mind attempting to sabotage her confidence. She'd decided she wasn't going to let a negative attitude ruin this chance with House. She couldn't control her thoughts, her doubts and fears, but she could control how she reacted to them. She'd never let self-doubt interfere with her professional goals. It was time to stop allowing them to prevent her from reaching her personal goals.

It was a good thing she'd already decided what to wear because the unexpected delay at work meant she didn't have time to raid her closet. She didn't have time to do anything special with her hair either so she left it loose and curling around her face. She pulled on the dress she'd selected, a simple sheath of deep sapphire blue silk, and added some dangly silver and sapphire earrings. She took a moment to study herself in the mirror and decided she'd pass.

She almost jumped when the knock came at her front door. "Coming," she shouted as she grabbed her shoes. She hurried to the door, hopping from one foot to the other as she slipped her shoes on. She opened the door, slightly breathless, and a sudden wave of nervous anticipation swept through her as she saw House standing there in an actual suit and tie. He looked like he'd made an effort. He looked good.

"Hi," she said, pressing her hand to her abdomen to still the butterflies fluttering inside. Her eyes dropped to the roses in his hand. She lifted her eyes to his, eyebrows arched in mild surprise. "For me?"

House gazed at Cuddy when she opened the door, liking how she looked - but didn't have very long to appreciate what he saw when she drew attention to the flowers. He shuffled his feet and cleared his throat nervously, then attempted to steel himself with his usual sarcastic repertoire.

"No," he replied. "I was feeling hungry and stopped off to grab a snack." He held the flowers up in front of him and opened his mouth to make another sarcastic remark, but felt a sudden stab of nerves fluttering in his stomach. He swallowed back the nervous lump in the back of his throat along with the words he'd intended to say, and then held the flowers out at Cuddy.

"Yeah, for you," he conceded, and he tried his hardest to ignore the way a burning flush of something like embarrassment was crawling up his skin from his chest to his face.

After everything he and Cuddy had gone through the last week, this technically shouldn't have been so damn hard. But taking Cuddy out on this date did nothing but accentuate the fact that they were together in a new relationship. Hanging out with her like he'd done on Saturday had felt so natural because it had just been a natural progression of events, not a conscious effort like this was. Making such a conscientious effort was so against House's nature that he honestly didn't know how to respond or act. That wasn't to say that he didn't know how to be charming and gentlemanly, but it had been a long, long time since he'd been in a situation where he had to be exactly that, and years of being alone and bitter had pretty much killed off most of his self-confidence on a personal level.

He dropped his hand away when she took the flowers and didn't know what to do with himself. He resisted the urge to tug nervously at his tie and instead focused on fiddling with the handle of his cane in his hand by squeezing it tight in a rhythmic beat, which drew his attention to how clammy his palms were. God damn it. Surely he wasn't this pathetic when it came to dating? He certainly couldn't recall being this pathetic years ago when he was in the dating game.

He drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "You look good," he said awkwardly.

As she invited him in, Cuddy smiled at House's lame remark about the flowers. Because it was lame, and somehow his discomfort made her feel more at ease. She might suck at relationships but she was good at dates. Dates, in the sense of dressing up, eating at a nice restaurant, behaving in a socially acceptable manner--that, she could do. She had more experience at dates than he did, and she was better at it. She felt a little more confident.

Of course, a date with House added a whole different level of uncertainty. They dragged their baggage with them wherever they went, whatever they did. She couldn't ignore their history or pretend it didn't affect them but she could at least try to put it in perspective. She could try to not let it hurt their relationship, even if she had to make the attempt one date at a time.

"Thank you." Her smile softened and she ran her finger down his tie before leaning in for a quick kiss. "You clean up pretty well, too.

"I'm just going to put these in water," she added as she walked to the kitchen. She had to pull over her little footstool to reach the top shelf of the cupboard where she had a couple of vases stored away. She set the flowers aside as she held the vase under the faucet. On impulse she pulled one, half-open bloom from the rest. She put the small bouquet in the vase, but she wanted to carry one rose with her.

"So where are we going?" she asked as she quickly arranged the roses in the vase to show them off. "Or is this one of those things where I have to wait and see?"

House just rolled his eyes at Cuddy's compliment because, yeah, maybe he did scrub up okay tonight but he still hated suits and he hated ties even more. He quickly wiped his clammy palm on his trouser leg when Cuddy walked off, and switched his cane to his non-cane hand to wipe that hand on his trousers, too.

He then followed her out to the kitchen and stood in the doorway while she tended to the flowers. God... he kind of wanted to sink into the floor and disappear for bringing Cuddy those flowers. He rested both hands on his cane and leaned against his heavily while looking aimlessly around her kitchen.

"Out," he replied when she asked where they were going. He then puffed his cheeks out in thought at her next question. "Well, you're dressed up and I'm in a suit," he said dryly. "Don't think that really leaves much to the imagination. But if I tell you where we're going, that would be like telling you the end to a movie you've been dying to see."

Really, he would have preferred to have been in sloppy clothes, sitting in front of the television and eating a pizza than subjecting himself to a night of dining and wining. But, he reminded himself for the hundredth time in the last couple of hours, he did want to make an effort, which unfortunately meant suffering in a suit for the next couple of hours.

He reached up and gave his tie a light tug, readjusting it to try and make it a little more comfortable. A futile task to say the least. He felt so out of place, standing in Cuddy's house with this stupid suit on.

"I never take anything for granted with you. After all, Burger King is 'out' too."

Cuddy wasn't too worried about their destination. She figured House hated wearing a suit badly enough that he wouldn't have stuffed himself into one just to drag her to some fast food joint. It was shame he hated wearing a suit so much because he really looked sharp when he put some effort into his appearance. She didn't really mind his usual attire--somehow the jeans and off-beat t-shirts fit his personality. Still, a well cut suit, a pressed shirt, a blue tie that brought out his eyes: they really did enhance his attractiveness.

His uncomfortable fidgeting detracted a bit from the overall effect. He looked like he wanted to rip that tie from his neck. She did appreciate the effort he was making. She enjoyed getting dressed up and going out but she knew he didn't. This dinner was purely for her benefit and she was determined to enjoy it.

"I just need to grab my purse." She took the roses with her to the bedroom, setting them on her bedside table where she'd be able to see them before she slept and first thing when she woke in the morning. She grabbed a small clutch purse and grasped it in her hand along with the single rose she intended to keep with her. She turned back and met up with House in the hall.

"I'm putting myself at your mercy. Again." She gave him a wry smile as she teased, "Clearly I've lost my mind."

"Somehow I think Burger King actually is out for tonight," House replied. Out of the question, that was. He certainly wasn't planning on taking Cuddy to Burger King, however much he'd take Burger King over a classy restaurant any day.

The thing was, when he became settled in a relationship, he often found going out for dinner more enjoyable than he liked to let on. It was the whole first date thing that got him awkward and uptight. He headed out to the hall to wait for Cuddy while she retrieved her purse, tugging at his tie again and adjusting his suit as a last check to make sure everything was still neat and presentable.

He very quickly stopped fidgeting the moment Cuddy emerged from her room and headed down the hall towards him. "You sure you ever had it in the first place?" he teased back. He dropped his eyes to the single rose she had in her hand. "You taking that as decoration or as a weapon?" He pulled a mock grimace. "Those thorns look as lethal as weapons of mass destruction. Guess I'd better be on my best behaviour while you're wielding that thing."

He faced the door and turned the handle and was about to head out first - then remembered that thing he sometimes had called manners, something his father drummed into him as a kid: always hold a door open for a lady. He stepped back and held the door open for her.

"After you," he said. He pointed out towards his crappy, somewhat run down car. "Your royal coach awaits you."

"It's debatable," Cuddy agreed. Her sanity had certainly been questioned often enough since hiring House. Sometimes even she questioned it. For all the very real, very legitimate reasons she'd hired him and kept him hired, there were a lot of reasons she shouldn't. A lot of professional reasons and a lot of personal reasons. He alone was responsible for half the stress she suffered on a daily basis and yet she kept going back for more. That alone was reason enough to question her sanity.

"I like it," she said simply, holding the rose up and taking a delicate sniff. The flower was beautiful and it made her feel beautiful to carry it. If House thought it was stupid...well, he shouldn't have brought her flowers if he didn't want her to enjoy them. "I wouldn't ruin a perfectly good flower on disciplining you." She gave him a wicked grin. "Not when I'm wearing four inch spike heels."

She nearly ran into House's back when he stopped at the door. She'd been prepared to follow him outside. She wasn't prepared for him to hold the door for her. She recovered quickly, stepping back as he opened the door, then leading the way out.

She smiled at his car. Like his clothes, House's car did the job. It wasn't much to look at, though. "Hmmm...." she mused as they went to the car. "Does it turn back into a pumpkin at midnight?"

"Point taken," House quickly agreed when Cuddy pointed out she was wearing four-inch spike heels. Those definitely out-terrorised a few thorns on a single rose stem. Not that he really had a huge issue with Cuddy taking the rose. Despite his awkwardness, he was glad she did like the roses, definitely glad that she didn't make a thing of it or tease him about it in any way. He just had no idea how to respond to anything awkward without being a bit of a jerk about it.

He stepped out after Cuddy and closed the door behind him, following her down the path once the door was locked. "It was one of those reject pumpkins that fruit store had thrown out," he replied, joking. "You know. Damaged stock. They weren't interested in getting the pumpkin back. I guess if the coach does turn back into the same crappy pumpkin, at least I'll have something to eat for the next couple of days."

His car really was crappy. It served its purpose, though. He had enough money to get himself a decent car if he wanted one, but he wasn't too interested in cars in general. Motorcycles were way more interesting, even though his bike was also a second-hand thing with that huge ghastly scratch down the side.

Reaching the car, he pulled out his keys and unlocked the door, and pulled it open for Cuddy to get in. He'd never actually driven Cuddy in his car before... and hadn't thought about cleaning the car out prior to picking her up. Not until now, that was, when he spotted his collection of rubbish and junk down on the passenger side floor.

"Hold that thought for a minute, actually," he said before she had a chance to climb in. He propped his cane against the side of the car, then leaned in, one hand braced on the car seat while he used his other hand to shovel the junk away. And when he realised shoving it all to the side wasn't going to achieve anything, he started throwing it into the back seat: papers, a couple of crisp packets, an empty soda can, some books, more papers, a chocolate bar wrapper.

And actually, this was pretty embarrassing. He'd come dressed up to take Cuddy out on a date, and here he was, cleaning his car out while she stood next to him. Even worse, he managed to bash his head on the door frame as he went to stand up once the passenger side was clean enough. He hissed an expletive and instinctually reached up to grab his head where he'd hit it as he stood tall.

"I guess that's bad karma for not cleaning the car out beforehand," he said with a grimace, rubbing the back of his head as he stepped to the side to let Cuddy climb in.

Cuddy's 'royal coach' was a lot like her Prince Charming: a little battered, a little rough around the edges, designed for function not style. Image was not something House cared about.

It was the complete opposite of her own approach. Her clothes, her car, even her home: all her things were chosen for style as well as function. Sometimes, she hated to admit, they were chosen more for style than function. Appearances mattered to her, more than they did for House, and she did work at maintaining the image she wanted to project. However, she wasn't completely shallow. She wasn't so superficial that she wouldn't ride in his car no matter how crappy it was. She cared more about what was inside the man than his outside, and she was willing to extend that to his car.

Frankly, she was just grateful he hadn't brought the motorcycle.

"House, it's fine. Really." She pressed her hand over her mouth, trying to hide her amusement as he excavated the passenger side floor. She felt bad about being amused. Obviously he was really trying to make a good impression and the fact that he hadn't thought of everything, that he wasn't as suave as he'd like was...endearing. And if she told him, he'd probably be more insulted by that than by her amusement.

"House...." She reached out, her hand just inches from his back when he suddenly stood up and banged his head. She flinched in sympathy, because that had to hurt. "Are you okay?" Her fingers twitched with the desire to examine his head herself and make sure he hadn't really hurt himself. She refrained, though. She was fairly certain he wouldn't appreciate the fuss. Geez, she never would've thought the car would be more dangerous than the bike.

She seated herself in the car and buckled her seatbelt while House made his way to the driver's side. She truly hoped the car wouldn't cause any more problems. She didn't think his ego could take any more blows, not without him hitting back.

"So...not even a hint about where we're going?" she asked as he seated himself behind the wheel. "North? South? Third circle of hell?"

There seriously had to be nothing more painful in terms of self-inflicted injury apart from breaking bones than hitting one's head on a car door frame. House was determined not to let Cuddy make a fuss, however, and when she asked if he was okay he took a step back, as if preempting that she'd try and rub his head better for him.

"Apart from losing a few hundred brain cells? I couldn't be better," he replied in a dry tone, though he was still grimacing at the throb the hit to his head had left. And that wasn't the only thing that hurt, either: his ego felt pretty bruised right now, as well. This was clearly proof that he was better off just doing things as he naturally always did around Cuddy - like Saturday, for instance - instead of trying to make an effort and only managing to make a dick of himself as a result.

He closed the door for Cuddy once she was inside the car, and headed around to the driver's side, muttering to himself in annoyance as he did so. "Get it together, Greg," he muttered under his breath, and drew in a deep breath when he reached the driver side door. He let his breath out slowly, then opened the door and climbed in.

He wrestled a little with his cane until he had it wedged down beside his chair, slipped the key in the ignition and sat back to look at Cuddy at her question. He felt something tickling against his temples and quickly realised he was sweating a little. His nerves along with the heat and being in a suit was enough to cause perspiration. He mopped the sweat away from his forehead and temples, then reached for the key in the ignition.

"I was thinking more fourth circle," he replied. "Suit. Flowers. Hitting my head on the car door. Definitely the fourth circle of hell now." He turned the engine over and indicated to pull out of the curb.

"If it's a hint you want, think food and restaurant," he said. "Big enough hint for you?" He looked across at Cuddy and, for the first time since greeting Cuddy this evening, he gave her a lopsided grin. "I might be spoiling you tonight, probably against my better judgment, but don't think you're going to get that lucky." He looked ahead of him again. "Not yet, anyway."

"I suspect you've got a few thousand brain cells to spare," Cuddy said dryly. Not that she wanted him to waste those brain cells but it would be nice, once in a while, if his mind wasn't quite so far out of her understanding. It would be nice if he were a little more like other people sometimes.

Still, this date seemed to have knocked him off his game. She watched him mutter to himself as he walked around the car and she realized he was far more nervous than she would've ever expected him to be over a simple date. She realized he wasn't just unhappy about having to wear a suit, he was actually worried about getting this evening right. She was touched that he cared so much but she wished he'd relax. One date wasn't going to change the way she felt no matter how it went.

"There's nothing hellish about flowers," she argued when he settled into the driver's seat. There wasn't anything hellish about the suit either from her perspective although she could understand why he felt that way. But what was so awful about the flowers? She wanted to ask him why he was doing all this if he hated it so much. She was afraid, though, that he'd interpret the question negatively. She was afraid he'd see it as her questioning his commitment to the relationship again and that was a place she really didn't want to go.

"Some hint," she said, sounding slightly disgruntled by his insistence on turning everything into a mystery. "And as I think I mentioned--the spoiling thing goes both ways. The luckier I get, the luckier you get," she added with a faintly challenging look. There was no point in being overly coy about it--she liked being spoiled in any way he wanted to spoil her. And he knew she liked it.

She watched the city moving by outside the window, then turned back to look at House's profile. "Why would it be against your 'better' judgment to spoil me? Are you afraid I'll start expecting to be spoiled all the time?"

"What more of a hint do you want?" House argued.

As much as he resented being in a suit, he really did want to make some kind of decent effort here and Cuddy insisting on wanting a hint was starting to irritate him. He managed to get pretty much everything wrong so far, as far as he was concerned, by being clumsy and saying the wrong things. His only saving grace now was going to be the destination and dinner part, which he at least wanted to get partially right, so he wanted Cuddy to stop insisting on a hint.

As for the whole issue of luck... He bit back a sarcastic comment and focused on driving instead. He couldn't afford to keep saying the wrong things because this was all going to backfire on him if he did. It's just one evening, he told himself silently. He could survive one evening in a suit. He could definitely survive one night of being a gentleman, being that had been his entire intention to begin with. The only obstacle was actually sticking to his intentions and not screwing this up.

He glanced across at Cuddy at her question. It was a valid point she made: why would this be against his better judgment? Probably because he was acting against his own better judgment: he knew how good he was at making a mess of things like this. He drew in a deep breath and looked back to the road, sitting a little straighter in his seat.

"Yeah, because you women are all like vultures when it comes to being spoiled," he replied. "Once is never enough. You circle your prey, biding your time, and then swoop down on him at every available opportunity for more." He glanced back at Cuddy again, quickly adding before she could possibly get defensive, "It was a joke."

A bad joke at that. Sometimes he seriously was best off to not say anything when he felt awkward and nervous like he did right now. He faced back to the road once again. "I haven't done this sort of thing in a long time," he admitted. Not with any success, anyway - his last dinner date was with Cameron, which had gone bad enough. "I'm a little rusty."

"Don't worry so much. You're doing fine. If you weren't, do you really think I'd hesitate to point it out?" Cuddy said it with a smile, hoping House would realize she wouldn't actually embarrass him like that. Despite the fact that she wouldn't hesitate to jump on his errors at work, she wouldn't do that to him on a personal level.

The truth was, she was selfishly relieved he was out of practice. She wasn't aware that he'd had any significant relationships since Stacy but she wouldn't necessarily know if he had. House kept a lot of things secret, especially about his personal life. Whatever the truth, she liked the idea that he didn't do this kind of thing often because that made her feel like she was...special.

"You know women...most women aren't really wanting to be spoiled." Cuddy knew he'd just been yanking her chain a little when he compared women to vultures but she suspected a lot of men did see it that way, even though they might not admit it.

"Well, maybe it is wanting to be spoiled," she admitted. "But not the way you probably think women want to be spoiled. Because it's not about whether you picked the best restaurant or the most stylish tie or said exactly the right thing."

Admittedly, for some women--and men--that was what it was all about. For her, though, it wasn't about the date, it was about what the date represented. When a man planned an evening like this, especially a man like House who hated to dress nicely and go to a classy restaurant, it meant that he was thinking about her. It meant that she was important enough to him to put himself in a situation he didn't enjoy because he knew she would enjoy it.

"A woman wants to feel special. She wants the man in her life to be willing to make the effort because he thinks she's special."

Her lips pulled into a small grimace because when she said it aloud like that it really did sound selfish. It wasn't. She firmly believed that the effort had to go both ways. It was simply that what made a woman feel special wasn't always the same kind of thing that made a man feel special...because frankly men and women did seem to be separate species at times. Still, it did sound pretty damn selfish.

She glanced over at House with a wry grin and joked, "Seriously, how hard can that be? All a woman wants is to be the absolute and utter center of your world...at least for a few hours."

"So what you're saying is, all of this effort I'm putting in is a waste of time," House replied dryly, when Cuddy said being spoiled had little to do with the best restaurant or stylish ties.

"So, a woman wants her guy to make an effort to make her feel special, but it has nothing to do with the effort itself," he said slowly. He glanced across at her again. "You say it has nothing to do with whether I picked the right restaurant or say the right things, yet if I didn't do those things, then you'd complain that I wasn't making an effort or making you feel special."

He found women so confusing sometimes. It sometimes made his head hurt. He looked back to the road, frowning in mild confusion as he turned the car onto the main road. He was, at least, relaxing a little now that they were on the road and heading for the restaurant. He still didn't feel confident, however. In fact, he felt close to completely incompetent at this. He was way better at doing unconventional or spontaneous things. Like taking Cuddy out on his bike to a family amusement centre, daring her to go on a slide and eating ice cream with her in the park. Not dressing up in a suit and trying to be someone he wasn't.

Thinking about Saturday still managed to make him smile, though, because of how fun it had been and how much he'd enjoyed Cuddy's company. And just as he was thinking about that, Cuddy said about women wanting to be the centre of her man's life for at least a few hours.

He looked across at Cuddy once again, catching her wry smile and giving her a slight grin in return. "Sounds utterly impossible," he joked back. "Completely unreasonable. Not to mention selfish as hell." He broadened his smile as he focused his attention back on the road. "You got more than your fair share of the whole centre of the world quota on Saturday. Clearly tonight means you're just getting spoilt rotten."

"Well, if you didn't do those things, you wouldn't be making an effort. And yes, it's not the end result that matters, it's the effort...mostly."

Cuddy gave a resigned shake of her head. She didn't really expect she'd be able to explain it to House. She'd never had much luck explaining a woman's mind--her mind-- to any man. Seeing as how she didn't half know how House's mind worked she didn't expect to have any more success with him.

Maybe that made it even. He didn't understand how she thought and she didn't understand the way he thought. Even, but not fair. It shouldn't have to be so hard for two people to mesh. It was difficult enough to find a man with whom she had things in common--goals, hopes, fears, rooting for the right baseball team. It wasn't fair to have to get all those things to work and then still not know what the other was talking about half the time.

She rolled her eyes, looking out the side window, when he claimed it was impossible to make her the center of his world. She'd sort of figured that out on her own. Then she turned back to him, mouth open in disbelief.

"Oh, no, no, no," she said. "Saturday was not about me being the center of the world. Saturday was about seeing if I fit in your world." She tapped him on the shoulder with her rose. "Saturday was a test."

She'd had a lot of fun on Saturday. In all honesty, more than she might have guessed she'd have. She'd enjoyed the fact that they could sort of just hang out together and have fun. And, she hoped, she'd passed the test. But Saturday hadn't been about spoiling her. Well, maybe the sex had been a little bit about spoiling her...and she wasn't complaining about that...but the rest of it had been all House's idea of fun.

"Let's say you're right and I'm being spoiled." She turned her head to look at him. "Have I at any time pretended that I don't like being spoiled?"

Her expression grew thoughtful as her gaze drifted back to the world outside the car. The sad truth was that the only person who'd spoiled Cuddy in recent memory was Cuddy herself. And she usually felt guilty when she did. So yes, she probably was being a little selfish in wanting to get a little spoiling from House. She'd never claimed to be perfect, or unselfish.

"Blind dates and internet matchmaking don't make for a lot of spoiling," she admitted quietly.

Maybe Cuddy was right - maybe Saturday had been about seeing if she fitted into his world. Maybe it had nothing to do with making her the centre of the world. All he did know was that she'd become the centre of his world that day, intentionally or not. Nothing else had mattered except her and even though House would probably never admit that to her, he could quietly admit to himself that he'd liked every minute of it. Even though the repercussions of it all had led to confusion and uncertainty about what that all meant once he went home.

"You are being spoiled," House agreed argumentatively. He then looked across at Cuddy curiously at her question. No, she hadn't pretended any such thing, really... although House wasn't too sure if Cuddy was comfortable with being spoiled. She sometimes gave off the vibe that she felt guilty whenever she was indulged, or allowed herself to be indulged. So... her question was actually hard to answer.

Not that he had much time to really formulate an answer. He threw another quick glance at Cuddy when she admitted the downfalls of internet and blind dating. He focused back on the road to slow down at a red light, and dropped his hands to his lap when he pulled the car up to a stop, and he thought about her comment for a moment.

"I suppose you'd be too busy being disappointed or let down by men misrepresenting themselves," he replied. "Tall, handsome buff on the internet turns out to actually be a fat, balding middle-aged computer nerd who still lives with his mother. Who wants to be spoiled by that?"

He looked at Cuddy again. A sarcastic remark about her internet shenanigans was on the tip of his tongue, but he stopped himself just in time before saying it. Tonight wasn't the night for being hurtful or insulting. And he didn't like the thought of any other guy, internet-found or otherwise, spoiling her except for himself.

He faced forward just as the lights turned green. "Guess you'll just have to make do with the aging cripple spoiling you instead," he said.

"All right," Cuddy said, putting her hands up in a gesture of surrender. "Yes, tonight I am being spoiled."

Flowers, dinner--it counted as spoiling. More, it was the kind of spoiling she was comfortable with. A simple bouquet of roses, a nice suit, dinner--it was more than enough to tell her that he cared about treating her to a nice evening but it wasn't too much. It wasn't so ostentatious that she felt overwhelmed or uncomfortable. So fine, if he wanted credit for spoiling her, he got it.

"No, it wasn't about their looks. Or their money. I think it's that the whole set up is...it's artificial. And there's too much pressure. Too much.... " She sighed. "Too much desperation."

The 'living with mom' thing was a definite turn-off, but she didn't mind balding and she certainly didn't mind middle-aged. Some of the men she'd met had been...well, losers and she hadn't been able to get away from them fast enough. But a lot of the guys she'd met through internet dating services had been basically decent, normal guys. Some of them had been men she felt like she should be able to be happy with, but she'd never felt like it was right. She needed to feel like it was right, needed to feel it in her gut. She thought maybe she was too much of a romantic for internet dating to work for her because she was always looking for that right feeling and it simply never came.

Cuddy turned sharply to face House as the car accelerated. "I'm not 'making do'," she said firmly.

First, making do with House was crazier than even she could manage. Second, if she was willing to make do she would've married that accountant she'd met on a blind date a couple of years back. On paper he'd been perfect for her, but he didn't spark that right feeling in her. He hadn't been someone she could really, truly fall in love with. As much as it scared her to admit it, House did create that feeling.

"I never settle for second best, in anything." Thank goodness that no matter how battered her self-esteem had been at times, she'd never been desperate enough to make do. She'd always held out for something better.

"So really you should be flattered that I'm allowing you to spoil me," she said, tongue firmly in cheek. "It's a privilege given only to the very best candidates."

House just raised his brows and pulled a face as though to say, 'Fine, you're not making do, then'. He knew why he was attracted to Cuddy on most levels, but he wasn't really sure why she was attracted to him. So, for all he knew, maybe she was making do. He wasn't anything special, though he was a little scared to know exactly what it was Cuddy saw in him. Scared because... well. This whole relationship thing with her was pretty scary.

"Yeah, right," he replied dryly. "You're an empress and it's a royal privilege to be allowed to treat you like one."

Well, actually, the entire point of tonight was in fact to make Cuddy feel special, even if it weirded him the hell out to do so. So, really, dry as his remark was, it wasn't actually that far from the truth in terms of wanting to spoil Cuddy. Hell, he'd gone for the flowers and the suit. While that mightn't be much to most people, it was a hell of an effort on House's part.

He turned down another street and then slowed as he approached a building on the corner. It was an Italian restaurant, done up to look like a traditional Italian cafe with the limestone-looking walls and outside (as well as indoor) seating. The outdoor courtyard overlooked the park across the street. The restaurant also had a small dancing section where live bands played most nights, but House hoped Cuddy wouldn't be cruel enough to drag him onto any kind of dance floor.

He pulled into the parking lot and killed the engine once he located a park. He got out of the car and quickly tugged at his suit to adjust it before heading around to Cuddy's side, and opened the door for her.

"Let's just hope you're not so hard to please in the never settling for second best department, because I had to sell a kidney to get a reservation here," he said. Which wasn't actually true, though would have been had it been a Friday or Saturday night; it was one of the more exclusive restaurants in Princeton, and the only reason House managed to score a reservation at such short notice was because it was a weeknight.

"Good, glad we agree on that."

As if Cuddy had ever or would ever think that spoiling her was a privilege. She thought she had a reasonably objective understanding of what she had to offer in a relationship and she thought what she had to offer was worthwhile. What she didn't think was that she was special in any way.

If anything, House was the special one. He was the world famous doctor, the eccentric genius. He was the one who, despite some rather off-putting personality traits, had attracted much younger and prettier women than Cuddy. She thought she could be good for him but she wasn't egotistical enough to think he couldn't do better.

"I don't think that'll be a problem. I am duly impressed," she said as she stepped out of the car. She waited for him to close the door, then strolled across the parking lot with him. Although she'd never been to this restaurant she'd heard a lot about it. She was surprised it had only cost him a kidney for the reservation.

"I'm touched that you were willing to part with a vital organ on my behalf. I do have connections, though. I can probably get you a replacement if necessary."

Hell, now she was feeling a little nervous again. This wasn't just a few roses and a suit. This was...this was really spoiling her. House had really gone all out and now she felt she had to somehow justify the trouble he'd gone to. She felt like she had to be worthy of his efforts.

Cuddy paused just inside the door while House spoke to the maitre'd. She took a deep breath and inhaled the rich scents of garlic and tomato and butter and all those wonderful spices. The aroma woke her appetite right up.

"If the food tastes half as good as it smells," she said to House when he turned back to her. "Then your kidney will not have been sacrificed in vain."

"You have connections," House replied mock incredulously, "yet you make the whole obtaining an organ for my patients thing almost impossible?" He scoffed, then teased, "The Mob 'have connections', too, when it comes to meeting the necessities of others they deem worthy. Are you trying to tell me something sinister about yourself, Dr. Cuddy?"

Of course, House knew obtaining organs for his patients wasn't just a matter of 'demand and ye shall receive'. Though, he could recall plenty of arguments he'd had with Cuddy over organ transplant patients of his, her constantly battling against his wills and his judgment. She often liked to remind him of hospital protocol and ethics which drove him nuts because most of that stuff, necessary as it all might be, was such a waste of time as far as he was concerned when he had a patient whose life was hanging in the balance.

He didn't really notice Cuddy's nervousness, though; still too focused on his own. Still too focused on wanting to tug his tie loose, too. He opened the door for her and walked in after her, letting the maître d' know of his reservation and then facing back to Cuddy to lead her to the table they were assigned.

"I'd want my kidney back with a full refund plus compensation for post-operative pain if the food doesn't measure up," he agreed.

This mattered to him more than just the quality of the food, though. The last thing he wanted right now was for this entire evening to be in vain. Which meant he had to remain on his best behaviour in order to avoid as little arguments as possible. The fight he'd had with Cuddy in his office the day before was a fresh enough reminder for him of how he didn't want this evening to turn out.

He placed his hand on her back and ushered her through to the dining section of the restaurant, leading Cuddy to her chair. He'd asked for a seat outside on provision of the weather; he guided Cuddy out into the courtyard. The maître d' had pulled Cuddy's chair out for her, so House pulled out his own chair and sat down as Cuddy seated herself on hers. He nodded in brief thanks when the wine list was then promptly handed to Cuddy and himself.

He took a quick look at it, then an equally quick look around him. The courtyard was decorated with Italian-esque detail, enough so that one could almost pretend they were actually dining in Sicily. The evening was warm, crips and clear, too, which added to the atmosphere. Music played quietly over the speakers, mingling with the sound of the other guests talking quietly amongst themselves at their tables. God, this was so out of House's league. He'd taken Stacy to plenty of nice restaurants during his time with her, but he never visioned himself doing anything like that ever again with someone else. Especially not with someone else like Cuddy.

He looked across the table at Cuddy. What was it Wilson had said that time about dating women? Compliment them on their shoes and jewellery? Something like that. He cleared his throat and fidgeted with his wine list. He wasn't sure what to say to Cuddy now they were seated at the table together, so maybe offering a compliment was the best way to start.

"Your earrings look nice," he said, not sounding at all comfortable to give such a compliment. In fact, it sounded completely forced, mainly because it was. He didn't know what else to say, so he just stared across the table at Cuddy, fidgeting more insistently with his wine list.

"So far I've managed to avoid getting tangled up with organized crime," Cuddy said. Although she suspected some of the organizations she dealt with were just as cut throat as the Mob. The organ donor network was one of them. She knew House resented it when she turned down one of his patients but there really wasn't much she could do about it. Transplant organs were in short supply and while he had the luxury of thinking only about one patient, she had to consider all the patients in need.

She was also aware that House had indulged in trickery to get what he wanted for a patient. The idiot had actually lied to the transplant committee during Vogler's reign of terror. She admired his dedication to his patients and his willingness to put himself on the line for them, but she'd never been able to make him understand that if he got his lying ass fired he wouldn't be able to help anyone.

Cuddy was silent as they were led to their table, taking in the ambiance. The evening was very pleasant so she was happy they would be dining outside. It made the whole experience just a little more special. She set her purse and the rose on the side of the table as she took her seat. She looked around, wondering if she'd see any familiar faces, and she turned back to House with a faintly surprised expression when he complimented her earrings.

"Thank you." She opened her menu, feeling a little like she'd fallen down the rabbit hole. She was dining in one of the most exclusive restaurants in Princeton, House was wearing a tie, and he was complimenting her jewelry. It was a very nice rabbit hole to be sure, but a little surreal all the same.

In fairness to House, it was a little awkward starting a conversation that didn't begin with one of them shouting demands. She smiled and gave a shake of her head as she looked back up at him. "So, in all your worldly travels, have you ever been to Italy?"

Unsure where to look or what to do when Cuddy thanked him for his painfully awkward compliment, House turned his attention down to the wine list. He was already starting to feel tired from trying so hard. Wearing a suit always made him feel like he was in someone else's skin, constricted, unable to be himself. The only times he relaxed was when he'd had a drink or two, or when he felt secure around the person he was with. Right now, he felt anything but secure around Cuddy.

He scanned the wine and drinks list, thinking to himself how much he'd like a whiskey when his eyes landed on the spirits section. He darted his gaze back up to peer over the wine list when Cuddy spoke. He lowered the list so it was resting against the edge of the table. He felt himself relax a little; he could talk about things like that without worrying about saying the wrong thing.

He nodded. "I got pick-pocketed in Rome," he replied. "And again in Milan. Italian gypsies. They're everywhere." He closed the wine list and set it onto the table. The time he'd gone to Italy had been a short vacation he'd taken with Stacy, which was a detail he'd rather not talk about. "I'd also never seen traffic chaos of such epic proportions until I went to Rome. I took a photograph from an overpass that overlooked a main road in Rome, of gridlocked traffic during peak hour. Every vehicle was facing a different direction. It was impressive. I still have the photograph somewhere at home."

"I'd like a glass of white wine, please," Cuddy said, nodding at the wine list House was clutching like a life preserver. She didn't think a list of finest the Italian vineries had to offer was going to save him, but if having some small task to occupy his mind helped ease his nerves, then she'd let him have his distraction.

She was skimming through the menu but her attention immediately returned to him when he began to speak of his trip. "Seriously?" she asked, a slightly amazed look on her face. She couldn't imagine anyone brazen enough, or dumb enough, to pick House's pocket. "Did you get your revenge on the pickpockets? Break their kneecaps or something?"

She set her menu aside, more interested in any stories he might care to share than the food. His life was far more interesting than anything on the menu. His life was far more interesting than hers, or at least it sounded more interesting when he talked about it. He didn't do that much either, talk about his life. There was a lot she didn't know.

"The worst traffic I've ever driven in was in New Orleans, but I've heard it's absolutely insane in Rome. Like everyone makes up their own traffic rules as they go." She leaned forward, resting her hands on the table, because she wanted to ask what other 'adventures' he'd had but she had to pull back when the waiter arrived to take their order.

"I would have, had I known I was being pickpocketed at the time," House replied dryly.

He sat forward a little and rested his elbows on the table, using his hands as he talked. "The gypsies do this thing where they mingle in with the tourist crowds and watch where people put their wallets and money. Then they swarm around a particular person like flies to manure. You get so distracted from being mobbed that you don't realise your wallet is gone until you reach into your pocket for it later. Which is what happened to me in Rome." He pulled a wry look. "You can probably guess that I don't like Rome very much. Great to look at if you're into history. Horrible to be in."

Although House wasn't used to or really all that comfortable with talking about his life experiences, he could feel himself unwinding a little more as he talked. It was either sit at the table and fidget with his wine list in agonising silence, or make conversation. Making conversation was definitely preferable, as spending the entire night with his tongue tied wasn't his idea of fun in the slightest.

"That's pretty much because there are no traffic rules," he said. "None that are enforced, anyway. Driving in Rome was one of the most terrifying experiences of my life. I eventually opted for travelling by bus, which--"

He stopped talking, interrupted by the waiter arriving at the table. He likewise sat back, and picked up the wine list again when the waiter asked what drink they'd like. The wine list consisted of mainly Italian wines, all of which were way overpriced. "We'll have a bottle of..." House paused to work out the pronunciation. "Ribolla Gialla bianco vino."

He pulled a confused look, knowing he'd probably pronounced that incorrectly, then looked up at the waiter, who seemed to know what House meant; he was scribbling down on his notepad. The waiter then handed them each a food menu, which House quickly discovered was primarily in Italian. He scowled, then looked back up to the waiter.

"Why can't you just print the menu in English?" he asked. "Having a pseudo-Italian experience doesn't mean non-Italian speakers want to enjoy reading a menu they can't actually read."

"Is all we have," the waiter replied in a thick Italian accent.

House met Cuddy's eyes, a deadpan expression on his face. "I'm thinking Fawlty Towers right now," he said to her, hoping she knew what he meant. "The Spanish waiter who speaks little English and gets everything wrong." He then looked down at the menu. "At least there's pictures, I suppose. So you can point at the dish you want like a mute."

Cuddy smiled to herself as she looked over the menu, amused by House's disgust with the lack of English in the restaurant.

"Honestly, I'm surprised you don't speak Italian," she told him. She knew he spoke at least a little bit of several languages. Of course, they were often lesser known languages so maybe Italian was too common for someone with a taste for the unusual.

She glanced up at the waiter as she pointed to one dish. "Is this fettucini alfredo?" The waiter nodded. "That's what I want. With grilled chicken, okay?" The waiter nodded again, impatient. Cuddy hoped he actually understood what she was asking but since she didn't speak Italian there was no way for her clarify her wishes.

She set the menu aside, giving House a shrug. She wasn't going to spend a lot of time trying to choose a dish. She liked most Italian food so she figured she'd like almost anything that showed up on her plate. Almost anything.

"I just hope I don't order calimari by mistake," she told him in a low voice. She let him have a few minutes to concentrate on his own dinner choice before she started her questions again. She was genuinely interested, partly because he'd been places she hadn't, but mostly because she was interested in learning more about him.

"Did you see the usual attractions in Rome? Did you go to the Vatican?" she asked. She was curious about Vatican City because of its art and history, not because its religious standing.

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September 5, evening

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