cuddys_house | The next morning

The next morning

House fell asleep with Cuddy still in his arms, only to wake up about half an hour later with a dead arm. He disturbed Cuddy as he extracted his arm from underneath her, though she seemed to fall back to sleep relatively quickly, and he spent the few minutes that followed in near agony while the sensation in his arm came back. Finally, the pins and needles subsided and he turned in towards Cuddy, spooning up behind her. He fell soundly back to sleep for a few hours, only to be awakened again suddenly by a bad dream that was venturing into a nightmare. He'd woken before it had gotten terrifying but that didn't mean he wasn't left feeling disturbed and somewhat shaken up by it.

He got up to go to the toilet, spying on Cuddy's alarm clock along the way to the bathroom that it was only just past 3.30 in the morning. After using the toilet, washing his hands and washing his face, he felt way more awake than he wanted to be, even though he still felt exhausted, and still felt bothered by his dream. He needed something to calm down, maybe help him sleep, so he stopped by the bed and picked up his cane, then quietly made his way from the bedroom, navigating his way through Cuddy's house in the dark. When he reached the kitchen, he fumbled around for the light and flipped it on, squinting blearily at the sudden flood of light. The night had gotten even colder and stepping onto the cold tile floor with bare feet was like a shock to the system. He was only wearing a t-shirt and his tracksuit bottoms which he'd arrived at Cuddy's place in earlier in the evening; his skin had broken out into goosebumps and after he set his cane aside, he huddled in on himself, rubbing his arms to try and warm himself up as he headed for the pantry.

The whisky was still at the back of the cupboard from the last time he'd sneaked out to have some. He gathered up a glass and the bottle and limped out to the living room without his cane. The first thing he did before sitting down was he grabbed up the throw blanket Cuddy had left folded over the back of her armchair, and drew it around his shoulders once he shook it out. He then sat on the couch and reached for the whisky. He poured himself a generous serving and downed half of it before setting his glass down so he could wearily rub his face with his hands.

"God," he muttered to himself as he pressed his fingertips into his eyes to rub them. He felt so tired and even though he was incredibly glad that he'd made amends with Cuddy, he felt inexplicably depressed. He'd experienced a lot of extreme mood lows these past few months. He never always knew why he felt so miserable, but it was a dark, consuming feeling when he did. Like the weight of the world was pressing down on him so heavily it was crushing him. Sometimes, his mood would swing without warning and he'd find himself going from okay to sombre within a matter of minutes. Maybe he was just feeling like this now because these last couple of weeks were really catching up with him, with the stress of Cuddy being pregnant on top of everything else. Or maybe it had something to do with the shooting, especially seeing he'd just woken from a bad dream. Or maybe... God, he didn't know what it was. All he knew was he felt incredibly down. And the best way to try and drown it out was to have another drink.

A couple of generous, strong glasses of whiskey later, he felt more relaxed, even a little sleepy. He shifted on the couch to lie down, leaving the bottle unopened next to glass; he'd just lie here for a few minutes, he reasoned with himself as he settled his head on the arm rest and tugged the shawl tighter around him for warmth. Just for a few minutes. Then he'd get up and go back to bed.

He didn't even remember falling asleep.

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Cuddy reached out and smacked her alarm clock, nearly knocking it from the bedside table. She'd really come to resent that buzzing noise over the past couple of weeks. She hadn't been sleeping well anyway and the alarm only dragged her out of bed so that she could go to work and pretend that everything was okay. Given that she couldn't even have a cup of coffee to get her going, mornings had been pretty miserable.

This morning was different though. She'd slept well and deeply all night. The last thing she remembered was House saying okay and after that--nothing. She didn't have her usual morning energy back but she felt a whole lot better than she had. She smiled sleepily as she rolled over...and then the smile vanished when she realized House wasn't on the other side of the bed. For a moment she wondered if it had all been a dream, some kind of pregnancy-induced hallucination, but no, she could see that someone had slept on the other side of the bed.

Her next thought was that House had decided that he couldn't deal with her, or the baby, after all and he'd sneaked out in the middle of the night. She sat up, pulling the sheet around her shoulders against the chilly morning air. It seemed impossible that he would've simply left with no word, no warning, no nothing...only she thought might be exactly what he'd do. She sat there for a long moment feeling gut-punched by the idea, then she shook herself out of her daze.

It was possible he'd gotten a page from one of his fellows about a new and totally bizarre patient or.... She couldn't really think of an 'or' but a patient was definitely possible. When some medical mystery caught his attention, he didn't stop to think about anything or anyone else. It would be just like him to take off in the middle of the night without telling her. And as deeply as she'd slept, she might not have heard his pager go off. She decided she was going to stick with that theory until or unless she was proven wrong.

She grabbed her robe from the foot of the bed and made a quick pit stop in the bathroom. She headed for the kitchen then to get a glass of juice and make some toast before she took her shower. And, while she was at it, she planned to grab her cell phone and call House. One way or another she intended to find out why she'd woken up alone. As she started to turn into the kitchen, though, something caught her eye. Puzzled, she crossed over to the living room. She started to let out a sigh of relief when she saw House stretched out on the couch, but her gaze landed on the bottle of whiskey.

She walked over and picked up the bottle. She barely remembered she had it. It was always tucked away in the back of a high cupboard but he'd obviously found it. Found it and used it because the level of whiskey appeared to be significantly lower than she remembered. She set the bottle down wondering what this meant. What had he been doing sitting here in the middle of the night drinking?

She was half tempted to simply leave him there while she got ready and went to work. She didn't want to deal with his damn self-destructive tendencies, not this morning. Being the way she was, though, she couldn't let it go. She wanted an answer.

"House," she said, leaning over to shake him by the arm. "House, wake up."

"Hmmph," House grunted at the sound of someone's voice. Maybe he was just dreaming it. "Hmmmph!" he grunted, grumpily the second time, when he felt someone shaking him. He had a right mind to reach out and slap the person away because he was god damned tired and didn't want to be disturbed.

At the insistent tone of the person's voice telling him to wake up, he cracked an eye open and peered up almost unseeingly at them. He immediately shut his eye again. It was a huge effort to even think about opening his eyes, let alone actually doing it.

Then he realised as he was rudely pulled a little more out of sleep, that he felt cold. He huddled up a little more under the thin blanket and then groaned unhappily because damn it, even if he ignored the person and tried to go back to sleep, he wouldn't be able to. He was too cold. Stretching out a bit, he rolled over until his back met the back of the couch and lifted an arm to shield the light from his eyes while he opened them to peer up at the person again. Or, really, squinted up at them with one eye screwed shut.

Cuddy. Last night all came suddenly flooding back and for a moment he was totally confused as to why he was on the couch.... until he remembered getting a drink. Damn, he didn't mean to fall asleep here. He distinctly remembered intending to go to bed.

"What?" he asked in an irritable murmur.

When House proved resistant to her attempts to wake him, Cuddy gave him another, harder shake. She was half pissed off now. Part of it was sort of weird reaction to finding out that he hadn't simply walked out on her. She was relieved, but now she was bothered that on their first night back together he'd left her alone in bed and gone to drink in the living room.

"No, that's my question," she said when he mumbled at her. She stood staring down at him, impatiently waiting for him to fully wake up. Very impatiently, because she continued even though she wasn't sure he even knew where he was yet.

"What are you doing out here?" she asked, waving her hand at him. "I thought you'd.... I woke up and you were gone and I thought you'd decided...." She didn't like even remembering what she'd thought he decided. "Damn it, House, what's going on?"

"Sleeping. What does it look like?" House snapped groggily when Cuddy asked what he was doing here.

He started scrubbing his face with his hands while Cuddy started up with more questions. God. He didn't want to deal with questions now. He wanted a chance to at least wake up, even though he wanted nothing more than to turn over and go back to sleep.

She thought he'd decided what? His brain was still too fuzzy to work out what point she was trying to get at. His mouth tasted sour from the drink and his head hurt a little - he had a mild hangover.

"I'm sleeping!" he repeated argumentatively when she demanded to know what was going on. He rubbed his face again, then dropped them away, and lay there with his eyes closed.

"I couldn't sleep," he finally explained, still refusing to open his eyes and refusing to make any move that he was going to get up. Not yet, anyway.

Cuddy pursed her lips, annoyed when he kept insisting he was sleeping. Even more annoyed he said he hadn't been able to sleep because obviously what he meant was that he hadn't been able to sleep with her.

"So the couch is more comfortable than the bed? Or is the booze just a better bedmate than me?" She wasn't even thinking of any other reasons he could've had trouble sleeping. She should've been, but she wasn't. The memories of their fight were too fresh, the pain was still too raw and that's all she could think about.

She rubbed her hand over her face and gaave a little shake of her head. House was being uninformative and she was getting all worked up. He was clearly in no mood to talk and if she kept trying she was simply going to get upset and angry. That wasn't how she'd planned to spend the morning. Not that she'd actually had a plan, but if she had it wouldn't have been like this.

She turned and walked out, her bare feet slapping against the floor. She planned to take her shower and dress, and give herself a chance to settle down. If House was in the proper state by the time she was done, she'd talk to him then. If he wasn't in a proper state...she'd probably talk to him anyway.

House started to haul himself into a sitting position, only because he needed to use the bathroom. But as he was in mid-struggle to sit up, Cuddy started on some ridiculous accusation about the couch being more comfortable than the bed and the booze a better companion than her.

"Oh, what are you talking about?" House snapped sharply, throwing her an irritably incredulous look. He expected an answer but she'd turned and was heading out of the room. "Well, what'd you want me to do? Wake you up just to tell you I couldn't sleep?" he called after.

How the hell had she surmised those reasons from him saying he couldn't sleep? Seemed pregnancy made women irrational as well as emotional.

Oh, god, the pregnancy. He rested his elbows on his knees and buried his face into his hands. God, he felt rotten. Maybe that was just the hangover, or maybe it was because he was still so tired. But he wasn't just tired, he was drained. It felt as though no amount of decent sleep even would've replenished his energy.

He rubbed his face, then slid his fingers up into his hair and scrubbed his scalp with his fingernails. He needed to use the bathroom. And he was freezing. He dropped his hands and stared resentfully at the still opened bottle of whiskey, thinking to himself that this wasn't how the morning was supposed to go. Last night, when he'd climbed into bed, he'd thought he would've woken up in bed with Cuddy, to the feel of her body warm and welcoming against his, to her kisses and her touches and her smile. And instead...

He pushed himself up from the couch with a disgusted sigh. He took one step... and almost doubled over in pain. A fierce streak of pain shot through his leg, which caused him to stumble as he grabbed one hand onto his thigh and dashed the other out frantically to catch his balance on something. He managed to grab onto the arm of the couch and was only just able to steady himself. So surprised by the pain, he wheezed and struggled to hold himself upright, until he carefully stood tall. He rubbed his thigh, bewildered.

This wasn't the first time he'd felt leg pain, but it was strongest he'd felt it in a long while. He kept rubbing his leg until the pain subsided and he took a tenetative step forward, followed by another. The pain was still there, but simmering under the surface more than anything now. Carefully, he guided himself down the hall along the wall until he reached the bathroom, then let himself in without knocking.

Cuddy was in the shower. He moved across to the toilet, lifted the seat and braced his weight against the wall with one hand while holding himself with the other as he peed. He flushed, then turned and lowered the seat and lid and sat down. He dropped his head into his hands and listened to the hiss of the water against the floor in the shower.

"I think the pain's coming back," he said loud enough for Cuddy to hear, and at hearing himself say those words, a feeling of... something uneasy clenched in his stomach.

The hot water of the shower helped soothe Cuddy's feelings as well as her body. She let the water beat down on her for several long minutes before she slowly began washing. She ducked her head under the water to get her hair wet then began to work a dab of shampoo up into a lather.

Once she got over the initial shock of finding House gone, and then finding him drunk or hungover or whatever in the living room, she started to think a little more rationally about the situation. He'd always had problems sleeping as far as she knew so it wasn't really such a surprise that he'd been up in the middle of the night. Maybe he'd had about of insomnia, maybe he'd had one of his nightmares. She couldn't believe she'd slept through one of those but it was possible.

What bothered her most was seeing the booze. Heavens knew she had nothing against a drink but House.... House used alcohol as a form of self-medication and that was never good. Besides that, he'd just gotten off the Vicodin but instead of giving his liver a chance to recover he'd started in on another liver-toxic 'treatment.' She didn't like it. She was scared by it. She didn't want to work out this relationship, have a child with him, only to watch him kill himself.

By the time she was rinsing the shampoo from her hair, she became aware House had come into the bathroom. She'd felt a small, cool draft when he opened the door, but the toilet flushing was a sure sign. She frowned a little, not sure she'd heard him correctly over the sound of the water.

"What's coming back?" she asked, pulling the shower curtain back just far enough to peek out at him. When she saw the way he was sitting she knew she'd heard right...but he had to be wrong. If the ketamine was going to fail it should've happened weeks ago.

"It's too late for that pain to come back. You probably just over-exerted yourself...somehow," she suggested. "Or you slept on it wrong. The couch isn't what you'd call orthopedically designed. Take some aspirin, put some heat on hit and see how it feels in thirty minutes."

House wanted to believe Cuddy. He wanted to believe it was just a muscular strain - and wasn't that an irony, because that the initial diagnosis he was given all those years ago when the infarction struck. He certainly didn't want to think that the pain was coming back, but he'd been feeling it off and on these past couple of weeks, as well as a couple of random strikes of pain before that, so it was hard to dismiss it as nothing.

He wanted to argue with Cuddy simply because it bothered him that she was the one dismissing it as nothing, as though she wasn't listening to him properly. But on the other hand, he didn't want to think too much into it just in case it was what he feared most - that his pain really was coming back. He gave his thigh a rub with the palm of his hand, looking over his shoulder at Cuddy before she slipped back behind the shower curtain.

"It hurts," he said, though he doubted she was going to listen to him. He looked back down, still rubbing his thigh, then exhaled slowly and closed his eyes to rest them. They still felt itchy and red from tiredness. Actually, an aspirin might not be a bad idea, he thought to himself, because it would at least kill the headache he had. He'd sit here just for a few more minutes, though.

He was still sitting there by the time Cuddy shut the water off and stepped out. He looked across at her, watching her reach for the towel to dry herself. "You're wrong about the booze," he said challengingly. "If I'd preferred alcohol as company over you, I would've gone home."

He watched her for another couple of seconds, then repeated firmly what he'd said back in the living room, almost daring her to challenge him again on it, "I couldn't sleep."

He looked down after a moment and admitted in a reluctant murmur, "I had a bad night."

Cuddy heard House repeat that his leg hurt but she ignored him as she finished showering. She didn't doubt that his leg hurt; what she doubted was the cause. Not all leg pain had to be that pain. In fact, not all leg pain came from his leg, some of it came from his head. She hadn't forgotten the exacerbation of pain he'd experienced after pushing Stacy away again. She hadn't forgotten it and she hadn't forgotten that it had been a physical response to his emotional pain.

Psychological stress had always made his pain worse. It wasn't impossible to believe that stress could cause pain in a spot where he wasn't actually having pain any longer. And as far as stress went--he'd been shot, he had PTSD, their relationship had been rocky and he was going to be a father. His stress level was probably about as high as it could get.

"But it wasn't me you were snuggled up with, was it?" she said when he said she was mistaken about the alcohol. She dried off and wrapped the towel around her, tucking the ends under just to the side of her breast. She ran a comb through her hair, then opened the drawer to get her make-up. Her expression softened, though, when he said he'd had a bad night.

"You could've woken me. You could have taken the medicine I prescribed for the problem." She was sympathetic to his problems and she wouldn't have minded if he'd woken her. She'd never gotten angry at him for having a problem; she only got mad when he refused to accept that he had a problem. Unfortunately denial was an ongoing theme with him.

"I know, I know--you don't have a problem," she added in weary tone. She leaned toward the mirror to apply her eye shadow. "Except for the fact that you do."

"I ended up falling asleep on the couch," he argued. "Big deal." He lifted his hand to rub his forehead, then aborted that to gesture exasperatedly towards the direction of the bedroom. "I had every intention of going back to bed."

But of course, Cuddy probably wouldn't believe him, just like she wouldn't believe that the pain in his leg had felt very real. He slapped his hand to his good thigh with a frustrated sigh, only looking back at her when she said he could have woken her. And of course, she then had to bring up the medication and the fact that he had a problem.

"Yeah, well, I don't have it here," he replied cynically. "So, even if I'd wanted to take it, not having the medication handy would've proved a problem."

And even if he'd wanted to take it, he didn't think last night that he was going to end up staying the night, so he wouldn't have been prepared, anyway. He was just about to add that, by the way, he didn't have a problem when Cuddy filled that blank in for him.

"Just like I don't have leg pain, except for the fact that I do," he shot back, watching her apply her makeup. "Except, of course, you won't believe that because you have this condition called selective hearing when it comes to things like that."

"Then I'll get a second prescription and keep it here," Cuddy said, glancing at House in exasperation. It was a simple solution and one she was more than happy to use. All he would've had to do was remind her at some point that he didn't have his prescription available when he stayed at her place. If he weren't just so damn stubborn about asking for help, they could've avoided this whole scene.

"I do believe you have leg pain. I just don't think it's the same leg pain." She set her make up down and turned to face him. The slightly haggard look on his face, as well as his harping on the leg pain, reminded her of her suggested solution. She reached back and pulled the aspirin bottle from the medicine cabinet and set it on the counter where it would be within his reach.

"Do you think I enjoy this? That I like ragging on you about getting help?" She rubbed her hand over her forehead, then turned back toward the mirror. She could still see him in the reflection but this way she wouldn't have to face him directly when he mocked her feelings.

"This isn't fun for me, it's scary." She picked up a tube of mascara but she wasn't sure her hand was steady enough to apply it. She set it back in the drawer and leaned on the counter, her palms flat against the surface as she looked at his reflection in the mirror. "I'm afraid of losing you to the booze or the nightmares and it makes me angry when you won't do something to help yourself."

"And what if it was?" House asked sharply as Cuddy turned to face him. "Your medical diagnoses aren't always something to be relied upon."

He didn't want to think it was the same leg pain. But it still aggravated him that Cuddy wouldn't believe him even if it was. He watched her set the aspirin near him, then looked back at her when she spoke next. What she said reminded him again that this wasn't how he'd wanted the morning to turn out. He hadn't wanted to be ragged on or to be fighting or anything. But Cuddy had made a thing about him sleeping on the couch and the booze and that had immediately put him on the defensive, not to mention that he was still grouchy after being woken up.

"You get pleasure out of ragging on me about other things, so why not?" he replied sarcastically, reaching for the aspirin. Maybe she didn't like ragging on him. But he certainly didn't like being ragged on. "Do you really think ragging on me is going to make me want to do what you say?"

He looked down as he opened the cap and tipped a couple of pills out onto his palm. While Cuddy talked, he threw the two pills back and tossed his head once before dry swallowing. He turned his gaze back to her when she mentioned being afraid of losing him. The more Cuddy talked about this, the pricklier he felt.

He pulled a cynical, mock surprised look when she mentioned losing him to his nightmares. "You make that sound like Freddy Krueger is going to come after me." He set the aspirin aside, then continued seriously, even though he still sounded sarcastic, "Yeah. I could tell when you accused me of preferring alcohol to you."

"I do not enjoy nagging you, about anything," Cuddy insisted. Maybe it seemed that way because she did it so often but that was only because she felt she had to. House was like a car with faulty brakes; if someone didn't stop him he'd crash. And one of these times he'd crash so hard there'd be no saving him. He'd come close enough as it was. She didn't want to see him get any closer.

She let out a heavy sigh but finished her make-up with a quick brush of blush. Then she turned toward him, leaning back against the counter. "I only said that because when I woke up this morning--alone--I thought.... At first I thought I'd dreamed yesterday evening. Then I thought you'd changed your mind and left. When I saw you on the couch, up close and personal with a bottle of whiskey, well, I wasn't happy obviously."

She gave him a long, serious look. "What do you want me to do? Do you want me to not care when you're hurting, or hurting yourself?" She couldn't believe that's really what he wanted. He didn't enjoy any intrusions into his personal space--especially into his head--but he needed to be cared about just as much as anyone else. She hoped he needed it because she couldn't pretend she didn't care.

"You may not like the way I care, but you can't seriously tell me you don't want me to care."

House wanted to argue with Cuddy that he wished she'd leave him alone about his wellbeing. He hated being made a fuss over. But... he didn't want Cuddy to not care. He just wished... Hell, he didn't know. He sat forward and dropped his head into his hands again with a heavy sigh. It was catch-22: on one hand, he hated the way Cuddy interfered. On the other hand, the thought of being alone through the things he'd struggled with the last few months really was scary.

"I feel so stuck," he muttered, more to himself than to Cuddy. He did feel stuck, too. He felt stuck in this one spot of trying to move on from the shooting and finding himself not going anywhere. Just when he thought maybe he was getting past it, something would happen that would trigger anxiety or stress or even anger in him and he sometimes he felt like he was going to snap and lose control. On top of the stress of the last couple of weeks that had felt like... grief because he'd been certain he'd lost Cuddy...

Oh god, what the hell was wrong with him? He could feel anger bubbling in him at this whole conversation and at the thoughts that were going through his mind, and for some reason it was building pressure in him that was making his eyes sting with frustrated tears. He scrubbed his head with his face still downturned so Cuddy couldn't see it, but when he couldn't get control over the burning feeling in his eyes, he quickly moved his fingers to them and rubbed furiously.

"This is stupid," he exploded suddenly in anger, meaning himself. He was being stupid. It was like he was turning into an emotional woman, for fuck's sake. He couldn't seem to keep it together at all lately. He shoved himself up from the toilet, wiping angrily at his face as he attempted to get a grip of this unexpected eruption of emotions.

Cuddy bit at her lip and nodded. House was stuck. He was caught in a circle of nightmares and depression and anger. She was frustrated, though, because he didn't have to be stuck. He could get help. There were ways he could pull himself out of this cycle. He could make a start anyway. She honestly couldn't understand why he wouldn't try. He might be comfortable with misery but she knew he didn't want to be this miserable.

"Hey." She grasped his arm and tried to get him to face her when he jumped up from the toilet. She lifted her other hand to the side of his face. She knew he didn't like her to get too close when he was upset but she kept doing it because she hoped he'd get to a point where he wouldn't automatically pull away from her. She hoped he'd learn to accept that she wasn't ashamed of him. "The only thing that's stupid is that you think you can't talk to me about this stuff."

She leaned in and gave him a soft kiss on the cheek, then she released her grip on him, rubbing her hand on his upper arm. "Why don't you take a nice long soak in the tub. Plot revenge on Wilson. Or watch some porn. Do something to make yourself feel good for a little while."

House tried to nudge Cuddy away when she first grabbed his arm and he resisted when she reached up to his face to turn it towards her. He clamped extra hard on his emotions and reluctantly let her turn his head, though didn't meet her eyes.

"I don't want to talk about it," he muttered. He really didn't, either. He didn't like talking about it anymore than he liked the way he got distressed over stupid things for stupid reasons. For the millionth time, he wished it would all just go the hell away. He closed his eyes briefly while Cuddy kissed his cheek.

"You generally have to be horny in order for porn to feel good," he replied. He kind of didn't want to think about Wilson right now because it reminded him of the fact that Wilson was a manipulative bastard and he was too worked up at the moment to see any amusement in plotting against Wilson. Later when he was calmer, he would. Just not right now. And as for a soak in a hot bath...

He glanced across at Cuddy's bath. "You know, I have a handrail installed by my bath for a reason," he said, pointedly looking at the fact that her bath didn't come equipped with guiding cripples in and out of it.

He looked away and drew in a deep breath to try and calm himself down, but just as Cuddy was about to step away he quickly grabbed hold of her upper arm to stop her. Despite how angry he got at his inability to control his emotions lately, he kind of wanted - no, needed - some kind of comfort. He felt pretty pathetic, looking at Cuddy sullenly, but he conceded by drawing her in towards him. With a weary sigh, he let her arm go so he could wrap both arms around her, and he dropped his chin down to rest on her shoulder while he held Cuddy to him.

Cuddy glanced at the tub, chagrinned, when House pointed out it wasn't handicap accessible. It was another one of those instances when she forgot that he wasn't fully able-bodied. He never seemed to let his leg get in the way of his life and she didn't think of him as handicapped until it was specifically pointed out.

"Sorry. I'll have my handy man install a pull bar next time he's here." It wouldn't be a big job, probably wouldn't take him half an hour to put in a handrail and it would be worth the bother. In fact, now that she was thinking about it, she should probably start making a list of jobs for the handy man. She didn't know if House needed any other modifications, but with a baby on the way she would need to turn the spare bedroom into a nursery. That meant a new coat of paint at the very least.

She was about to leave House to find his own way out his sulky mood when he pulled her back. She wrapped her arms around him and rubbed one hand in soothing strokes up and down his back. It still frustrated her that he wouldn't just tell her he was feeling down, that he wouldn't simply admit he needed a hug. But at least he wasn't constantly trying to push her away and that was an improvement. She'd take whatever progress she could get.

Cuddy turned her head into him, pressing light kisses to the side of his face. She shifted slightly against him so she could reach his mouth and her towel, which wasn't all that securely fastened to begin with, started to fall. She chuckled softly as she tried to hold it in place with only one hand. "I think that's a sign I'm supposed to put some real clothes on."

House closed his eyes as Cuddy pressed kisses to his cheek. He lightly turned his face in a little more to encourage the kisses, parting his lips slightly when Cuddy then pulled back to meet his mouth. Weirdly something about the way she'd affectionately kissed his cheek had calmed him a little. Not a lot, but a little. Something about the reassurance of her being there, someone he could reply on. He calmed enough that he managed a small smile when she said said about putting real clothes on.

"Oh, I don't know," he replied, mildly teasing. "I think the towel is all the real clothing you need."

He felt stupid for almost coming unglued just a moment before. But he was also glad Cuddy didn't make a thing of it, either. If he was honest with himself, he really didn't want Cuddy to go off and get dressed and leave for work. Not yet. Not after they'd been cheated out of what should have been a good morning together, had he not had a bad dream and fallen asleep on the couch.

He leaned in closer and pressed a light kiss to her lips, sliding his arm from around her until his hand was on her bare shoulder. He rubbed it and squeezed it, noticing it felt tense. He dropped another light kiss to her lips, then another just to the left of her mouth. Then a weird thought struck him, a kind of delayed reaction to what she'd said about installing a pull bar in her bathroom.

He pulled back with weird look on his face. "Going out of your way to adapt your home to cater for my needs?" he asked incredulously. "That's one step down from assuming I'm going to live here."

"I think the hospital board would beg to differ on that," Cuddy said dryly when he suggested a towel was all she needed. Half the board members thought she dressed too provocatively as it was. They'd stroke if she showed up for work wearing even less. Besides, it was getting too late in the year--too chilly--to be running around in a towel, even in the house. As the steam from her shower dissipated she felt a chill on her skin. That gave her the perfect excuse to press up against House and draw on his body heat.

She shivered slightly as his hand rubbed over her shoulder. It wasn't a reaction to the temperature so much as a reaction to him. She made a sound of displeasure when he pulled away, then dropped her forehead against his chest with a groan. She never knew what would trigger his paranoia. The comment about the handrail had been made innocently on her part, and he, of course, had started reading other meanings into it.

"Don't get your shorts in a knot. I'm not going out of my way to cater to you. It's just a handrail: a few screws and thirty minutes and it'll be there when you need it."

It seemed simple enough to her. There was no hidden agenda. Although now that he'd brought it up.... She honestly hadn't thought in terms of living together. Maybe she'd simply been too uncertain about their future to think in those terms yet, but if they figured out how to work this relationship, if they found a way to be together as parents, then living together was a distinct possibility. And she wasn't sure how she felt about that. Whenever she'd thought about her future it had always included co-habitation of some kind. She liked having another person around. She liked having House around...and she also liked when he went away and gave her a little peace and quiet. She'd been alone so long she'd gotten used to having her personal space.

"It's not like I'm completely renovating the house to suit you," she continued, drawing him back against her where she could kiss him...and soak up some more of his body heat. "Because I'm not. In fact, if you don't want me to put in a pull bar, just say so. I've got plenty of other chores for the handy man."

House was weirded out about the idea of living with Cuddy. He thought it was weird enough that she'd alter some things in her place just for him, let alone cohabiting. It wasn't that he was opposed to the idea of her installing a pull bar. It was just, well, he considered that kind of thing to be a big step. Especially after more or less breaking it off for two weeks. Not to mention the pregnancy. Lord, he'd faced enough big steps already.

"It's still a pull bar," he countered. "That means you're at least assuming I'll use your bath frequently enough to need a pull bar. Which means you're assuming I'll be here a lot."

Maybe he would be at her place a lot from now on, because he had no intention of seeing a repeat of the last couple of weeks. He liked his space, though. He needed it. But maybe he'd end up here a lot because of the baby--

He stopped that thought right in its tracks. If he started thinking about that, he was going to get worked up again. And if he got worked up again, it would probably lead to another fight which he really didn't want. His morning had started off bad enough as it was. He felt weirdly vulnerable for some reason. Calmer than he'd been a few moments ago, but still vulnerable. Like he was teetering close to the edge of coming unglued. Having Cuddy there, warm and solid and dependable, made him feel a little more secure somehow. Which was just absurd because he wasn't the needy, dependent type at all. But he was unsettled, a little anxious.

He leaned down to lightly kiss Cuddy, lifting his arms up and around Cuddy again to keep her close. He nudged his nose against hers, almost nuzzling. "Oh yeah?" he murmured when she said about having plenty of chores for the handyman, distracting himself from his anxious thoughts by pouring attention into dropping a few more light but slightly urgent kisses to her mouth. "What kind of chores?"

"No, it means I'm assuming you'll be here at least occasionally. And that on some of those occasions you might want to take a bath."

Sheesh. It had seemed like such a simple and unimportant thing to install a handrail. It was a minor modification House could use. Or not. She hadn't realized that the decision to install a handrail could carry so much deeper meaning. She hadn't realized that a pull bar required Freudian analysis. She truly was trying to avoid assuming anything with House. She knew how risky that could be.

She ran her hands over his back as they kissed. "Oh, you know--pre-winter chores. Clean the gutters, check the fireplace chimney," she murmered when House asked about the list of chores for the handy man. She decided not to add the baby related chores. For one, she didn't want to push House's buttons on the subject. She realized this was a topic she had to approach slowly with him. He was going to need time adapt to the idea.

The truth, though, was that she hadn't thought that far herself. She'd only known she was pregnant for a few hours before House found out and everything went to hell. She'd been too distracted by that to think about things like decorating a nursery. She probably should start, though. She wasn't due until late May so she had time...but time had a way of getting away from her.

She let out a contented hum as their kisses grew longer and deeper. "Why do you wait until I have to go to work to get cuddly?" she complained mildly. Of course, if he'd stayed in bed like he was supposed to they would've had some quality cuddle time but there was no sense fussing over it now. What was done, was done.

"Work," she murmured again after a few more kisses, although she wasn't sure who she was reminding: him or her. Whichever it was, she hadn't loosened her hold on him. It was going to make getting dressed a bit difficult.

House really didn't care what kind of chores Cuddy needed to do. But it was a change in topic, a distraction, much the same way that kissing her like this was. He tightened his arms around her the longer the kisses drew out, not wanting to let her go.

"I live to make your life difficult," he replied, closing straight back in for another kiss. And besides, this wasn't cuddly. This was mutual space invasion. Okay, maybe it was cuddly a little bit, because he released his grip on her enough to be able to caress her arms and her shoulders as they kissed.

"Not yet," he pointed out in a murmur when she reminded him she had to go to work. It wasn't like Cuddy was exactly stopping him, either, or pulling away and in any urgent hurry to get to work. He let her go and reached around to her front, and pushed his hands through the part of her towel, which she was still trying to hold. He slid his hands onto her warm, still slightly damp skin, stroking his fingers down her sides to her hips.

If only she didn't have to go to work. If only they had more time to make amends without something else to interrupt them, like the fact that she had to go to leave soon. Not that such a thing would ever really stop him from making it difficult to let her go, but she would eventually insist she had to leave and that would be the end of that.

"Why can't you phone up sick or something?" he complained between kisses. "Say you've got an illness only Dr. House knows how to cure."

"You're doing a very good job of it," Cuddy said. And difficult was an understatement. Sometimes he turned her life upside down and inside out. He got her so twisted around it was a wonder she knew what she was doing half the time.

Like now. She should be getting dressed, eating a light breakfast, going to work and yet here she was, lingering, one hand caressing the side of his face as she gave him soft, longing kisses. After two weeks apart she didn't want to let him out of her sight, or out of touching distance. She needed to reassure herself that he really was back. The fact that they hadn't really settled anything as far as how they were going to make this work only made it that much more difficult to tear herself away. There was still too much uncertainty.

She sighed as his hand slipped over her skin. House wasn't playing fair...not that that was any surprise. He had to know she'd rather give into the temptation of his touch than go deal with the bureaucracy of running a hospital. She couldn't though. He was important to her but that was not an acceptable excuse for ignoring her responsibilities.

"I can just imagine the rumors that phone call would start," she chuckled, giving a rueful shake of her head. "I can't just call in sick because you're more fun than a committee meeting." She ran her finger over his lips and looked up into his eyes. "Come back this evening? I'll make...I don't what but I'll make somethig for dinner. Then we can resume this 'conversation'."

"Nothing that hasn't already travelled on the rumour mill," House replied.

Even though he knew Cuddy wouldn't buy into that idea, he'd been somewhat serious. About her phoning in sick, that was. He didn't adhere to regulation like she did, so he saw nothing wrong in feigning sickness for a day off. Cuddy, of course, would always beg to differ because she was completely unlike him in that regard.

He therefore looked a little disappointed when she said no. He doubted he'd been more fun than a committee meeting lately, with all the tension that had been between them, but he wasn't going to argue the point. He rubbed his hand down over her hip and clicked his tongue. "The committee could easily run a meeting without you for a single day," he whined.

Then he suddenly thought. Wilson was on the committee. Cuddy had mentioned about pulling a hoax on him to give him a taste of his own medicine. If Cuddy didn't show up, Wilson would be onto that like white on rice because Cuddy always showed up to her meetings, as far as House knew.

"Wilson's on the committee," he began, and he leveled a pointed, devious look at her in hopes she'd understand where he was getting at.

"Maybe they could," Cuddy said. They probably could; it was unlikely the committee would devolve into chaos simply because she missed a meeting. That didn't make her feel better, though. She kind of needed the committee to need her. It was her job. It was what she'd given so much of her life to over the years. She knew they could get along just fine without her but it wasn't a comforting thought.

"No, no, no," she groaned, pulling back just slightly. "If I can't call in sick to play with you, then I can't call in to pull a prank on Wilson." She tugged at her towel, still trying to hold it on with one hand. She wanted to get back at Wilson. And she wanted to play with House, but part of being a responsible adult was doing what you had to, not what you wanted to do. She hadn't exactly been doing her best work the last couple of weeks either, which made her feel even more obligated to get her act together and show up for the meeting.

"When I see Wilson I'll give him a few teary-eyed looks and refuse to talk to him. That ought to crank up his anxiety a bit, soften him up for the kill as it were." She pulled House down for a kiss, then looked at him, her expression completely serious.

"Please don't make this difficult. If I stay home, I'll only end up feeling guilty which would not make for a fun day for either of us."

"Who said you can't?" House argued, though he could see that trying to convince her was going to be a lost cause.

When it came to her job, Cuddy was beyond dedicated. It was difficult enough to get her to agree to his decisions at work most of the time, let alone trying to convince her to stay at home altogether just for him. "So much for coming up with a plan," he retorted at her suggestion of how to get back at Wilson. "I thought the point was to make him think I'd done something."

And that was the point Cuddy told him not to be difficult. He gave a put out sigh and rolled his eyes as he dropped his hand from her hip as she pulled him down for a kiss, then gave him a serious look. "How am I making this difficult?" he asked challengingly.

He knew to a point that he was being unfair. But part of him was still feeling raw from the last two weeks and he was almost instinctively quick to look for any sign that Cuddy wasn't happy with him. It certainly didn't help that he was already tense from the morning he'd had so far: waking up with a mild hangover after the bad night he'd had, to Cuddy getting in face about sleeping on the couch, the pain in his leg which had mostly subsided since taking the aspirin, getting anxious and wound up to the point where he'd almost lost control of his emotions. This really wasn't how he wanted this morning to turn out, at all.

"I came here last night to work things out with you, didn't I?" he continued. "And now I'm being difficult if I say I want to spend time with you?"

"You're making it difficult by tempting me with what I'd rather do instead of what I should do."

His attempts to lure her away from work were even more annoying because she knew if he had an interesting patient, he wouldn't think twice. He'd be gone without so much as a good-bye, his attention consumed by whatever medical mystery had crossed his path. She'd seen him get obsessed too many times to think that wouldn't be true even now. She certainly wouldn't be able to tempt him away from his work. And just because he thought her job was unimportant was no excuse for expecting her to ignore it.

"I want to spend time with you, too, lots of time. But right now, for a few hours, I have other obligations." She gave him a hug, then pulled away and headed into the bedroom. The only way she was going to resovle this was to simply go to work. She didn't want to start a fight or make his insecurities flare up, but he was going to have to learn to respect her responsibilities the same way she had to learn to respect his.

"Like I said, we can continue this tonight," she said as she opened her closet and took out a skirt and blouse. She turned to look back at him. "We can continue this every night for as long as we want to be together. As far as I'm concerned, that can be every night for the rest of our lives."

"Wh..." House began after Cuddy hugged him and began to head out of the bathroom. He clapped his arms down to his sides with a put out, exasperated sigh and followed her, stopping at the doorway. He watched her at the closet and decided, fine, they could continue this tonight seeing Cuddy was so insistent about that. It wasn't an unfair compromise, but it was still a compromise and House hated compromise. Unless he flushed her car keys down the toilet so she had no choice but to stay at home, however, he doubted anything he said or did would persuade Cuddy.

Weirdly, and he didn't know why because he hadn't been thinking about it at all right at that moment, he dropped his eyes down to her belly as she stretched into the closet for clothes and he suddenly pictured her doing the exact same thing with an eight-month pregnant stomach. Oh, god. He lifted a hand and ran it over his face. He still couldn't - wouldn't - believe she was pregnant. He found it absolutely crazy that right there, in her stomach right now, was a foetus that was half of him. The mere thought terrified him.

He realised Cuddy was looking at him and he caught the tail end of what she was saying. Running a hand through his hair, he pushed away from the doorway and limped slowly into the bedroom. "That sounds a little bit like that urban myth known as 'domestic bliss'," he replied dryly. He started towards the bed so he could sit down. "Doubt you'd want to see me every night for the rest of your life. I'm not one of those 'welcome home, honey' guys, in case you couldn't already tell."

"You're impossible is what you are." Cuddy's tone was exasperated but not without a hint of fondness. One minute he was demanding she spend her time with him, the next he was resisting the idea of spending all her time with him. He wanted her but he didn't want too much of her. Or maybe he was afraid of wanting too much of her. Either way she felt like she was in a tug of war between House and himself.

"It's not domestic bliss--I'm not that naive," she said as she pulled underwear and a bra from the dresser and got dressed. She knew he wasn't the domestic bliss type. She wasn't sure she was either, at least not the traditional domestic bliss. She was too independent. She was never going to be the type to be waiting at home for her man, supper on the table and housework done.

"This may surprise you but I do like the idea of seeing you every night." She walked over to where he was sitting on the bed, buttoning up her blouse as she did. "I might tell you to go away again if you're being an ass, but I do like the idea." She grasped his head between her hands and leaned down to give him a quick kiss. "Right now, though, I'll settle for a promise that I'll see you tonight."

"Impossible makes things interesting," House replied with a dismissive waves of his hand.

He sat down on the bed and dropped his hand to his thigh, which was still aching a little even though the pain had mostly subsided, and rubbed it. Maybe he was impossible; he wanted to spend time with Cuddy, but he knew himself, too, and he knew he really could get impossible if he spent too much time with someone. He felt hemmed in if he didn't get his space, and could start ignoring the person or becoming extra insensitive because of that. No, he definitely wasn't the domestic bliss kind of person. He wasn't even sure if he was a domestic kind of person, period. He'd lived a domestic life with Stacy for five years, but that was back then and this was now, and the idea of being 'domestic' with Cuddy was a pretty scary thought.

"Every night?" he asked, skeptical. He watched Cuddy approaching him. "So, does that mean you actually like the idea of me being in your office, but the reason you always tell me to go away is because I'm an ass?"

He looked up at her as she took his head in her hands. Seemed he was going to have to settle with seeing her tonight, too. Maybe if he just got through the day, like he got through every other day, seeing her tonight wouldn't seem so far away.

"Hmmm," he groused, giving her an over exaggeratedly sulky look because he hadn't gotten his way with making her stay at home. He then relaxed and lowered his eyes to her blouse. "Your blouse is buttoned up all wrong."

He pushed himself up from the bed and frowned in concentration as he lifted his hands to the top button. He undid it, then undid the second one, before he spread the blouse open wide enough to reveal cleavage. He then fixed the collar a little. "That's better," he declared.

"Work is different. I'd really rather not see you in my office because it's almost always bad news for me," Cuddy said.

He was almost always being an ass, too, but there was usually something more to it, like committing a felony and then making her an accessory after the fact. Her life was usually easier when he didn't show up in her office. Of course, when he didn't show up in her office it typically meant he was hiding whatever crazy plan he was enacting which eventually would land him in her office making her life difficult. Basically, whether he was in her office or not, he was making trouble for her.

"Gee, thanks," she said sarcastically, glancing down at her blouse. With the pregnancy hormones in high gear her breasts had already begun to enlarge. The cleavage she was showing was, to her eye, noticeably more substantial which...didn't actually bother her a bit. She'd never minded showing a bit of cleavage and she certainly didn't mind having a little more of it to show. Somehow she doubted House would mind that aspect of the pregnancy either.

"I really have to go." She grabbed her watch from the top of the dresser and slid her feet into a pair of peep-toe pumps. Her mind was already shifting into work mode as she mentally reviewed her schedule for the day. It wasn't easy to try to push House to the back of her mind but it was something she was going to have to learn to do. She didn't want to mess up at her job because she couldn't handle her personal life. She sure as hell didn't want to end up pregnant and unemployed.

She couldn't leave, though, without one more kiss. She closed the distance between them with a few brisk steps. "I love you," she said, wrapping her hands around the back of his neck and pulling him down for a quick peck on the lips. "Stay out of trouble, and if you can't stay out of trouble, stay out of my office. I'll see you tonight."

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The next morning

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